In Too Deep

by Janelle Taylor

  “You won’t win, Russell,” Calgary gasped out.

  “You’re already dead.” Troy waved the gun. Rawley crouched low, his attention distracted by Hunter. Troy stuck the hot barrel in the boy’s ribs. “Come on,” he ordered roughly.

  “I’m not leaving him.”

  “Jesus, you little bastard. Get out before I shoot you, too.”

  “You won’t shoot me. I’m your link to my grandfather’s money.”

  “I don’t give a damn who you are!”

  “Rawley…” Hunter drew a breath. He was wounded in the shoulder, numbed by shock but shaking almost uncontrollably. “Don’t argue with him.” Don’t argue with a man holding a gun.

  “Hunter…”

  “I’m okay. Really.” He was. He was pretty sure he was, anyway.

  Blackness crept over him, obliterating all conscious thought. A minute passed. Maybe hours. Suddenly, he came to, aware that he’d fallen onto the sleeping bag. The sticky black stain was from his own blood.

  Blinking he saw the room was empty.

  How long had it been? Struggling, he got to a sitting position, fighting off waves of nausea, the nasty aftereffects of shock. A glance at the sleeve of his leather jacket wasn’t particularly alarming. There were a couple of tears surrounded by blood but nothing to reveal the damage done.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid, he berated himself. He hadn’t believed Russell would be so psychologically fractured as to try and shoot his own son. He had believed some familial bond, and Troy’s own desire to keep the golden goose alive, would keep Rawley safe from his father’s violence.

  He’d let Russell get away. He’d let him take Rawley, and there was no question Rawley’s life was in danger.

  With an effort Hunter got to his feet, shaking his head a bit to clear it. He needed medical attention, but going to a hospital emergency room would only complicate things. They would recognize a gunshot wound and then a hornet’s nest of questions would be thrown at him. Once the police got involved, Hunter would be completely removed from the investigation.

  But there was Carlos … and Mammoth.

  He staggered down the hall to the bathroom. Ratty, for all his clutter, kept this room relatively clean, Hunter was relieved to see. His reflection stared back at him from the medicine cabinet mirror. Grim, white face, set jaw, blue eyes simmering with fury. His hair was rumpled and standing in stiff licks. He hadn’t shaved and the rough stubble on his chin added to his menacing look. Anyone who saw him in this state would run the other way.

  “Damn …”

  With his uninjured left hand he opened the medicine cabinet. Inside was a tidy array of toothpaste, toothbrush, mouthwash, cotton balls, rubbing alcohol, hydrocortisone cream, and a roll of gauze. Gritting his teeth, he slowly removed his jacket. The right sleeve stuck a bit, ripping wounded flesh. Shaking, he yanked the coat off and flung it to the floor. His blue shirt was spattered with blood, and the right sleeve wasn’t even blue any longer. Unbuttoning the shirt, he peeled it away, closing his eyes and concentrating on a vision of Jenny’s beautiful face.

  All the while a clock ticked in his head. How far away was Troy? Where would they go? To one of Troy’s exgirlfriends? Doubtful. How would he explain Rawley? Russell didn’t have many friends left in L.A. He didn’t have many friends, period. Hunter put his mind to the task as he ripped off strips of gauze, dousing them in rubbing alcohol.

  You know how he thinks. He’s a coward. He wouldn’t stick around. He would hightail it from the scene of the crime and go…where?

  Gently, gently, he poured rubbing alcohol onto his wound. A growl erupted from his mouth. The stinging pain made his eyes water. When the first wave was over, he twisted his arm and examined the damage. The bullet had passed through the flesh, but it had obviously spiraled and done some serious damage to his upper arm, twisting through the flesh. Possibly hit the bone, maybe chipped it. Maybe not. Hunter could move his arm some. It hurt like hell, but mostly from the tearing of muscle. The central artery was intact. He could still make a fist if he concentrated hard and ignored the pain.

  Just a flesh wound. He smiled without humor. The ugly mass of ravaged tissue still seeped blood at an alarming rate. Closing his eyes, he lifted his arm, keeping the wound above his heart. He used the alcoholsoaked strips of gauze to disinfect the raw tissue, gritting his teeth and hoping he wouldn’t faint.

  In the end he wrapped the rest of the gauze around the wound. Not too tightly, but snug enough. As soon as the first aid was done he felt better, clearer. Running cold water over his face, he glanced around Ratty’s place. Ratty was half his size, but Hunter needed a shirt. His jeans, though spattered with blood, simply looked as if they were in need of a good cleaning. He threw water on the spots just in case, smearing the blood into indeterminate grime.

  A shirt was going to be hard to come by. He settled for a black T-shirt folded neatly on top of Ratty’s beatup chest of drawers. It stretched to fit him, but didn’t hide the gauze. A further search revealed a long khaki raincoat tucked in the back closet. Hunter struggled into it. It was at least a size too small but bearable if left unbuttoned. At least there was ample room in the sleeves.

  Once more he examined himself in the mirror. He smoothed his hair with his hand. He tried on a smile. He was going to have to catch a flight and he didn’t want to frighten the airport employees.

  He’d pass.

  Emptying his belongings from his jacket pockets, he left his clothes where they lay. He wouldn’t be wearing them again. On his way out, he thought of the phone. Did Ratty even possess one?

  Sure enough, behind a pile of junk in the bedroom was a black telephone with a remote handset which was nowhere to be seen. He finally found it in the kitchen, next to the remains of breakfast. He dialed Carlos first at the L.A.P.D. and didn’t leave a message when he learned he wasn’t at his desk. Ditto for Mammoth. Instead, he called Ortega who answered in his clipped, impatient way.

  “I’m in L.A., but I’m flying back to Albuquerque as soon as I can.”

  “You sound awful.”

  “Russell has kidnapped his son, Rawley Holloway. I’d bet they’re heading back your way, because Russell’s been getting money from Allen Holloway. I’m sure he’s using Rawley as leverage. I’m going to call Jenny and warn her. She knows Rawley’s with Russell, but the kid went willingly. At first—things have changed. Write this down.” He drew a breath and gave Ortega Jenny’s phone number and address. “Holloway’s in Santa Fe visiting Jenny.”

  “Holloway’s at St. Vincent Hospital,” Ortega informed him shortly. “Heart attack. Your friend Jenny called me this morning, looking for you.”

  Hunter blinked. “Heart attack?”

  “Apparently a mild one. What the docs call a warning. Your friend Russell tapped him for five hundred thousand. He didn’t pay, then he learned Russell had taken his grandson and bam, he’s in the hospital.”

  “Jenny told you this.”

  “Yeah. Russell left a message on her phone that shook her up. Something about how he and the kid and her should be together again.” Hunter absorbed that bizarre idea until Ortega spoke again. “Where the hell are you?”

  “L.A. But Russell left a while ago.”

  “You saw him?” Ortega sounded grim. “You confronted him?”

  Hunter did not want to go into what had transpired. He knew Ortega would chew him out to within an inch of his life. He hadn’t even wanted to tell him he was following Troy, but Rawley’s safety came first.

  Looking through the window, he said, “They could be in a beat-up Chevy, early 80’s, blue, maybe an Impala, or a green late 90’s Explorer with temporary plates.”

  “What if he’s still in L.A.?”

  “I’ve called a couple of friends on the force. They’ll get back to me, but I know he’s left here. I can feel it. I foiled whatever he planned to do. I’ll have my friends tie up the loose ends, maybe check out the exgirlfriends.”

  “You coming straight here? You part of
this police force again, Calgary?”

  Hunter thought about Troy Russell, and his anger congealed into a hard knot. “When I get back.”

  “Don’t you harm one hair of the bastard’s head.”

  “Goodbye, Ortega.”

  “Listen, Calgary—”

  He hung up and called Jenny.

  With a fierce determination, Jenny threw her packed bag in the back of the Volvo. She was buying a cell phone, first thing. She hadn’t bothered with one before but now she was desperate to be able to call at any point, from nearly anywhere. Troy’s call had fired her up. She needed action.

  The hospital would be her first stop on her way out of town. She knew her father would ask her where she was going. She had no answer. Hunter was in LA., and that seemed like a good place to start. She wanted to be with him. She wanted to be part of the chase. She needed to think she was helping.

  She jumped when the phone rang. Gingerly, she picked up the receiver, forcing herself not to gasp out Rawley’s name.

  “So, you sicked your lapdog on me,” Troy said conversationally. “Sent him right to me. That’s what he is, a lapdog. Sitting on your lap.”

  “Troy,” she said carefully, heart racing. “Could I talk to Rawley?”

  “Has Allen changed his mind about the money he owes me?”

  She exhaled heavily. Yes, she’d expected him to say something like that. Greed was what drove him—that was perfectly obvious and she’d accepted it from the start. But she’d harbored some small belief that he couldn’t help but love his own son. Now, she knew how silly her hope had been.

  “My father’s in the hospital. He instructed me to call his lawyers.”

  “The hospital? Tsk, tsk. He looked like the same old fat cat when I saw him.”

  Her control snapped. “You threatened him, Troy. That’s what happened. And he suffered a heart attack and is lucky to be alive.” Her voice shook. “Now, put Rawley on the phone!”

  “Have you called those lawyers yet?”

  “No. And I’m not going to until I talk to my son.”

  “Well, your son isn’t with me right now. Don’t worry. He’s somewhere safe. But until I hear that money’s been transferred into an account with my name on it, you won’t be talking to him.”

  “Have you hurt him?” She couldn’t stop herself, couldn’t stop the crack in her voice.

  “Jenny, honey. Of course not.” In a silky voice he added, “I want to see you, babe. Real soon. Without your lapdog. It’s my lap now.”

  “I can’t transfer the funds without an account number. What bank and where—”

  He cut her off. “Get the lawyer ready. I’ll come find you and we’ll take care of things.”

  “I won’t do anything unless you put Rawley on the phone.”

  “The hell you won’t!” he growled.

  “I’m hanging up, Troy. I don’t believe he’s with you.”

  He swore pungently before he clapped a hand over the receiver for a moment. Then Rawley said, “Mom?” in a way that turned her knees to water. She sank onto the couch, hand to her mouth. She would have cried if there were any tears left but she simply sat in numb fear.

  “Rawley, oh, God. Rawley. Are you all right? He hasn’t hurt you, has he?”

  “No.”

  “Are you in L.A.? You sound like you’re in a car.”

  “Yeah …”

  “Can you …” She gathered her wits with an effort. “Can you give me this phone number? It doesn’t show up on caller ID.”

  “Yeah, uh, have you talked to Hunter?”

  The desperation in his voice sent a thrill of fear through her. “No. Why? What happened?”

  In a rush, he said, “Seven one three, four four three—”

  She heard a brief scuffle. “Rawley! Rawley!”

  “I’ll call you,” Troy said through his teeth. “I’ll call you.”

  “If you hurt him, I swear you’ll pay.”

  “Yeah, mama bear? Put on something sexy for me. None of those jeans and sweaters. I want my girl in satin. No pants.” A smile entered his voice. “And no panties.”

  He hung up. Replacing the receiver in the cradle, she stared at it, thoughts swirling. It rang beneath her hand. “Yes?” she asked tensely.

  “Jenny.”

  Hunter’s voice nearly did her in. “Hunter!” she exclaimed in relief, hysterical laughter bubbling up. “Oh, Hunter! I’m so glad to hear from you.”

  “I’m on my way back. I should be there late this afternoon.”

  “To Santa Fe?”

  “I had a face-off with Russell in L.A.”

  “A face-off?”

  “I can’t talk about it now,” he interrupted her, and she thought he slurred his words a little. “I’m at the airport. I’ve called Ortega. He knows Rawley’s been kidnapped.”

  “Troy called just a moment ago. Rawley was with him.” There was a moment’s hesitation. “Hunter? Did you hear me?”

  “Yes.” He spoke with an effort.

  “Are you all right?” she asked in fear. “Rawley wanted to know if you were all right?”

  “What did he say?”

  “That’s all. But it scared the living daylights out of me. You sound funny, though.” She paused. “What kind of face-off did you have?”

  “Rawley knows what a bastard his father is.”

  “What did Troy do?”

  “He’s—” Hunter sucked in a sharp breath. Dodging this question was difficult. “My flight’s being called.”

  “What did he do?”

  “We had a fight. Jenny, listen, Ortega told me your father had a heart attack.”

  “Yes, but he’s doing okay so far. Troy wants five hundred thousand dollars put into an account in his name. I’m calling my father’s lawyer and setting—”

  “No! Don’t turn over the money. Don’t even start the process.”

  “I’m just going to call Joseph Wessver.”

  “You’re not going to solve this with money.”

  “You don’t sound right,” she said. “Are you sure you’re okay? If Troy will trade Rawley for the money, I don’t care what it costs!”

  “He won’t trade him!”

  “Well, I’m not going to risk his life on that chance!” Jenny found herself practically shouting.

  “Your father just wants to buy you out of another tough situation, and it won’t work!”

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” she declared in a quivering voice. “Troy will take the money, believe me,” she added, more to convince herself than him. “He wants the money. I’ve got to get it to him.”

  Hunter swore beneath his breath. “He wants something more. Russell’s a psychopath. He’s over the edge.”

  Dry-mouthed, she whispered, “What are you saying?”

  “Forget Daddy’s fortune. The money isn’t going to help now.”

  “I’m calling the lawyer,” she said in sudden decision. “I’ll pay whatever I have to.”

  “You sound like your father.”

  “Well, I’m his daughter,” she shot back.

  “You both think money will solve anything.”

  His bitterness took her aback. She straightened her spine. “That’s right. And I’m just like your ex-wife, too. We’re rich and we can buy anything! Well, damn you, Hunter Calgary. I’m going to buy my son back!”

  She slammed down the receiver. Her thoughts were for her son. Hunter’s words had terrified her. “… he’s a psychopath … he’s over the edge …”

  Troy’s going to hurt Rawley! The realization was like an arrow striking the center of her heart. She paced the room, frantic with fear, her gaze glued on the phone. If she could buy back her son, she would spend every last dime of her money and her father’s money.

  She couldn’t leave now. She had to stay. She had to wait for Troy.

  Three hours later the phone finally rang again.

  Rawley sat in the passenger seat of the dirty silver Dodge van. Troy’s friend J.P. had a slew
of cars, apparently, ready at a moment’s notice. They’d driven half a block and Rawley had been roughly thrown into his current position. J.P. had driven one way and they’d headed another.

  He was sick with fear, especially for Hunter. Hunter had saved his life. He knew that. It resonated deep within him. He owed the guy so much. Especially since Rawley had wanted to believe all the bad things his father had said about him.

  His father.

  The man beside him was very different from the urbane stranger who’d approached him at soccer camp. He’d unraveled somehow. Something weird and ugly had taken over, as if an unseen hand had peeled back the outward layer.

  Hunter. Rawley felt like throwing up. What if he was dead? He’d fallen to the floor, fighting consciousness, telling Rawley to go with Troy in order to save his life. But what about his life? Was Hunter Calgary even alive?

  “Hey.” His father elbowed him. “Why are you so quiet?”

  Rawley wasn’t going to think of this psycho as his father any longer. He was simply someone bad. Someone with a gun in his left jacket pocket that Rawley couldn’t reach. Someone who talked about his mother as if she were his personal whore.

  “I asked you a question!”

  “I’m tired.”

  “You think I killed him, don’t you? I hope to hell I did! That bastard’s been fucking your mother. You should be happy he’s dead.”

  Rawley didn’t rise to the bait, even though he was ready to fight the sexually twisted man who’d kidnapped him. He was no father. No father at all.

  Don’t die, Hunter. Please. Don’t die.

  They were crossing the border into Arizona. He could see the stations on the opposite side of the freeway where cars were stopped and checked to see if fruits and vegetables were being brought into the state. If they were going that way today, he would jump out of the car at that point and scream for help.

  But he was on the other side, hurtling into Arizona where he guessed they didn’t give a damn about insect infestation because no station was visible and no one was stopping them to ask.