by Janet Dailey
He chucked her under the chin. “You’re a sentimental one. It isn’t even yours.”
She waved him out, not replying.
Bannon did a fast perimeter check, seeing no new footprints. Today’s rain and the intervening time had removed all traces of the old ones. He came around, raised a reassuring hand to her, and unlocked the front door. Without the boxes he and Linc had taken, and the stuff they’d grabbed, the inside of the house looked bare in spots. He hoped that wouldn’t depress or scare her. He went from room to room, catching glimpses of her in his car through the windows when he could.
In another five seconds, he finished up and went back outside. “All clear,” he called from the porch.
Erin got out and walked up the stairs to where he was standing. “Thanks for letting me take my time,” she said.
“No problem.”
She went right to her studio area and stood by the easel, running a hand over a side strut. “I love this thing,” she said with a small smile. “I bought it with the money from the first painting I sold.”
“Aha. It’s not just a thing, then. It’s a good memory.”
Erin’s eyes got shimmery. “You’re right,” she whispered. “I’m sentimental.” He opened his arms and she went into them. Bannon just held her for a while, pressing his lips against the top of her silky head, murmuring words that he hoped would reassure her.
In her own time, she moved out of his arms, but the way her hands lingered just a little bit longer around his middle made him feel good.
“Guess I’d better think about what I want to take back,” she said.
“You do that and I’ll look around for some food.”
She put a hand to her mouth. “Oops. The fridge must be a science project by now.”
“It hasn’t been that long. Providing it wasn’t opened,” he said.
Erin walked to the shelves. “I’m leaving it up to you.”
“You shouldn’t. I’m a man, and men will eat anything. You know that.”
She laughed lightly as she found a bag and began putting small things and art tools in it. Bannon rummaged in the fridge and the pantry too, putting together cheese and crackers and some sliced apples. He ate and watched her collect things, offering a cracker now and then.
“Gotta keep your strength up.”
“You’re carrying the easel, Bannon.”
He put up one arm at an angle and made a muscle. “Yeah. I know.”
Erin seemed to relax as an hour passed, then a half hour. She even put on music to work by. The sun was setting when she finally announced, “I’m done.”
He had taken the opportunity to figure out how to fold the easel, which wasn’t as easy as it looked. The floor pieces were surprisingly heavy, which was why it was so stable, he guessed. But he had it flat and leaning by the front door before she was finished.
“Got everything?”
“I think so. I can always come back.”
“No. We can always come back. As in you and me, or you and Linc, or you and me and Linc.” He wasn’t exactly pretending to be stern. “I don’t want you here alone. Sorry to sound like a broken record, but I’m laying down the law.”
“Understood,” she said quietly.
They went out and she carried her bags to the car, then went back to lock the door while he carried the easel. Getting it into his vehicle was awkward, but it did fit with the backseat flipped down. She got into the passenger seat in front and dragged it forward by the top bar. “All right. It’s in.”
He went around to the driver’s side, then realized that he’d forgotten to dust the windshield of Erin’s parked car and start it up.
“Hang on,” he said to her. “I want to move your car someplace else. Just so the place looks a little lived in.”
“Oh. Okay. Good idea. Let me find the keys.”
She looked in her purse and opened the door to toss them to him.
Bannon was glad to hear the engine start up right away. He used the wipers to dust the glass some, then gave it some squirts to get it cleaner still. He put the car in gear and rolled forward, turning the hatchback to point it in the opposite direction.
It was almost dark but he didn’t bother with the lights, not wanting to blind Erin as she waited. He braked and put the car in park, hitting an unfamiliar button on the dash as he turned the key to off.
The hatchback flew open. He got out to close it, walking around to the back and slamming it down. Something hit him in the head at the exact same second, before he could think to reach for his gun. He went down.
He didn’t hear Erin scream.
CHAPTER 22
The damp ground under his cheek felt like a cold compress. A vague memory of a high school game in which he’d been injured seemed to hover. Bannon reached out a hand and touched the muddy tire of a car. No. This wasn’t football and he wasn’t sixteen. He used the tire to pull himself up, seeing two huge, blinding lights rapidly retreating from where he was.
His gun was gone. Someone had her. In his car. He staggered to the front of hers and got in, fumbling for the key. The pain at the back of his head was unbelievably strong. He felt something crawling down his neck and slapped his hand over it. Blood. Not a bug. Soaking his collar now.
Couldn’t be helped. He hoped like hell his skull wasn’t fractured. But the blood wasn’t running down his face. He could see.
Bannon started the engine and roared after the other car. It was darker now, but he kept the headlights off, hot on the trail of . . . he struggled to recollect the right name.
Cutt. Yeah. Tall and mean. The blow had come from above. Piece of wood. Pipe. He rubbed the back of his head where the blood was beginning to crust, feeling no splinters or jagged cuts. Okay, a pipe. Which meant Cutt hadn’t hit him right, because Bannon wasn’t dead and Cutt had to know it.
The guy was driving like the devil was after him.
Better believe it, Bannon thought fiercely. He wanted to step on the gas, but he kept to a following distance that reduced the likelihood of being seen.
A quarter mile ahead, the other car swerved suddenly. Was she struggling? Hitting out? Maybe she’d caught a glimpse of her car and him in it when he barreled over the last rise.
The dips and long curves in the country road were on his side so long as he drove without headlights. He struggled to get his cell out of a pocket and speed dialed Linc without looking at the phone.
Pick up. Pick up.
“Hey. What’s up?” his brother said casually.
Bannon’s reply was punctuated by swerves. “Trouble. Big trouble. We went back to the house. Cutt jumped me and took Erin.”
Linc drew in a sharp breath. “Where are you?”
“Not sure. The road’s going up. Okay, I see a marker.” He gave the road number and direction to Linc, then looked at his odometer. “I’m about seven miles away from Erin’s house. Ow. My ears are popping. Maybe because I got hit on the head.”
“You hurt? How bad? What about her?”
“I’ll live. I don’t know about her. Right now Cutt is driving. I’m tailing him.”
“Keep the phone with you. I’ll get someone here to geo-locate from it. I’m on my way.”
“By yourself?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“Stealth mode. No lights, no sirens, or he’ll see you miles away. Hostage situation protocols. Make it fast,” Bannon said.
The road gained elevation and he lost Cutt around a couple of hairpin turns, big ones. Bannon put the phone down to navigate. When he picked it up, Linc was gone. He hung on. Turn after turn. Mile after mile.
Cresting another rise, he pulled over when he saw Cutt do the same far ahead of him. He could barely make out a cabin. Bannon had guessed at a shack or a tent. The roughly built structure was nearly hidden, perched on a jutting cliff over a jumble of massive stones that covered the slope beneath. There was only one way in to the cabin—the faint track to its rough-hewn door—and one way out.
It was all he could do not to race down to where they were. The headlights on the other car were still on when Bannon saw Erin try to escape. The tall man dragged her back in and switched them off.
Darkness swallowed everything. Silence was essential when you couldn’t see the enemy.
Bannon put the car in neutral and coasted down, ending up in a narrow ditch lined with broken stones and gravel. He left the hatchback there and ran the rest of the way.
A light went on in the cabin. Propane—he could see the butt end of a large white tank, even in the dark. Bannon moved fast, getting close to the cabin but dodging into pine trees when he heard the door open. Their dripping needles were cold and prickly. Spring hadn’t gotten far up this nameless mountain.
“Got your girl tied up already,” Cutt said into the empty air. “Want to see?”
Bait. Don’t take it, Bannon told himself. He hadn’t heard a gunshot. She was still alive. Probably gagged.
Cutt took a cop stance and braced his gun, firing once into the pines. Bannon ducked before the bullet hit the tree next to him. He caught a whiff of scorched bark and pungent resin.
“Guess I missed. Or maybe you’re dead.” Cutt squeezed off a few more rounds, then reloaded fast.
Bannon stayed down. The other man turned and entered the cabin, closing the door. A thin, uneven rectangle of light around the frame shone into the darkness. Badly built.
Maybe he could ram himself through that door. Suddenly he heard more gunshots. No screams.
Bannon went for it, slamming his body through the door, breathing in ragged gasps. The pain in his head intensified when he saw Erin tied to a chair, her mouth gagged and taped shut. No blood. Her eyes showed her terror.
There were holes in the wall. Cutt cocked the gun right at him. “There you are. Been wanting to talk to you.”
Play for time. “What about?” Bannon asked levelly.
“You and Hoebel had a fight and my name came up. The chief was mad. I got canned the other night.” He smiled unpleasantly. “That’s not fair. I need to get paid more than he does. I got some bad habits and I owe money. A lot of money.”
“Maybe I can help. Let her go.”
Cutt shot him a disgusted look. “You buying her from me?” He lowered the gun and traced Erin’s cheekbone with the muzzle. “I don’t think so.”
Bannon tensed. “What do you want, Cutt?”
“Nothing from you. I don’t trust you.”
A brief silence fell, interrupted by the other man’s laugh.
“I shoulda shot Hoebel while I had a chance. Guess I’ll start with you.” He pressed the gun to Erin’s temple. She closed her eyes and he prodded her. “Uh-uh, blue eyes. Keep ’em open.” Cutt waited until she obeyed, then turned to Bannon. “I’m gonna shoot you in front of her. Teach her a lesson.”
“Shoot me if you want to. But leave Erin out of it.”
Cutt made a low noise when he looked at her, like something ugly was squirming in his throat. “She’s pretty. I was watching her off and on. Until you brought that big barkin’ monster. That damn dog gave me away.”
Bannon didn’t answer. Erin’s eyes beseeched him to . . . do what? He didn’t know what else to do but listen to this psycho and try to gain the advantage.
Erin strained against the gag and cords that kept her bound and silent.
“Good thing the dog didn’t come along with you today. I checked through a window. You didn’t see or hear me. All that happy music playing and the two of you busy packing.”
Cutt had to have driven around the back of the house—but it no longer mattered. He’d stalked them and found them.
“Now back out that door, Bannon. Nice and slow. I changed my mind.”
“Why?”
Cutt stared intently at him and moved the gun like he was marking points in the air. Bannon realized what the other man was doing—per police training, eyeballing the kill spots on an imaginary target. The real targets were printed with a picture of a man. He was the man.
“I don’t want splatter on my walls. Don’t forget I used to be a cop. I know the drill. Someone might come around here when you and her disappear.”
“Let her go,” Bannon repeated desperately.
“Nah. Me and her are gonna have some fun, aren’t we, sweetheart? And then I’m going to use her to get the dough I need out of Montgomery.” He pointed the gun at her again, then at Bannon. “But I’m tired of looking at you. Rain is hell on evidence, so you get to die outside. Slowly.”
Bannon had no choice but to obey. He might beat Cutt if they weren’t in the cabin, even without a gun. In the dark, fights got crazy. He could seize the advantage. Get the bastard by the throat.
An uncertain moon was coming up through a parting in the clouds. White light silhouetted the mountain ridge. Less than a minute to make a move, by his guess. He had to lead Cutt away. Give Erin a chance to free herself, even if Bannon didn’t make it.
He dodged into the woods and lay flat on the ground under wet, dripping bushes. Cutt fired his way and missed. On purpose? He could be making Bannon move where he wanted him to go.
He crept forward, feeling the cool grittiness of rock under his belly when his shirt was dragged out of his jeans. The dried leaves and needles and twigs were suddenly gone—he was crawling into a clearing. A bullet hit the rock near his head and ricocheted, deafeningly. Bannon lay low and listened for footsteps. He wasn’t out of shooting range but he wasn’t easy to see.
Another bullet struck. By his foot this time. Bannon crawled faster, snagging his shirt on a low branch and letting it rip off his back. Suddenly he tumbled right over the edge of the bald rock, landing several feet down with a thump, a bone-breaker of a fall. Knocked the breath out of him. The old bullet in his back made him want to scream with pain.
He rubbed the place and kept his mouth shut.
He heard soft footsteps. Cutt knew this terrain. Bannon didn’t. He scrambled away from where he’d tumbled, pushing hard with his feet. His legs worked. He hadn’t broken them or his spine.
He could hear Cutt breathing up above him.
“Bannon? Try again.” The soft jeering was infuriating. “Climb up. There’s a handhold to your left.”
Cutt knew exactly where Bannon was hiding. He’d probably freeclimbed this boulder fall hundreds of time, knew every nook and cranny.
Knew there was only one way out.
Bannon heard a noise like a thunk. An inside noise. Only place it could’ve come from was the cabin.
Erin. Had she tipped over the chair? Or gotten free? Cutt let out a low curse and backed away. Bannon waited a few seconds, then used his hands and feet to lever himself out of the crevice he’d wedged himself into.
He flipped onto his feet, off balance but standing. The moonlight vanished, swallowed by clouds again, and raindrops pelted his bare skin. Their coldness gave him fresh strength. He reached up the side of the boulder he’d tumbled from and spread out his fingers to hoist his hurting body up and over.
Heavy boots stamped viciously hard on his hands.
With a silent curse, Bannon dropped back down into the rat trap Cutt had forced him into. He kept moving, guessing the other man couldn’t see him well or at all, not if he’d just come out of the light.
Going on instinct and pure fury, he step-climbed smaller boulders and pressed himself into a space between two big ones. Cutt jumped down. He landed badly—Bannon heard him groan. Torn ligament? He hoped so. He listened.
Cutt turned in different directions, listening too. Bannon stopped breathing. He wriggled up between the concealing rock like a snake, using abs, butt, legs, and feet. His whole body worked but it was his hands that dragged him up to the top of the rock.
The other man still had a gun. Bannon lay flat, drawing in badly needed breaths as quietly as he could, not feeling his scraped skin begin to bleed.
Then he heard footsteps. Cutt hadn’t torn anything. He cursed himself for a fool and jumped up. In two seconds they were circling e
ach other.
Why didn’t Cutt just shoot him?
He had to ask. The bullet went wide. Bannon dived down, grabbing Cutt by the knees and taking him with him.
They wrestled. The rain stopped but they were slick with it, writhing in moonlight that made red blood look black. Streaked skin got scraped to rawness on the rock beneath it.
He had to get the gun. Bannon gasped. Cutt seized his chance and jammed the barrel into his mouth.
Gagging, Bannon wrenched his head desperately to one side and chopped hard at Cutt’s arm before he could pull the trigger.
Cutt dropped it. They both reached. The taller man had the advantage. The gun was in his hand again.
Bannon clutched his wrist in a death grip. He forced the other man’s hand down, knowing full well the weapon could go off in a split second, pushing the muzzle of the gun into his attacker’s lean cheek. He held it there.
“Gotcha.” His voice was a raw whisper.
“No,” Cutt said in a dull, distorted voice. The pressure of the gun got in the way of the single word. Bannon jammed his thumb into the nerves and sinews of the other man’s wrist, hard, paralyzing Cutt’s hand.
With agonizing slowness, Cutt let go of the gun.
Bannon had it and kept it where it was. He intended to use it.
Pinned, Cutt stared at Bannon with fiery, silent hatred. In another split second he arched his back and bucked—and Bannon fired straight into his chest.
The explosive force of the shot knocked him off the other man, but he scrambled up, cocking the gun and pointing it at Cutt.
Still holding it with both hands, he lowered it slowly. The other man was dead.
Bannon kneeled beside him to make sure of it, staying clear of the dark blood that trickled over the rock. Raindrops splashed in it. Cutt’s glassy eyes stared upward. He put two fingers to his scrawny neck. No pulse.
He raced back to the cabin and burst through the door. Erin had rocked the chair to the table and was using its edge to scrape at her bonds. He found a knife and sawed through them, releasing her curled hands. One swift cut and the gag was off. She gasped for air, her mouth too dry to talk.
In another minute, Linc and a guy from his crew came through the door. Bannon didn’t look up. He was easing Erin out of the chair.