The Intern - Chapter 7

Since Morris took care of the body she left in the wooded area outside of Lancaster, Courtney had been able to enjoy her first tastes of free air in months. Her life was still far from simple. She worked at Sullivan's at night, before going home to her apartment at the McLaren, to continue tracking the notorious group. She convinced herself that if she could piece together the puzzle that was the groups' existence. Then, and only then, she would be able to free herself and Morris from the influence the group held over their lives.

In the meantime, Courtney knew she had to continue the facade of being the mild-mannered bar wench. She continued to go to work whenever Bo needed her. She put on a smile and slung drinks to the locals, getting to know the regulars by name. Courtney even enjoyed the job, most nights. She quickly was becoming Bo Sullivan's right hand around the bar. Much to her surprise, Bo trusted her enough to let her close up on her own.

That trust didn't come easy. She'd earned his trust. Still, Bo sat outside in his pickup, not so inconspicuously watching the bar as she locked the doors up, carrying the nightly receipts. Was he looking out for his investment? Was he looking out for her? She didn't really know which one it was, but at least he was watching and that made leaving the bar at night, on her own, less nerve-racking. The first few times, she ignored that he was there. The fourth time, she waved at him as she drove out of the parking lot, passing the alley where his truck was sitting.

Making her way to the drive-thru drop at the Lancaster Bank and Trust she would drop her bag with the nightly deposit and head home, sometimes exhausted, sometimes filled with energy. After checking in with Helen, who was nearly always waiting up for her favorite tenant, Courtney would head up to her room and get on her computer. Her nightly check-in with Morris would be the first thing she would do, sitting at her computer and waiting for his face to pop up on the screen.

Sometimes Morris would work with her on following the data they were trying to cipher through. Sometimes it would be just Courtney, reading mountain after mountain of data, struggling to make sense of it all. When she first uncovered the black operations unit, referred to loosely as the group, Courtney thought it was just a special team. There were millions of dollars involved and off-the-books assets working for the group. When she dug her nose into things a little too far, she located a file marked "Hunters," Courtney could tell the hunters were mercenaries, being used for sanctioned murders.

Sitting at her desk, she had two questions that remained in her mind. The first one was who had the clout, authority, and connections to not only sanction murders of American citizens but keep them quiet? She knew, as she always had, that it was someone high up in the government. They were using the F.B.I. as the perfect agency to hide jobs. Who, though, could orchestrate such a covert squad and embed it within the ranks of the bureau?

The second question that plagued both Morris and Courtney, was why? What is it that the group so desperately needed hidden that it would take over and corrupt the F.B.I. from the inside? If they could answer that question then perhaps they could get to the bottom of the mystery that had them both on the run like fugitives.

A knock at the door forced Courtney to close her computer as she yelled, "Just a minute!" Hiding her guns, Courtney ran over to the door to take a peek through the peephole.

"Deputy McNally," she smiled. "What brings you around so late into the night?"

"You do," he told her. "I need you to come down to the station with me."

Courtney looked at him, trying to control the anxiety rushing over her as she imagined they were caught. Did they have Morris somewhere? Were hunters on the way to Lancaster to take custody of her? Her heart was beating so loudly in her chest it was all she could hear.

"Can I ask why?" she questioned. "What's this about?"

"Just come with me, please."

"Let me get my shoes on," she told him, leaving the door partway open, being sure not to invite him inside.

Courtney walked down to the lobby and followed Deputy McNally out onto the street. He even drove a marked squad to the McLaren. Courtney was starting to feel anxious and scared. She struggled to keep herself from rambling on and on, her tell of sorts when she was overwhelmed. Courtney liked things in Lancaster and was just starting to be able to relax. Now, she worried she wouldn't see her apartment at the McLaren, or Helen again.

Once they got to the sheriffs' office Courtney was surprised to hear Jeff McNally reading her rights to her. She knew the Miranda Law, probably better than he did being a small-town cop, so she knew it could be bad. Waiting for him to finish, she sat at the interview table with her legs crossed, nervously bouncing her left leg as it draped over her right. When he finally finished, she looked at him, patiently waiting for him to say something about why she'd been drug down to the sheriffs at one a.m.

"You came to town...six weeks or so ago if I'm not mistaken."

Courtney sat counting in her head. It had been seven weeks already but six was a pretty good guess. She looked up at the deputy, nodding her head in the affirmative. Another surprise, he commented that the record she show that she nodded in the affirmative.

"What's this all about?" she demanded to know.

"I've been working on something and then the paint tests from an accident came back tonight. When you came into town you drove a 1967 Impala. A car we found in the woods on the south side of town has paint transfer from a 1967 Impala," he explained to her. "Have you been in a wreck...about six weeks ago?"

Courtney remembered the car chasing her into the county when she first came to Lancaster. It was a hunters' vehicle. It followed her from Denver to Lancaster twice before trying to take her down. Throughout the chase, they traded bumps and paint more than a few times. Dammit, thought Courtney, how could she have missed such an important detail. If they'd matched the paint to her car, she imagined he'd be arresting her.

"Did you find any missing paint on my car?"

Jeff sat down across from her, a quietness telling her that they searched her car and didn't find anything. She knew that the 67 Impala was basically a tank and harder than stone when it came to the newer, more lightweight vehicles. Play it cool, she repeated in her head.

"No," Jeff answered.

"No," she repeated.

"That's right," he told her. "We didn't find anything on your car. You haven't had any bodywork done lately, have you?"

Courtney tapped her fingers on the table in front of her, slightly miffed that she was drug down for this, but still intrigued by the handsome young deputy. She was getting tired, and they hadn't even offered her the traditional cup of coffee. Nothing to get her heart to pick up, fill her bladder, or engage a friendly relationship.

"No, I haven't had my car worked on. But, I am going to need to get an oil change soon. Would you recommend someone locally?"

"You really are a smart ass," Jeff told her. "I had to ask the questions."

"Great, now maybe you can take me back to my apartment," she demanded.

"Hold on a second, I do have two more questions."

Deputy McNally threw a picture of a man out in front of Courtney as she stared down at the table. Courtney froze, froze fast. It was the hunter they'd moved after she killed him. Why was the Lancaster County Sheriff asking around about a hunter?

"Have you seen this guy around, maybe at Sullivan's or somewhere?"

Courtney shook her head, flashing back to her attacker nearly killing her before she ended his life. "Can I go now?"

"Sure, I'll give you a lift."

Courtney walked out of the station in front of Deputy McNally and was allowed to get into the front seat with him. She smiled as she sarcastically quipped about being special now that she wasn't the suspect of a hit and run. As they got back in the car to head across town to the McLaren the skies were so clear and the air so clean she felt as if touching the moon was not out of reach. As tired as Courtney was, riding through the empty city of Lancaster with Deputy McNally was as close a thing to a date she had enjoyed in three or four years.

"So, tell me about you, Deputy McNally," she goaded.

"There's little to tell," he replied. I grew up around here. My parents live on a ranch about twenty-five miles from here. I grew up riding horses, working the ranch when I wasn't in school, playing football, and I had a pretty decent childhood."

Just a good ole country boy, thought Courtney. It was no big secret to the two people that knew Courtney, she admired Jeff McNally. Helen even encouraged her to pursue it before she opened up to Helen about her past. Still, she wondered what it would hurt.

"Well..." Deputy McNally said.

"Well?"

"What about you?" he asked. "What's Courtney Morris's story?"

Courtney sat there in the passenger seat, staring at the moon as she struggled to come up with the words to satisfy his curiosity. He was a cop and seemed to be an intuitive one. That made him the most dangerous man in Lancaster. Her unspoken love interest could become her downfall if she didn't tread carefully, but she was intelligent enough to realize she had to say something.

"My childhood was pretty normal. My dad always wanted a boy, so I grew up with my arms covered in dirt to the elbows, learning to work with animals, tinker with cars, and do my own oil changes by the time I was fourteen. I got to play baseball, even football until my dad noticed the changes I was going through," she described. "My mom...she was amazing. She helped me become a real girl when I was sixteen. She even managed to get my father to accept me as more of a girl the older I got."

"Sounds like a great childhood, honestly."

Courtney looked over at him, "It was. I honestly miss them."

"Why don't you go visit them?"

"They died ten years ago, while I was in college," she lied.

Passing away that long ago, Courtney knew it was unlikely he'd try to pry around for a mister or misses Morris that passed away. It was far enough back in time that the system would make it impossible to scroll through and find. An intuitive cop like Jeff McNally would never try finding their information that far back, not without more information to go on.

"Wow, would you look at that?" Courtney commented, pointing at the mountain in the distance.

"Sunsets are beautiful here."

"I'm not usually up and moving at daybreak," she told Jeff McNally. "By the time I get out of the bar, get back to my apartment and unwind, I don't fall asleep until the wee hours of the morning."

Jeff remembered working the night shift and living during odd hours. It was hard on the body and hard on relationships. There were things he missed, but working nights wasn't worth the price he paid. He always felt somber, thinking about the things he missed when he was on nights. Mostly, it cost him a marriage.

"I get it, late shift hours are rough."

"You don't know the half of it," exclaimed Courtney, thinking about the work she should have been doing while she was being questioned by the local cop.

She was no closer to finding the secrets of the group, and this little meeting had cost her nearly an entire night's work. As ruggedly handsome as Jeff was, Courtney knew nothing could ever happen without getting clear of her past life.

"We're here," said Jeff, pulling up alongside the curb outside the hotel.

"Well, I'd say it was fun..."

Jeff looked at her, feeling bad about dragging her into the station. As he nearly jumped from the car to run around and open her door, he stammered the word, "Coffee."

"Yes," smiled Courtney. "I like Coffee."

Jeff's shoulders dropped. He never seemed to have the words when it came to meeting someone or asking them out. Courtney was no different.

Jeff nervously sighed, "I was actually thinking that it would be fun to go out for coffee-if you interested."

Courtney smiled widely, her cheeks getting redder by the minute. She started to walk to the door, looking back over her shoulder before entering.

"Call me, I'd go for coffee," she said before going inside.

Jeff pulled away, a smile on his face, as he watched the doors to the McLaren close behind Courtney. Passing the building, he was as unaware as Courtney. They hadn't been alone.

A man in a jean jacket, blue denim pants, and boots steps out from the alley as Jeff McNally steers away from the McLaren. He looks in the window of the lobby, seeing Courtney put a blanket over an older woman sleeping on a sofa. Then he watches as Courtney disappears up the stairs, out of sight from the street view. The man pulls out a phone and dials.

"It's me," he tells the voice on the receiver. "I'm just checking in. Yes, it's like you said, the girls here. There's no sign of the old man."

The man stands, listening, and watching the lobby. He nods his head, only mumbling responses, "mmmhum."

"Yes, I'm all over it. I've got a room in the same joint she's staying," he told the caller on the phone. "I'll be able to keep a close eye on her. As soon as the old man shows his face, I'll let you know."