by Hinze, Vicki
Parker reached back, and Caron halted. The gentle pressure of his fingers on her upper arm warned her to keep silent. She was so scared she didn’t think she could talk if she wanted to; just her breathing sounded like a foghorn in the still morning air. What if Misty was dead? What if Parker got killed? What if she never in her life got to hold him again?
Parker crouched down. Caron crouched beside him, more black fear creeping into her heart. Looking past his shoulder, she saw a clearing. In the middle of it, surrounded by mossy oaks, crepe myrtles and scraggly pines, stood a clapboard house, worn and weathered almost black—where it wasn’t green from tree mold. There were two wooden rockers on the front porch, and fishing rods leaned stacked in the corner by the door. A new Jeep was parked in the drive. This was definitely the fishing camp she’d imaged.
Parker felt Caron’s fingers dig into his shoulder. He didn’t look back; he knew this was the place. His stomach churned. Everywhere he looked he saw Harlan on his knees, begging Sarah not to leave him, saw Sarah beaten and bruised and lifeless, lying on the tray behind that silver door.
He pried Caron’s fingers loose from his shoulder and inched forward to the edge of the clearing. Caron crept up behind him. “Do you see the shed?”
“It must be around back.” He could almost hear her heart beating, pounding as hard as his own. One slip. One false move. One mistake. And before they could do anything, Misty could be dead. She could be lying on that cold metal tray.
Inside the house, a TV blared, the sound carrying out into the yard. Wheel of Fortune, Caron thought, recognizing the music. The innocent tune grated at her ears, annoyed her.
Moving stealthily, Parker crept farther to the left, stopping near the center of the house, still protected by the tall grass. The crunching of it under their feet sounded like cannons firing. Caron broke into a cold sweat.
“Stay here,” Parker whispered.
Caron grabbed his sleeve and held on until he looked back. “What are you going to do?” She inched forward and prayed for her pulse to level out.
“Try to see how many are inside.” Parker patted her knee. “Stay down.”
He stole out of the tall grass onto the lawn. Behind a giant spike-leafed laropia, he sprang from the crouch to a bend and sprinted from bush to bush toward the house. Flattening himself against the outer wall, he pulled out his gun.
Sunlight glinted on its shiny barrel.
Caron cringed. He might have to use it. Her pulse was pounding in her ears, and her knees were shaking. Too weak to hold the crouch any longer, she dropped to her knees on the ground—and heard the hiss, and the god-awful rattle she’d so feared hearing. Not now. Oh, God, not now!
Slowly she turned her head...and saw the snake. About three yards from her, it was already raised, poised to strike. The sweat soaking her body became cold chills. Her every instinct warned her to run. Darting her gaze, she looked for Parker. But he was nowhere in sight.
The snake didn’t move. Neither did Caron. She forced her breathing to slow to shallow puffs that barely lifted her chest. Her instincts urged, then insisted that she move. She fought them, and stayed put. Sweat trickled down her back, down her neck and pooled at the front clasp of her bra. Her nerves wire-thin, she stared, terrified. Mesmerized.
The snake dropped down, slithered across a white rock, then on across the bed of mown grass. When Caron saw how large it was, she nearly fainted. Over four feet long.
Something moved to her right. She gasped.
“Shh!” Parker motioned for her to follow.
On hands and knees, they crawled through the prickly brush to the back of the house. Caron saw the shed. The gray slats were as weathered as the rest of the fishing camp, with one exception. A new brass lock hung from a clasp on the door.
A hot rush of tears surged to her eyes. Relief warred with the fear locked in her heart. It was all she could do not to run blindly to it and break down the door.
They inched around to the back wall, and Parker stood up. “Is she in there?”
Caron rose to her feet; her legs were unsteady. Her chest was heaving as if she’d just run fifty miles. “Yes. I know she is. But I can’t see her.”
He hiked his arm and wiped the sweat from his face. Dirt smudged his cheekbone and streaked from his chin to his ear. “There’s only one window, and it’s facing the house. I couldn’t tell how many people were inside.”
Parker lowered his black bag to the ground. “I saw one man cooking something in the kitchen. But the TV was so loud, I couldn’t hear if there was anyone else in there.”
Caron was coming unstrung; her gaze was wild. If she was thinking about Sarah half as much as he was, she couldn’t handle any more pressure. Parker didn’t dare to tell her about the gun the man had set on the counter. Or about the poison the bastard was sprinkling on a plate of spaghetti.
Until the moment he’d seen that with his own eyes, he hadn’t been sure they’d find Misty in the shed. He honestly hadn’t been sure she’d been abducted and was in danger. He’d believed that Caron believed it, but until that moment, Parker himself hadn’t been one hundred percent sure.
Now he was coldly certain. The man meant to kill Misty. And if they tried to stop him and gave him half a chance, he would kill them, too.
Caron gasped for air. Sweat was still rolling down between her breasts. It was muggy-hot, humid. Her lungs protested every indrawn breath as if she were asking them to inhale steam. A heavy-duty adrenaline surge multiplied the effect. “Can we break the lock?”
“Can’t risk the noise.” Parker wiped at the sheen on his brow. “It’s too thick. I don’t have the right cutting tools for it, or the hasp. I’d have to bust it, and it faces the house. We’d be caught before—”
“How are we going to get in?” Caron touched the wall of the shed. Her strength seemed to flow right out of her body, and she crumpled to her knees in the dirt. “She’s here.” Breathlessness invaded, that same sensation she’d suffered just after entering the Rue de Bourbon bar. Caron darted a wild look up at Parker. “We have to hurry.”
“We can’t.” Parker grabbed Caron’s hand, swinging it away from the wall of the shed. “Stopp it, Caron. You’re not going to risk getting killed. The guy inside has a gun. We don’t know yet what we’re up against.”
“But Misty—”
“If we die, who’ll help Misty then?”
Parker was right. Her belly full of frustration, Caron clenched her jaw. “I want to see her.”
“The window faces the house.”
When she showed no signs of relenting, he gave in. “Okay, I’ll cover you.”
Caron inched to the corner of the shed and scanned the area. A butterfly flew from a potted geranium toward the tall grass. A frog croaked. Nothing else moved, and the back of the house was silent. She inched up the wall, hidden from view from the back door and from all but one window in the house. At the front corner, she paused again.
Parker’s fingers brushed hers. She looked back, and he nodded. She made the corner and tiptoed at the dusty window to see over the ledge. It was shadowy inside, streaked with light coming from between the slats. Her heart in her throat, Caron cupped her hands to shield her eyes and pressed her nose against the dirty window.
And there, sprawled on the floor, lay Misty. So still. So very still.
Caron whimpered and tapped a fingernail against the glass.
Misty didn’t move.
She was too late. Too late. She’d taken too long, made too many mistakes finding the right road. Misty was like Sarah; she, too, had paid the ultimate price for Caron’s
mistakes. Her heart crumbling, Caron let out a guttural moan and screamed silently. Sarah!
Her fingernails scraped the glass, making a screeching sound. Not again! Dear God, please, not again/
Inside, Misty lifted her head. Her hair dragging on the dirt floor, she looked up at Caron.
She was alive!
Parker jerked Caron’s arm.
&n
bsp; When she slammed against him, he half tugged, half carried her to the back of the shed, moved on around to the other side, then pinned her behind him.
“She’s alive, Parker,” Caron whispered raggedly. Tears streaking down her face, dirt smudging her nose, she slumped against him bonelessly. “She’s alive.”
Parker squeezed her close and, over her shoulder, watched the house. The man he’d seen through the window came to the back door, looked around, then disappeared back into the shadows inside.
“Take this, and keep an eye out.” Parker thrust the gun into her hand. “Anybody comes out, shoot. Anybody.”
He bent down and tested the strength of the wooden slats. Finding one that suited him, he jerked. The nails holding the wall in place groaned and popped the slat loose. He jerked again to free it.
Caron craned her neck and checked at the corner. A robin flew from one oak to another stirring its branches. Nothing else moved.
A loud crack rent the air, and she spun around. Parker held the ripped-out slat in his hand. Blood trickled from his knuckles. Seeing it, knowing it was his, made her stomach flip. She checked the house. No one was coming.
“It’s just a scrape.” Parker set the board on the ground. He looked into the shed through the thin hole in the wall, then stepped back and nodded. “You’re smaller. Go on. Get Misty.”
Caron passed him the gun and wedged herself into the tight hole. The rough wood scraped her back and chest raw. Splinters pushed through her skin like hot spikes. She couldn’t move. “Parker,” she whispered. “I’m stuck.”
There was a rustling sound, and then his feet were against her hip. He pushed hard, and she broke through, stumbled, and crashed into the far wall.
Lawn tools fell. Metal clanged against metal. Something sharp cut into her shoulder, burning like fire. Shears. Caron swallowed a scream of pain and threw them onto the floor. “A scrape. Just a scrape.”
Time had just run out.
A gun shot split the air.
Parker? Caron’s heart seemed to stop. No. No, it couldn’t be him. They’d come too far, gone through too much. She needed him!
Misty whimpered, and twisted on the floor.
Caron scrambled over lawn tools to get to her. “Come on, honey.” Praying Parker was all right, she scooped the girl into her arms. “You’re going home.”
“My leg hurts.”
Fighting tears, Caron looked down into the dull eyes looking up at her. Misty’s heated body told Caron the child desperately needed a doctor. “I know, honey. Just hang on.
Straightening from a bend, Caron grunted—and saw a long shadow fall across the floor.
She held Misty tighter and looked up. A man she didn’t know filled the doorway. And in his hand he held a long black gun that was pointed directly at her face.
The protective vest was useless.
Looking down the empty black hole of the barrel, Caron’s thoughts whirled. Staggeringly strong empathy pains for Misty assaulted her. Images of Sarah flashed horror scenes through her mind. And a cold fear that Parker had been shot crushed her heart and turned her blood to ice.
The gun didn’t waver. Caron couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. She looked into the man’s eyes. Cold. Indifferent. Uncaring. He was going to kill them. Stark terror settled over her like a shroud. Where in God’s name was Parker?
Parker kept the Colt trained on the center of the man’s back. His trigger finger itched, but... In the second after he fired, the man could shoot, and he couldn’t risk Caron or Misty taking a bullet. When adrenaline was pumping this hard, reaction times were blazingly fast.
Knowing Caron was inside, that the man held a gun on her, enraged and terrified him. The snapping of a twig, the crunching of dry grass, and the man would hear. And Caron or Misty could die.
The plate of poisoned food lay scattered on the ground in the clearing. Parker eased past it. He was out in the open, an easy target, and Harlan’s voice was buzzing so loudly inside his head that he could barely hear his own thoughts. Caron’s face kept swimming before his eyes.
Sweat beaded on his brow and dripped down his face. He didn’t dare wipe it away, didn’t dare make any movement that could distract him, even for a split second. Inching forward, he stepped into a huge red stain on the grass. A fist-size rock lay there, covered with dried blood. Strands of blond hair clung to it and blew in the light wind. His stomach muscles clenched, and bile rose in his throat. In his mind, Harlan screamed Sarah’s name.
No, Parker told himself. No, it wasn’t Sarah’s. It was Linda Forrester’s blood. Caron had been right; Misty had seen the killing.
He heard the hammer of the man’s gun click, heard his voice. Why didn’t Caron scream?
Parker grabbed the rock. He forced himself to mentally count down as he moved. Five, four, three, two—then he threw it at the man.
It clipped his gun arm. The man spun, and his gun went off.
Parker rushed him.
Caron watched Parker barrel into the man’s back. The gun flew from his hand. A tangle of legs and arms and flying fists, they blocked her path. Gritting her teeth against the pain in her shoulder, she stepped back, deep into the shed, and shielded Misty against the wall. The noises had her half-crazy—groans and grunts as dizzying punches were thrown and received. Horrible hollow sounds, fists meeting flesh, bone splintering—the sounds of men locked in mortal combat.
She stood dazed, not wanting to watch, but unable to look away. The man was as big as Parker, street-tough and strong-willed. Entangled, the two of them fell to the ground and separated. The other man scrambled to his feet. Growling deep in his throat, he charged, and landed Parker a devastating left hook to the chin that Caron knew would have killed her.
The color drained from Parker’s face. Cold rage, as silent and deadly as a heart attack, settled like an aura around him. It terrified her...and the man. He began backing away.
Parker let out a cry that curdled her blood, then rammed his fist into the man’s ribs. The man flew back, then crumpled to the ground.
Parker dropped his fist and looked down at him.
It was over. Her heart in her throat, Caron carried Misty out of the shed. Blood soaked Parker’s knuckles. His skin was dripping with sweat, and his chest was heaving as he dragged air into his lungs. “Are you all right, Parker?”
He nodded and spit a blade of grass out of his mouth.
Caron looked down. The man’s face was distorted; a bruise already discolored his cut jaw, and his left eye was swelling. His chest didn’t seem to be moving. “Is he...dead?”
“No. But when he comes to, he’ll have one wicked headache.” Parker drew in a deep breath that heaved his shoulders, and looked at Misty’s closed eyes. He lifted a blood-encrusted finger to her forehead, then smoothed back her hair. “She’s hot.”
Awed that hands that had fought so brutally could now be so tender and gentle, Caron nodded. “She needs a doctor.” Not wanting to frighten the child, she let Parker see from her eyes that the need was urgent.
Car tires crunched on the gravel in the drive.
“Get her out of here.” Parker pulled his keys from his pocket and pressed them into Caron’s hand. “Check the car. If I’m not there in three minutes, leave without me.”
Her mouth parted in protest. Parker pressed a fleeting kiss to it and turned her by the shoulders. “Three minutes.”
Caron ran across the clearing and into the tall grass. Spit upon worrying about snakes; bullets were more lethal.
It was so hot, so humid; in scant seconds she was panting hard. By the time she reached the car, she was worried sick about Parker, fighting for breath and certain she was going to throw up.
Caron set Misty down a fair distance from the car. Wincing against the pain in her shoulder, she checked the car over, as she’d seen Parker do. On finding nothing wrong, she retrieved Misty, then settled her into the tiny back seat, checked her watch, and visually searched the brush for Parker. No sign.
St
retching, she grabbed the thermos from the front seat and splashed tea into its top. Cradling Misty’s head in her hand, Caron put the cup to the child’s lips. Her coloring was a pasty white. Bright red splotches stained her cheeks. And her eyes were fever-glazed. She needed medical attention—now. Caron forced her voice to be calm. “Try to drink this.”
The child dutifully swallowed, then fell back. Caron gently lowered Misty’s head to the seat, then raised up to again check the brush. Still no sign. Where was Parker?
Misty’s leg was red and swollen. “What bit you, honey? Do you know?”
“A spider.”
“The one that crawled up the shovel?”
The child nodded.
It had been a brown house spider—nonpoisonous—unless...Caron frowned. “Are you allergic?”
Misty nodded.
“Let’s go! Let’s go!”
Parker! Caron spun around and twisted into the passenger seat.
Seconds later, they were speeding down the road, a cloud of dust about a mile high trailing behind them.
“She needs a doctor, Parker. Fast.”
“Dr. Z.?”
“Yes.”
His face was streaked with black soot. How it had gotten that way, Caron didn’t know, and she didn’t ask.
He smiled back at Misty. “Hi.”
Misty was too weak to speak. She lifted a limp finger.
Caron frowned and dragged her damp hair away from her face. “What took you so long?”
His smile faded. “I torched the shed.”
“Parker! You deliberately destroyed evidence?”
“Yeah, I did. But I removed everything from the shed first.”
“I’m glad it’s burning,” Misty said.
Caron held Misty’s hand and lifted her gaze. Flames licked at the roof of the shed, crept up the walls. Black smoke billowed in towers up to the sky, and in her mind, this fire mingled with Sarah’s. This building, too, would burn to the ground.