by Gayle Wilson
There was small pile of tumbled rocks, probably dislodged in the same slide that had sent the boulder down the slope. Piled on top of one another, they were just big enough to offer shelter for one person.
When he turned back to explain what he wanted her to do, he found himself looking down into Samantha’s eyes. He was still lying on top of her, and all at once he became aware of her body beneath his. Aware of the fact that this was Samantha’s body. Unbelievably, he reacted. His sudden arousal was uncontrollable. So damn hard. Just like five years ago. Just like forever.
He knew she would have to feel what was happening. With their positions, it would be impossible for her not to. Her eyes held his, widening slightly as she felt the change, the knowledge of his reaction in her eyes.
And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it, he realized. Unless he had a death wish, there was no way to separate his body from hers. No way to keep her from understanding that nothing was different about the way he felt or about the effect she had on him. Another veneer he’d worked hard at creating was stripped away in an instant.
Something was changing in her eyes. Some emotion moved behind them. A question, maybe. Or disbelief. Revulsion. He couldn’t identify it, couldn’t think of anything to say in explanation. There was no explanation for what was going on except the obvious one—he wanted her, desired her. Still loved her, he had already admitted to himself, just as much as he always had.
“I’ve heard danger is an aphrodisiac for some people,” she said. “You got an itch, Chase?” Her voice was very soft, but he remembered, and he understood that what she had asked wasn’t meant to be an invitation.
It was what he’d said to her the night she had come to the ranch. “You just got an itch, and you picked me out to scratch it.” That comment had been prompted by desperation, an attempt to get her out of his house before he broke his word, destroyed whatever honor he thought he still had. She hadn’t understood why he had said it, of course, and she couldn’t know that he had never gotten over how he felt about her. Or know that sometime in the last five years he had even stopped trying. Stopped substituting. Stopped hoping.
I’ve got an itch, he acknowledged. The same one I’ve always had. Only now…
He arched his back, easing his hips upward, trying to lessen the contact between his aching need and the slender body that lay just beneath his. “There’s cover,” he said instead of answering. “Behind us. A pile of rocks. Not much, but it’s our only chance.”
She held his eyes for a moment longer, maybe trying to reconcile his body’s unexpected reaction to the lack of emotion he had forced into those instructions. But finally she gave in, forced to ignore what had happened because he was. Denying the reality of it.
“Why are they shooting at us? They’re the ones who sent us here. We’re trying to follow their instructions. Do you think that means something has happened to Amanda? Why wouldn’t they just—”
“This isn’t the kidnappers. Not the people who have the baby. They wouldn’t want to play games. They’d just want to deal and then get out as quick as they can.”
“You think…You think it’s somebody else?”
He could see the relief of that thought reflected in her strained features. “That’s the only thing that makes sense. Which means we have to get out of here. Take the money with us.”
“Why can’t we stay here,” she argued. “Stay behind the car. We’re more protected here than—”
“Because he’ll come down.”
“You’ve got a gun. Shoot him.”
“He’s got a rifle. And we don’t know where he is. He can wait us out. A couple of days if he has to. And we can’t lose any more time.”
Chase didn’t even realize he’d slipped into the singular. One shooter, he’d already decided—the man who had recognized him in the shop. “In the meantime he can keep us pinned down until he can work himself into a position where he can see us. Maybe get behind us. Then the car’s no protection.”
“But…”
“He wants the money, Samantha, and he’ll kill us with as little emotion as you’d kill a roach to get to it. That’s a hell of a lot of money for down here. I know it doesn’t seem like much to you, but to most people in this country it’s a fortune. Worth a couple of murders, at least.”
“Okay,” she said, nodding agreement. He could see the realization of their situation finally reflected in her eyes, but she had guts, he would give her that. Once she understood what they faced, the agreement to do what he’d suggested had been unflinching.
“You’ll have to take the smaller of the cases. I’ll get the other. I’m going to create a diversion at the front of the Land Rover, try to focus his attention up there. If it works, you should have time to make a run for the rocks. Keep your body down, as low as you can, keep the suitcase between you and him, and keep moving.”
“Okay,” she said again.
“And Samantha.”
“Yes.”
“If anything happens to me, give him the money. Tell him who you are and convince him to call Sam. Tell him Sam will be glad to pay another million if he’ll just make contact with him. Make it worth his while to deal.”
“What about Amanda? If I give him the ransom, what happens to Mandy?”
He didn’t know what to tell her because he still didn’t know anything about the kidnappers. She believed the leader’s promise that he would take care of the baby, but there was no way to really know how a delay would affect them. Amateurs, he thought again. That one fact screwed up any surety he might have had about how they would react.
“Chase?” she questioned his silence.
“Sam can send someone else in after you get back. Get the word out that somebody interfered with the exchange, that we were trying to deal in good faith. Make them an offer. Make it in Melchor Múzquiz. Make it up here. Spread the word. Somebody will respond.”
“They won’t…hurt her if we don’t show up?”
“They want the money. They’ll wait.” I hope, he added silently. For your sake, sweetheart, I hope to hell they’ll wait. “The important thing is that if you have to go it alone, you let him know who you are. Who Sam is. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Now I’m going to move around the boulder and toward the front of the Land Rover. Get the bag and get ready. You’ll see the clump of rocks partway up the slope well behind the car. When I give you the signal, sweetheart, make the run. Low and fast.”
“Chase,” she said, and unable to resist, he looked back into her eyes.
“Just one more thing,” she said softly. He waited, wondering what else she wanted to say to him. Maybe the last thing they would ever say to each other. Was she finally going to ask him for an explanation of what had happened five years ago?
“I’m not your sweetheart,” she said instead. “I’d appreciate it if you’d remember that.”
More of his stupid dreams, he thought, thinking she wanted to say something to him about the past More of his fantasies about his importance in Samantha Kincaid’s life. She didn’t want anything from him, not even an explanation. Just someone to get her baby back.
“Yes, ma’am, Mrs. Berkley,” he said, unable to prevent the edge in his voice. He couldn’t seem to reconcile the woman she’d become with the girl he remembered. The girl he had. loved. Who had been in love with him. The girl whose memory he’d lived with a long time. Fantasy, he mocked himself. Nothing but fantasy.
He eased his body away from hers, careful to stay in the shadow of the overturned Land Rover as he crawled around the boulder on his hands and knees. Once at the front of the car, he could see part of the ridge the road ran along and the rock face behind it. He could even see the disturbance where the wheels had gone off, sending them down into the arroyo.
He reached behind to get his gun out of the back holster. The movement was a mistake because it pushed his left shoulder against the car. The pain blindsided him, blurring his
vision until he was afraid he was going to pass out. He waited for a moment for his head to clear and for the agony to ease before he tried to complete the movement he’d begun. Nauseated, covered in a cold sweat despite the heat, he finally managed to wrap his right hand around the grip.
Ignoring the pain that was gradually easing to a sickening throb, he raised his eyes to scan the ledges and outcroppings on the side of the hill above the road. Nothing moved. He hadn’t seen anything to shoot at, but he knew he had to try something. Somebody was up there. Waiting. Just waiting.
He pushed up onto his knees, exposing as little of his head as possible, but making sure the shooter would at least see some movement at the front of the Land Rover, so his attention would be focused there.
“Now,” he said to Samantha. He moved when she did, raising his body from behind the protective barrier of the car and squeezing off a shot that echoed in the rocks just as the others had. The tone of the revolver was different from the high-powered rifle and under its sound, he could hear Samantha moving. He didn’t turn to watch. His eyes continued to search the rock face, ready to shoot if someone popped up to draw a bead.
Nothing happened, and when he finally turned for a quick look toward Samantha, he could see her crouched safely behind the pile of rocks, the suitcase on the ground beside her.
“I’m coming there,” he said, keeping his voice low. He knew she could hear him because she nodded, although her eyes were on the face above where the road ran, so he went on. “As soon as I clear the back of the Land Rover, you start up the rise behind you. Don’t look back, just climb as fast as you can and then dive over. Got it?”
Again she nodded, but her eyes were on his now. Despite the distance, he could feel the intensity of her gaze. He smiled at her, trying to be reassuring. “Remember what I told you.”
“Chase.”
“Don’t be scared. He’s going to be paying attention to me rather than to you. I’m the one he needs to take out.”
“That’s not exactly comforting,” she said.
“I’m going to be right behind you. Just get over the top of that hill. Don’t look back.”
She nodded again, her eyes still on his face.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Nothing’s going to go wrong.”
“Promise me something,” she said.
He laughed, trying to make it sound reassuring, dismissing. “Come on, Samantha. We don’t have time for this. I’ll promise you anything you want once we’re on the other side.”
“Now, Chase. I need you to promise me something now. If anything…happens to me—”
“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” he interrupted. She had repeated the euphemism he’d used. If I end up dead was what she meant. Only he wasn’t going to let that happen. And he sure didn’t want to talk about the possibility.
“Shut up, Chase, and just listen to me,” she said sharply. “We both know that’s a possibility. If you get out of this…and I don’t, I want your promise. Get Amanda. No matter what happens, you have to get Mandy. And you take care of her. Promise me.”
He should be the logical one the shooter would go for, but there was no guarantee, of course, that it would play out that way. She understood that as well as he did. Take care of Mandy. It seemed to him that should be Sam’s place, or her husband’s, but they weren’t here to make that promise. Just him. Take care of Mandy.
“I don’t know a damn thing about babies, Samantha,” he said instead.
“You can learn. Anybody can learn. Promise me, Chase.”
“Sam and her daddy might—”
“No. You promise it. I don’t go over until I have your word that you’ll get her back and then…if I’m not here, that you’ll look after her.”
A rock fell from somewhere high on the ridge above the road, and they turned to watch it bounce downward. Somebody was moving up there. Repositioning, maybe. They were running out of time, Chase thought again.
“You got it You got my word,” he said softly. Anything to get her out of here.
She smiled at him, her relief obvious, and then she nodded.
“You ready?” he asked, fighting the need to tell her how much he loved her. The need to tell her something that would make what had happened almost five years ago make some sense. She might not need an explanation, but he needed to make one. But there wasn’t time. Not here. Not now. So instead he began to move, and so did she.
He held the suitcase in his right hand, held it as high as he could manage, hoping that it might provide protection against a body shot. He had the gun in his left hand and kept his back bent so low that the run was awkward. He could hear Samantha struggling up the slope to his left He saw the bullet hit the ground at his feet an eternity before he heard the shot. The shooter was leading him, like a good hunter, and he was only a little off.
The boulders had seemed a lot closer from the shelter of the overturned car. He realized suddenly how brave Samantha had been to make this journey, and then to trust him enough to attempt the climb out of the ravine that he’d demanded of her.
He had time to wonder if she was over the top yet when the bullet slammed into the case. It knocked him to the ground, maybe because of the awkward position he was in, maybe because it was that powerful. The case went spinning out of his hand as he fell to his left, driven sideways by the impact. He was crawling almost before he hit the ground, but another shot kicked dirt in his face before he was finally behind the rocks.
He turned, leaning back against them, trying to catch his breath. He became aware again of the pain in his shoulder. It was amazing how much a rush of adrenaline could make you forget, he thought. He raised his eyes, and then said a prayer of thanks when he found that the side of the rise that led out of the ravine was empty. Samantha had made it over the top. At least she was safe. For the time being, anyway.
So was he, as long as he stayed put. The problem was, however, that staying put was a luxury they couldn’t afford. He had dropped the suitcase, and he needed to recover it and then follow the route Samantha had taken up the slope. There would be no one to provide a distraction for his climb.
He turned, edging carefully to look around the rocks without exposing himself to the shooter on the hill. He could see the suitcase. It had slid maybe ten feet down the slope, and it might as well have been ten miles. He couldn’t reach it without leaving the shelter of the pile of rocks.
Half a million dollars. Half of the ransom needed for Amanda’s release.
“Chase?”
Samantha’s voice came from above him, and he looked up and was thankful when he couldn’t see her.
“You okay?” she asked.
“I’m all right.”
“I thought…When I heard the noise, I thought you’d been hit.”
“They got the bag. I dropped it. I think it’s too far out to try to reach.”
“But…” she began, and he could guess what she was thinking. Amanda’s ransom. He had to reach it. But she didn’t say that. “What now?” she asked instead.
Damned if I know, Chase thought. “You need to go. Just take that bag and run. Find a place to—”
“Not without you.”
He didn’t know how to respond to that. He wished he could believe it meant what he wanted it to, but logically he knew it was just a demand for his assistance in getting the money to San Miguel. The best man for the job. The hired help. She just wanted him to do what he’d contracted for.
“I’m going to try for the bag,” he said.
“Chase,” she called again. “It isn’t important. You said they’d take less. You said they were amateurs.”
It was a possibility. He moved again to where he could see the suitcase. Too far. Way too far. If he was going to be a target, he wanted to be moving up and over. Trying for the top of the rise behind him instead of back in the direction he’d come from. And then they could see just how good a negotiator he really was, he thought, with half a ransom to work with.
&nbs
p; “Throw me the gun,” she suggested. “I’ll cover you while you come up.”
He wondered if she could hit the broadside of a barn and then realized it wouldn’t matter. There was no visible target. If she could just get off a couple of rounds in the general direction of anybody moving on the opposite ridge, he might have a chance. Probably about the same chance as he had now, he thought. Somewhere between null and zero.
“It’s coming up,” he agreed.
Here goes nothing, he thought, hefting the weight of the gun in his right hand. If he didn’t get it over the top, he could try to pick it up on the way over. It really didn’t make a hell of a lot of difference, not considering the accuracy of the shots that had been fired at them. If the shooter could hit a tire and a jug of water, he wasn’t going to miss a target the size of Chase McCullar.
This wasn’t the way he would have picked to die, but then not many people got their wish when it came to that. At least he’d seen Samantha again. Had talked to her. Spent a few hours with her. Somehow thinking about that didn’t help. He remembered what he’d been thinking on the way down here. The idea that after this was all over, he’d try to make it right with her. Only now it seemed there wouldn’t be a chance of doing that. So many chances wasted.
He threw the gun as hard as he could. It wasn’t his best throw because he was sitting down, but the revolver sailed upward in an arc and beyond his line of sight. Behind the top, he prayed. Just get over the top.
He heard it hit and thought he could even hear Samantha moving to it.
“Got it,” she called. “I’m ready when you are.”
“Just keep scanning above the road. Fire at anything that moves, but keep your head down.”
“I thought you were the one they wanted,” she said, and unbelieving, he heard the hint of amusement in her voice. “They wouldn’t bother with me. That’s what you told me when I had to climb.”
“I lied,” he said and heard her laugh.