Harlequin Superromance November 2013 - Bundle 1 of 2

by Mary Brady

  When I let the son of a bitch hug her, right in front of me.

  “She said he kept touching her. I thought...I thought Duane just didn’t want to let himself recognize that she was growing up. That maybe he was being insensitive. And you saw him!” His voice rose. “He was so desperate to find her.”

  “He was,” Colin said harshly. “Because he’d lost her. Finding her was life or death for him. He didn’t even have to pretend.”

  There was quiet for a moment. “You really think?”

  “I think.” Choking on his rage, he ended the call. If only her father had said something back then. Said something since she’d come home. He’d known how vulnerable she was, stripped of memory.

  Marc Dubeau had felt so guilty, he hadn’t wanted to believe.

  He’d kept his mouth shut, but he hadn’t invited his brother-in-law to his home to see Maddie after she returned, Colin realized. It wasn’t only chance that Nell hadn’t seen Duane until Colin himself had committed the catastrophic mistake of bringing the two face-to-face while giving Duane reason to suspect where she was living.

  Where she could be found and grabbed, in a horrific replay of the night she had saved herself.

  And through his smug belief that he’d known what he was doing, that he could keep her safe, Colin was responsible for her coming home in the first place.

  So I could feel good about finding her, he thought, sickened.

  He circled the 4Runner and got in. It wasn’t too late. He couldn’t let himself give in to the fear that he and Marc were both wrong.

  He had one chance to rescue Nell. Only one. He was throwing the dice, believing his friend and mentor was a monster. If they found Duane, and he had nothing to do with Nell’s disappearance...

  Colin held on to the steering wheel so hard it creaked. It was all that kept him from being swept away by the vicious, dark current of despair.

  Finally, he was able to loosen his fingers and reach again for his phone. Go to “missed calls.” Hit “reply.”

  * * *

  BY SCRUNCHING HERSELF into the back of the trunk, Nell managed to pry up a corner of the mat. The ripping sound of velcro parting made her cringe, but the car didn’t slow. She stuck her hand blindly into the hole. Almost immediately she felt a smooth surface that, when she wrapped her fingers around it, felt like...a can? Pop or beer, maybe? But it was too lightweight and yet didn’t have the give of an empty aluminum can. Exploring, she discovered one end had a nozzle. Oh. She carried one of those in the trunk of her own car, to add air to a low tire.

  She set it aside and kept groping. She’d just gripped hard metal when she caught the flash of red from taillights. Unable to brace herself in time, she was abruptly flung to one side, banging her head.

  Her eyes burned with tears. The ride, she realized immediately, was rougher. The driver had turned off a main road. Earlier, she’d heard passing cars, but now there was only silence except for the rumble of the engine. Her sense of desperation increased.

  Nell levered herself back to where she could reach the hole. Had to pull up the carpet again. This time, she closed her fingers right away on what felt like metal pipe. With tugging and maneuvering, she pulled the tire iron out.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  Then, despite the pounding in her head, she tried to reason out whether it would be better to pretend to be unconscious and let her assailant pull her out of the trunk...or to surprise him immediately by swinging the tire iron.

  The car braked and came to a stop, but although she froze in dread, the engine remained running. The car door opened; were those footsteps she heard? A second person joining the first? Or...? No, the driver had gotten out. Now she heard him returning, getting back in. Had he picked something up? Dropped something off? All she knew was that the door slammed, and the car started forward again.

  He opened a garage door—

  No, she’d have heard the rumble of it on its tracks.

  A gate?

  She didn’t have long.

  * * *

  “WHY DON’T YOU answer your phone?” snapped Jeremy Bronecki, the department’s electronics whizz.

  “I had another call.”

  “That other cell phone you wanted me to trace?” Clearly Jeremy didn’t care what Colin’s excuse was. “It’s on the move. It was going north on 97, but it just veered off. East.”

  “It’s not between here and Portland.”

  “Huh? No. Damn, I think it may be that road to Quail Butte.”

  Another volcanic cinder cone. Not as large as the better-known Lava Butte but possessing a modest interpretive center for visitors and a road to the summit. A field of rough lava stretched to the north. A few paved paths wound through it, one providing access to a lengthy lava tube, locked and closed off except during tours. A gate closed the road leading into the butte at night—maybe for the entire winter, Colin didn’t know—but it could be smashed. Or Duane might not try to drive to the top at all. He could carry Nell’s body far enough to bury her in the loose cinder cones. Shove her in one of the smaller, seldom visited lava caves that riddled the area.

  Colin remembered the gruesome story the Crook County sergeant had told him, about the teenagers sliding down the side of Lava Butte. One boy’s foot smashing a human skull.

  He had to get a helicopter in the air now, and by God he was going to be on it.

  He barely managed a “thanks.” A few calls later, Butte County Sheriff’s Department was tracking down a pilot for their search-and-rescue helicopter. Even as he made and took more phone calls himself, Colin used lights and siren to achieve maximum speed toward the airfield on the outskirts of the city where the copter was housed. Without even thinking it out, he chose Jane Vahalik to go up with him.

  She listened. “I’ll be there in five,” she said, and was gone.

  Quail Butte wasn’t ten miles off the highway. Duane might already be there, while Colin was tediously assembling his team.

  Hold on, Nell.

  * * *

  THE ROAD WAS rising, and seemed to be curving. She could tell from the steady force that pushed her one way. A never-ending curve.

  Nell pictured the road rising to the top of Angel Butte. But that didn’t make sense. They’d been traveling for a while. She doubted she’d regained consciousness immediately. So...surely not there?

  There were plenty of other cinder cones in the area. She had no idea how many had roads leading to the top. Pilot Butte in Bend, and Lava Butte. But she thought there were others. Perhaps some within the Newberry National Volcanic Monument?

  She would be completely on her own. Who knew when Colin would discover she was missing. Would her parents think to call him when she failed to arrive for dinner? But he would have no idea who had abducted her or where to look when he did find out.

  She allowed herself a pathetic minute of regret. How stupid she’d been with her extreme reaction to him calling her Maddie. He might not love her, but...he’d made love to her as if he did. His kindness, his patience, his tenderness toward her. The way he looked at her and only her. Now he’d never know that she loved him.

  Maybe it was better that way.

  The ache in her chest seemed to crystallize into something much harder: determination. She might be alone—but she hadn’t heard any voices, which likely meant she would be facing only one man when that trunk opened.

  Undoubtedly armed.

  Well, she just wouldn’t give him time to reach for his gun. She would slash out, hard, with the tire iron. Nell imagined it striking his head, crushing the relatively fragile bones of the cranium. It would make a terrible sound, but she didn’t care. He had hit her in the head twice now, with the intention of killing her. She wouldn’t have to kill him, only incapacitate him so that she could grab the car keys and escape.

&n
bsp; She wasn’t a terrified fifteen-year-old this time. She was an adult, small compared to him, but in good physical condition. In a different way, she’d defeated him last time. So why not again?

  The road seemed to be leveling off and the car was unmistakably slowing. A moment later, it came to a stop. This time, the engine went silent. The car door opened and closed, the sound sharp. Footsteps came around the side, the last soft scuff so close she shivered. The key turned in the lock.

  Nell closed her eyes and played dead, her fingers gripped painfully tight on the tire iron hidden beneath her.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  THE HELICOPTER MOVED fast, staying low. Colin stared down at the bright glow of Angel Butte. In the midst of his fear, it seemed unbearable to realize he was looking at thousands of strings of Christmas lights, meant to convey cheer and hope. He was grateful when the city fell behind and below he saw only the headlights of vehicles traveling Highway 97.

  Leaning forward tensely, he held a rifle cradled in his arms. Jane was likewise armed. He glanced to see her looking tight-jawed and as grim as he felt. Like him, she wore a bulletproof vest, hastily donned. Maybe he’d have been smarter to bring a SWAT member—but he knew and trusted her.

  Down somewhere below, Butte County deputies were racing for the turnoff to Quail Butte, too. One unit had been close enough, it might conceivably beat the helicopter there. God, he hoped it would.

  Every time he relaxed his guard, he pictured Nell sprawled, lifeless, in the trunk of a car. Blood matting her hair. Why wouldn’t Duane have killed her before he put her in the trunk? Leaving her alive until he could dispose of her body was taking a risk, as he’d well known after his experience twelve years ago.

  To block his fear for her, Colin thought about the bones of teenage girls that had been found in the tri-county area, the decomposed body of the girl found buried in cinders on the flank of Angel Butte, a death he had investigated himself. Had Duane murdered those girls? If he’d molested Nell, that made him a pedophile. She was unlikely to have been his only victim. But where had he found the others? Had he picked up street kids in Portland and brought them back here? Given them a place to stay at his house?

  Colin swore under his breath. Was there any chance at all Duane was hooked up with the shelter the Hales ran? Did they take in girls as well as boys?

  In the darkness below, he saw flashing lights. The Butte County unit turning off the highway, accelerating again.

  “Coming up ahead,” the pilot warned.

  “We’re ready.”

  Please, God, let her still be alive.

  * * *

  WHEN HANDS GRIPPED her, Nell let her body flop. The trunk light might not be bright enough for him to see that she was still breathing. Even if it was, she wanted him to believe she was unconscious, to fail to notice the awkward angle of her arm that disappeared beneath her.

  With an impatient growl, he rolled her toward him. She used the momentum he was providing to add power to her swing. He shouted with surprise and fell back, but not in time. Unfortunately, one of the cross pieces of the tire iron had skimmed the rim of the trunk, causing her blow to lose force. Still, it glanced off his shoulder and gave her time to roll out of the trunk and—almost—get her feet under her.

  She fell jarringly to her knees, but she took another hard swing and caught his knees. The crunch was satisfying but nowhere near enough.

  “You bitch,” he snarled.

  Nell staggered to her feet and, backing away, brandished her weapon. She’d been in the trunk so long, her eyes were probably better adjusted to the darkness than his. The moon was nearly full, though, shedding a silver light against which he was a dark, hulking figure.

  Where am I? But she didn’t dare take her eyes from him. All she knew was that there was pavement beneath her feet, and that space seemed to drop away somewhere off to her left.

  “Why didn’t you die the first time?” he asked her.

  Taunting him wasn’t smart, but she did it anyway. “Because you were careless.”

  With another growl, he launched himself at her. She swung and connected with his forearm, but he got a grip on the tire iron, too, and wrenched it away. Nell scrabbled backward until she came against the car. She inched along it.

  He flung the tire iron away. Sparks skittered in its path. She spun and raced around the car. Behind her, Duane laughed.

  Nell saw enough to know that they were on the summit of a lava cone, as she’d guessed. No city lights below, only darkness. The crater was greater darkness one way. A trap.

  Ducking, peering through the windows, she saw he had something in his hand now. A handgun. He started around the car, and she ran. A dark building wasn’t far away. Probably an old fire lookout. Duane wouldn’t have brought her here if it was still manned, but getting past it bought her precious seconds.

  Her feet slapped on pavement, then slid on the looser cinders. The gun barked and the bullet bit into the wooden side of the lookout inches from her head. She focused on a small stand of stunted trees growing on the crater rim maybe twenty-five yards away. Nell ran for all she was worth, zigzagging a little.

  He fired again, then yet again. A blow struck Nell in her back and she almost fell, but somehow she kept going. Another bullet passed so close she felt the brush of air, but she was almost to the trees. Almost there. And then she plunged into them.

  Small branches whipped her face and ripped at her parka and pants. She fell and went down once, landing on her wounded side. It hurt so much for a moment she wasn’t sure she’d be able to get up, but she did.

  Risking a glance behind her, she didn’t see him for a moment. What was he doing? Then the headlights of the car came on, shining directly at her, followed by another powerful beam. He’d gone back for a flashlight.

  With a moan, Nell plunged over the edge of the cinder cone, trying to keep on her feet as she half slid, half fell down the steep side.

  * * *

  JANE LEANED FORWARD. “I see headlights.”

  Colin, too, was staring until his eyes burned. He’d seen only darkness a moment before. The lights had just come on. Did that mean Duane had disposed of Nell’s body and was about to depart?

  Not a praying man, he found himself doing it again. Please, God, no.

  The helicopter was rapidly closing the distance.

  * * *

  NELL CRASHED PAST small trees clinging to the steep side and the eroding cinders. She reached the road that spiraled to the summit, dashed across it, had to scramble over the guardrail and plunged once again into the safer darkness. A moment later she fell and rolled, bouncing off outcrops of rough lava. The precipitous descent into darkness was terrifying, but nothing like the man above, so desperate to kill her.

  The sweeping beam of the flashlight found her and the gun cracked again. More burning: this time in her arm. Once again she fell, rolling, rolling until she was sickened and dizzy, but the shots were missing her. Even the flashlight couldn’t keep up.

  She thudded painfully to a stop on the paved surface of the road. Again. Oh, God. How many times did it circle the butte on the way to the top? She half crawled across it. This time the guardrail was almost more than she could manage. Her legs felt weighted with lead as she lifted them, one at a time.

  There was a roaring in her ears, and suddenly a bright light shone from the sky.

  “Drop your weapon!” The voice was deep, metallic.

  She might be imagining it. She felt so unreal now, she wasn’t thinking anymore. All she knew was that she had to keep going. Get away. Find someplace to hide.

  The gunfire that broke out above was part of the nightmare, no more real than her pain.

  She knew she’d reached the base when she fell onto her hands and knees on brutally rough lava.

  * * *

 
THE SEARCHLIGHT SWUNG in arcs, briefly illuminating a dark figure plunging down the side of the volcanic cone. On the next arc, it found a man on the edge of the rim, holding a weapon in one hand and a big flashlight in the other. As the helicopter swung to take up position above him, he lifted his face. Unmistakably Duane, although the vicious expression was nothing Colin had ever seen on this man he’d thought he knew.

  The handgun lifted and bullets began pinging off metal.

  The pilot was swearing, a litany that rang through Colin’s headphones.

  “Hold it steady!” he shouted, and opened the door.

  He knelt, lifting the rifle. The helicopter bobbed and he cursed, grabbing for purchase. The pilot was apologizing and swearing. A hand gripped Colin’s belt.

  “I’ve got you.” Jane’s voice.

  Hoping she was well-braced, he lifted the rifle again, found Duane Brewer in his sights and fired. Bang, bang, bang, bang. He was distantly aware of the rotors spinning overhead. Earphones deadened his hearing. Another bullet pinged off the metal, close enough that he flinched. In his peripheral vision he saw flashing red, blue and white lights reach the top.

  Suddenly the helicopter seemed to find an air pocket and was as still as if he were standing on a platform rooted to the ground. Narrowing his focus so that nothing and no one else existed, he sighted again and fired. This time his target dropped and stayed unmoving in the harsh white light. The flashlight had rolled away, its beam now pointing toward the crater. The weapon was visible a few feet from his outstretched hand.

  My friend. The man who taught me so much.

  A pedophile, and killer.

  “Do you want me to bring us down?” the pilot asked.

  “No, the troops have arrived.”

  Running, the two deputies emerged into the spotlight, both holding weapons out, arms braced. As one kept his distance, the other edged forward, first kicking the handgun farther away. He bent cautiously, then after a moment straightened, holstered his gun and waved at them.

  “Find Nell,” Colin ordered, backing away from the open doorway.