by Gerri Hill
After forty-five minutes she began to get restless, constantly glancing at her watch. She felt Andrea move close beside her, and she closed her eyes as she felt warm breath on her ear.
“Why don’t we sit? It would be more comfortable.”
She nodded, finding a clear rock with no close cactus to worry about. She pointed it out to Andrea silently, then sat down beside her. She stretched her legs out, trying to flex her ankle. She had it tightly wrapped, but it still ached. If they did find Patrick and there was any kind of chase, Andrea would have to take the lead.
When another hour passed with no activity, Cameron began to question their whole plan. Worse, she was afraid that the algorithm was right and he would choose Devil’s Lookout, leaving Randy and Joey to try to stop him.
As if reading her mind, Andrea leaned closer. “It’s only midnight.”
“What if I’m wrong?”
“It’s only midnight,” Andrea said again.
She leaned closer, touching Andrea’s ear with her mouth. “Patience has never been my strong suit.”
Andrea’s hand squeezed hers hard. “Be quiet.”
Cameron tried to relax, but thirty minutes later, she was visibly twitching as her fingers tapped an unnamed song on her thigh. She finally stood, her legs feeling cramped from sitting so long. She winced as she tested her ankle, the pain shooting up her leg causing her to grab a branch for support. She stopped suddenly as the microphone picked up the sound of a car door slamming, then another. She reached for Andrea, pulling her up beside her. Again, she put her mouth directly on Andrea’s ear.
“We must be extremely quiet,” she whispered.
Andrea nodded.
Cameron adjusted her goggles, then held the microphone out farther away from her body. She could make out the sounds of footsteps on the rocks down below them. Before long, the faint glow of a flashlight could be seen through the trees, and finally, muffled conversation.
“Keep her moving.”
“She’s moving. Aren’t you, little girl? We’re not going to hurt you.”
Hearing two male voices confirmed what they already knew—Patrick had a partner. But hearing the faint whimper of the girl brought everything into perspective. Patrick was bringing his next victim to Tower Ridge.
“Yeah, Charles. She probably thinks we’re coming up here to party,” he said with a laugh.
The whimper was clearer, yet muffled. Most likely gagged, Cameron thought. The footsteps were louder now and the beam of the light was easily seen as they climbed higher. Cameron felt her adrenaline increase, causing her heart to beat faster. She took deep, even breaths, telling herself she’d done this a hundred times before. That much was true. Yet she’d never done this with Andrea. If they were to silently pursue their target, they needed complete symmetry in their movements, something that normally took months of training to acquire. Her only hope was that the level of intimacy they’d established would guide them on a different level.
“I still think we should have chosen a different spot.”
“Shut up.”
And there was no further conversation, just the sounds of the footsteps and the labored breathing that they could now hear. Cameron could feel how tense Andrea was as the trio approached their position. She reached out a hand, squeezing tight on Andrea’s forearm.
As if sensing their presence, it was Patrick who stopped and tilted his head, listening.
“What is it?”
“Thought I heard something.”
Cameron could just make them out through the trees. Patrick was in the lead with the girl between them. It appeared her hands were bound behind her back, and she was indeed gagged. The man in the back—Charles—was armed. Not that this surprised her, but it did complicate things. Patrick swept his flashlight back and forth, then continued on up the trail. Once the group was in front of them, Cameron again leaned close to Andrea.
“We follow, but not too close,” she whispered in her ear.
Andrea nodded.
“The one in the back has a gun,” she added.
Cameron waited until they were thirty yards or so in front of them before moving from their hiding place. She hoped the group’s own footsteps would muffle the sound of hers and Andrea’s. She watched them, counting the rhythm of their steps before heading out, her pace even with theirs.
The microphone was all but useless now, the sound of their steps on the rocks loud and distorting. But she kept it on. Once Patrick stopped, they had to be prepared to take action. She feared the girl would have little time.
She jumped, as did the others, as the loud, high-pitched scream of a mountain lion pierced the quiet night.
“What the hell was that?”
“Cougar, maybe.”
“It sounded close. Let’s get this over with.”
“There’s a stand of trees up ahead. It’s a good spot.”
“Can I do it this time?”
“No, Charles, you cannot do it. But you can play with her afterward, if you want.”
Again, the gagged whimper of the girl was loud. Charles grabbed her hands from behind, jerking them up as the girl tried to get away.
“Now don’t go getting all scared on us, little girl. It’ll be over soon enough.”
“Not too soon,” Patrick added, a sickening laugh echoing across the rocks. “Come on.”
Cameron knew they didn’t have much time, but they had to be careful. Patrick, obviously, was the one wielding the knife. Charles, on the other hand, had a gun. Either weapon could kill the girl.
She withdrew her own weapon from the holster on her hip, silently following them off the trail. She stopped when they did, again hoping Andrea would follow her lead. They had no way to communicate, and she assumed Andrea’s vision was limited.
“Now, Tiffany—that’s your name right? You’ve been chosen to join a very long list of beautiful women,” he laughed. “And a few not so beautiful men.”
“Good one,” Charles said with a chuckle.
Cameron saw that he held the gun loosely, his attention on Patrick and the ritual that was about to occur. She could make out the girl’s eyes, wide with fear—fear Cameron could nearly smell.
“By taking your life, I’m adding to mine. I’ve become invincible. I have the power,” he said loudly as he raised the knife high.
“The hell you do,” Cameron yelled.
Andrea stood frozen to the spot, squinting into the darkness. The flashlight that Charles held swung their way, but Cameron fired her weapon, both shots sending Charles backward onto a mesquite, where he slumped to the ground. The girl sank to her knees, her muffled screams loud in the dark night.
“Back away from her or you are a dead man,” Cameron instructed as she walked closer, her gun pointed at Patrick’s head. “Drop your knife.”
“Agent Ross, we finally meet,” he said. “I thought your little fall might have done you in. You surprise me. I was certain you’d have thought you had scared me off of this trail.” He stared at her gun. “And there’s no need to threaten me. I doubt you’ll shoot.”
Andrea fumbled with the light, finally snapping it on, the strong beam illuminating the darkness. Cameron took off her night vision goggles as Andrea shone the light at Patrick, watching as he dropped the knife on the rocks.
“You’re a scrawny little shit,” Cameron said. “How the hell did you get Collie?”
“Oh, yes, Agent Collie. What a pussy,” he said. “I’m the brains. Charles is the muscle. He didn’t stand a chance.”
“Was the muscle,” Cameron corrected. “Looks like you’re running out of brothers,” she said, obviously taking a guess on their relationship. By Patrick’s startled look, Cameron’s guess was correct.
“John was expendable, Charles was not.”
“Expendable because he was slow?”
Patrick laughed. “He was a retard, yeah. But he had his skills. No, he became expendable when he developed a soft spot for that detective.” He sat down nonchalantl
y on a rock and crossed his legs. “I should have killed her when I had the chance.”
“Why Collie?”
He laughed again. “I got sick of seeing him on TV. The arrogant fool thought he could take me down. He ended up begging for his life and crying like a baby. Big, tough FBI agent my ass. He was nothing but a pussy.”
Cameron took a step closer and Andrea saw the tight grip she had on her gun. “Shut the fuck up.”
“Or what? You’re going to shoot me?” He smiled, showing off even, white teeth. “You have such a lovely little kitten in that rolling home of yours. I’d recommend you not leave her alone. Taking the lives of pretty, young girls is my passion. Toying with animals is my hobby.”
Andrea felt the bile rise in her stomach at his words. She glanced at Cameron, hoping she wouldn’t let Patrick get into her head, hoping she wouldn’t allow him to make this personal. The thought that he’d been near the rig, near enough to see Lola, caused her to want to shoot him herself. But Cameron didn’t fall into his trap. Instead, she smiled at him.
“You won’t get the chance to toy with anything. You’re a dead man.”
“So shoot me then,” he challenged.
Cameron held her gun only a foot from his head. “You think I won’t?”
“You don’t have the guts.”
“I have so many deaths on my conscience, one more won’t hurt me.”
“Then do it.”
Andrea saw Cameron’s finger tighten on the trigger, saw her eyes narrow and she was afraid Cameron would send this miserable little man straight to hell right then and there. As she’d told Andrea, she’d done it countless times before. It was what she was trained to do. But this time, Andrea wasn’t going to let her go through with it. Cameron was no longer that person, no longer a sniper for the military. No longer their assassin
“Agent Ross, stand down.” Cameron didn’t so much as blink. “Agent Ross,” she said again.
Her stern, yet calm voice finally seemed to penetrate Cameron’s senses. Cameron took a deep breath, relaxing the hold she had on her weapon, but Andrea knew the smile on her face was forced.
“No, I’m not going to shoot you,” Cameron said. “That would be too easy of an end for you. Killing a federal agent got you in all kinds of trouble as it is. Of course, we can just haul you back to Texas. They’ll stick that needle in your arm. Lethal injection,” she said slowly as she lowered her gun. “It’s a shame states have gotten away from the electric chair. Because you deserve to fry.”
“I can guarantee you it won’t end that way.”
“No? You going to jump off the cliff again?”
“Will you follow me again?”
“Not this time. Now get up. I’m tired of talking.” She glanced at Andrea. “Cuffs?”
Andrea unclipped them from her holster, tossing them to her. She kept her weapon at the ready as Cameron holstered hers.
“Stand up.”
Just as Andrea was thinking it was too easy—far too easy to apprehend him—she saw the shiny blade of the knife he held. He whipped it from behind his back quickly, taking an expert stab at Cameron. Andrea dropped the flashlight as she fired her weapon three times, her training taking over as her mind tried desperately to process what was happening. As if in a vacuum, she vaguely heard Cameron’s cry of pain. Her focus was totally on Patrick as he stumbled into the shadows, one hand clutching his chest, the other still holding the knife.
She walked toward him, standing just outside the halo of light. He was gasping for breath and—as if an afterthought—the bloody knife fell from his hands. Their eyes met, his filled with pain and disbelief. His mouth moved as he tried to speak but no sound came out. Then he turned, struggling to walk. She lowered her gun when she realized his intention. She wasn’t going to stop him.
She let him stagger to the edge of the rocks, then his body gave way, collapsing, and he soundlessly fell from her view as he disappeared into the vast emptiness of the dark, dark canyon—three hundred feet below. Her mind’s eye followed his progress, his now lifeless body floating aimlessly as it continued its journey into the canyon, waiting to be swallowed up by the darkness.
Cameron.
Jolted from her stupor, she turned and hurried over to her. Cameron, too, was clutching her chest and Andrea panicked when she saw her shirt darkened by blood.
“Oh, dear God,” she whispered. “How bad?”
Cameron shook her head. “I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“It’s my arm, that’s all. It’s not my first knife wound.”
“Let’s hope it’s your last,” Andrea said, now seeing that Cameron was clutching her left arm to her chest, trying to stop the bleeding. She grabbed the discarded flashlight, gasping at the amount of blood. “Christ, Cameron.”
“There’s a first-aid kit in my pack. Bring that to me. Then check on the girl.”
“We need to stop the bleeding.”
“Check on the girl,” she said stubbornly.
Andrea found the pack and tossed it to Cameron. The girl was curled in the fetal position, her hands bound behind her back. A faded blue bandana was used as a gag. The girl was trembling and tried to scream when Andrea touched her shoulder.
“It’s okay, Tiffany. FBI. You’re going to be fine.” She met the girl’s frightened eyes and Andrea smiled gently. “It’s okay,” she said again as she loosened the bandana.
“FBI?” the girl asked weakly.
“Yes.”
“Is he...is he gone?”
“Yes. They’re both gone.”
Andrea untied her hands, then was surprised when the girl flew into her arms, clutching her hard. Andrea held her tightly, knowing the girl needed to feel safe and secure.
“He was going to kill me,” she sobbed. “He was going to kill me.”
“You’re safe. He can’t hurt you now.”
Andrea glanced behind her, seeing Cameron holding a gauze wrap with her teeth as she tried to bandage herself. She was torn between comforting the girl and doing what her heart told her to do—go to Cameron. She decided she’d do both.
She pushed the girl out of her arms, meeting her eyes. “Come with me now. Agent Ross is injured and I need to tend to her. Can you help me?”
Andrea held her hand as they went to Cameron, keeping the light away from the body of the dead brother.
“Tiffany, this is Agent Ross,” she said, positioning the girl on the rock beside Cameron. She ignored the scowl Cameron gave her as she took the gauze from her. “Be nice,” she whispered.
“I was managing.”
“You’re so stubborn.” Andrea peeled the shirt away, revealing a deep, six-inch gash across her forearm. “And you’re going to need a doctor.”
“I told you—”
“You need stitches,” she said, no longer trying to keep her voice low. “Don’t argue with me.” She glanced quickly at Tiffany. “Sorry. Agent Ross is a bit cantankerous.”
“What’s your name?” the girl asked, her voice still shaky.
“Andrea. Andrea Sullivan,” she said. “Can you hold this for me?”
Tiffany came closer, holding one end of the gauze as Andrea wrapped Cameron’s arm tightly.
“Do you have tape?”
“In the pack,” Cameron said. She looked at Tiffany. “Are you okay?” The girl nodded, but didn’t speak.
Andrea found the tape and tore a piece off, cutting it with her teeth. Cameron flinched when Andrea pressed it against her arm. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“We need to call the guys.”
“Yes. I’m surprised they haven’t radioed,” Andrea said. “Surely they heard the shots.”
“We told them not to call unless they had something,” Cameron said. “They’re following instructions.”
“I’ll report it,” Andrea said as she stood up, taking the radio off her belt. “I’m ready to get the hell out of here.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
The morning brok
e slowly in Coyote Canyon, the shadows clinging to the night as if not yet ready to hide and sleep for the day. Night merged with day, owls giving way to hawks, bats to songbirds. The sounds of the horses’ hooves was soon relegated to the background as the sweet calls of birds, the scream of a red tailed hawk and the familiar cackling of busy ravens filled the air.
They were taking the long way into the canyon at Devil’s Rock Trail, the normal route was too steep and rocky for the horses. The trail through the lower end of Sycamore Canyon would intersect with it, and they’d reach Devil’s Rock from the north.
Andrea glanced at Cameron, who, after much debate and a few not-so-idle threats, had finally relented and let Andrea take her to the minor emergency facility in Sedona. The gash took twenty-three stitches to close and Cameron was still dutifully wearing the sling the doctor had provided. Her ankle was another story. X-rays showed no break or fracture, but the doctor had produced a walking boot for her to wear. This was met with a “the hell I will” followed by “just tape the goddamn thing.”
“What?”
“What...what?” Andrea asked.
Cameron raised an eyebrow. “You were staring.”
“I was thinking.”
“What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking how stubborn you are.”
“I went to the doctor, didn’t I?” She pointed to her arm. “And I’m wearing this damn silly sling.”
“Which tells me it really hurts or you wouldn’t be wearing the damn silly thing.”
Cameron smiled. “You’re a little cranky this morning.”
“Missing a night’s sleep tends to do that.”
“We’ve missed sleep before,” Cameron said quietly, and Andrea quickly glanced behind them, hoping Randy and Joey couldn’t hear their conversation.