by B. J Daniels
Jack stepped around him to walk back to his car. Ed had left the door open, the engine running. Jack turned off the motor. He heard him pull the keys. He tried to sit up, his legs on fire. There seemed to be too much blood on the pavement. Hell, had one of the bullets hit a major artery? Was he going to bleed to death in this dirty street?
“I have to get to a doctor,” Ed called to him as Jack withdrew the device he’d used to track him and stomped it to rubble under his boot heel. “If you take my keys, I’m going to bleed to death.”
Jack walked toward him, the keys jiggling in his hand. Ed saw that his gun was tucked into the waist of Jack’s jeans. The other gun was still dangling from the fingers of Jack’s right hand.
“Don’t let me see you again,” Jack said as he hurled the keys into the open doorway of a nearby abandoned warehouse. Ed’s gun followed.
Ed heard both hit and then fall as if tumbling down into a hole. He swore, groaning in pain as he watched Jack walk back to the pickup. The engine turned over and he sped off down the street.
Praying he didn’t bleed to death before anyone found him, he pulled out his cell phone and hit his brother’s number.
* * *
“I WANT TO talk to Cassidy,” Sarah said again to Dr. Venable. He’d pulled out his cell phone but he hadn’t made the call.
“What if I can’t make that happen?” He looked from the phone to her. “I know you don’t believe it, but I’m just an old man whose time has passed.”
True or not, he would do as she said. “You want me to convince Buck to stay in the race? Then you fix it so I can talk to my daughter and make sure she is all right. If something happens to her—”
“You are threatening the wrong person for three very important reasons. One, I have no power in this organization anymore.”
“So you say.”
“Two, while it is true that I have no power when it comes to making decisions within the organization... I alone hold the key to your memories.”
“And three...?” she asked impatiently.
“The Prophecy can pull off the plan without you. But more people will suffer in retaliation because of it. Do I have to spell out how far these people are willing to go?”
No, she thought. They’ve kidnapped my daughter. They’ve tried to kill another of my children. Sarah swallowed the lump in her throat and fought not to show her fear. “Once I talk to Cassidy—”
“I told you—”
She swallowed her fear and drew on her anger. “Make it happen. Or I will take my chances with Sheriff Curry.”
* * *
CASSIDY COULDN’T MOVE let alone speak as Jack slid behind the wheel and, after pocketing his handgun, drove on down the street as if nothing had happened.
He’d driven several blocks before she found her voice. “You shot him. Twice.”
He glanced over at her, looking surprised. “What did you want me to do? Let him kill us both? I only wounded him. He’ll live.”
The coldness in his voice shocked her. What had made her think she knew this man? What had made her trust him? Quaking inside, she tried to catch her breath.
“I’m sorry you had to witness that,” he said after a moment. “But if I hadn’t wounded him, he would have killed me and then gone after you.”
She could feel him looking over at her every few seconds as he drove.
“You do understand that these people mean business, right?” he asked. “It’s like being in a war. You can’t hesitate or you’re dead. You can’t think about the person coming at you with a gun as a man with a wife and kids and dreams. He is just the enemy and it is do or die.”
Her voice sounded small, but calmer than she felt when she spoke again. “You make it sound as if you deal with this kind of thing all the time.”
“I’ve had to deal with these kinds of circumstances before, if that’s what you’re asking.”
She finally faced him again, surprised to find him frowning as if confused by her reaction.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“I told you—”
“You told me you worked on a ranch.”
“I do.”
“But you carry a gun and I just saw how quick you are to use it.”
Jack looked over at her. “I spent four years in the military. I was a sharpshooter.”
“A sniper?”
He nodded.
“But why do you still carry a gun?”
“When I worked for my father, I often handled the payroll deposit late at night, so I started carrying a gun. This city can be dangerous.”
He didn’t have to tell her that.
“I didn’t mean to scare you back there, but Ed was armed. He would have killed me and taken you if I hadn’t stopped him.”
“I don’t understand how he could have followed us. I didn’t see any cars behind us.”
“He didn’t follow us. He tracked us. He put a tracking device on my truck probably when it was parked at the bank. I didn’t want to shoot him. But I had to stop him and I had to make sure he didn’t come after us again. At least for a while.”
Cassidy considered his words. She’d never been in a situation like this. She’d never had to resort to violence. Nor had anyone around her. Growing up in Montana, she had learned to shoot a variety of her father’s guns. Guns didn’t scare her. Men who used them so easily did.
What did she really know about Jack Durand? Only what he’d told her.
And yet she’d trusted him from the moment he’d come barreling into her life.
“Did you get hold of your friend with the jet?” he asked. “Or have you changed your mind about me going with you?”
She looked out her side window. Jump out of the car at the next red light and run. But as Jack slowed for the light ahead, she looked out at the run-down neighborhood and asked herself what she would do then. Call her father? Her older sister Ainsley?
“Beany, if you want to bail on me, I understand. Right now, I suspect you want to call your father, have him call in the secret service or the National Guard to protect you. But there’s something you should know. My father has friends high up in the government. Right now, I don’t think we can trust anyone, especially anyone in the FBI.”
She looked over at him in surprise. He knew what she’d been thinking of doing. “You can’t really believe that your father has men in the FBI.”
“You don’t know my father. Do you recall when we were at his office before you knew who he was? You were looking at the photos of him with dignitaries, presidents and other famous people.”
She swallowed the lump that formed in her throat at the memory.
“You also saw what was in the safe-deposit box. A man who can accumulate that much wealth has friends in high places. Which is another reason why, if you decide to call your...friend Evan, you won’t want to involve him in this and put him in danger.”
This thing with The Prophecy couldn’t be that big, that widespread, she told herself. But then her father was running for the highest office and most powerful position in the world and yet these people had dared try to kidnap one of his daughters. The man who sat in that chair at the White House would have his finger on a button that could destroy the world.
So did she really think that her father’s enemies wouldn’t use everything at their disposal? Even one of his daughters.
She looked over at Jack, studying his handsome face for any sign of deceit. He looked as tired as she felt. That man back there had tried to kill him. That man who worked for Jack’s father. Her heart broke for Jack. Had his father ordered the hit on him? Had her mother ordered the men to kidnap her?
They were in this together. Jack had shot the man to save her. If it wasn’t for him, she would be locked up somewhere—if not dead. Not to menti
on, Jack was the one who had found information about her mother—and his father. If she wanted answers that could make this all stop, then she couldn’t bail on him.
“I’m sorry I questioned you about what happened back there,” she said. “You were just doing what you had to.”
He nodded, but she could see that he was anything but complacent about it. His voice was rough when he spoke. “When I left Iraq, I thought I would never have to shoot another human being.”
Leaning down, she picked up her cell phone from the floorboards, having forgotten all about it when the shooting started. She’d been reaching for the phone when Jack had ordered her to stay down. Seconds later she’d heard the loud reports of gunfire. She’d frozen, heart in her throat. When she’d finally braved a look, she’d been transfixed by what was taking place in the street and too paralyzed with shock to move.
Now, with trembling fingers she keyed in Evan’s number. It rang three times before he answered.
* * *
WHEN HIS PHONE RANG, Tom Durand snatched it up. All he wanted to hear right now was that Ed had Cassidy Hamilton. He had a place all ready for her. It would be just a matter of waiting for Joe to give him the order as to what to do with her.
“Tom?” The voice was old. It cracked with a tension that instantly set his nerves on end. “It’s Doc.”
Dr. Venable? What the devil was he calling for?
“I have Sarah here,” the old man said. “She demands to speak to her daughter. Otherwise, she says she is going to the sheriff.”
Durand swore silently. “Have you called Joe about this?” He heard the old man hesitate.
“I thought speaking to you would be preferable under the circumstances.”
He almost laughed. Even Doc didn’t want to deal with Joe. But he was grateful. All he needed was Joe calling him and wanting to speak with Cassidy.
“Well, I can’t get a phone to her right now. In fact, it could take at least a day.”
“That long?” The doctor sounded disappointed to hear that. “Sarah is quite adamant. What shall I tell her?”
“That if she wants to see her daughter alive again, she will sit tight and wait. And if she puts up a fuss, we’ll take her daughter Ainsley. I have a man in position who can take her out as well. Or there is always Bo. She’s pregnant with twins. Doesn’t seem like a good time to take her under the circumstances. Tell Sarah, it’s entirely up to her.”
Silence, then “I will relay that message to her.”
Tom had disconnected with a curse and quickly keyed in Ed’s number, unable to wait any longer. If Joe found out that he didn’t really have Cassidy...
Ed sounded breathless when he finally answered.
“What’s going on?”
“I can’t talk right now.”
“The hell you can’t,” Durand said. “What’s going on?”
“I’ve been shot.”
The words reverberated in his skull for a few moments. “Who shot you?”
Silence, then he heard Ed talking to someone. “That was the nurse,” Ed said after a moment.
“Who shot you?” he demanded, fearing he already knew. He cursed the day he taught Jack to shoot. He’d been surprised how the kid had taken to it. Even at a young age, he’d been a crackerjack of a shot. It was no wonder that he had excelled in the service.
Tom had been so proud of him. That small accomplishment had given him hope that his son would turn out all right. But he’d turned into a rancher instead of a partner in The Prophecy.
“Jack,” Ed whispered into the phone.
Swearing, the questions piled up before spilling out in a rush. “Jack shot you? How could that have happened? He went to the bank, right? You didn’t have this shoot-out at the bank? You better be dying, otherwise—”
“He went to the bank, just like you thought. I put the tracking device on his pickup. I followed him and when a delivery truck blocked him in on a street in some run-down industrial area, I got out to get the girl and take care of Jack.”
“But instead he shot you and got away with the girl. Wait a minute, did you say nurse? You let them take you to the hospital? The cops will be called. What the hell were you thinking?”
“I almost bled to death,” Ed barked, then quickly lowered his voice. “I told them here it was a drive-by shooting since I was found in an area known for drugs. I called my little brother, Alec. He’ll find them.”
Durand nearly crushed his phone in his fist. “I want results and if I don’t get them immediately—” He disconnected, too angry to speak further. He needed Cassidy locked down. As for his son still being alive, he couldn’t help feeling relieved. No matter what, Jack was his blood.
He tried to calm down and think. First things first, he told himself. Check the safe-deposit box at the bank. Maybe Jack hadn’t been able to get into it. Tom knew he was clutching at straws, but he had to know just how deep his son was in all this.
If worse came to worst, he would have to handle this himself.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SHERIFF FRANK CURRY sat on the picnic table outside the Beartooth General Store watching two young crows playing keep-away with a leaf. The birds had always fascinated him because of their human characteristics. They were smarter than most people thought. Smarter than any cat or most children he’d met.
His cell phone rang. He hit Accept without looking to see who was calling.
“This is Dr. Ken Iverson at the state hospital. I’m calling about your daughter, Tiffany Chandler.”
Frank felt that old ache, as painful as the bullet that had been meant to kill him. “Tiffany isn’t—” He had started to say that she wasn’t his daughter. That it had all been a lie, a revenge plot by Tiffany’s mother. But he stopped, unwilling to get into that with the doctor. “What about her?” he asked, feeling suddenly drained.
An older bird cawed down from a pine bough off to his right. Neither of the young crows paid attention until the older one cawed again, changing the tone. The older one scolded the two young ones.
“Tiffany wants to see you.” The doctor’s tone made it clear that he couldn’t understand why a father would go so long without visiting his daughter. Clearly, Tiffany had pulled the wool over the man’s eyes. The doctor had no idea what kind of psychopath Tiffany was beneath that sweet, innocent-looking face of hers.
One of the young crows reluctantly dropped the leaf. The other started to grab it, but changed his mind. Both took flight, joining the older crow.
Frank had learned from his own family of crows that had taken up residency at his ranch house that crows have a vocabulary of thirty or more unique calls. He knew when they were upset or when they were simply saying hello to him. He could even tell the crows apart by their calls, each unique to the bird.
“Did you hear what I said?” the doctor asked, sounding even more perturbed.
He looked away from the crows. “Did she happen to mention what this was about?”
“I’m sorry but I don’t understand your reluctance to—”
“I’m sure you don’t understand. Tell Tiffany I’ll think about it.” He disconnected and went back to watching the crow family for a moment. The older authoritative figure was giving the two young crows hell, no doubt for not coming when they were called.
All three flew away as Frank’s wife joined him with two small brown paper lunch bags and two cans of orange soda. He’d lost his appetite after the call from the mental hospital, but he took the bag she offered him and smiled as she sat down.
“Are you all right?” she asked, studying him.
“I was just watching the crows,” he said. One of their first dates was crow watching. “They are so much like us and yet they seem to have a lot more figured out than we do.”
She raised a brow. “I’ve seen the
m attack one of their own and kill it.”
He nodded. “I’m sure they have their reasons, probably their form of crow justice. Less inhumane than ours. But I was thinking more of how they form families, adopting loners and orphans. They don’t care so much about blood as we do.”
“You’re in a strange mood,” she commented as she took out her sandwich. She was eyeing him curiously. He studied his wife for a moment. Everyone called her by her nickname, Nettie, but he preferred to call her by her given name, Lynette. It was something he’d started years ago when they were both kids and it had stuck over the years.
“Frank, what’s going on?” she asked, pulling him out of his musings.
“Tiffany wants to see me.”
She had just started to take a bite and now stopped in midmotion. “Why?”
He shook his head. “The doctor either didn’t know or didn’t say.”
“You told him that Tiffany isn’t your daughter, right? That her mother was a lying, murdering psychopath and that the crazy nut didn’t fall far from the tree?”
He smiled over at her. Lynette’s dyed red hair shone in the sunlight, her face was animated, her eyes bright. “I love you,” he said with a sigh.
“So you didn’t tell him.”
“Enough of my dirty laundry has been hung up for the world to see, and what would be the point? Daughter or not, Tiffany isn’t through with me.”
“With us.”
Silence fell between them. The crows had come back. Now there were three young ones. They were teasing each other with a twig and jumping around having fun. The older crow watched from a tree limb.
“Are you going to go see her?” Lynette finally asked.
He saw that she’d put her sandwich down. “I don’t know. Probably not.”
That seemed to relieve her. He dug out his sandwich. It could have been made of cardboard for all he tasted. But he ate it so his wife would eat hers. As he chewed, he thought about the day Tiffany had come out to his ranch and told him that she was the daughter his ex had kept from him for almost eighteen years.