Sighs Matter

by Marianne Stillings

  Deep inside her heart, she hoped she was telling the truth. Taylor and Soldier had no way of knowing where Adam had taken them. It fell to Claire to get her friend to safety, but her leg hurt like hell where the wood had sliced her calf. She knew she was losing blood, and hoped it wasn’t going to impair her strength.

  They shuffled through the darkened morgue toward the only door into—or out of—the place. Since the lights were off, it might not be obvious when she cracked it open. They could move off unseen into the woods and work their way back to the gate. When they got there, well, she’d deal with that problem if they got that far.

  Easing the door open, Claire peered into the shadows. Squares of light across the yard told her they’d gone inside the farmhouse. Nobody seemed to be roaming about the place. Between the doorway where she’d paused, and the dark forest, stood about twenty yards of open space, but if they crouched low and hurried, they could make it.

  “I don’t see anyone,” Claire whispered. “You ready?”

  Betsy nodded and grabbed Claire’s hand. Bending as low as possible, the two women moved out the door and across the open expanse of dirt. Claire kept one eye on the farmhouse as they shuffled along, silently praying their captors would stay inside for a long, long time.

  As soon as they were well into the undergrowth, Claire pulled them to a halt behind the trunk of an enormous fir. Betsy was breathing hard, but said nothing.

  Across the yard, the front door opened, spilling light onto the porch, illuminating Baker, who glanced over at the barn. He yelled something back into the house, then ran across the yard and through the partially open door, Fuentes and Adam close on his heels.

  “Damn,” Claire choked. “We’ve got to get farther into the woods. They’ll have flashlights and—”

  Next to her, Betsy seemed to bite down on a gasp.

  “It’s okay,” Claire assured her. “You’ll be fine.”

  Betsy shook her head, her fingers curled tightly around Claire’s. “I’ll do my best,” she panted. “But while you were . . . knocking off the lock . . . something happened.”

  “What are you—”

  “Leave me,” she rasped. “I’ll only slow you down. Leave me and go for help.”

  “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

  “Claire,” Betsy sobbed quietly. “You may have to. God, I’m sorry. My water broke. I’m in labor.”

  Chapter 22

  Benign

  What you be after you be eight.

  “It’s okay, Betsy,” Claire whispered. “Take deep breaths. Focus. Let the contraction pass.”

  Betsy sucked in air and blew it out, then panted like a dog. When she’d calmed a little, she said, “I’m . . . s-sorry. Took me . . . by surprise. I’m not due for three weeks. Contractions are more . . . painful than I ex . . . pected.”

  “I know.”

  “No you don’t!” Betsy snapped. “Oh, God. I’m sorry.” She wrapped her trembling fingers around Claire’s arm and looked up into her eyes. “I’m scared. What if the injection made the baby come early? What if something is wrong?” The words were no louder than a breath. “I’m supposed to be in a hospital, where they can take care of my baby. This shouldn’t be happening!”

  “It’ll be okay, I promise,” Claire said, patting Betsy’s trembling hand. “First things first. Do you think you can walk? We need to get out of here and get you to that hospital.”

  Betsy nodded enthusiastically. “Yes . . . move I can. God . . . I sound like . . . Yoda.”

  Searching the dark woods for lights or movement, Claire helped Betsy to her feet. “You’re doing great,” she whispered. “We’ll make it. You’ll see.”

  As the two women shuffled through the dense undergrowth, Claire’s leg began to throb in earnest. She hadn’t had time to look at it, let alone apply any kind of pressure bandage. She hoped to hell she wouldn’t bleed to death—not until she got Betsy to safety, anyway.

  “Claire? Oh, Claire!”

  At the sound of Adam’s voice, both Claire and Betsy dropped to their knees, ducking as low as possible.

  A beam of light bounced off the tree trunks and bushes, illuminating sharp needles, jagged rocks, dry, curled leaves.

  “I know you can’t have gotten far,” he shouted. “Clever girl to kick down the door. I underestimated you. I won’t do that again. Why don’t you come on out and we can make your friend more comfortable.”

  Claire’s heart thudded inside her chest and she fought down panic. Next to her, Betsy covered her own mouth. Please, not another contraction, Claire thought. Not so soon.

  Her fingers dancing over the ground, she found what she was looking for. Picking up the rock, she hurled it as far as it would go. In the distance, it slapped against a tree trunk, then fell into some bushes, making a rustling sound.

  Footsteps. Adam, running toward the noise.

  Wow. It had worked. Just like in the movies. Aunt Sadie would be so proud.

  “I’m not going to hurt either one of you,” Adam shouted from farther away. “You know what I want, Claire. You can’t get past the gate, so you might as well come out.”

  Betsy’s breathing changed, and Claire knew another contraction was upon her.

  “Steady, Betsy. Steady.”

  Betsy buried her face in Claire’s shoulder to muffle her ragged breathing. When the contraction had passed, she choked, “I can’t have this baby out here. I want Soldier . . . want to be with him. Help me, Claire . . . please. What can we do?”

  She heard Adam yell something, then a beam of light passed over their heads and disappeared. The sound of men running, shouting . . . going away from them. Claire took advantage.

  “Let’s see how far we can get before the next contraction.”

  Together, they stood and began shuffling through the undergrowth. Time ceased to have meaning. In the dark, they ran, staggered, limped, but kept moving.

  What if I can’t get the gate open? What if Adam’s just waiting there for us to show up? What if . . .

  They stopped for a moment to catch their breath. In front of them, the undergrowth rustled.

  Easing Betsy to the ground, Claire dropped to her knees and gripped her knife tightly in her fist.

  A beam of light caught her eye, and she pulled back the knife, ready to thrust it.

  “Claire?”

  She halted. That voice was familiar . . . wonderfully familiar.

  “Claire?”

  “Aunt Sadie?” she mouthed. “Aunt Sadie?”

  Before her astonished eyes, Sadie burst through the bushes, Flynn Corrigan right behind her. In one hand, he held a flashlight, in the other, a gun.

  As Sadie reached Claire, she wrapped her arms around her in a tight hug.

  “There isn’t much time,” Sadie whispered. “Flynn stuck a log in the gate to keep it from closing when you drove in. We followed as quickly as we could.”

  “So that’s what that was,” Claire said. “I thought it was a bear or something.”

  On the ground, Betsy moaned.

  “Aunt Sadie, Betsy’s in labor.”

  “Of course she is,” her aunt said calmly. “In a drama, the worst thing that can happen always does, and that’s about the worst thing I can think of right now.”

  Claire cocked her head and listened for Adam. In the distance she heard him shouting. He and his thugs were thankfully going the wrong way—for now.

  “Auntie,” Claire said, “what are you doing here?”

  Sadie patted her on the cheek. “Long story. Flynn here is FBI. He’s been trying to find this place for weeks.”

  “But how did you—”

  Betsy moaned again and covered her mouth to stifle a cry. Flynn stepped forward and bent over her.

  “Can you walk, ma’am?” he said, keeping his voice low.

  “Her water broke,” Claire said quickly, as they helped Betsy to her feet. “The contractions are only a few minutes apart. I haven’t been able to time them. We have to get her to a h
ospital—”

  Gunfire ended what she was about to say. Behind them, a tree trunk splintered into sharp blades of wood, and Flynn yelped, covering his face with his hands.

  “Damn,” he choked. “Damn.” He blinked and wiped his eyes, smearing blood on his face. “Shit, I can barely see.”

  “They’re coming,” Claire rasped. She licked her dry lips, but with no moisture in her mouth, it was useless. “Get Betsy out of here. Get her to a hospital. I’ll lead Adam away. Promise me.” When both Flynn and Aunt Sadie started to protest, Claire snapped, “Promise!”

  Claire turned and cupped Betsy’s hot cheek in her hand. Bending, she kissed her on the temple. “Love you, duckie.”

  Betsy tried to say something, but another contraction was upon her and she could only cry out softly.

  Standing, Claire tried to find the beam of Adam’s light again. It was closer, moving in.

  She thrust the knife into her left hand, picked up a stick with her right. As fast as she dared, she began running through the undergrowth, creating as much noise as she could, banging the trees and bushes with the stick, making it sound like a dozen people were rampaging through the forest.

  Immediately, the beam of light shifted and began to track her progress. Then another beam joined the first, then a third. Adam shouted something to Baker, who yelled at Fuentes. Good. They were following her. Flynn and Aunt Sadie would get Betsy out of there. Good.

  There was barely enough light to see, but she was able to make out tree trunks and larger bushes. Her leg hurt like hell, but she was running to save her best friend’s life. And the baby’s. And Aunt Sadie’s, and even Flynn’s. One for four. It was worth it. She wouldn’t go down without a fight, but it was definitely worth it.

  She began panting, running for all she was worth to put as much distance as she could between her and the people she loved. Branches tore at her clothing, pain shot up her leg, but she kept running.

  Was it her imagination, or was it growing lighter? Morning. Daylight. She’d be able to see much better . . . and be seen much better.

  A beam of light illuminated the bough above her head and another shot rang out. She ducked and crawled into a hollowed-out log, pulling moss and fern leaves over the rotted opening.

  There had to be bugs and slimy things in there, but nothing nearly as slimy as what waited for her outside.

  Footsteps. Breathing. Nearby. Above her. She slowly scrunched back into the log and prayed she was invisible.

  “Where the hell did they go?” Adam. Furious.

  “Look,” Baker said, “Why don’t we just clear out? What good’s it gonna do you to catch them? We could be gone by now. Wait around much longer, and the cops are gonna show up.”

  “Yeah,” Fuentes said. “I’m outta here. You’re nuts, man. I’m taking my share and getting the hell out before—”

  The gun blast nearly made Claire scream. Clamping her hand over her mouth, she choked down any sound.

  Fuente’s body hit the ground about two feet in front of her. From her hiding place, she saw his face. His eyes were open, he was looking straight at her, but didn’t see her. A small stream of blood trickled from his temple.

  Claire thought her heart would burst. It pounded so hard, surely her two pursuers could hear it.

  “Police!” a man yelled. “Drop your weapon!”

  Claire’s heart jumped, and tears of relief and gratitude blurred her vision. Taylor.

  “They can’t see us, Dr. LeRoy,” Baker whispered above her. “And they think you’re alone. Get him to come closer.”

  Baker was going to ambush Taylor. No. No, no, no!

  “Over here!” Adam shouted. He stuffed his gun behind him, tucking it under his belt at the small of his back, then raised his hands. “Right here!”

  Baker edged his way back behind a tree, and waited. From where she lay, Claire could see his face. He was enjoying this. He would kill Taylor, and he would enjoy it.

  If she shouted a warning, she’d give her position away. They’d either kill her or take her hostage and use her against Taylor. If she kept quiet, Baker would kill him.

  “It’s a trap!” she screamed. “There are two armed men!”

  Hands were on her, dragging her from the rotted-out hollow.

  “You stupid bitch,” Baker growled as he drew his hand back to strike her.

  She kicked him in the groin and he yelped, releasing her. Her knee came up, hard, catching him under his chin. His jaw snapped shut and she was sure she heard some teeth break. Baker’s eyes closed and he went down like a bag of wet cement.

  “Claire?” Taylor shouted. “Claire!”

  In the gray dawn light, she could see Taylor making his way toward her through the dense undergrowth, his weapon drawn, held in front of him with both hands. There were other cops, too, but he was the only one she could see clearly, the only one who mattered to her heart.

  Before she could move toward him, she felt strong fingers curl around her arm.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Adam warned. He yanked her in front of him, using her as a shield. The barrel of his gun jammed into her ribs.

  As Taylor moved closer, Claire could see his face. He was scowling, his blue eyes focused like twin laser beams on the man who held her hostage.

  Adam shouted, “Stay back. I’ll kill her! I will!”

  Claire still gripped the knife from the morgue tightly in her left hand. Taking a deep breath, she blindly plunged it behind her, aiming for Adam’s thigh.

  But he caught her wrist, crushing her bones, forcing the knife out of her hand. As she struggled, Adam quickly raised his arm and fired at something, then placed the gun against her temple.

  Her ears rang from the blast, her nostrils felt singed. She gasped and tried to turn her head away. Tears slicked her cheeks as she locked eyes with Taylor. He stumbled forward and mouthed something to her.

  I’m sorry . . .

  “No!” she screamed. “No!”

  Helpless, she watched as Taylor clutched his stomach, dropped to his knees, then crumpled to the ground.

  “Taylor!” Her cry echoed through the forest like the keening wail of a wounded animal. She tried to push herself away from Adam, but he held on and began dragging her farther into the forest.

  “No!” she choked, squirming, kicking, flinging her fists against his legs.

  Adam jammed the gun against her jaw. “You’re going to get me out of this mess,” he growled. “Shut up or I’ll put a bullet in you right now.”

  She could hear him panting, sucking in huge breaths. He was out of options, cops were everywhere, just waiting for her to move far enough away so they could get a clear shot.

  Her racing mind went to Taylor. Was he bleeding to death while she was being carted off by his killer? He needed medical attention, a doctor, her. If he thought he was going to get away from her by dying, well, he had another think coming!

  She let her knees buckle and her body go limp. Falling abruptly, she jerked Adam off balance.

  Crouching with her, he brought the gun around to point at her forehead. “Get. Up.”

  She glared into his eyes. In the distance, she heard men shouting. A siren blasted through the quiet. Overhead, the beating of helicopter blades was nearly deafening.

  Her mind raced. How to stop him . . . how to stop him . . . how to get back to Taylor . . .

  “Get up,” Adam spat, “or I’ll put a bullet through your brain.”

  “You need me,” she choked. Her mouth was so dry, speech was nearly impossible. “Without a hostage, they’ll gun you down the minute you pull the trigger.”

  “Maybe,” he snarled. “But you’ll be dead, won’t you, and so will your boyfriend.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Officer Winslow crouched in a clearing. To his right stood another uniformed officer. On the left, a third. All had weapons trained on Adam.

  Where was Taylor? Was he still lying there? Was anyone taking care of him?

  Fifty
years or five . . . that’s what Betsy had said. Claire wanted the next fifty years of Taylor’s life, and dammit, she’d have it.

  Winslow yelled, “Release her, LeRoy. You’ve already killed a police officer. Don’t add—”

  A sob escaped Claire’s throat. It wasn’t true. It was a ploy. Please, let it be a ploy.

  Another sob lodged in her throat. Tears blurred her vision as she stood and faced Adam.

  “Let her go, LeRoy!” Winslow shouted. “Don’t be a fool! Kill her and we’ll be all over you!”

  Sweat trickled down her back and her clothes felt damp. Her legs wobbled, her fingers shook.

  Adam yelled something. He was nervous, unsure what to do, surrounded, trapped. She was his only ticket out of there, and the cops weren’t letting it happen. They were at a standoff. Something had to give.

  It was all up to her.

  “Adam,” she whispered. The world went silent as he glared into her eyes. Sweat dripped down his face. His eyes were red, bloodshot. His hand trembled as he trained his gun on her face.

  Looking deeply into his eyes, she smiled.

  He blinked, then furrowed his brow. His eyes darted about, watching her, watching the cops, watching the woods around him. He was alone and if not for her, he’d be dead.

  “Adam?” she whispered again. “Listen to me.”

  “Shut up!” he squealed. “You ruined everything for me. Why shouldn’t I ruin everything for you, huh? My kids, Claire. That’s all I wanted.”

  He was crying now, tears slicking his face. “Ruined . . . everything . . .” he sobbed. Reaching for her, he grabbed her shirt collar with his free hand. “Head for my car,” he choked, “and don’t give me any trouble.”

  He began to move, but she stayed put.

  “I said come on!”

  The collar of her shirt was crumpled into his fist. She would have to wait. Provoke him. If she was just patient, she’d have him.

  He yanked at her collar again, bringing her to her feet. Still, she dug in and wouldn’t move. Thrusting the gun in her face, he growled, “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but it won’t work. Now, move your ass!”

  Again he yanked, and again she stood her ground. In a moment of fury, he released her and pulled his hand back to slap her. The movement threw him slightly off balance. The barrel of the gun tilted away from her face.