The sky had changed during the day, the steely morning gray morphing into an eerie greenish black. Storm clouds rolled in from Mexico, and lightning flashed over the canyon. Thunder rumbled through the cave, and Grace wrapped her arms around herself, wishing Brady would hurry back.
The lightning, though still distant, was like nothing she’d ever witnessed. Jagged slashes of fire, one right after the other. It was as mesmerizing as it was terrifying, and Grace watched the storm for a moment before retreating back into the cave. She saw at once that the fire was almost gone, and she glanced back at the opening. She had no idea when Brady would get back. If he didn’t come soon, she would freeze to death. She had to get more wood before the rain started.
Without a coat, she had nothing to protect her from the cold, and as she hurried out into the storm, Grace had never felt so vulnerable. The lightning moved closer, and her heart raced even harder. As she stumbled over the rocky terrain, a new terror filled her. Darkness had come early because of the storm. What if she couldn’t find her way back to the cave?
She’d been gathering wood beneath a rocky ledge that jutted out about six feet above her. As Grace turned to make her way back to the cave, she heard a noise somewhere above her, a low, feral growl that sent a chill up and down her spine.
Backing away, she scanned the darkness. On the precipice above her, amber eyes watched her. Terror slicked through her. She tried to remember everything she’d ever read about wild animals. Make no sudden moves. Don’t let them sense your fear.
A flash of lightning gave her a glimpse of tawny fur, a smallish head. A mountain lion, she thought. A large one.
She heard the growl again, and then the cat moved to the edge of the parapet. For the longest time, he stared down at her, not crouching, but alert and menacing just the same.
Something hung over the ledge, and Grace thought it might be the remains of a small animal. If the mountain lion had just fed, he might not attack. But then, in another flicker of lightning, she recognized what lay on the ledge with the huge cat. A human arm. The fingers were curled into a fist.
A wave of horror rolled over Grace, and she said on a gasp, “Brady!”
“Don’t move,” he said behind her.
Relief made her legs go weak. “What do we do?” she whispered.
“Start backing slowly toward my voice. No sudden moves.”
She still carried the firewood in her arms, and Grace clutched the pieces like a lifeline. Her gaze never leaving the mountain lion, she inched backward, in the direction from which Brady had spoken.
After a moment, she felt his hands on her arms, steadying her. From the ledge, the huge cat continued to watch them.
“Keep moving,” Brady said. He took a stick of wood from her arms and slowly raised it over his head. The mountain lion eyed him for a moment, then padded to the other side of the ledge, settling down again with its kill.
When they were about thirty feet from the precipice, Brady said, “Turn and walk as fast as you can back to the cave.”
Grace did as she was told. She glanced back once to see if he was following her, and their gazes met in a flash of lightning. “Keep moving,” he said.
Once they were safely back in the cave, Grace let the wood tumble from her trembling arms. She leaned back weakly against the rocky wall. “I thought…oh, God.” She tried to catch her breath. “There was an arm on that ledge, Brady.”
He nodded, his expression grim. “One of the men on the ATVs. The cat must have gotten to him pretty fast.”
“Is that why it didn’t attack me?”
“Maybe. Cougars are usually pretty elusive. It’s uncommon to even see one, and they’re nocturnal. The scent of blood must have drawn him out of his lair.”
Grace shivered, remembering the sight of that arm. The fact that the man, when he’d been alive, had tried to kill her and Brady didn’t lessen the horror.
“What took you so long to get back?” she finally managed to ask.
“I got the four-wheeler going, so I rode back to the cabin to pick up some supplies.”
For the first time, Grace noticed the stack of items on the cave floor. She recognized her coat, and realized suddenly that part of her chill was from cold and not fear. Drawing on the parka, she warmed her hands over the dying fire. “Should I put on more wood?”
Brady walked over and picked up the rest of the supplies. “We’re leaving. You up for a long ride?”
“On a four-wheeler?”
“Unless you want to walk out of here. Bundle up,” he advised. He handed her the items in his hand. “It’s going to get cold out there.”
It was already freezing outside, but Grace didn’t point out that fact. Wordlessly, she pulled on the thick gloves and wrapped a wool scarf around her neck. Brady had retrieved his coat, too, and his hands were encased in a sturdy pair of cowhide gloves, his head protected by the Stetson. He looked tall and solid, wearing that hat. A little dangerous.
He handed Grace a helmet. “Put this on.”
She took it reluctantly. “What about you?”
“I’ll be okay. Let’s head out. The sooner we get started, the sooner we get to where we’re going.”
“Where are we going, Brady?”
He shrugged. “At the moment, I’m damned if I know.”
Chapter Twelve
The cold bit through Brady’s sheepskin coat, making the wound in his arm throb. A couple of times, on the way back to the cabin, he’d almost passed out, but he’d held on to consciousness by sheer force of will. He’d do it now, too. He’d get them off this damn mountain if it was the last thing he did.
Maybe it would have been smart to hole up in the cave until morning, but he didn’t know how many men might be out looking for them by now. He had no idea how their location had been compromised, but one thing was certain. He wasn’t taking any chances. From here on out, he and Grace were on their own. He wouldn’t even call Mitchell, and the fact that he could no longer trust a man who had been almost a father to him didn’t sit well with Brady. Mitchell wasn’t the leak. Brady couldn’t believe anyone at the Smoking Barrel Ranch would turn against him, but then, he once would never have thought Grace capable of betrayal, either.
Even through the heavy coat, he could feel her arms around him, holding on tightly as the ATV sprinted over the rocky turf. They were on the trail, making good time, but not good enough. Brady resisted the urge to open throttle because the headlight had been broken when the four-wheeler smashed into a rock. He was driving in the dark, literally peering through blackness and trusting his instincts not to skirt too close to the canyon.
The flashes of lightning had illuminated the trail for the first few miles, but then the storm moved on, leaving only the eerie greenish-black sky. Wind whipped against his face, and Brady constantly had to wipe moisture from his eyes. It might have been more practical for him to take the helmet since he was driving, but he wouldn’t have Grace back there freezing. He’d been sent to protect her, but he hadn’t done a very good job of it so far.
At least she was still alive, he thought grimly. Which was more than he could say for Rachel.
First Rachel and now Grace. Both witnesses against Stephen Rialto. How had he managed to find Rachel? Was Rialto the one after Grace, or was Kane behind the attack on the cabin?
It didn’t much matter. Lester Kane and Stephen Rialto were allies. What helped one helped the other. What tormented Brady now was the breach in security. The fact that two safe houses had been compromised. One witness had already been killed. Someone on the inside was talking.
AS THEY DESCENDED into the foothills, Brady left the trail and took to the open plain. Grace was so numb from the cold, she could hardly hold on to him anymore. She’d never been so miserable in her life, and she could only imagine what it must be like for him, his face unprotected from the freezing wind. She wondered how he kept going, what strength he called on to ignore the wind and the cold and the pain in his arm to get them to safety
.
For Grace it was simple. All she had to do was remember her mother’s face, the softness of her voice, the way she would sometimes cling to Grace during their visits. No one had ever depended on Grace the way her mother did, and she couldn’t let her down. She couldn’t.
But more and more Grace realized that she might not be able to save her mother alone. She needed Brady’s help. He was the only one she could trust, but since the attack on the cabin, she was more frightened than ever. Kane was even more powerful than she’d realized. Brady had said that only a handful of people knew the location of the safe house, which meant someone close to him had to be on Kane’s payroll. She couldn’t open up to Brady until she was certain he’d cut himself off from his colleagues.
They were slowing, Grace realized suddenly, and with numb hands, she removed the helmet to gaze around at their surroundings. There wasn’t much to see. The mountains had receded in the distance, and even in darkness, she could tell that the countryside was flat and barren, with only the occasional silhouette of a mesquite tree to break the infinite terrain.
Brady pulled alongside a barbed wire fence and cut the engine on the ATV. The ensuing silence seemed almost preternatural. An uneasy shiver rippled through Grace.
“Where are we?” Her voice sounded thin and harsh in the quiet.
He lifted his hand and pointed to a spot on the distant horizon. “See that light?”
Grace peered through the darkness in the direction he indicated. She hadn’t noticed it before, but there was a tiny yellow pinprick in the blackness.
“That’s the Double U ranch house. It’s owned by a woman named Maddie Wells.”
“Do you know her?”
“She spends a lot of time at the Smoking Barrel.”
“Do you trust her?”
Brady hesitated. “I did, until a few hours ago. I don’t trust anyone now.”
Grace took a measure of comfort in his words. “Why are we here, then?”
“I know this place.” Brady’s gaze scanned the darkened horizon. “I know the habits of the ranch hands. This is Friday night. Payday. They’ll be going into town soon. Maddie’s most likely at the Smoking Barrel.”
“There’s a town around here?” Grace asked in surprise.
“Figure of speech.” Brady shrugged. “A saloon. Mexican restaurant. Post Office. That’s about the size of it.”
No bus station or airport, Grace thought. “So what do we do?”
Brady squinted at his watch. “We sit tight for a little while. It’s early yet. The men will need time to get cleaned up before they head out.”
They sat for what seemed like hours in the frigid darkness before two tiny lights appeared on the horizon. As the headlights drew closer, Grace could hear the sound of a truck engine. The vehicle passed by them, but she held her breath until the taillights disappeared into the darkness. A few minutes later, another truck roared by, and then another.
Brady started the ATV and headed toward the road. When he stopped at the gate, Grace said, “Won’t they hear us coming?”
“Might not be anybody left to hear us, but we’ll go on foot from here, just in case.”
He cut the engine again, and both he and Grace climbed off. For a moment, she was afraid her limbs were so deadened she might not be able to walk, but she gritted her teeth and plowed through the darkness behind Brady. He opened the gate, and she stepped gingerly over the cattle guard.
“The house is about two miles down this road,” he told her, closing the gate behind them. “Think you can make it?”
If he could, with a bullet wound in his arm, then she could. She nodded.
They trudged through the cold until two miles seemed more like ten, but finally the light in the ranch house grew bigger and brighter. Grace could imagine the cheery warmth inside the sprawling house. There would be food, too. She hadn’t eaten since dinner last night. She would give anything for a hot, juicy steak, a steaming baked potato, buttery rolls—
“…wait inside the barn,” Brady was saying.
“What?” Barn? What about the ranch house? What about the cheery warmth? The food?
She noticed that he was limping a bit as he guided her toward the barn, and Grace felt guilty for worrying about her own creature comforts. Brady was obviously in a lot of pain, and all she’d been concerned about was her own empty stomach.
The smell of horses and hay, and a few even more earthy scents, assailed Grace’s nose as Brady opened the barn door and they stepped inside. She could hear the restless stamp of hooves as the horses sensed their presence.
Any other time, the barn would have probably felt chilly, but after being outside in the wind, the interior was almost comfortable. Brady pointed to a wooden ladder that led up to the hay loft. “Scoot up there while I have a look around. Anyone comes in, you keep out of sight.”
He waited until Grace had scrambled up the ladder and given him the thumbs-up sign over the edge of the loft before turning to go back out into the cold.
Grace settled back against the hay, nestling herself into a cozy, little cocoon. She’d almost drifted off to sleep with she heard a faint squeak as the barn door opened, and then a draft of cold air. She thought it was Brady returning and leaned over the edge of the loft to peer down at him. But just as she did so, a beam of light flickered on, and she instinctively shrank back.
Grace could hear the man’s soft footfalls as he walked around the barn. Peering between the cracks in the floorboards, she watched the light beam roam about the interior. There was something furtive about the man’s movements, something sinister, she thought with a chill.
Somewhere toward the back of the barn, another door opened and an overhead light came on. She burrowed even deeper into the hay as she heard a gruff voice swear violently. “What the hell—
“Buenes noches,” the first man said cheerfully. “Tu eres el encargado?”
“Speak English, amigo. You’re across the border now.”
The first man laughed without offense. “Nice spread you have here. Are you the boss man?”
“I’m the foreman, but what’s it to you?”
“I’m looking for a friend of mine. He came out this way looking for work.”
“Work?” the foreman scoffed. “This time of year?” Grace couldn’t see his face, but she could imagine his features—grizzled hair, deeply lined face from years of working in blistering heat and bone-chilling cold. “We can barely keep our regulars busy.”
“Maybe you saw my friend just the same,” the first man said in his accented English. “Tall man. Dark hair. About my age.” He paused. “His name is Morgan. Brady Morgan. He’s traveling with a woman.”
“Morgan? Why, hell. You got the wrong damn ranch. Morgan’s over at the Smoking Barrel. But he ain’t no new hire. He’s been there for years—”
There was a soft spit-spit, and then Grace heard the sound of a body hitting the floor. Below, the horses began to prance and snort, distressed by the intrusion. Inside her chest, Grace’s heart flailed like a caged bird.
The man below was a killer, and he’d referred to Brady by name. He’d come looking for them, which meant, in all probability, that Kane knew Grace was with Brady. If Kane assumed she’d talked, there’d be nothing stopping him from killing her mother. Maybe he already had—
Almost too late, Grace realized the killer was at the bottom of the ladder. She heard his foot move to the first rung, and then the next. In a moment, he would be in the loft, and there was nowhere for Grace to hide. Nowhere to run.
She glanced around frantically. Images of those mass graves in Juarez flashed through her mind. The young college students who had been mutilated by the drug cartel in Matamoras. The people in the drug trade were violent, ruthless savages. She would be killed for what she knew, but not instantly. First, she would be convinced to turn over the tape—
The killer was near the top now. Grace could hear him breathing. Or was that her own breath, coming in short, gasping jerks? She t
ried to sink farther into the hay, and as she did, her hand met something wooden. A handle—
Instantly, she was on her feet. The killer rose through the opening, balancing himself on the ladder as his gaze lit on her. He had dark hair, black eyes, and the whitest teeth Grace had ever seen as he grinned at her.
“Por fin, nos conocemos.”
“The pleasure is all mine.” Grace lunged toward him, swinging the pitchfork with all her might. Blood spurted from his forehead, covering her, and for an instant he stood balanced on the ladder, looking nothing more than dazed. Then, without a sound, he toppled backward.
He landed at the bottom of the ladder with a sickening thud. Breathless with terror, Grace scrabbled over to the edge and peered down. Brady, the dead man at his feet, gazed up at her.
BRADY CHECKED the foreman’s pulse. The man was new to the Double U, not someone Brady had known well. Only an acquaintance who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Another victim of the drug wars when Brady doubted the man had ever taken anything stronger than an aspirin. A belt of whiskey, maybe, for snakebite, chills, whatever other ailment might have come along.
He closed the man’s eyes, wishing he could call Maddie and let her know what had happened, but he didn’t have time for that. Besides, it was like he’d told Grace earlier. He couldn’t afford to trust anyone. Not Maddie, not Mitchell. No one.
Grace was still in the loft, and when Brady climbed the ladder he saw that she was sitting with her head between her knees, fighting nausea. He called her name softly, but she didn’t look up. He was afraid she might be going into shock, and they didn’t have time for that, either.
He walked over and knelt beside her, taking her shoulders in his hands. “Grace?”
She glanced up at him then, her eyes red-rimmed and dazed.
“You okay?”
“I don’t know.” She clutched her stomach, bending low. “Oh, God, I think I’m going to be sick.”
He held her head while she vomited into the hay. Maddie’s ranch hands were going to be in for more than one bad surprise when they showed up for work in the morning, Brady thought grimly.
The Bodyguard's Assignment Page 14