Come Hell or High Desire

by Misty Dietz

  “Sloane Swift. I was tied up in an underground passageway with these children until Zack Goldman freed us. Ross Julik and a woman named Morgan are the guilty ones.”

  “All right, I’ll take your statement at the hospital. I need you to get in the car, ma’am.”

  Sloane attempted to locate Archie, but there was no sign of him. Had he left, or was he hiding somewhere? She squeezed Kate and Derek before gently pushing them toward the back seat. “It’ll be all right now. In you go.”

  “You, too, Ms. Swift.”

  The officer was moving his body to block her. Now or never. She twisted away from the open door and ran toward the opposite sidewalk. She heard the officer yelling, but didn’t stop. She needed to put as much distance between them as possible.

  And between her and Archie. Lord, she hoped he’d decided to leave.

  She ran hard for three blocks, ignoring the jarring pain in her arm and people’s looks as she dashed by. What the hell am I doing running from the police? She hadn’t done anything wrong. But she wouldn’t be able to help Zack if she was detained.

  Three blocks later, out of breath and adrenaline, she stopped in front of her favorite antique shop, looking behind her. No sign of Archie.

  She put a hand to her chest and entered the building. A confused look quickly replaced a wave from the shop owner, but fortunately she was occupied with another customer. As casually as possible, Sloane made her way to the exit near the rear of the store, glancing at a narrow grandfather clock, its heavy pendulum a sickening reminder that there was only so much time left. Twelve-thirty-three.

  The storefront bell jingled again, and she knew without looking.

  Archie.

  Forgetting caution, she sprinted toward the back door, hearing Archie swear, cracking baskets and shattering glass as he tore after her. By the time they were both in the alley he was gaining on her.

  “Stop, dammit! Why are you running?”

  Because you can’t be who Zack thinks you are. She swerved to upend a large stack of freight that had been unloaded but not brought inside yet. It slowed him down, but not nearly enough. If she could make it to the end of the alley, maybe he’d hang back again.

  “If you care about Zack, stop!” But he didn’t let her decide. Her head snapped forward the instant he tackled her around the knees, and they both went down hard. The air whooshed out of her lungs, and she must’ve hit her head and passed out for few seconds because she woke up face down in the gravel with Archie sitting on top of her, breathing heavily.

  “Jesus H Christ, woman. Don’t know what he’s thinking, hooking up with you.”

  She gagged. Her arm was surely dislocated—if not broken—this time. The nausea nearly did her in, but dying would be worse. She thrashed to unseat him.

  He cursed viciously. “All right! You’ve been enough damn trouble. I’ll help Zack by myself since you obviously don’t give a fuck about him the way he hopes you do.”

  Wait, what?

  Archie got off of her and started jogging down the alley away from her.

  A trick?

  “Wait!” she called after him, but he didn’t slow down. Didn’t even look back.

  She staggered to her feet, cradling her arm. “Archie, please!” He finally stopped, but didn’t turn around. Her throat ached with the need to cry. “I thought you were…like the others. Kasey, Ross, Morgan. They all betrayed him. I…I love Zack. God, I do. I need to help him, but I don’t know how to…trust you.”

  He turned around, jaw rigid. He reached for something in his waistband, and she tensed. He withdrew a small but wicked looking blade. He tossed it on the ground a few feet in front of her seconds before the first fat raindrops began pelting the alley.

  “How’s that for insurance? Now get moving. I’m driving.”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Zack adjusted the wig and hat combo that Carmen had outfitted for him and tried to modulate his breathing as he made his way upstream through the nervous throngs of people at the mall, getting steadily closer to the epicenter of the coming drama. Local law enforcement was in the process of evacuating the building, but he’d still never seen so many people there at once.

  He was twenty feet away from the expansive, eight story pavilion that housed the new amusement park when the power surged and went down amid screams of panic. The emergency generators immediately kicked on, powering only about a quarter of the lights that had been on previously.

  Great. Morgan, or the weather?

  The storm had moved in fast, sucking light from the sky and reducing the mall’s spectacular skylights to shadow-casters in the park, which was set up like an ancient forest complete with dinosaurs, tall trees, rock waterfalls, and bushy plant life. Shades of gray slid across the lose-your-lunch roller coaster that looped around the whole mess.

  Watching for police, Zack broke through the crowd to run toward a much tamer carousel where he crouched in the shadows, focusing on the motionless Ferris wheel about fifty yards ahead.

  According to Sloane’s vision, Ann was in one of those buckets.

  She’d even predicted the gray desolation bathing this place. He hoped she and the kids were at the hospital by now. He noted the time—forty minutes to detonation—then panned the vicinity around him while shucking off the light-colored wig and hat.

  More officers were arriving by the minute, and the crowds were rapidly thinning, but where the hell was the SWAT bomb squad? A trickle of sweat ran between his pecs, and he quietly filled his lungs before sprinting to the base of Drop Tower. Lightning briefly illuminated the grotesque faces painted on the seats of the Flying Condor, and for a moment he thought a sound had come from the ride.

  He moved farther into the shadow of the hundred foot steel tower, gauging how he might use the park’s forest features to get to the Ferris wheel unseen. The ride manufacturers had tested the machines last week, so he knew it was operable. If he could get to the power box, he could figure out how to operate it and hopefully get Ann down before they cuffed him. Or at least get the wheel turning before they shoot me.

  Comforting thought.

  Then it was up to the bomb squad…if they ever got here.

  Thirty-five minutes.

  Faint, feminine strains of Pearl Jam’s Black floated underneath the military-style orders issuing from an officer’s megaphone. Zack’s muscles clenched from his shoulders to his fists as the last of the crowd filed down the hallway and out of sight. The large space made it difficult to determine where the voice had originated.

  But it was definitely Morgan.

  Pearl Jam had been one of her favorite bands since forever. As various law enforcement officers spread out to investigate, he grasped the cool metal bars, scaling up the side of Drop Tower. And up. And up even higher, until he didn’t dare look down. The best he could guess, Morgan might be near Screamin’ Swing, but he couldn’t tell how high she was. He didn’t think she was on the ground level, but it didn’t sound like she was on the balcony that overlooked the park either.

  The problem was, if she was on the balcony, she’d have a clear view of him running toward the Ferris wheel. Unless he could make it to the roller coaster and cover some distance in the enclosed, special effects section…

  He had to stay hidden. She’d shoot him no matter how much she imagined she loved him. Her situation was too desperate.

  He climbed higher still.

  “It didn’t have to turn out this way, you know.”

  His gut somersaulted, but he didn’t dare respond. The police didn’t either.

  Yet.

  Sounded like she was somewhere in the vicinity of the massive Tree of Life, some fifty feet to his left.

  “I can’t believe you’re surprised.” Her laughter erupted, brittle and empty, leaving a sense of desolation as it faded.

  Though they’d proceed carefully, the police were surely closing in on her location by now. Don’t let her kill anyone.

  His fingers began to cramp on the reinf
orced steel side of the amusement ride. He was as high as he could go, but it would probably be enough. The rollercoaster was eye-level about five feet away. He looked down, stomach in his throat. He was six stories up, though the cold concrete below didn’t bother him as much as what Morgan might have up her sleeve.

  And how much time Ann had left.

  He looked at the rollercoaster again. If he could get enough leverage to jump over to it, he could make his way inside the special effects tunnel that looped between Drop Tower and the Ferris wheel, and remain hidden for about forty feet. From there, he’d have to wing it in plain sight. Hopefully the shadows would be to his advantage.

  If Morgan was actually where he thought she might be.

  And she didn’t move again.

  Another bolt of lightning shining through the skylights helped illuminate the crisscrossing bars of the roller coaster track. Just like monkey bars. He’d always hated playing on those.

  He bent his knees and lunged from the metal tower, one sweaty hand slipping off the rollercoaster track. His body dangled, swinging sixty feet off the ground, the fingers of his other hand beginning to slide. Forearm and bicep flexing in a one-armed pull-up, he grasped the railing with his free hand, then swung his legs up toward the open triangle of the track’s underbelly. Once his legs were wedged into the opening, he saw movement below him. He scanned the floor until he saw a camo-garbed, helmeted man slip behind the ticket booth.

  Quick. Silent. Predatory.

  SWAT was in the house. They’d better have brought the bomb team.

  A rumble of thunder rolled through the now quiet space, vibrating the metal like an oncoming train. He pushed his legs through the opening on the bottom of the rollercoaster track, then pulled himself the rest of the way through. He moved on hands and knees toward the special effects tunnel, careful not to fall through the large holes, hoping Morgan or SWAT wouldn’t gut him from below. As he made it around a curve six feet from the tunnel, he was finally able to see into the top seat of the Ferris wheel.

  His hands plowed through his hair. Slumped back in the chair, the luminescence of Ann’s exposed throat stood out in sharp relief against the black box on her chest. Jesus. It was actually strapped to her body! Fuck.

  He watched the bomb, hoping to notice a slight rise and fall that would indicate she was still alive. She looked much too pale, but then, she’d always avoided the sun.

  And after losing all that blood in the miscarriage…

  Can’t think about that now. Maybe he’d be able to cut the straps tying the bomb to her. It didn’t look very sophisticated. Now if a pair of scissors would just magically appear, things would be looking up.

  Bang!

  He flattened himself to the rails as a bullet flew by way too close for comfort, shattering a window high above him. Not many handguns carried that kind of power.

  Which meant Morgan had a rifle.

  “Cease fire! This is lieutenant Rod Carver with Red River Valley SWAT. Toss your weapons in the open and come out with your hands up.”

  Only wind and rain splatter against the skylights greeted Lt. Carver’s ear-splitting, megaphoned demand. Zack inched forward, the FX tunnel’s entrance still seeming miles away. He stopped when a strange feeling passed through him. He looked down toward the west side of the park, his body going numb.

  A shadowy figure ducked behind the rock waterfall near the Scorpion. And then a moment later… Another.

  More SWAT? Surely they had the place locked down by now. No one else should be able to get in. Unless someone had gotten inside before the evacuation was complete.

  Or had successfully hidden. There were a crazy lot of nooks, crannies, plants, and caves in the park.

  Zack eased forward on the track again when the Scorpion blared to life, its four arms lifting in a frenzied display of colors and music. With the rest of the park mostly encased in shadows, the circles of empty cars looked possessed, the heavy metal music a sinister accompaniment to the wicked twirling of the Scorpion’s limbs.

  He crouched to race toward the tunnel when a barrage of bullets sprayed the Scorpion, busting lights, zinging off the metal cars, and likely plugging the life-sized plaster dinosaurs lined up behind the ride, until the cars stopped mid-air, the music fading on a discordant, sickening note.

  He scrambled for the tunnel. Thank God. He made it. He rested for a moment to take stock and re-pump oxygen to his brain. Morgan had some serious firepower. An UZI maybe? She could get her hands on anything. Weapons, drugs, you name it.

  But who’d turned on the Scorpion? Didn’t seem like a SWAT maneuver, yet distraction or intimidation was clearly the intent.

  Run, Zack. Hurry!

  His heart kicked as a fresh wave of panic floored his system. Sloane? You’d better be at the hospital with the children, woman.

  Her answering silence said it all.

  Holy hell. She was here. It had probably been her and Archie who’d ducked behind the waterfall. He gritted his teeth. You can actually hear everything I’m projecting now?

  Yes.

  Hot damn. Progress. He’d better make it out of here alive. Are you injured?

  No.

  But she’d hesitated for the briefest moment. Don’t get yourself killed or I’ll kill you myself.

  I love you, too, Zack.

  Ah, Goldie… He closed his eyes. Did you start the ride? Where are you?

  Go to Ann, she’s fading.

  I saw two people. Archie with you?

  Go, Zack! Time’s almost up.

  Yeah, they were all gonna be pulverized if they kept up this cat and mouse game with Morgan. Now he had to worry about Sloane, too. As he neared the end of the tunnel closest to Ann, he heard three things simultaneously.

  The SWAT lieutenant resuming negotiations.

  The fifteen minutes left alarm on his watch.

  And John’s voice… Don’t ever give up on something or someone you can’t go a full day without thinking about.

  Zack carefully stood in the tunnel opening, panning the area below, hoping Morgan would reveal her location. A flood of warmth entered his body seconds before his vision grayed. His hands rose to grip the sides of the tunnel. He had the sensation of movement, a forward motion. It made his stomach pitch, his head spin. He suddenly heard two heartbeats.

  Shhh. I’ve got her. Stay with me so you know where she is. Okay? Sloane’s instructions sounded like they were coming through water. And she sounded weak.

  Don’t do this, Sloane. I can’t help Ann and worry about you, too.

  Let me do this. Please, Zack. I can’t bring Abigail, Joan, Tori, or my sister back, but…maybe…

  He suddenly understood. She was beginning to believe in herself—her gift—again. That’s why she could hear him the way he could hear her. Okay, baby, but please—please—be careful.

  She didn’t respond. When he blinked, he had the sensation of looking through a third party’s eyes. Someone who was on one of the rides. Where it was especially dark. Another heartbeat.

  That made three. What the hell?

  Zack felt nausea rise up, and he pressed the heels of his hands to his head.

  Stay with me, so you know where she is.

  He was obviously remote viewing through Sloane’s eyes, but who were they looking at? Morgan.

  If a bomb wasn’t set to explode in ten minutes he’d have laughed at the absurdity of the situation. Hearing others’ thoughts? Remote viewing? Right.

  Sloane, stay away from her. In fact, get the hell out of the building!

  He breathed deep to dispel the gray, then moved to the edge of the track to line up with one of the spokes on the big wheel. He’d made the right decision to climb. It had bought him some time.

  If he could grip one of those spokes and slide down, he’d be on the ground in seconds. Surely the Ferris wheel would be easy to operate once he got to the control box. The wild card was SWAT. How much did they know about what was happening and who was to blame? Would they shoot him
first thinking he was trying to hurt Ann? They had to have a sniper poised somewhere. Morgan would realize it, too.

  Which was why everyone was hanging back and this whole clusterfuck was moving too slow and Ann was probably dying in that goddamn bucket.

  Time to roll.

  He tensed the muscles of his thighs, swung his arms back…and jumped.

  Zack!

  He lost his breath, the bruised and battered portion of his chest compressing on impact and the metal spoke slicing his palms as he tried to slow his fall. He used his hands, elbows, knees, and feet to snag the outside of the beam to slow the pull of gravity. He grunted when his foot finally jammed in a wedge of the spoke’s center. From his position on the outer hub of the wheel, he was better able to choose the rest of his path downward. After his feet hit the concrete, he quickly found the Ferris wheel motor and tripped the red switch.

  Suddenly bright green, purple, and yellow lights flooded the interior with an eerie glow. He pushed the gear shaft forward and a series of belts and pulleys began to turn the wheel.

  Rapid footfalls sounded behind him.

  The lieutenant yelled over the megaphone again, and he swung around to find himself in a Mexican standoff with Morgan’s UZI aimed at his chest and the red dots of the SWAT tactical team sights clustered on hers.

  He looked into the barrel of Morgan’s gun, then up at her eyes.

  She’d been crying.

  And using.

  Even in the darkened space around them, the haggard lines and pallor of her face told the story of her pain and how she’d chosen to dull it. Regret and sadness pulled at him. But he couldn’t take responsibility for her bad choices any more. “Put the gun down, Morgan.”

  The four SWAT officers were standing perpendicular to her under the second story overhang, the aim of their semiautomatics steady. Another team had staged beyond them in the shadows, motionless. Alert.

  Please be the bomb techs.

  Behind him, the Ferris wheel slowly turned.

  The skin on his palms itched. “You really don’t want another death on your conscience, do you?”