by Paula Graves
Sucking in a deep breath, he let go of the rock beneath his right hand, ignoring the resulting sensation of falling backward, and caught the other jacket sleeve, understanding what she had in mind.
“You sure this will hold?” he asked.
“No,” she admitted. “You sure you can hold on long enough for me to go down the mountain for help?”
The thought was enough to make his insides shrivel. “No.”
She put her left hand on the sleeve she held, but the second she closed her fingers around the fabric, the muscles in her jaw tightened to knots.
“What’s wrong with your hand?” Doyle asked, seeing a long purple streak of incipient bruising across the back of her hand.
She took her hand off the jacket, shaking it with a wince. “My hand got caught in the door.”
Joy reached for the jacket, gripping it above the sleeve seam with both hands. “Let’s give it a try now.”
You can do this, Doyle told himself as he prepared to take his hand away from the tree root he’d been holding on to for dear life. Just grab the jacket. You won’t fall.
His gaze slid downward toward the steep drop below, but he quickly forced his eyes back upward, where they locked with Laney’s baby blues.
“You can do this,” she said with soft urgency. In her eyes, he saw a blaze of emotion that stole his breath.
His heart pounding with a surge of adrenaline, he released his grip on the side of the mountain and closed both hands on the jacket sleeve. Pushing off with his legs, he used the leverage of the jacket to claw his way upward until his torso hung partially over the edge of the bluff.
Laney grabbed the waistband of his jeans with her uninjured hand and pulled, falling backward as she hauled him the rest of the way up. He sprawled forward, his body landing over hers. She was soft and warm and perfect beneath him, and even as relief washed over him like a tidal wave, he wanted to stay there cradled in her fervent grasp forever.
He held her face between his hands, wanting to kiss her so much it was a physical ache. But a blast of icy wind rolled down the mountain, sending a shudder of cold through her slender body, and he pushed his own desires back under control, rolling off of her and reaching for her coat.
It had somehow survived its brief role of makeshift rope. He wrapped it around her shivering body as she sat up. “Thank you,” he said.
That fierce emotion still blazed back at him from her eyes. “You’re welcome.”
He reached for her bruised hand and gently manipulated the fingers, feeling for any sign of a break. “How badly do you think you’re hurt?”
Her jaw tightened with pain, but she shook her head. “I think it’s just a bad bruise.”
He didn’t feel any obvious fractures, but the angry purple color was spreading. “It’s swelling a little,” he warned.
She pulled her hand away, her chin lifting. “It’ll be okay until we get down the mountain.”
He bent and kissed her forehead. “Okay.” He turned to look at Joy. “Thank you, too.”
She was watching them with eyes narrowed almost to slits. The light was hurting her eyes, Doyle realized. She’d been in that cave for days; daylight probably felt like needles in her brain.
“I wish I had a pair of sunglasses for you,” he told her. He’d had a pair in his backpack, but the bag had disappeared at some point after the Taser attack.
“I’ll be okay.” Joy pushed to her feet, looking weary but determined. “I just want to go home.”
Doyle rose, holding out his hand to help Laney to her feet. His body creaked a little, the aftereffects of his fight with Ray making themselves known in twinges and aches. He took a quick assessment of his injuries—a bloody scrape on one cheekbone, puffy skin around his right eye that felt sore to the touch, a split lip and all sorts of muscle twinges—but he would survive.
He wandered back to the edge of the bluff and looked down. Ray hadn’t moved.
“Is he dead?” Joy asked.
“He fell a long way,” Doyle answered.
“We can send for help when we get down the mountain,” Laney said firmly, grabbing Doyle’s arm and pulling him away from the drop-off.
“I left something in the cave,” Joy said. “I’ll go get it.”
Doyle caught her arm as she started toward the entrance. “Don’t go back in there.”
Joy’s expression hardened to a dogged scowl. “I pulled a leather patch off Craig’s coat when he put me in the cave. Apparently he realized it was missing, because Ray kept asking me to give it to him. I lied and told him I didn’t know what he was talking about. He even searched the cave, but he didn’t find where I hid it. It’s proof that Craig was part of my kidnapping.”
“Tell me where you hid it and I’ll get it,” Doyle said.
“No,” Laney said firmly, handing him her pistol. “I’ll go with Joy to find it. You keep guard.”
Doyle started to argue, but she had a point. Ray might be out of commission, but Craig Bolen was still around here somewhere. Gripping the pistol with resolve, he nodded, walking with them to the mouth of the cave.
He handed Laney his phone. “The battery’s close to giving out, but it should give you enough light to find the patch and get back here.”
Laney took the phone and disappeared into the cave with Joy.
Doyle watched until they reached the outer edge of the ambient glow coming through the open doorway. Laney turned on the phone flashlight and followed Joy deeper into the cave, both of them disappearing from sight.
Doyle turned away from the doorway and studied the woods around him, alert for any sign of movement. He heard the rustle of wind in the leaves, the distant twitter of birdsong and the thudding drumbeat of his own pulse.
No sign of Craig Bolen.
But he was still out there somewhere, dangerous as hell.
* * *
LANEY FOLLOWED JOY through the narrow passageway to the deeper room of the cave, flashing the light toward the wall of the cave where Joy directed her. It looked no different from the other stony walls surrounding them, but Joy went directly to a particular spot and started tugging at a piece of stone embedded there, waist high.
As Laney shifted to direct the light from Doyle’s phone toward Joy’s hands, she saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye. She started to turn, expecting to find that Doyle had followed them inside.
A hand snaked out of the gloom behind her, tangling in her hair and jerking her backward. She hit a thick body and felt hot breath on her neck. The fist in her hair twisted, sending pain ripping through her scalp.
“Don’t say a word,” Craig Bolen growled, pressing something hard and cold against her temple.
Joy whirled around, her expression shifting from surprise to terror in the span of a second. Hatred curling her lip, she spit out a profanity.
“Just give me the patch,” he told her, his voice expressionless. But Laney thought she heard a hint of dismay hidden beneath Bolen’s stoic tone.
“You don’t want to hurt Joy,” she said. “You’ve seen her grow up. You killed that man to save her.”
He jerked her hair, making her gasp. “I told you not to talk.”
She ground her teeth against the pain and tried to think. She’d heard no sound of a struggle from the front of the cave, meaning Bolen hadn’t gotten in here through Doyle. He must have slipped inside to try to retrieve the patch Joy had hidden while the rest of them were outside dealing with the fight and the fall off the mountain. “Doyle’s not going to let you take us out of here.”
“Shut up!”
“You can’t get out of this now, Craig,” Joy said. “We know about your part in all this. What are you going to do—kill us all?”
“If I have to.”
Laney couldn’t tell if he
was bluffing or not. She had to err on the side of caution, she decided. Bolen had a gun. She didn’t. “Let Joy go. Use me as a hostage. I can get you off the mountain.”
“Joy stays. None of this works without her.”
“Your pal Ray is dead.”
“Shut up,” he snapped.
Joy moved suddenly, racing toward the passageway to the bigger part of the cave. Laney took advantage of the distraction to start struggling against Bolen’s grasp.
He cracked the butt of his pistol against the side of her head, making her reel. She sagged against him, losing her grip on Doyle’s phone. Darkness deepened, and the world reeled around her.
Bolen tightened his grip around her waist, keeping her upright. “Guess it’s just you and me, Charlane.”
* * *
JOY BURST OUT of the doorway into the cave, shouting Doyle’s name. He shook off the aches and pains from his fight with Ray, instantly on alert.
“Craig’s in the cave,” she cried. “He has Laney!”
His heart skipped a beat, but somehow he kept his head. “Joy, you have to go for help. Can you do that?”
She nodded quickly, though her eyes were bright with fear.
Hoping he still had the search-party map, he dug for it, relieved when he found it hanging half out of the torn back pocket of his jeans. It was ripped in places, but the map was still visible. “Antoine Parsons and Delilah Hammond are searching there.” He showed her on the map. “Near the boneyard. Can you find it?”
She nodded frantically. “Please get her out of there, okay? Don’t let Craig get away with what he’s done.”
Doyle gave her a swift hug. “Find Antoine and Delilah and tell them where we are.”
Joy started running east through the underbrush, her weariness showing. Doyle watched until she disappeared from view, hating that she had to make her way back to civilization alone.
But Laney was in that cave with a man who’d killed before. What would Bolen be willing to do to get off this mountain?
Doyle edged toward the mouth of the cave, trying to hear what was going on inside. But only silence greeted him.
“Bolen?” he called. “You’re not going to get out of this. Joy knows you’re one of the people who kidnapped her and kept her prisoner. I know it, too. All you’re doing is prolonging this whole mess. Give yourself up. You killed the man who killed Missy and shot Janelle—Joy can tell everyone what you did. You might even come out a hero.”
He waited for Bolen’s answer. But there was only silence.
“If you give up without a fight, I can help you. I can make things go a whole lot easier on you.”
Bolen’s voice rang from deep in the cave. “I’ve got Charlane, Massey. I don’t want to hurt her, but I will. Back off and call off your search parties. I’ll let her go when I get to a safe place.”
“You know I can’t do that. And you’ll only be prolonging the inevitable.”
“I’ll take my chances.” Bolen’s voice seemed closer.
“Laney?” Doyle called, his heart seeming to freeze in his chest as he waited for her to answer.
“I’m okay,” she called. But she didn’t sound okay. She sounded weak and woozy.
“My gun is against her head,” Bolen called. He was very close now. Peering into the cave opening, Doyle spotted a dark silhouette just beyond the rectangle of daylight painting the cave floor.
Bolen took a few steps forward, shoving Laney in front of him. Doyle bit back a gasp as he saw blood flowing from a gash in the side of Laney’s head. It spilled down over Bolen’s wrist and dripped onto the cave floor.
“I don’t want to hurt her,” Bolen repeated.
“I don’t want you to, either,” Doyle agreed, backing up to give him room to emerge from the cave.
Bolen kept Laney between them, shielding himself from Doyle’s weapon. “Put down the pistol.” He gave his own weapon a jab toward Laney’s head, making her gasp in pain.
Doyle was a pretty good shot with a handgun, but not good enough to risk Laney moving the wrong way at the wrong second. Slowly, he bent and lowered the pistol to the ground.
Without warning, Bolen’s pistol barked fire. Doyle felt the bullet whistle past his head and, at the last second, retrieved his pistol and rolled away, looking for cover.
All he found was a leafy bush about ten feet from the cave entrance. It offered more camouflage than cover, but Doyle took what he could get.
Bolen took a second shot at him, the bullet rattling the limbs of the bush, driving Doyle farther toward the outer wall of the cave.
He was pinned down, with nowhere else to go.
Chapter Seventeen
Bolen’s gun fired. Doyle went down.
Laney cried out his name and struggled harder against Bolen’s grasp. “He did what you said!”
“Shut up!” Bolen tightened his grip around her neck, squeezing the breath from her.
She pulled at his arm with her uninjured hand, fighting to breathe. Dark spots appeared in her vision, and she stomped desperately at his feet. She couldn’t inflict much damage on his sturdy boots, but he loosened his grip enough for air to flow into her lungs again. The dark places in her vision diminished and she could see once more.
How long had Joy been gone? Was there anyone close enough to their position to hear the gunfire and come to investigate?
Doyle’s voice came from behind a bush a few yards in front of them. “Bolen, there are police all over this mountain. You can’t get out of here. But so far, you haven’t killed anyone who didn’t need killing. It’s a point in your favor.”
“You know it doesn’t work that way!” Bolen dragged Laney closer to the bush, his pistol outstretched, as if he was ready to shoot at the first sign of movement.
“Maybe not. But know this. So far, you’ve killed a serial killer who shot two defenseless girls. You shoot me, it’s cold-blooded murder.”
“You think they’ll let me walk after all of this?”
“No. But you won’t fry.”
“Not good enough.” Bolen had dragged Laney only a couple of feet away from the bush behind which Doyle had disappeared. Another few steps and they’d have him cornered.
She couldn’t let that happen.
Balling her hand into a fist, she shifted her body to the right and slammed her fist into the soft vulnerability of Bolen’s groin.
His grip loosened. Not completely, but enough for her to wriggle free of his grasp. She grabbed his gun hand and swung it wide as he started to fire into the bush again.
The kick of the pistol slammed his fist into her face. She stumbled backward, crashing into the outer wall of the cave. Bolen swung the gun toward her, his eyes full of pain and rage.
Suddenly the bushes exploded next to them, and Doyle tackled Bolen, knocking him to the ground. The older man’s hand hit the ground hard and the pistol skittered free from his grasp, sliding toward the mouth of the cave.
Laney dived for it, sweeping it into the cavern and pushing the door closed. Rolling over, she saw that Doyle had pinned Bolen to the ground and held him there with her pistol pressed against the rogue cop’s neck.
He met her gaze, his green eyes afire with anger. But under the fury she saw something softer, something deeper that made her breath catch in her chest. She sat up and gazed back at him, wondering if he could read her thoughts.
A slow, sexy smile crossed his face, and she realized he could.
* * *
“HIS NAME ISN’T RAY.” Bolen didn’t meet their eyes across the interview-room table. His anger had subsided the moment Doyle had belted his hands behind his back and told him, with
a few salty terms that had made Laney’s eyes widen with surprise, that trying to move was a very bad idea. “I guess you’d call it a nom de guerre.”
His battle name, Doyle thought, and made a guess. “I suppose he spelled it R-e-y, then? With an e?”
Bolen lifted his gaze for the first time, a hint of respect gleaming there in his narrowed eyes. “King of all he surveyed,” he murmured.
“What’s his real name?” Doyle asked, half his mind wandering back up the mountain, where they’d left the fallen man’s body while they returned to the police station with Joy. She had arrived within fifteen minutes with reinforcements in the form of Delilah Hammond, Antoine Parsons and a pair of uniformed deputies from the county sheriff’s office. They’d apparently been only a couple of miles from the cave when they’d heard gunfire and headed toward the sound to investigate.
Doyle and his detectives had left the deputies to await the mountain rescue unit. He hadn’t heard anything about the status of the extraction by the time they arrived back at the police station, but he assumed they’d figure out a way to get Rey’s body up the mountain, sooner or later.
“Merritt Cortland.” Bolen answered Doyle’s question. “Not legally Cortland, of course, but that’s who he was.”
Doyle glanced at Delilah Hammond, who sat beside him across from Bolen. She didn’t react visibly, but he knew the name Cortland had to give her a start. Wayne Cortland had tried to kill her only a couple of months earlier—and damned near succeeded.
“Yeah,” Bolen said, reading their expressions. “That Cortland. Merritt was his son.”
Delilah shook her head. “Cortland didn’t have any children.”
Bolen’s smile was a sneer. “None he claimed.”
Doyle shifted in his chair, hiding a wince of pain as the bruises in his rib cage twinged. “Was the kidnapping his idea or yours?”