Home Deadly Home

by Janice Kay Johnson

  Christ, he wished he knew where Cassie was. How she was. But it might be better if he didn’t. He was tortured enough by the possibilities.

  He urged his gelding into an easy trot, keeping his gaze on the distant rimrock that could have been ancient castle walls, crumbling yet still standing strong long after the castle had fallen. With the wide open land around him, he felt…naked. Aware eyes might be on him already. What if he and Jed had guessed wrong, and Rick had set up halfway to the rimrock, not on top of it?

  Then I’m dead.

  Grant kept calculating distances. Jed had once been able to shoot and kill a man from well over half a mile away. It wasn’t easy for the mind to conceive that. Rick had much the same history. He, too, had been out of the military for a couple of years, but he might have found ranges where he could stay sharp. It was also possible neither man had lost a step, that they’d be unexpectedly confident once a target appeared crisply in the scope.

  Considering Grant was steadily closing the distance toward the rimrock, the thought wasn’t reassuring. Without a rangefinder, he could only guess when he was a mile away. One mile = 1,760 yards. His mind kept playing with that. His only comfort was that he felt sure Rick intended him to see Cassie before he died, and he surely wouldn’t have dumped her out somewhere amidst the sagebrush and bunchgrass. Grant might trot right by and not see her.

  No. Rick wouldn’t let that happen. She’d be in plain sight – or her location marked.

  Grant knew, suddenly. There’d be a balloon. Of course there would be. If there was…she might already be dead. Hideous pictures of the previous victims flashed before his mind’s eye. Her sprawled, naked, legs splayed. Cassie’s dark red hair, saturated with blood. Her beautiful eyes, blank.

  No. Goddamnit, no!

  *****

  Jed eased forward, passing a fraction of an inch from a clump of sagebrush. No sudden movements. Another few feet to go. He was barely conscious that his knees and elbows were taking a beating. What mattered was that the heavy Cordura fabric saved him from abrasions, or leaving a blood trail. Once behind a fat evergreen shrub ahead that might or might not be a juniper, he risked rising to a crouch to look over the edge.

  Damn. Even without using his binoculars, he could see the man on horseback riding steadily across the flatland directly toward the cleft in the rimrock…and what would be certain death if Jed didn’t get in position soon enough. He carefully separated the stiff branches of the shrub and lifted his binoculars. As he adjusted the viewfinder, the terrain atop the other side of the rimrock sprang into clear definition. Four hundred and fifty yards, give or take one or two. For him, an easy shot – once he spotted his quarry.

  A hint of movement was perfectly timed. Rick Oberg didn’t imagine that he was being watched. He’d pushed himself up to use his own binoculars and watch Grant’s approach.

  The hunter didn’t know he was being hunted.

  Closer, Jed decided, flowing back to a prone position and immediately squirming to one side of the juniper. Damn it, he couldn’t see Oberg from here. He had to gain the slightly higher ground still a distance ahead – and he had to get there before his too-courageous-for-his-own-damn-good boss came into range.

  *****

  A glimpse of black metal made Cassie blink. She had to be imagining it.

  She wasn’t. There was the box cutter…hanging in a sagebrush. Within reach of her foot. Unless in her attempt to pull it toward her, she accidentally kicked it away instead.

  Hurry, hurry, hurry.

  No, being careful was more important.

  Her shoulders screamed at her, but she ignored them. Glad she hadn’t been wearing boots when she was abducted, she gently inserted her foot into the heart of the clump, hooked her toes behind the box cutter…and pulled her foot forward.

  With a tiny clatter, the small, metal tool fell to the rocky ground. Cassie contorted to scrape it toward her. Closer, closer…yes! Now to flip to her other side and squirm backwards until she could pick it up. If her fingers would cooperate.

  She had to fumble blindly. The first thing she closed her hand over turned out to be a rock. Beside it…yes! She had it in her hand. She just couldn’t tell which way the blade pointed, or whether it was upside down. Rick wouldn’t have put it in his pocket without retracting the blade, would he?

  Feel for the button. Not easy when wearing lined leather gloves, and with her hands going numb from the ropes constricting her blood flow. She slid her index finger along what might be the top, until it bumped into something. Push forward. The little obstruction slid half an inch. She had to assume the blade was now out.

  Squirming some more, she pushed closer to the trunk of the juniper to give the rope enough slack. Cassie closed her eyes and envisioned what she needed to do. Rope, blade. Pushing. Resistance…then none.

  It couldn’t be that easy.

  But when she propelled herself away from the tree, nothing stopped her. Awkward as it was holding onto the utility knife, she wasn’t about to drop it in case she was still tethered. Four or five feet away from the juniper, she knew for sure she was free. Sort of.

  Now all she had to do was figure out how to get to her feet without the help of her arms, still tied behind her back. At least she’d changed the dynamic. Rick would surely be disturbed if he realized she was no longer tethered in sight. If he used his head, he’d shrug and concentrate on the real threat – but even a small loss of composure might make a difference.

  Somehow.

  *****

  This was as good as it would get, despite the low branches of the juniper partially obstructing Jed’s view. Trade off; it was also good cover. Trying to get any closer would only increase the chance that Oberg would spot him.

  Jed snapped the bipod into position. Settled himself comfortably, digging with the toes of his boots until he had the traction he wanted. He removed one glove to give him better dexterity. Ballistic science was as fundamental to him as breathing. He zeroed his scope to four hundred yards. At that distance, he didn’t have to worry about the east-west variable. The day was still enough to make wind almost inconsequential. He automatically made complex calculations.

  Oberg was situated in an ideal position to take out Grant. The bipod supported his dun-colored rifle so that the barrel protruded six inches or so beyond the edge of the drop-off. He peered as intently through his scope now as Jed did. It would help a lot if Oberg at least lifted his head. Rose to kneel, better yet. But why would he?

  If he were in Afghanistan, looking through the scope at his target, Jed would go for it now. He discovered he’d been home long enough to change his mindset. He was no longer a sanctioned killer, he was a law enforcement officer. What he probably should do was call, “Police! Step away from your rifle!” and give the son of a bitch a chance to surrender. Except Jed had seen the bodies, seen the dread and anguish on Grant’s face. And if he gave this creep even a tiny window of opportunity, he’d shoot Grant or Cassie.

  Grant had to be coming within range. Oberg was hesitating for some reason, but he wouldn’t for long.

  Jed relaxed, became conscious of his breathing.

  *****

  Reining in his gelding, Grant lifted his binoculars to scan from the cleft in the rimrock to the left. A bright dot of yellow leaped out at him. Having expected it didn’t prevent the sickening terror of having stepped out over an abyss.

  He tipped the binoculars, swept the ground beneath the balloon, even knowing that from this distance he might be looking right at Cassie and not see her. The jumble of rocks and vegetation could hide anything.

  He kept scanning the base of the rock wall, still seeing nothing that didn’t belong. Was she up above with Oberg? He tipped the binoculars up to once more study the top of the rimrock. Twice he paused, once thinking he saw movement before deciding he was mistaken, once because he thought he saw a glint off metal or glass.

  Jed, where are you?

  Grant didn’t expect to receive a call or text. If
Oberg saw him take out his phone, that might signal him to suspect he’d brought backup.

  At a guess, Grant put himself out less than a half mile. Grant had seen what a high caliber bullet did to the human head, both during his military tours and more recently. There’d be no warning.

  His skin prickled, from his toes to his scalp.

  Ignoring the extreme reluctance his body was telegraphing, he gently nudged his gelding into a walk again.

  *****

  Cassie crouched behind a slab of basalt that had broken off the face above. Getting here had involved squirming like a snake through a big, tangled heap of sagebrush. The stinging sensation of scratches on her face scarcely registered. If he came back down hunting for her, he’d be able to find her, but she thought she was hidden from anyone up above.

  Her head throbbed and her shoulders felt as if they’d been dislocated, while she could barely be sure her hands were there. She’d held onto the box cutter, though. If he did appear and try to grab her again, she’d find a way to slash him.

  Huddled miserably, she’d been listening for the crack of a rifle…until she remembered Grant’s belief that Rick used a suppressor and killed silently. Grant could already be dead, and she wouldn’t know.

  *****

  Jed had hoped never to have to shoot to kill again.

  Don’t always get what you want, he thought, but without any great regret. In the past hour, he had regressed, become another man, cold and mechanical, unfeeling. He wouldn’t have been able to go on with his life if he’d allowed himself to feel when he killed.

  Do it. Utterly calm, he breathed in, out. Again.

  His target moved. Pushed himself up, seemed to be staring downward as if he didn’t like what he saw.

  Two more breaths. At the pause, cross-hairs centered on Rick Oberg’s head, Jed pulled the trigger.

  The result was horrific. Predictable. So effortlessly done. Unmoved beyond a faint sense of relief, Jed pushed the hood of his ghillie suit back and rose to his feet. Took his phone from his pocket.

  Grant said only, “Jed?”

  “He’s dead.”

  *****

  Crack.

  Cassie jerked. Fell backward. Grant?

  She wanted to stumble out of hiding. See. But she didn’t dare.

  No, what difference did it make? If Rick had killed Grant, he’d come straight down here. Would the cold be enough to deter him from raping her, even if he was excited? Her head turned frantically as she sought a better hiding place. She’d become a small animal who felt the shadow pass over her, knew sharp eyes had spotted her.

  Knock it off! Show no weakness, remember? If she died, she was determined to do it with some semblance of dignity.

  It occurred to her that she didn’t hear the ATV yet.

  Instead, a horse neighed and the thud of galloping hooves got louder. That didn’t mean Grant was alive, of course. If he’d ridden out here, his horse might be running mindlessly.

  “Cassie?” Grant yelled. “Cassie?”

  Disbelieving, she tried to call out his name. It emerged as a whisper.

  “Grant?” This effort was a little better. Only he was still bellowing her name, drowning her out. Cassie struggled to rise to her feet, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. Her vision blurred. “Grant,” she whispered again.

  *****

  He flung himself off his horse and dropped the reins. God! There was the balloon, and beneath it some white rope knotted around the narrow trunk of the juniper. But the end had been cut and dangled there, connected to nothing. Had Rick changed his mind about leaving her down here?

  Maybe Jed had seen her above. Grant groped in his pocket for his phone, but then he heard a scrabbling sound. And something else. A cry?

  “Cassie?”

  He might have heard a bird, or a squirrel or rat or—

  The footing was difficult. He rounded a sharp-edged chunk of basalt with an odd, contorted juniper growing sideways out of it. Beyond, he glimpsed bright blue.

  Throat thickening, he said again, “Cassie?”

  “I’m here. Only…I’m stuck.” She sounded indignant, her voice slurred.

  Knees all but buckling with relief, Grant could have laughed if he hadn’t been so close to crying. She was alive. Hurt, maybe, but alive. He’d lost hope.

  Just a few steps, and he saw her, crouched in a broken clump of sagebrush. Her face was swollen and discolored, smeared with blood, one eye mostly closed. She wasn’t crying right this minute, but he saw tear tracks.

  “Cassie.” Shit, he might be the one crying. “I’ll get you out.”

  “Rick. Where’s Rick?”

  “Dead,” he said tersely.

  He did his best to rip the damn sagebrush apart so that he could squat beside her. Immediately, he saw that her arms were wrenched behind her.

  “Shit. I don’t know if I have my knife.”

  Glistening brown eyes gazed up at him with absolute trust. “I have one.” She frowned. “I think I stabbed myself.”

  Screw this. He slid one arm beneath her knees, the other – cautiously – behind her lower back, and lifted her out of her hidey-hole.

  He carried her away from the balloon; he didn’t even want to look at the damn thing. Finding a rock the right height and more or less flat-topped, he set Cassie down. “Let’s get you untied,” he murmured, and went behind her.

  She clutched a box cutter in one tight fist. And he thought she was right about the stabbing thing; blood wet her parka around a rip in it. Not so much blood as to be frightening, he decided, removing the tool from her hand and using it to cut several cords between her wrists. When her hands fell free, she moaned.

  “Shoulders?”

  Her head bobbed.

  He tore off his gloves and began massaging her shoulders and upper arms, hampered by the parka but unwilling to let her get colder than she probably already was. He dug his fingers deep, kneading until she was able to stiffly let her arms drop to her sides, finally bringing them in front of her.

  Then he peeled the rest of the rope off her wrists before lifting her parka and the shirt beneath it to see a narrow slit in the muscle to the right of her spine that seemed to be clotting. Finally, he picked her up again, sat down and cradled her on his lap.

  *****

  Cassie couldn’t help wincing when Grant cupped her face, however gentle his touch was.

  He reached for his phone. “We need a helicopter to pick you up.”

  “What? Can’t I ride with you, or—”

  “After a head injury? Not a chance.” He made his call, her opinion irrelevant.

  Normally that would annoy her. Right now…she was too grateful to be alive. To know that he was alive. Too bleary to even understand what had happened.

  “How do you know he’s dead?” she asked suddenly. Yes – that was the biggest puzzle.

  “Jed was an army sniper. I followed Oberg’s instructions and made sure his attention was on me while Jed rode in from the southeast and somehow got up on top without Rick seeing him.

  “What?” She pushed back enough to see his face. “You just rode openly right toward a killer who so happened to be a sniper?”

  He looked grimly down at her, every line in his face etched deep. “You thought I’d stay home? Maybe send someone else?”

  “He wouldn’t have been as eager to shoot anyone else!”

  A nerve ticked in his cheek. “Sure he would. He didn’t hesitate when your reporter surprised him in the alley.”

  No, he hadn’t.

  “Thinking of you doing that scares me,” she mumbled, pressing the side of her face that didn’t hurt quite so much against his chest. He was here; he was holding her, she reminded herself.

  She felt the buzz in his pocket. Grant fished out his phone.

  “Jed?”

  “You find Cassie?”

  She frowned. Something was wrong with Detective Dawson’s voice.

  “Yeah,” Grant said hoarsely. “I’ve called for a
life flight. She’s had a head injury, but she’s talking coherently. She’ll be okay.”

  “That’s good news.” There it was again, the detective sounding weird. So chilly and unemotional, it cleansed his voice of inflections. “I can call for a team of crime scene people.”

  “Yeah.” Grant cleared his throat. “That would be good. Thanks.” His voice broke. “For everything.”

  “Glad it came out okay,” Jed responded, then apparently ended the call, because Grant, frowning, pocketed his phone again.

  “What’s with him?” she felt compelled to ask.

  Grant didn’t move or say anything for a minute. “He just walked into a nightmare flashback, only at the end there really is a dead body.”

  Cassie processed what he was saying. Her “Oh,” was inadequate. How did you thank a man who had killed for you? “He won’t be in trouble, will he?” she mumbled.

  “No. You and I would both be dead if he hadn’t pulled that trigger,” Grant said tightly. “Now, tell me how you got hurt.”

  It was all mixed up in her mind, but she tried.

  As she talked, he kept swearing. Once, after hearing about her seeing in triplicate, he said, “I want to kill him all over again.”

  Her shoulders ached fiercely, but she gave him the best hug she could. “He didn’t rape me. I think he wanted to, but I was unconscious and I guess that wouldn’t have been fun enough.”

  Grant’s growls were now wordless.

  She squeezed harder. “You and Jed saved me.”

  “I’ve never been so scared in my life.” His eyes were the color of thunderclouds. “It’s probably way too soon, and you may not want to hear this, but I’m in love with you. If you’d died…” His throat worked.

  She’d faced a whole lot today, enough to know that she could trust Grant not to hurt her. “I love you, too,” she admitted.

  He groaned, his arms tightening. “I can’t kiss you.”

  “No.” Her lips felt funny. Swollen. “I…think I’ll stay to run the newspaper. At least, give it a try.”