The pump had been the problem in the first place, not the line connecting it. He had started to settle into reassurance.
The following weekend, Danielle had headed to Durango, probably for a round of shopping with her newfound wad of cash. She’d never made it.
She’d come to the sharp curve, and anyone who has ever driven to Durango as many times as she had would expect it. But she hadn’t turned. The Clip had shot straight off the road then wrapped around a tree.
He re-focused on the unconscious woman in the driver’s seat and thought how fitting it was. The murderess deserved to be in this seat, should be forced to go through the same things Danielle suffered before finally dying in this car. The rock he’d used on her head dug into his leg as his grip tightened on it. The pain penetrated his brain like a dull throb.
He’d driven to Durango after hearing about the crash, had to act fast to cover his tracks. And along the way, he’d put himself through hell. He pulled off the road near the fatal curve and thought about Danielle holding a sluggish steering wheel. Her eyes would’ve grown wide, those fragile violet eyes.
She would’ve tensed, curled in tight. She was stuck in a hunk of metal she couldn’t control. Her steel prison had then smashed her body against an immovable object.
When he’d returned from Durango where he’d purchased a new pump, he’d gone to Josh’s store and gotten a full refund, convincing Josh he’d never gotten the chance to install it. The guilt he’d shown Josh was real enough. It’d become a reflex—his punishment. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw the fragile flower crushed, smeared against a tree.
His muscles clenched. If this woman had confessed and not let him think for years that he was responsible . . . He carried someone else’s guilt.
And that someone’s head turned, a half-choked groan sounded in her throat.
A slow smile spread on Germ’s face. Time for her to learn what Danielle had felt, and it’d be a crash course she’d fail. Amanda would be in death’s embrace soon.
He scooped her into his arms and stalked down the long aisles of cars.
When Germ rounded the corner, Tim glanced up before returning to his work. When what he saw registered, he shot from the bench and rushed over to Germ’s side.
“Is she okay?”
Germ nodded as he carried Amanda unconscious in his arms. “She’ll be fine. She was passed out in the driver’s seat.”
Tim followed Germ through the building. “If I’d known, I never would have—”
“Yeah, I know. She’ll be fine once I get her home.”
“It must have been quite a shock. That poor girl.”
Not poor enough. But she will be. Germ came around his truck and settled Amanda in the passenger seat. He pulled the belt across her chest and looked up as he buckled it. Tim stood back, by the front entrance. Germ slipped out a cable tie and bound Amanda’s wrists. After the successive clicks of it locking into place, he returned to the driver’s door where he offered Tim a smile and a wave.
Tim nodded. He had a concerned expression on his face for Amanda.
She wasn’t worth it.
Germ started the truck and pulled out of the lot.
He had to do it that way. He had to act fast, for who knew when Josh would return or when they’d find that girl driving Amanda’s brakeless Jeep. Germ had no reason to stay in Bayfield anymore anyway. This girl was responsible for everything, and his last act before leaving town would be to drive that knowledge into her.
When Josh had first turned into the junkyard, Germ had driven on, staying on the highway until he found a decent spot to make a U-turn. As he’d neared the junkyard’s entrance, Josh was leaving. The Buick’s passenger seat was empty. The plan had swept over Germ in that instant.
He’d parked in the vacant parking lot and jogged into Tim’s Truck & Transmission. With forced sounds of heavy breathing, he’d bent over and waited for Tim to step up to the counter.
“Hey, Tim,” he’d gasped as he straightened like he’d caught his breath.
“Yeah, Germ. Whatcha need?”
“Actually, has a woman stopped by here? Blond, about this tall?” Germ had lifted a hand to just shy of his shoulder.
“Sure. She’s out back right now.”
“She is?” He’d stepped forward, going for anxious.
“Yeah. She’s looking at the Clip.”
Germ had cursed and turned from the counter with his hands on his hips, still breathing hard.
“Is there something—?”
“Tim, I need to get back there. Look, that’s Amanda Hudson. Her old man took her out of town after the wreck. She just lost it when Danielle died, and—” He’d cut himself off and took two deep breaths. “Must have hitchhiked here. Jim and her came into town. They thought she’d gotten better, but then she . . .”
“All right, all right. Easy, Germ.” He’d stepped aside and gestured at the doorway. “The Clip’s in the far corner.”
“Great, Tim.” Germ had patted him on the shoulder and rushed past.
Down a row of Wranglers, when he lost sight of Tim, he’d ducked behind a group of Fords with 2-inch lifts and crept in search of Amanda.
Once he spotted the Clip, he’d crouched down by a mud and snow tire suited for a monster truck. He’d stayed in its shadow as he waited.
Amanda was staring at the engine. She’d stepped back and turned away from Germ, heading for the driver’s door. She was settled back in the seat when he’d moved. He’d squatted near the passenger rear door where his hand brushed against a rock. He’d grasped it and waited.
She’d leaned forward over the inner door panel.
Germ had opened the door and stretched over the rear seat. Her gasp had caught him off guard so he’d maybe overdone it on the force when he brought the rock down against her head. Her body had slumped and her head came to rest on the steering wheel.
Now he nailed his horn before remembering his unconscious captive. On the highway, the diesel in front of him was hauling a trailer and tractor. Germ hadn’t the time. Why didn’t the driver get the clue and pull over? He edged out and checked the opposite lane.
Clear.
He downshifted and hit the gas, steered out from behind the diesel and came nearly head-on with a red Land Rover, its horn blaring at Germ.
Germ braked and whipped back behind the truck with oversize trailer, cursing.
After the Rover flew by, Germ edged out again. Clear. He hit the gas and passed the truck. He kept the accelerator nailed to the floorboard until Bayfield came into sight. Amanda’s head turned and another groan sounded in her throat. A grim smile split Germ’s face. Time for her to know what out-of-control felt like.
~ ~ ~
“Amanda wants to take care of herself.” Ryan’s words hung in the cool shadows of the shop as he turned back to the Jeep. He’d slipped a work uniform over his t-shirt, gray long-sleeves and navy blue across his expansive chest. His hair couldn’t be more ruffled. Rebecca wanted to smooth it down simply in the hopes the act would soothe his mixed emotional state.
Instead, she tugged at the hem of her beige, rayon blouse, pressed her palms against her black slacks. Finally, one hand skirted to her own hair, fiddled with the band keeping it off her face.
She was trying to understand beyond what he’d said, could hardly believe his sudden disinterest in Amanda. He leaned over the driver-side fender and shone a light over the broken brake system. His jaw muscles flexed, reassuring her that he hadn’t found it easy to let Amanda do things her way while he examined her vandalized Jeep.
Even if he hadn’t liked the whole story, he’d deserved to hear it before passing judgement on Amanda. Things hadn’t turned out as Rebecca had hoped. She wanted his direct focal gaze to be on Amanda’s attacker, now Rebecca’s attacker. But his
sudden brush-off suggested the betrayal from Amanda cut him deep. He’d always behaved like Amanda was his baby sister, and she’d shown how little she trusted him.
Rebecca tossed the documents onto the steel bench behind her. She stuffed her hands into her pockets. “She could be in real danger, and you’re just going to hunch over that car?” He needed to put voice to his issues, maybe realize how irrational he was being.
He set the flashlight on the cowl beneath the windshield and met Rebecca’s eyes. “I’ve been trying to save her this entire time. If she really was capable of accepting my help, would she have dismantled my truck and ran away?”
With me. Her eyes dropped from his gaze but then they returned and met his fierce conviction with some of her own. “She’s my cousin, Ryan.” This was hers to clean-up as much as his. It was time Amanda stopped suffering alone. She needed—not wanted—them.
“I noticed. You two have the same stubbornness. You want to keep her safe. She wants to do this alone.”
Rebecca glanced back briefly toward the threat of Amanda being in the depths of hell. She lowered her eyes, turned to him. “She needs our help.” She whispered, “I have to help her.”
She picked up a photograph. Why hadn’t she noticed something sooner? She should have. If she’d focused on more than her school work then maybe she could’ve been there for Amanda. Was this the responsibility Ryan felt? Did he feel it anymore?
Rebecca shoved the papers farther down the bench. Her gaze lowered to her simple, pale gray heels. “I don’t think she can do it alone.” Amanda had an unhealthy obsession she couldn’t overcome and now someone was holding it over her head, trying to get her do what he wanted. “I’m here for her.”
Ryan said nothing, but she heard him step around the Jeep, felt him stand behind her. His hands settled warmly over her shoulders. She leaned back against his solid chest and closed her eyes. His heartbeat pumped steadily. She inhaled his mountain, hard-working scent beneath the metallic brake fluid swirling in the air.
His warm hand brushed down her shoulder, lifted her forearm into the shop’s fluorescent lighting. “We should clean those.”
She peered at her arm then turned up to meet his eyes. He might’ve sounded cool and collected, but the clash of vivid green against burning brown, emotions battling in his gaze, left her low on oxygen.
“Ryan, I . . .” She’d no reply, but she had to do something to lighten the pull of his eyes, his lips. He bent his head—
“Hey! You’re back,” said an excited voice.
Rebecca’s face whipped to the open bay door. She relaxed, semi-grateful for the interruption but felt Ryan’s body tense. He released her arm and came around her toward the intrusion. Her body wholly lamented the separation.
“Yeah, Josh.” Ryan met him at the front of the shop. “I’m back. What can I help you with?”
Josh’s eyes left Rebecca. “Oh, I just got back from Tim’s junkyard. I gave Amanda a ride there. She wanted me to stop by and let Rebbie know she’ll call when she’s ready to head back.” Rebecca kept an alert eye on Ryan. His hands quietly rolled into fists at his sides. “I was willing to hang out, but she told me not to waste the time. As if I don’t do that already, right?” He grinned then shrugged. His playful eyes searched the shop. “Where’s your truck, Rye?”
“In pieces.”
Blood rushed and filled Rebecca’s face, but no eyes were on her.
Josh nodded. “Uh huh. Trouble with the Jeep, too, huh?”
“Yeah. As a matter of fact, I need,” Ryan rattled off a list of parts.
Josh’s eyes un-focused, seeming to commit the list to memory. “Okay, I’ll take a look.”
“Let me know.”
“Sure thing, Rye.” He winked and jogged across the street.
Ryan remained at the bay door. Rebecca watched his back, longing to see his face. Based on the bunched shoulders, he warred.
He turned and finally met her gaze, looked very serious about what he was about to say next.
From her pack on the bench, her phone rang. Rebecca sighed, strode back to dig it out. She read the display. “It’s Uncle Jay.” She regretfully brought the phone to her ear.
Ryan grabbed a wrench from his tool cart and returned to the Jeep’s left fender. “Can’t help anyone,” he muttered, “until we have something drive-worthy.”
“Rebecca,” Jay began. “I’m at the junkyard. I can’t find Amanda. I think—wait a second.”
The receiver was muffled. She could make out the muted tones of two masculine voices going back and forth.
Jay came back on. “I think I know where she is. I’ll keep in touch.” The dial tone sounded in her ear.
Rebecca returned the phone to her pack. Ryan watched her. “Amanda’s not at the junkyard.”
His jaw flexed, but he silently returned to the nut he was loosening on a brake line.
“Uncle Jay is going to try another place. Maybe the owner of the junkyard knows where she went.”
He nodded as he worked the line away from the part with the damaged, plastic tank.
Why couldn’t he say something? Because, she answered back, there was nothing to say. Neither of them could do anything until they had a running, and braking, vehicle. Where would they go anyway? Amanda, please be careful.
Chapter 17
Amanda’s eyes clenched shut. She rolled her head back and forth against a cushion, groaned for the air hammer piercing her skull. Where was she? She’d been asleep, hadn’t dreamed. But she wasn’t lying down.
Her eyes flew open. She tried for the seat belt across her chest. It wasn’t a seatbelt, rather something with less slack keeping her pushed into the seat. Her hand dropped down for the belt buckle. It was empty.
Her eyelids worked frantically, up and down. Whenever opened, she saw black. Like the trunk.
She was trapped. Except something blinded her, coarse, covering half her face, reminded her of the car detail department. Her hands scraped the cloth, searching for the knot.
“I’d get those hands on the wheel if I were you.” The voice came from her right.
“What is this?” Shallow breaths ran out of her heaving chest. Her pulse raced, thrummed in her throat. What happened?
“If you don’t drive, we’ll end up smacked . . .” Metal rang against metal. She flinched, “. . . against a tree.” The words scratched her eardrums in his gritty voice.
“Who are you!” she screamed out in frustration, attacking however she could.
“Get those hands on the wheel,” he said flatly. “I’m starting it up.”
“What?” She choked on a laugh. “You think this thing can run?”
“Whoever said we’re still in the junkyard?”
Her smile dropped. They weren’t in the junkyard? He’d taken her where?
“Good.” He seemed satisfied with her silence. “Hands on the wheel.”
The car revved. Steering wheel brushed her palms where they’d sat in her lap, useless. As the wheel drifted, she latched onto it, her only lifeline as the bonds against her chest seemed to get tighter. She worked harder to breathe. Her heart flared in panic. Sweat squeezed out between hands and leather.
She nailed the brake pedal with both feet. The pedal dropped without a fight, giving her nothing.
Reaching down on her right, she searched for an e-brake lever. Fingers toyed in the air. She couldn’t reach any further.
She strained against the bindings, wrestling against them as her feet stumbled under the dash. The idle spiked as she found the gas. The brake pedal refused to push back.
“Enough. You can speed and steer. That’s it.” The vehicle shifted into gear.
Oxygen hung stale inside the car, no air out of the dash vents. Sweat beaded over her crawling skin. Something smacked agai
nst the right front of the car.
She gulped a scream. “Are you crazy?” Her voice rose higher with each word. “We’ll crash!”
“What do you mean we? I can bail at any time. We’ll keep it slow for now. Hold the wheel and very slowly turn the car right. Easy. More. There. That wasn’t so bad. I think we’re ready to speed up.” The engine lurched into a higher gear. Automatic transmission, she decided without trying.
“No, please.” She choked her sob.
“Left, hard. Now!”
She tore at the steering wheel then held where it refused to turn anymore. She coughed on breaths of desperation.
“Ease off. There you go. It’ll be a good, straight stretch for a while. How does it feel, Amanda?” His voice struck a chord. She latched onto familiarity, common ground, and struggled to match it with a face, a name. The voice was being altered, distorted enough to throw her off even as it tempted her with recognition.
“I don’t know.” She shook her head and arched her back, pushing out against the binding, having it refuse to budge. “I don’t know. Why!”
“Ever really try to imagine what Danielle’s last thoughts were? How she felt when she couldn’t stop the tree from coming?”
“Danie—what?” It started to dawn. He’d gotten her. Knife guy, Umbrella Man, was going to finish her. The threats, his— “No. Not Danielle. I didn’t—”
“I did!” Smash on the windshield. She jumped, flinched. The bindings held her. “Imagine it. Feel it. Out of control. She’d no way to live, no way she could’ve survived. Just like . . . take a left, now. Phew, almost splattered us on that trunk.”
A screech along the driver’s side of the car, she convulsed from the noise.
“How’d that feel?” His voice sounded closer. “Amanda?”
Her shoulders shook. The rag blinding her absorbed her tears. She was trapped. There was nothing she could do. He had control. She’d crash, die. It was up to him. Had he any forgiveness?
A Running Heart Page 18