by Kylie Brant
Joe and Delaney were on their own.
His palms were slippery on the wheel as he slowed at Bruce’s command. He had a sudden premonition of just how this was going to go down and the scenario wasn’t pleasant. His best chance was to try and overpower the man, but Delaney’s presence made that trickier. She gave Bruce leverage. And she represented a weakness for Joe.
“Turn left here and stop. Leave the lights on and the vehicle running.”
He made the mistake of turning to look at Delaney. Her gaze was fixed on the mine, and her eyes looked as though she were peering into the gates of hell. He could see the shudders already racking her body and knew she understood what the man intended.
Bruce reached across her and opened the door, then, with his hand gripping her arm, roughly shoved her out of the Jeep. “Get over here, Joe.”
Adrenaline balling in his stomach, he rounded the front of the Jeep and caught Delaney as Bruce gave her a push toward him. “You two stay in front of me. She’ll remain in the mine and you’ll come with me. Call her my insurance policy.”
Joe didn’t have to feign difficulty propelling Delaney toward the mine entrance. She had her heels dug in the ground like a person on their way to the gallows. And if he let himself think about the terrifying panic she was experiencing right now, neither one of them would get through this alive.
Joe gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. There was no way he’d leave her to fight her demons alone inside that cavernous shaft, but they were going to have to enter it. Grimly, he hoped he could transfer a bit of reassurance through his touch but doubted it would penetrate her sheer terror.
When they reached the mine entrance, a quick burst of hope unfurled. It was unsecured, a sawed-through lock lying at the foot of the doors.
Bruce saw it and muttered an oath. “Open the doors.”
Joe pushed one door forward, and then the other. The hinges screeched with age and disuse and he had to catch Delaney in the next moment, as her knees seemed to go to water. “It’s going to be all right,” he whispered urgently as he held her upright. But she didn’t seem to hear him. Abruptly, muscles that had seemed lax only a moment ago seemed filled with extraordinary strength and she fought frantically, with single-minded determination to break free of his grip and flee this confrontation with her darkest fears.
“Control her, Youngblood or I’ll shoot her where she stands.”
It was only the certainty of that threat that would make Joe catch her and swing her around, moving her inexorably into the mine’s entrance. “It’ll be all right,” he whispered the litany in her ear as he held her tightly before him. “I promise it’ll be all right.”
Delaney could hear his voice but the words meant nothing to her. The only thing she was aware of was the yawning blackness that was drawing closer with every step. Her blood had turned glacial, her throat closed with horror. Her frenzied struggles were instinctive, involuntary. She couldn’t go in there. She knew if she did, she’d never come out alive.
It was like being struck blind, every ounce of light blocked by fallen debris and twisted metal. The interior shrinking until each molecule of oxygen seemed sucked away to leave her to gasp and fight for every breath. She’d die like the rest of them, screams turning inhuman as the certainty of her death loomed closer.
“Find something to use on that latch for the doors. I want your girlfriend staying put while you drive me to get Jonny.”
“I’ll give you the address.” Something in Joe’s voice filtered through the fog of Delaney’s fear. “You go and we’ll both stay here.”
“Nice try. The only way to be sure you’ll give me the right address is to have you drive me there. And keeping the woman here gives you a little incentive to follow directions. Stop right there.”
There were three quick thuds in succession. With superhuman effort Delaney strove to focus on the present, as the past threatened to drown her in a sea of terrifying memories. Blinking, she saw that bullets had been fired into one of the timber supports near one side of the mine, splintering it.
“All right, Youngblood. Back away from her and go pick up one of those fragments. One of them should work in the clasp.”
Delaney stared at the timber, but what she saw were twisted metal beams awash in plaster dust and portions of stone supports, bodies pinned beneath.
Desperately, she beat back the memories, focused on the man’s voice. If she concentrated on something other than the yawning pit of darkness waiting to swallow her up she could think of a way out of this.
She watched, transfixed, as Joe moved as if in slow motion. Her mind ping-ponged between a kernel of hope and utter despair. There was no way out. He bent, reached for the piece of wood. It was a miracle she’d lived the last time, and how many miracles did one person get in a lifetime?
She was aware he’d risen but her gaze had moved past him, just a yard or two to where the interior of the mine turned to inky shadows, as deep and impenetrable as a grave.
Her grave.
The hypnotizing darkness seemed to exhale, brushing her skin with its chilly breath. When it inhaled it’d suck her in, feeding on her panic like a vulture gorging on a carcass. And live or die, she’d be broken. Spirit, mind, body. So much easier to accept it. The specters of the past sounded like frigid whispers in her mind. Just walk into its frosty embrace and let it happen. I’m so tired of fighting. So tired.
Mesmerized, she took a step forward, eyes wide. There were images stamped on the darkness now, mental fragments that had lingered in her nightmares for two long years. Another step forward, and the past hurtled toward her with the power of an oncoming locomotive.
“Move it, Youngblood.”
The snap in the voice filtered through her trance and she stopped, looked around confusedly. And saw Joe staring fixedly at her, saw his lips moving.
She forced herself to look away. He couldn’t distract her now. Not from this. It was too important. Desperation and acceptance warred inside her. Muscles tensed. Time slowed.
And then she whirled, diving for the man with the gun.
“Sonofabitch!”
She’d lost track of him in the darkness. Instead of hitting him square, her body struck him in the thighs and he stumbled back, his legs tangled with hers as they both went sprawling to the ground. Delaney threw her weight onto his gun hand, felt pain explode as his free fist caught her in the face once, twice.
Then she was free of him with a suddenness that, along with the ringing in her ears, dizzied her. She rolled away, struggled to her knees. And saw Joe and Bruce entwined, rolling, exchanging blows. One clipped Joe in the chin and his head snapped back. But even as Bruce reached for the gun that had slipped his grasp, Joe drew back a clenched fist and plunged the sharp wood fragment he still held into the man’s eye.
The scream that bounced through the mine’s interior was an eerie echo from the past. The memories threatened to rush in, reaching for her with eager clutching fingers. But Delaney was moving, racing to retrieve the weapon.
She had an inkling of what Joe saw when he looked up then, a wild-eyed woman holding the automatic weapon in surprisingly steady hands. She recognized the concern in his expression. His grip on Bruce loosened, as he slowly, cautiously rose, keeping his gaze on her face as he held out his hand for the weapon.
There was a single terrifying moment when her mind replaced him with an apparition that lingered from the nightmare of her past. But an instant later her vision cleared and he was there again. Grim, competent and amazingly unhurt. Gingerly she handed the gun to him. An instant later his free arm reached out to haul her close, and a tidal wave of relief slammed into her, turning her bones to water.
“You did good, ’Laney,” he whispered as they watched the man writhing in pain on the ground. “You did real good.”
The blanket around her shoulders should have warmed her, but Delaney’s form continued to be racked with shudders. Her mind, though, was clear as she watched the police work the scene.
The place was swarming with law enforcement, and once she’d rejected the need for medical assistance, the ambulance had taken Bruce Glenn away and left her alone. In the bustle of the crime scene she was all but forgotten as she leaned against the fender of a police unit. Except for one man, who paused frequently to send a concerned glance her way.
The police units’ headlights had the area lit up like near dawn but she kept her gaze carefully away from the mine hulking in the background. She didn’t want to consider how easy it would have been to succumb to its chilly embrace.
The aftermath of the ordeal continued wreaking its private misery. The warmth of the blanket couldn’t quite chase the chill from her skin. Her heart refused to regain a normal beat and her stomach was a twisted mass of clenching nausea.
But she was still standing. She wasn’t sure she could do it without support, but she was on her feet. She’d faced her darkest fears, and she’d done it without the help of a bottle of Absolut. She’d celebrate her private victories in the tiny increments with which she achieved them.
She didn’t fool herself that there wouldn’t be further repercussions from this experience, but she did believe she’d weather them without reaching for that bottle on top of her cupboard. It wasn’t a drink she wanted right now, at any rate.
Joe detached himself from the group of officers and headed toward her. She noted his searching gaze, and thought he realized just how close she’d stepped to the abyss. For once the thought of allowing someone near enough to know her that well failed to terrify her.
“I’ve commandeered one of these rides. Are you ready to go home with me?”
She stared at him, her mind filled with a sort of clarity that had been missing for longer than she could remember. “Yes.” She pushed away from the car and walked toward him. “I think I’m ready.”
Epilogue
Eighteen Months Later
“You missed! I win again!”
Jonny’s jubilant whoop cut through Joe’s reverie as he bounced the basketball to his son. “You’re the champ, all right. Want to go for three out of five?”
The evening air was still warm enough to have them both perspiring. They’d shed their shirts an hour earlier. Maybe with the workout Jonny would be exhausted enough to go to bed without a struggle. It was a good thought, even if he didn’t hold out much hope of it.
His son had gone through a lot of adjustments in the last year and a half. It had only been recently that Joe felt as though he could stop scrutinizing the boy for any signs of trauma over the changes in his family unit. Kids were resilient, far more so than adults, although Joe had undergone a few major changes of his own.
He checked his watch. Thirty minutes to bedtime. He rebounded for his son and pulled up for a short jump shot. When he missed, he turned his son’s jeer into a groan by announcing, “Time for bed. You just have time for a shower and a snack if you hurry.”
“Come on, Dad! Another fifteen minutes?”
Looking down in his son’s eyes he steeled himself against the familiar con and said, “You know the rules. Doesn’t matter if you’re at your mom’s house or mine. Summer bedtime is eight-thirty.” Although the theatrics didn’t diminish, something in his voice must have convinced the boy because he started trudging toward the house.
Joe retrieved their discarded shirts and went to put the ball away. It had been difficult to forgive Heather for what she’d planned to do. Even after hearing her tearful explanation of wanting to get Jonny far away from the monster her father had become, it had been tempting to let it all spill out at the custody hearing. By revealing that she’d learned of her father’s activities and systematically planned a way to run, rather than go to the police, there would have been no contest to the hearing. She may even have faced jail time. She might have deserved that.
But his son didn’t.
The scandal that had swept the reservation when Bruce Glenn’s activities had come to light would be hard enough for Jonny to grow up with. He didn’t need to lose his mother in the process, as well.
Joe headed toward the house. It had taken nearly a year, but he and his ex had come to a wary sort of truce. She’d taken up residence in Chinle and Joe was as fair as he could be with the time she spent with Jonny. It had been over six months since Graywolf had been sentenced, and four since Bruce’s trial.
And it had been three months eleven days since Delaney had left.
The familiar longing traced through him as his mental calendar notched another day. She’d stayed put longer than he should have expected. Perhaps the most remarkable of the changes he’d undergone had been a gradual understanding that he could no more ask her to stop doing what she loved than she would have suggested he stop being a cop.
So he’d stepped aside when she’d taken that new job, swallowing his protests, his worry, and learned to live with the gut-clenching desolation that had been a constant companion since she’d walked away. He had his son. His family. His job. It should have been enough. But ever since she’d left there had been an acid-etched void that no one else seemed capable of filling.
Joe walked over to pick up Jonny’s bike, wheeling it closer to the house when an unfamiliar car slowed and pulled into the driveway. Frowning, he turned and lowered his son’s bicycle.
“I didn’t know superheroes rode bikes.” Delaney slammed the car door and rounded the hood. “Another myth bites the dust. One of these days I’m going to completely lose every ounce of naiveté I hold dear.”
He was at her side in two quick steps, his arms closing around her. “You didn’t tell me you were coming back this week.” He kissed her, long and deep, before raising his head to get his fill of looking at her. “We would have come to the airport to get you.”
“I wanted to surprise you.” He looked good, she decided, staring hungrily at him.
“You’ve got the book done already?”
He hadn’t released her and that was fine with her. Leaning against him, she murmured, “I’ve got enough material, I think. And if not, I can always fly back for a quick follow-up.”
The sordid tales that had emerged from the Graywolf and Glenn trials had ignited her imagination. Following her completed project on the Navajo culture, she’d decided to go to Mexico for an in-depth study of the staging society that existed near some border crossings. Although Joe hadn’t been able to hide his reaction to her plans, he hadn’t tried to dissuade her. At least not much. But even in his silence it had been an excruciating decision to leave, even for a time. And the loneliness she’d experienced in the intervening time away had shortened the time she’d spent on the project.
“Dad!” A bellow from the house interrupted them, and they looked toward the six-year-old boy, clad only in his underwear, framed in the doorway. “Can I have some ice cream? Hey, ’Laney’s back! Did you bring me something?”
Laughing, she called back, “It’s in my bag.” He whooped and ran back into the house. “It’s a carving of Huitzilopochtli, a deified ancestral warrior-hero.”
“Did you bring me anything?” The suggestive timbre in Joe’s voice had a delicious shiver chasing over her skin.
“Just me.”
His face lightened in a rare smile. “That happens to be exactly what I wanted.” There was a look in Joe’s eye, seductive promises that she was anxious to test. “I can’t wait to have you all to myself.” But then he glanced toward the house and said, “But first I have a six-year-old preparing for the nightly bedtime battle.”
“I know. I can wait.”
“Really?” His tone was light, but there was a flicker across his expression. “I was kind of hoping we were done waiting.”
She looked at him without answering. She knew he was asking about their future, and it was a question they’d learned to avoid since her answer only seemed to bring them both pain. But that was before she’d spent three long months away from him. The gnawing pain of missing him had clarified a great many things she’d once had trouble unde
rstanding for herself.
“You’re right.” She stopped and waited for him to face her. And wanted desperately to erase the cautious mask that had slid over his features. “You have waited. I’m sorry for that. I thought…” She struggled to find the words.
There had been a time in the not-too-distant past when she’d thought she’d never have a sense of belonging to any place. Or anybody. That to do so would mean losing a part of herself. But as soon as she’d set eyes on Joe again, the certainty that had been growing in her over the last few months had bloomed. She belonged here. With this man, wherever he was.
“It doesn’t matter what I thought. I love you, Joe Youngblood.” The savage joy on his face ignited an answering emotion and when his arms closed fiercely around her, she hugged him just as tightly. “You had to wait too long for me to say it. To realize it. But I don’t think you’ll have to wait long to hear it again.”
“Good.” He cupped her face in his hand, his eyes searching hers. “Then we’re done waiting?”
“Yes.” They headed toward the house, arms wrapped around each other’s waists, gazes locked. “We’re done waiting.”
KYLIE BRANT
Kylie Brant is the award-winning author of twenty-two novels. When she’s not dreaming up stories of romance and suspense, she works as an elementary teacher for learning disabled students. Kylie has dealt with her newly empty nest by filling the house with even more books, and won’t be satisfied until those five vacant bedrooms are full of them!
Kylie invites readers to check out her Web site at www.kyliebrant.com. You can contact her by writing to P.O. Box 231, Charles City, IA 50616, or e-mailing her at [email protected].
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Document ID: fbd-80b7e3-019c-0c41-0f9c-eac9-a449-de48bf
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 27.04.2010