by LENA DIAZ,
His burning, aching leg wouldn’t support him enough to rise to standing. Even rolling over on all fours failed. The leg was pretty much useless. He was beginning to wonder about the wisdom of having pulled out the stick. It had seemed like the only way to stop the bleeding. But his muscles were like jelly now, unable to bear up under any kind of strain.
After yet another try, he got halfway up before his leg collapsed beneath him and he fell face-first into the dirt. He cursed viciously and rolled to his side, panting like a dog as he fought through yet another episode of stabbing pain that set his insides on fire.
When the pain finally subsided to a dull roar rather than a blistering inferno, he stared toward the trees they’d come from several hours ago. The sun had set. The moon was bright, the sky clear, or he wouldn’t have been able to see anything this far away from any man-made light sources. Still, the woods were little more than a dark void.
Had Tattoo Guy given up on coming after them? Figuring they’d die of exposure out here? Or was he biding his time, waiting to see where Jody was before shooting at Adam?
Jody. He looked to his right where she’d disappeared earlier. How long had she been gone? More than five minutes, which was all it should have taken her if she had to empty her bladder. Had it been ten minutes? Fifteen?
He hated himself for having spent so much energy and time on his repeated attempts to stand. He had no true concept of the passage of time. And no clue whether she was in trouble, or admiring the stars, or walking off her anger at him and how badly he’d bungled things between them. Regardless, she should have been back by now. He had to get up and go check on her. There was no other option.
He looked around, searching for something to use as leverage. The makeshift walking stick might have helped. But the tall grasses and rocks dotting the landscape were hiding it well and good. Wait, rocks. They’d stopped by some boulders to work on his leg. He’d been sitting on one before he’d passed out. He jerked around and let out a string of curses when he realized the boulder had been behind him this whole time. Bracing his arms on either side of him, he scooted back until he was against the rock. Then he rolled over, breathing through the worst of the pain before bracing his hands on the boulder.
With his good leg beneath him and his hands pushing against the rock, he finally made it to his feet. Correction, foot. His bad leg crumpled as soon as he put weight on it. He had to balance on one foot to keep from falling. Leaning against the boulder to remain upright, he looked toward the small group of trees again for Jody. No sign of her. Where was she? At least she had his gun for protection.
Or did she?
He looked around, then groaned. The gun was lying on the ground by the boulder. She hadn’t taken it. He swiped it and checked the loading, then slid it into his pocket. Where was his walking stick? He didn’t see it anywhere. He snagged his backpack, too, and clipped the strap across his chest to keep it in place so it wouldn’t fall with him hopping around like a kangaroo.
On a hunch, he continued his kangaroo impression around the boulder to the back side. Yes. The walking stick was lying there, probably having fallen when he’d sat down. He grabbed it and tested it out.
At first his leg wobbled so much he could barely take a step. But he did take a step, so he was encouraged by that. He took another then another. After about ten feet, the leg began to go numb. Probably not a good sign. But it made walking more bearable. And faster. He hurried as quickly as he could across the open space from the boulder to the trees. Then he stopped. Beyond the trees was more empty space.
And no sign of Jody.
“Jody,” he called out, his voice just above a whisper. A cool mountain breeze ruffled his hair, bringing with it the scent of rain. The storm that had threatened earlier seemed to be brewing again instead of moving off to the east as he’d expected. “Jody,” he called out, louder this time. The only answer he heard was the distant rumble of thunder. A flash of lightning followed, off to the left.
He took another step past the trees and looked around in a full circle for something, anything, that might tell him where she’d wandered off to. Thunder rumbled again, followed by another flash of light. But this time the light didn’t turn off. It kept coming. Toward him, low to the ground. That wasn’t lightning. And the sound he’d heard wasn’t thunder.
It was an ATV, its engine making a dull roar now, the headlights bouncing crazily as it rushed toward him.
He dived for the cover of trees, pulling himself behind them just as the headlights swept past where he’d been standing moments ago.
The ATV wasn’t an ATV after all. It was a dune buggy. Tattoo Guy was driving. Owen and another man were in the back seat, Owen with a rifle in his hand, pointed up at the sky. And in the front, her eyes wide with terror, her hands tied to the roll bar above her, was Jody.
Chapter Eleven
Jody bit her lip to keep from shouting a warning to Adam as the buggy bounced across the bald and headed toward the group of rocks and boulders where she’d seen him last. She could only hope that he’d heard the engine, seen the headlights and been able to hobble to another hiding place in time. If he was just crouching down behind the boulder, the men would see him in about, three, two, one...he wasn’t there. Her breath stuttered out in relief.
The backpack was gone, too. And the gun.
The buggy continued on its way, circling the area as the men looked for Adam. He was injured. He was also experienced and trained. He would know what to do, wouldn’t he? He’d mentioned earlier getting to a more defensible position. Had he done that now? She hoped so. Because there was no doubt what the men with her would do if they found him.
They’d kill him.
“He ain’t here, Damien,” Owen called out.
Tattoo Guy—now she knew his name was Damien—aimed a sour look at Owen in the rearview mirror. “Unless he sprouted wings, he’s here. You saw that stick through his leg in the clearing. He won’t be running any marathons any time soon. He’s hiding. We just have to find him.”
He slammed his foot on the brake, wincing when the action obviously jostled his hurt shoulder. His left arm was in a sling. Adam had been right. He’d had resources close by and got medical treatment, then returned with reinforcements—including the man whom Owen had called Ned, sitting quietly in the back seat studying the terrain, and four more men in a second buggy that was searching the other side of the bald.
The buggy slid to a stop, its headlights illuminating the boulder where she and Adam had been earlier—before she’d gone into the woods to relieve her bladder. It was a mixed blessing that she’d chosen not to stop at the first stand of trees. Because when Tattoo Guy, Damien, had found her, she’d been far away from Adam. And that was the only reason he was still alive.
She’d wanted more privacy, which seemed silly given how intimate they’d already been. Still, it had been good luck that she’d continued on. And that after she’d answered nature’s call, she’d seen a beautiful stream sparkling in the moonlight in the distance. She’d been unable to quell the artistic excitement inside her that wanted to see nature’s beauty. As soon as she’d stepped up to the stream, Damien had grabbed her.
The radio sitting on the console crackled to life. He picked it up and spoke to his other team, comparing notes about where they’d searched.
Jody rubbed her tongue against the inside of her sore cheek, trying to ease the ache where he’d punched her when she’d refused to tell him where “the cop” was. She imagined the only reason he hadn’t beaten her more was that he figured Adam was close by and they’d find him quickly. Since that hadn’t happened, would he hit her again?
He slammed the radio back into the console. “Where’s the cop?” He called her a foul name and raised his fist in warning. “Where is he?”
She backed against the door. “I don’t know. I told you, we split up after the clearing. We were trying to f
ind a cabin, or a road, and I got lost. I couldn’t figure out how to get back to where we’d agreed to rendezvous.”
“She’s probably telling the truth,” Owen offered from the back seat. “You know how redheads are.”
Damien frowned and glanced back at him. “Don’t you mean blondes?”
“Oh, yeah. Those, too. See?”
Damien closed his eyes and shook his head, then looked at Jody again. “Where was the rendezvous point?”
Keep it simple, stupid. The KISS principle one of her criminal justice professors had badgered them with every time they came up with some convoluted answer to a question came to her rescue now. There was evidence by that boulder—blood on the ground, footprints—that would corroborate her story without giving up Adam’s current location, wherever that happened to be.
“There!” She poured excitement into her voice. “That boulder, see? I remember it now. I’m sure there have to be some footprints or something showing you we were there.” She bit her lip. “At least, I think that’s the right boulder.”
He stared at her a long moment, apparently not nearly as willing as his pal Owen to believe she was a “dumb redhead.”
“Check it out,” Damien ordered, waving toward the boulder.
Owen popped his door open.
“Not you,” Damien said. “Ned. See what you can find.”
With a barely perceptible nod, the second man hopped over the door frame and landed nimbly on the ground. He produced a pen-size flashlight from one of his pockets and shined it around the base of the boulder. As Jody watched, he crouched down and feathered his fingers over some depressions in the grass.
He shined the light all around, his intense gaze seeming to take everything in, as if he could picture what had happened there. Then he aimed his flashlight farther out, toward the trees where she’d run earlier. He stood and motioned toward the trees.
“She’s telling the truth. There were two people here, one slight, one heavier, larger. The bigger one—”
“The cop,” Damien spit, as if it was an obscenity.
“He lost a lot of blood.” He trained the light on the grass again, back to the boulder. “He must have climbed up here, used some kind of stick to push himself to his feet.” The light bounced and moved across the rocks, the grass, then toward the stand of trees where she’d gone. “She went that way. He followed.”
She sucked in a breath. He’d found Adam’s trail? Adam had followed her?
“Back in the buggy,” Damien ordered.
Ned hopped over the side and the buggy took off, straight for the trees where she’d run. And, apparently, unbeknownst to her until now, where Adam had gone, too. That must be where he was hiding. And she’d led them straight to him.
She pressed a hand to her throat. What had she done?
Chapter Twelve
Like a rubbernecker on the highway, unable to look away from the scene of an accident in spite of being horrified, Jody stared at the beam of Ned’s flashlight as it got smaller and smaller in the distance. Her relief that Adam had not been hiding behind any of the trees in this part of the bald had been short-lived. Like a bloodhound, Ned had easily picked up his trail again, leading straight toward the water.
While she sat in the front passenger seat of the buggy, her hands going numb tied to the roll bar above her, Owen continued to whine in the back seat.
“Why can’t I help search for him? I’m just as good a tracker as he is.”
“Oh, really?” Damien clutched the steering wheel with his good hand and stared at Owen in the mirror. “When’s the last time you tracked anything, or anyone?”
“I tracked that Tracy girl down just fine. It may have been in town instead of mountains. But I tracked her good.”
Jody stiffened and looked at Damien. He was staring at her now, probably waiting for her reaction. A slow, cruel smile curved his lips.
“That you did, little brother. Guess I forgot about that. Still, it wasn’t like she got very far before we’d realized she took off. And it wasn’t at night, so it was a lot easier to recapture her.”
Recapture? Had Tracy escaped, only to be caught again? “Where is she?” Jody demanded. “What have you done to her?”
“You really want to know?”
She nodded.
“Then tell me where your boss keeps the rest of his surveillance equipment. Where are the other pictures and videos? Audio recordings?”
“I told you, I don’t know of anywhere else he would keep anything. As far as I know, he always keeps it at the office. I don’t even think he took his work home with him. It...it was a habit from when his wife was still alive. She made him promise to leave work at the office, literally and figuratively. So both of them could relax and not think about their cases when the workday was over.”
“Ah, now. Isn’t that sweet?” He leaned toward her, forcing her to press herself against the door to the limits of her bound hands above her. “Tell you a secret, honey. He didn’t keep his promise to that dear old lady of his. We found plenty of work files and pictures at his house.” His smile faded. “Just not the right ones.”
“You...you went to his house?”
He grinned again and relaxed against the seat. “Don’t worry. It’s not like Sammy boy cares anymore.” His laughter made her stomach clench with dread.
Please be bluffing. Please don’t have hurt Sam.
Owen chuckled in the back seat, as if the two of them shared a private joke.
“Where’s Sam?” she asked, her throat tight. “Please tell me you didn’t hurt him.”
“Well, now. I would, but then, I wouldn’t want to lie.”
Bile rose in her throat as Owen and Damien both laughed. Damien hadn’t mentioned using Sam as leverage, only Tracy. And from what he’d just said, he wasn’t even trying to pretend that Sam was okay. Or was he just saying that, making her think Sam was...that he wasn’t okay, to make her scared of what he might do to her if she didn’t talk? She had to cling to the hope that the dear old man who’d been like a father to her was still alive. She wouldn’t be able to function otherwise.
She swallowed and drew a steadying breath. Tracy was still alive. Wasn’t she? He was still using her friend as a bargaining chip. She had to be alive.
She stared through the windshield toward the water, moonlight sparkling off the little eddies and ripples caused by boulders just beneath the surface as the current rushed over them. Adam was out there somewhere, hopefully okay and hiding. Had he seen Ned? Did he know about both dune buggies loaded with thugs with guns? There was no way he could fight off all of Damien’s men with only one pistol.
Don’t worry about me, Adam. There’s nothing you can do to save me. Don’t be a hero. Don’t get yourself killed.
The portable two-way radio sitting in the console crackled, startling her.
“It’s Ned. Pick up.”
Damien grabbed the radio and clicked the button on the side. “Damien here. Go ahead.”
“His trail leads directly to the water and stops. Either he fell in or he went in on purpose.” Ned’s voice, deadly calm and matter-of-fact, sounded through the speaker.
Damien swore. “I want that cop. If he drowned, I want his body as proof. He’s seen my face, my jailhouse ink. He knows I’m an ex-con. If he makes it back to civilization, he’ll eventually figure out who I am. Once he does, if he pulls the wrong thread, connects the right dots, you can kiss your cut bye-bye. You got me?”
“Understood.”
They were talking about killing Adam as if they were making a grocery list. Who were these people?
“What’s your theory?” Damien asked through the radio.
“If he didn’t fall in, he could be walking in the shallow part to keep from leaving a blood trail. With a wound like his, and judging by the blood he lost back at that boulder, I don’t see
him doing much more than that. The stream is too wide, the current too fast, for an injured man to cross to the other side. But I don’t know this guy, how strong or motivated he might be. We’ll need to check the far side, just to be sure.”
“Owen can do that.”
“Bro, I don’t want to swim across a freezing-cold stream. Make someone else—”
“Shut up, Owen. Get out of the buggy.”
Owen cursed a blue streak, but he popped the door open and got out. His boots crunched on some rocks just outside the car as he started down the rise toward the water.
“What else do you need?” Damien asked through the mic.
“If I’m going hunting, I’ll need my pack, plenty of ammo for my nine millimeter and the rifle.”
“Owen.” Damien motioned to the other man, who stopped to look at him. “Get back here.”
When Owen trudged to the driver’s side, Damien gestured with his thumb to the back seat. “Get Ned’s backpack for him. And your rifle and ammo. Get some nine-millimeter magazines, too.”
“My rifle? He’s got a pistol. Why’s he want my rifle?”
Damien narrowed his eyes. “Who bought that rifle for you? Like I buy everything else?”
Owen threw his hands up in the air. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll get it.”
When Owen was jogging down the hillside again, this time with a backpack and rifle, Damien turned in his seat to face Jody. “Don’t worry. They’ll find him.”
He chuckled, as if amused by her distress. But any sign of humor quickly faded as he stared at her. “You’ve wasted my time all day and caused me way more trouble than you’re worth.” He motioned toward the sling that immobilized his left arm. “I haven’t forgotten that I owe you for this. But I’m willing to forgive this one time, if you give me what I want. Normally I’m a patient guy.” He chuckled again, which clearly meant he wasn’t. “But that little PI firm of yours has been a thorn in my side for three days. And I didn’t have time to spare to begin with. Where are the rest of the pictures? You want that friend of yours to live, then tell me what I need to know.”