by CJ Lyons
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Goose felt awful. Not just the blisters tearing his feet apart as he bushwhacked down the side of the mountain in boots made more for stomping heads than stomping dirt. More than the knowledge that the people he left behind faced an uncertain fate. Or that they thought he was betraying them, saving himself. All except Bernie.
More than even the fear that he might let them down. The feelings churning his gut, tangling with adrenaline, leaving him breathless, had to do with Caitlyn Tierney. The look in her eyes as she said good-bye—she didn’t expect to return.
It was Caitlyn he couldn’t bear to disappoint. A stray branch slapped him in the face and he almost lost his balance, slid headlong into the embrace of another tree. He pushed off and kept going. Down, always down. To the road, to civilization, to a goddamn phone.
* * *
Bernie wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or not. So much rushed together in a whirling kaleidoscope of color and sounds. He was hot yet freezing at the same time, couldn’t stop his teeth chattering, not even as Lena and the stranger hauled him back out of the car.
Car? Where were they going? Nice to go places with Lena, just like he’d dreamed.
“Can we get more ice cream?” he asked. “Sprinkles on top?”
“Of course, Bernie. Just lie down and rest,” she whispered.
Then she was gone and rough hands ran over his body. “Hey, leave him alone. Can’t you see he’s sick?”
Bernie was falling, falling … the bed caught him but oh, it didn’t feel so soft. Every bone in his body ached. Then Lena was back, her hands soothing the pain.
“Lena?”
“I’m here, Bernie.”
“You’re so much better than ice cream.” His eyes fluttered, her image blurring like an old movie exposed too long. Then everything went dark.
* * *
Caitlyn barely made it back to the cover of the trees near Bernie’s cabin before Weasel and his men came roaring up the road, coming to a stop alongside her Subaru and the other Reapers gathered in front of the cabin. Most of the idiots sounded like they were drunk—a few were even drinking now, as if this was their idea of a party.
Using her monocular, she could see through the windows of the cabin. Bernie lying on his bed and Paul and Lena sitting on kitchen chairs beside him, their backs to the wall. A Reaper held a gun on them but she saw no signs of restraint—and no signs that they’d been hurt. But Goose, where was Goose? Had they killed him?
No. She hadn’t heard any gunfire from this direction. So not dead—gone for help? It was just a hope, a vague long shot of a hope, but she held on to it.
Poppy emerged from the cabin to greet Weasel. She inched closer, straining to hear their conversation over the sounds of the other bikers. It had been a long time since she’d hunted in the woods, even longer since she’d hunted in these woods, but her body remembered how to move silently in the dark.
What scared her was that she wasn’t alone. Something moved nearby and it wasn’t a Reaper. Something sleek and deadly and silent except for a faint chuffing noise that made her toes curl with the urge to run. The leopard.
She swallowed her fear and crept closer to the cabin. Poppy and Weasel were talking in the relative privacy at the back of the SUV.
“There’s only one way out for her,” Weasel said as he pulled a hunting rifle from the back of the SUV and slung it over his shoulder. “She has to be heading up to Mingo Falls, then she’ll take the trail across and down the mountain.”
“You think you can catch her?”
Weasel pulled a pair of night-vision goggles from a small case and adjusted them onto his forehead. He looked more like his namesake than ever: mean and nasty, ready to do some damage. “Oh yeah. That bitch is good as dead.”
“Don’t let me down, Weasel.”
Weasel nodded curtly and took off across the clearing, heading back toward where he’d seen her disappear into the woods. Hopefully the escape route she’d created before setting up her ambush would keep him busy for a while as a false trail. If he fell into one of the traps she’d left, so much the better. Now if she could just isolate Poppy …
Poppy stayed behind the SUV for a moment, talking into his phone. A satellite phone like Weasel’s. That’s how they’d coordinated all this despite there being no cell service out here.
She smiled. That phone was how she was going to get everyone off this mountain safe and sound. Poppy pocketed the phone and headed back inside the cabin. All she needed was a little distraction for the bikers out front.
The leopard moved, heading farther into the woods. Fine with her, because Caitlyn was planning to move in the opposite direction, around the perimeter of the clearing. All the way to the cabin where Goose said there was a lion.
Bunch of half-assed, half-drunk Reapers wouldn’t know what hit them.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Caitlyn could smell the lion before she got anywhere near the cabin’s door. A strange acrid combination of urine, rotten meat, and sweat socks. Hopefully the stench meant the animal would leap at the opportunity for a little fresh air and some nice hunting.
She pressed her back against the far side of the cabin door and opened it, using the door as a shield between her body and the lion. Nothing happened. Good grief, was she supposed to call, Here, kitty, kitty?
Then she heard a snuffling sound followed by a wheezy cough. Poor thing had a cold. She was about to give up and take her chances sneaking into Bernie’s cabin without a diversion when she heard tentative paw steps. Good enough. She slid back around to the tree line behind the cabins and skirted the shadows to Bernie’s place.
He had no locks on any of his doors, so getting in wouldn’t be a problem. The problem would be what greeted her on the other side of the door.
Then came the sound she was hoping for: a loud roar followed by men yelling. Even a few gunshots—which made her feel guilty, poor lion, but given the shooting skills of the Reapers and the alcohol they’d been imbibing, she doubted she or the lion had much to worry about.
She inched the door open, peered through it. Poppy and the other Reaper had their backs to her as they watched the confusion out front.
The lion gave another roar, covering the tiny squeak as Caitlyn stepped through the rear door of the cabin. Poppy stood directly in front of her, yelling directions to his men through the open front door. The second Reaper held a gun loosely aimed at Paul and Lena, but his gaze kept flicking to the window.
The lion must have leapt onto the porch because the second Reaper jumped while Poppy slammed the front door shut. Caitlyn rushed in before either man could respond, jamming her service weapon into Poppy’s ear and spinning him to use as cover between herself and the other Reaper.
“Drop it,” she ordered. The Reaper raised his hands then remembered he had the gun and looked at it uncertainly. “Put your gun on the floor and back out the front door. Unless you want to see his brains splattered all over those pretty boots of yours, do it now!”
Poppy nodded to the Reaper. “Do what she says.”
His voice was calm, too calm for her taste, but that was okay. There was enough adrenaline rushing through her system for both of them. She jerked Poppy back away from the door, giving the Reaper room to go through it.
“Paul, get his gun. Lena, secure the doors, front and back.”
Paul picked up the gun, holding it like he’d seen in the movies.
“Finger off the trigger, please,” she coaxed him. “Just hand it to me. Good. Now search Poppy for weapons.”
“This is a mistake,” Poppy said.
Caitlyn ignored him. “Take his phone as well,” she told Paul. Lena was having trouble with the doors. “Shove a chair under the knob. And close those curtains. Be careful, stay low, below them.” It was like having kindergartners as partners. She wished Goose were here.
Paul finished searching Poppy. Caitlyn would do a more thorough job as soon as she had the man restrained. She handed Paul the duct tape and
moved to the side while Paul taped Poppy’s wrists. “Tighter. That’s it. Take the tape the whole way up to his elbows.”
Where to put the man? She wanted him out of the way so she could concentrate on the rest of the plan—which she hadn’t quite come up with yet. She remembered the large, windowless closet where Bernie had his stash of comic books. “Lena, clear as much out of that closet as you can—take the clothes bar out as well.”
A few minutes later she had Poppy on the floor of the closet, his ankles bound, and all his weapons or anything he could use as a weapon removed. She squatted before him, still holding the Glock as she perused his satellite phone. “I’m betting I’ll find a whole bunch of calls to my uncle Jimmy on here.”
He smiled—the kind of smile that would make a rattlesnake turn tail and run. “Of course you will, he’s a friend. We chat all the time.”
His answer only confirmed her suspicions. Sorrow and disappointment at Jimmy’s involvement tried to crowd out the adrenaline surging through her. She shoved the emotions aside to concentrate on getting them out of here alive.
“Yeah, I’ll bet. So much to talk about. Like killing a tribal elder to quash any opposition to the casino, framing an innocent man and sending him to jail, arranging for his execution twenty-six years later when he was about to talk, chatting about the best place to kill his own niece. Tons to catch up on. Oh, and don’t forget the whole reason behind all this: the money laundering.”
He rolled his eyes and chuckled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do. Only thing I don’t get is the part about Lena and the pact. The whole thing makes no sense. You already controlled Hale—why upset things now by having him killed?”
He shrugged at her. “Caitlyn, you’re delusional. Paranoid. Let me go now and we’ll get you the help you so desperately need. An FBI agent, recently recovered from major brain surgery, suffering from PTSD after killing a man, now taking hostages? This isn’t going to look good.”
Ahh … and the final piece of her plan crystallized. “You’re right. Thanks, Poppy.”
She slammed the door on him and returned to the main room. Lena was helping Bernie to sit up and drink another glass of Gatorade. God, she looked so much like her big sister, Vonnie. And Caitlyn was going to have to tell her her dad was dead. Shit, sometimes life sucked.
Bernie’s color looked better, but that wasn’t saying much. The chimp had reappeared as well. “Where did it come from?”
“That man, he made me lock her in the bathroom,” Lena said, patting the chimp with her free hand. “Poor Smokey. Yes, you’re such a good girl.” She looked up proudly. “She bit two of them before they got us in here. You should have seen her.”
“Maybe I should put her in there with Poppy to stand guard.”
The chimp bared her teeth in a smile that made Caitlyn think that wasn’t such a good idea—not if she wanted to keep Poppy alive. And she needed him, for now.
Paul paced in front of the window, stopping to look through the crack in the curtains, then resuming his death march. “What are we going to do? They’re never going to let us out alive. Not after this.”
He didn’t sound so appreciative of Caitlyn’s rescue efforts.
“Relax. They’re not going to risk Poppy.”
“How can you be so sure? They’re a bunch of maniacs. They have no respect for the law or one another.”
“You’re wrong. They respect Poppy. He’s not just their leader, he’s like their father.”
He shook his head at her, eyes narrowed in disbelief.
“Just trust me.”
“Yeah, that’s what your friend the biker said. Right before he took off running, leaving us to save his own skin.”
So Goose was okay. Relief rushed over her. “He went for help.”
“It’s been a while,” Lena put in. “And Bernie needs a hospital. His fever’s back.”
“Help him out, Paul.”
Paul didn’t back down. “That’s not going to do him any good if we can’t make it past those guns.” He gestured to the Reapers outside. Had already dehumanized them. Primal instincts: us versus them. “Caitlyn, we need a plan.”
She understood. He was a doctor and a man. Every instinct, hormone, strand of DNA was urging him to take charge of the situation. She lay her palm flat against his arm, felt the stress tightening his muscles. “I have a plan.” Kinda. Sorta. The beginnings of one. A plan that would hopefully get them all out of here alive: reapers and civilians alike. “Trust me, Paul. This is what I do. Tactical situations. Hell, this is what the Bureau pays me to teach.”
He frowned, his eyebrows pulling together at first in disbelief then surprise. She kept herself from rolling her eyes. Even after all this time, Paul was like so many civilians, thought her job was like in the movies: running around in high heels, waving a gun, catching bad guys before the commercial break, and returning to lounge in a cushy office filled with expensive gadgets.
“You have a plan.” His tone was uncertain.
“I do. And you have a patient who needs you.” He still hesitated. “Keep him alive a little while longer, and I’ll get you all out of here alive. I promise.”
Paul knew she never made a promise she couldn’t keep. Part of those control and abandonment and whatever-else-was-screwed-up-inside-her-psyche issues.
He nodded. Surprised her by pulling her close and kissing the top of her head. “Okay. I trust you. I believe in you.”
The simple words stole her breath. She couldn’t remember anyone ever saying them before. Not to her.
Paul grabbed a bottle of ibuprofen from the kitchenette and moved to help Bernie. Caitlyn raised Poppy’s phone as she took a look out the window. No sign of the lion. No blood that she could see, either. Lion 1, Reapers 0.
The Reapers had arranged themselves in a semicircle, weapons pointed at the cabin, but they were arguing about something. Without Poppy or Weasel to lead them, they were confused about how to best save Poppy.
A few of them were even leaving. Good.
But that still left way too many guns in a way too volatile situation. She needed more good guys here to contain things. And fast.
She used Poppy’s sat phone and started with the sheriff’s department. Then called the state police. And finally the FBI office in Asheville, just to let them know what was going on. Between the three jurisdictions and the mutual aid Sheriff Markle was calling in from Bryson City and the tribal police, she figured she’d have plenty of good guys here. Only problem was, it was going to take at least forty minutes before the first SWAT team could be mobilized and make a safe approach up the mountain—they couldn’t risk flying in directly, too easy for a Reaper to take down a helicopter.
Who could get here faster? Without the Reapers shooting at them? That had been the question she’d been wrestling with. Until Poppy provided the solution.
Caitlyn raised the phone once more. “This is FBI Supervisory Special Agent Caitlyn Tierney. I need to reach the film crew on location for the Reapers’ charity poker run. No, I can hold. You might want to tell them it’s an exclusive on a hostage situation. Am I a hostage? No, ma’am. I’m the hostage taker.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Lena curled up beside Bernie, trying her best to look brave for him, to stay calm. Smokey knew the truth, that Lena was anything but calm, that she was terrified, and lay her head against Lena’s thigh, patting and rubbing Lena’s back.
Men with guns, men who wanted to kill them—kill her—Bernie so very sick, car chases and motorcycles and, and, and … it was all too much. She wanted to be home. With her books. Or in the library. Or talking history with Dr. Bearmeat. Or watching one of those old TV shows with Bernie. Anywhere but here where she was scared and confused and lost and alone.
So very, very, alone.
Her mother’s voice filled her head. Hush, hush. You’re not alone, child. You’re never alone. I’m here and Vonnie and your Father. Trust in your Father.
> Lena knew she was just imaging her mother’s gentle words, but they helped to focus her. God had saved her. Over and over. He had protected her. Mom was right: Lena had to trust Him now. Keep the faith. It was the only thing that would save her.
Caitlyn sent the other man, the doctor, to the back of the house. Something about standing guard. Then she turned and sat on the edge of the bed, looking at Lena with sorrow in her eyes.
“I remember you when you were still in diapers.”
“You knew my sister.”
“Vonnie was my best friend. Best friend I ever had. I was sorry to hear about her and your mother.”
Lena looked away, blinked hard. She felt ready to crack like a glass plunged too fast into hot water. She closed her eyes, steeling herself. Caitlyn was trying to tell her something, something bad.
Her fears were confirmed when Caitlyn reached past Bernie’s feet and Smokey’s body to take Lena’s hand. “I saw your father yesterday.”
Lena opened her eyes but couldn’t look at Caitlyn.
“I’m sorry, Lena. He’s dead.”
It took all her energy to absorb the words. Bernie pushed himself up and held her as she fought to twist Caitlyn’s words into something else, some lie she could hold on to. Like maybe he was hurt or he was ill, not … but there was no denying what Caitlyn had really said. Eli was dead.
“How?”
“Stabbed. They caught the men who did it.”
Lena just kept nodding. She couldn’t stop herself. If she tried, she knew she’d fall apart, never pull herself back together again. She hugged herself, hard, one hand reaching for Bernie’s. Then Caitlyn pressed something into her other hand. A small pocket-sized sketchbook. “He wanted you to have this.”
Lena’s fingers tightened so hard around the notebook that she folded it in two. She sniffed and rubbed her eyes with her free hand, then wiped the tears from her hand onto her slacks. Bernie pressed his body against hers from behind, Smokey from the side. Their warmth was comforting. She stared at the notebook. Something of her dad. She’d never had that before. Never had anything except memories that she’d finally realized were lies. Lies within lies. What was inside here, the truth at last?