In Too Deep

by Janelle Taylor

  Arizona was only one state away from New Mexico. Troy was taking him back, but not for any purpose meant to benefit Rawley.

  For the first time in his life Rawley longed to be in school. Yearned for the homework and exacting teachers and silly classmates. He also wished he’d had sex with that girl that one time. It might have been his only chance.

  An hour later they stopped at a filling station. Troy looked like death warmed over. He eased his shoulders back, started to step from the car, slipped a hand in his pocket and silently warned Rawley not to make any sudden moves.

  To hell with that. Rawley started counting in his head. One … Troy took a step toward the pump. Two … Another step. Three … he reached for the handle.

  Rawley exploded out of the car and sprinted to the mini-mart, slamming his arm against the door and bursting inside to the amazement of the girl at the counter. She froze, one hand above the cash register.

  “Back door!” he said. “Where is it?”

  Her eyes traveled toward an area that included the restrooms. Rawley ran, skidded, and grabbed a door handle as Troy, face livid with fury, charged after him. Rawley yanked open the door. A short hallway. Another door.

  “Stop, or I’ll shoot,” Troy said with dead calm behind him.

  Rawley didn’t wait. He grabbed the handle, twisted and bolted to freedom. Swearing, Troy chose to run after him rather than firing a gun in this public place.

  There was nothing on all sides of Rawley. Sagebrush and dirt and dry yellow grass and saguaro cacti standing at attention. The one in front of him was giving the whole world the finger. Far in the distance were rolling hills, also dotted with saguaro. He’d read once that saguaro grew only in Arizona, and only in one part of the state. Maybe it was true, maybe it wasn’t. But they were here now and might be all he had to hide behind. He ran and ran, distancing himself easily from the panting, infuriated monster trying to stay on his heels.

  “Years of soccer practice, you bastard,” Rawley whispered fiercely, and he kept on running.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Hunter landed in Albuquerque, feeling half dead. His car was waiting for him but his fingers were heavy and sluggish with the keys. It was only an hour’s drive to Santa Fe but it had grown dark and the night was clouding over, cloaking the stars one by one. Looked like more rain, he thought with an exhausted sigh. It was difficult enough to see already.

  He hoped Ortega had Russell in his sights. He drove with that one thought in mind. His arm throbbed dully, sending out blistering jolts of pain whenever he moved too quickly.

  He drove straight to Jenny’s condo. It took three tries for him to get the right code punched in at the gate. His brain just wasn’t working right.

  He drove to her place and pulled to a stop. For a moment he rested his head on the steering wheel, woozy with exhaustion and a nameless emotion. Call it fear, he thought.

  Staggering up the stairs, he got to the bell and pressed hard, leaning against it with all his weight.

  She opened the door. “Hunter!”

  He staggered inside.

  Jenny looked him over, not knowing exactly what was wrong with him, but it was obvious he was sick. “You’ve got to see a doctor.”

  “No. I need to call Ortega. See if he’s picked up Russell.”

  “You’re feverish,” she said, having felt his forehead. He was sprawled across her couch, wearing a raincoat that was a couple of sizes too small. A black T-shirt strained across his chest, emblazoned with filthy words in Gothic script. Where had he gotten those clothes?

  “Hunter.”

  “Give me the phone,” he ordered, but he couldn’t rise to a sitting position.

  She didn’t like being ordered around, but she knew he was half out of his head, his brain tracking Troy Russell even if his body couldn’t. For that she loved him, even if he did think she was a rich bitch who poured money away like water.

  Benny sat next to Hunter’s head and wouldn’t budge. Jenny handed Hunter the remote handset.

  Ortega answered on the first ring. “Any news on Russell?” Hunter demanded.

  “Haven’t picked up either of the cars yet.”

  Hunter scowled. “Bet Ratty provided another one. I’m here with Geneva. I’ll call back.” The receiver slipped from his fingers. Jenny replaced it gingerly. His left hand shot out and grabbed her by the arm. “Don’t leave,” he whispered.

  “You need to get those clothes off.”

  “I can’t do it,” he admitted, grimacing in disgust at his own weakness.

  “Stubborn as a mule,” she muttered. “Let me …”

  She helped him struggle out of the coat. The bloodsoaked gauze and purpling skin beneath gave her pause. “My God, Hunter. What happened?” she asked shakily.

  “Russell took a potshot at me. Hit my arm.”

  “That’s a gunshot wound?”

  “ ‘Fraid so. That’s why I can’t see a doctor. They’ll have to report it.”

  She gazed at him in disbelief. “Don’t be crazy. You need medical attention.”

  His teeth gritted. “Not yet. If this gets reported, it’ll all come out and they won’t let me go after him.”

  “The authorities,” she said, a statement rather than a question.

  “I just need—some rest. And brandy, if you’ve got it.”

  “I’ll see if I have some more gauze,” she said, slipping from his grasp and heading to the bathroom.

  He was asleep when she returned. She had some butterfly bandages and antibiotic ointment, a fresh roll of gauze and some tiny scissors. She had no intention of waking him to redress the wound, but his eyes fluttered open.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “For what?” She began to unwrap the wound, her hands trembling a bit at the sight of the ravaged flesh.

  His good hand slid up her arm from her elbow. He gazed at her in a way that melted her heart. “You’re nothing like Kathryn,” he said softly and she impulsively leaned in to kiss him. A few moments later, breathless, Jenny drew away and turned her attention to the task at hand.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To get you a stiff drink. You’re going to need something more than a kiss to get through this next part.”

  “I’ve been through it once already today,” he murmured.

  She returned with brandy and continued unwrapping the wound. Hunter closed his eyes and kept the glass to his lips, swallowing hard every time Jenny pulled a little too hard and tender flesh ripped apart. By the time she finished she was sweating.

  She went to her bathroom and found a bottle of painkillers. Shaking three into her palm, she brought them back to Hunter who swallowed them with the brandy.

  “Drugs and alcohol,” she said.

  “Hey, knock me out. The medical way,” he murmured, his eyes closing in utter exhaustion.

  It was dawn when the phone rang. Jenny had the handset next to her ear in the bedroom. The phone barely chirped when she answered it.

  “Get in your car and drive north,” Troy’s voice directed. “Stop in Taos. Go to the Taos Inn. You know it?”

  Jenny listened hard to hear if Hunter had picked up the phone. She didn’t want to wake him. She didn’t even want to involve him in his current state. “Yes, I know it,” she whispered. The historic Taos Inn was an old adobe building right in the center of the tiny town.

  “Check in.”

  “Are you in Taos?”

  “I’ll call you at the hotel …”

  She hung up, frightened, heartsick about Rawley. A terrible feeling was building inside her. The Volvo was already packed. She’d done that yesterday when she’d felt an urgency to chase after Hunter to L.A.

  Should she wake him? Should she tell him?

  She ran through the shower and slipped into jeans and a sweater, fully conscious that her outfit was exactly what her ex didn’t want to see. She carried her sneakers in her fingers and tiptoed out to the living room. Benny softly woofed at her and snuffled he
r hand.

  Hunter woke, tried to sit up, caught in his breath, and demanded sharply, “Where are you going?”

  She didn’t like lying, but she knew he wouldn’t approve. “I’m getting us breakfast.”

  “I don’t need anything.”

  “You need lots of things,” she said with a smile that felt as false as it was.

  “I don’t want you to leave.”

  “You’re in no condition to do anything. We’ll talk when I get back.”

  He struggled to get to his feet and Jenny hurried to help him back down to the couch. “I feel okay,” he said, his eyes searching her face. “Aren’t you worried Russell will call while you’re gone?”

  “Well, yeah. Of course. Um … tell him not to hurt my son.”

  They stared at each other. Jenny quickly put on her shoes, grabbed her purse and headed for the door. She knew he knew she was up to something. Turning back, she said brightly, “When this is all over, let’s go stay at the Taos Inn.”

  She left before he could get to his feet.

  The Taos Inn had a room available at four P.M. Jenny checked her watch. She wondered if she should call Hunter and tell him what she was doing. She could call his sergeant and leave the information. But she could predict what would happen. The Santa Fe police would inform the Taos police and officers would come to her aid and … and …

  She could almost hear the gunfire. She knew Troy would smell a trap. Rawley would get hurt … badly hurt. A moan of protest left her lips. She couldn’t do it.

  But if she called Hunter he would come. Put himself in danger when he wasn’t physically up to the task. Troy had shot him, the bastard!

  She shivered, thinking once more of her son.

  Oh, Rawley! Please, please be safe.

  Jenny stepped outside the hotel onto the sidewalk and watched traffic cruise by. The air was crisp, dry and bright with sunlight. Window-shoppers stopped along the way, gazing in the shops and galleries.

  She crossed the street and tried to do the same, wandering aimlessly, checking and rechecking her watch. She wore only her white cotton sweater and jeans, not enough to keep her from shivering. There was a winter nip still in the March air.

  Or was that from nerves? Fear? She didn’t want to think about it.

  At four o’clock she checked into her room and called the hospital. Her father sounded groggy, so she tried to make her conversation short.

  “Have you found Rawley yet?” was all he wanted to know. She told him she was waiting for a call from Troy.

  “Did you call Wessver?”

  “Yes,” she said. She had called the day before not long after slamming the phone down on Hunter. “I’m calling him again as soon as I’m off the phone with you.”

  “Jenny, promise me you’ll take the money.”

  “I’ll take the money,” she said automatically though Hunter’s words still stung her conscience. He felt she was making the same kind of mistake her father always had. She knew he was right. But her son’s life was at stake!

  “It’ll flush him out.” Allen coughed again. “Do it, Geneva.” She heard someone say something to him and realized Natalie was by his side.

  “I’ll call Wessver right now,” she assured him.

  She didn’t, though. She hesitated. She thought of how Hunter would handle this situation and she called her own number quickly, before she could change her mind. There was no answer and she hung up after a while, afraid all over again. What if he were unable to get to the phone? What if he were lying there, needing help?

  She was deciding what to do when the phone rang. “Jenny …” Troy said in his caressing way that made her stomach sink.

  “Let me talk to Rawley.”

  “What about the money?”

  “I called Joseph Wessver, my father’s lawyer. He’s calling me back.”

  “You disappoint me. You really do. You’ll have to check out.”

  “Check out! Troy, I’m waiting for Wessver’s call. I have to stay here.”

  “I want you to go back to your lovely little condominium. Wait for me there.”

  “Troy—” she protested.

  The line went dead.

  She went downstairs but she didn’t check out Instead, she extended her stay for several more days and she left her bags in the room. She didn’t know what Troy was up to, but at least she’d let Hunter know where she was.

  She walked out to her car in the gravel lot behind the Taos Inn. She’d inserted the key when she felt him come up behind her. Gasping, she had instant thoughts of kicking and screaming and biting, but she recognized the gun against her ribs for what it was.

  “Jenny …”

  Troy’s breath on the back of her neck revolted her. “Where’s Rawley?” she whispered.

  “Safe. I’ll take you to him.”

  “I’m not getting in a car with you.”

  “Then I’m going to go kill him right now.”

  “I’ll call the police. They’ll pick you up.”

  “You’ll never see him again.”

  She couldn’t bluff her way out of this. She had to play along—for Rawley’s sake.

  “Get in the car, Jenny.”

  She thought he meant her car, but he guided her toward a silver van with California plates. She balked, but he just shook his head and smiled.

  She climbed in the passenger seat.

  Damn his arm, his weakness. Damn Jenny and her lies.

  Hunter dragged himself to his Jeep and drove to the station, pinpoints of light dancing in front of his eyes. He stumbled inside.

  “Jenny’s in Taos. At the Taos Inn. I think Troy Russell told her to go there.”

  “What the hell happened to you?” Ortega demanded, helping Hunter to the chair next to his desk.

  “Did you hear me?” Hunter asked tersely.

  “Your lady’s at the Taos Inn. I got it.”

  “No sign of Russell?”

  “Not so far. You’re not moving your right arm,” the sergeant observed, frowning.

  “I got in the line of fire.”

  Ortega swore a blue streak and glared at Hunter. “You’re gonna end up at St. Vincent’s right beside her old man.”

  “I’m going to Taos.”

  “You won’t make it in that condition. What the hell are you wearing?”

  “Her son’s shirt and jacket. Better than what I had before.” He moved to the door.

  “Here …” Ortega grabbed his own leather jacket off a peg and tossed it Hunter’s way. “It’s raining out there again,” he said in disgust. “Feels like it’s been raining forever.”

  Hunter drove straight to Taos, Benny sitting upright in the passenger seat. He made the trip in record time even though the rain was mixed with snow and the roads were growing slushy. He arrived at the Taos Inn and parked next to Jenny’s Volvo. Here the snow was sticking and he could see several sets of footprints outside her driver’s door. Snow had been brushed from the handle, but was rapidly piling up again.

  Stepping inside, from the cold to sudden heat, he felt slightly dizzy. He was running on adrenaline and willpower. Neither was doing much good for his overtaxed body. He walked up to the desk clerk and asked him to ring Jenny’s room. “No answer, sir.”

  “Ring it again.”

  The clerk lifted his brows, clearly thinking Hunter was on the make. “Still no answer, sir.”

  Hunter nodded, troubled. He walked back to his Jeep. A set of deep tracks, from a truck or van, had gouged through snow into mud. By the looks of the snowfall, it had left only a few minutes ahead of him.

  What if Russell already had her …?

  He went back to the desk clerk. “Do you have a Troy Russell on your guest list?”

  “Sir …”

  “He would have come in yesterday or today. About my height, similar coloring. Probably driving a car with out-of-state plates. California, most likely. He’s this woman’s ex-husband and he’s kidnapped their son. Just tell me if he’s on the guest l
ist.”

  Reluctantly, the clerk scanned the list, then shook his head.

  “How many single men have checked in today and yesterday?”

  “I’m not allowed to give out that information.”

  Hunter inwardly berated himself for not asking Ortega for his police identification when he’d had the chance. He was heading to the pay phone to take care of it when he heard, “Excuse me.”

  A young woman in a long black coat and fur cap gazed at Hunter thoughtfully. “A man checked in this morning, early. He had similar coloring.” She pursed her lips. “He was driving a silver van with California plates. He bragged that he owned a place around Taos, but he was locked out or something. He wanted to drive me past it and then go to lunch. I refused the invitation.”

  “Did he say where it was?” Hunter asked.

  She shrugged. “Go out Kit Carson Road.”

  “I need to check Jenny Holloway’s room,” Hunter ordered the clerk. “She might need help.”

  “I’ll check it, sir.”

  Hunter followed after him, much to his frowning dismay. Once the door was open, he shouldered past the younger man, ignoring his protests. Jenny’s bags were there, untouched. Nothing in the room had been disturbed. But that didn’t mean nothing had happened.

  The drive was short. Jenny wondered if she could jump out and run, but she kept hoping Rawley was at their destination. She knew she’d played right into Troy’s hands. He was violent, a sexual predator who liked to hurt and dominate women. He’d grown from a bully to a full-blown psychopath. She didn’t doubt that he’d killed Michelle Calgary.

  And she didn’t doubt that he would kill her and her son if the mood suited him. Hunter had been right. Money was only part of Troy’s obsession.

  “Put this on,” he said, dragging Rawley’s jacket from the back of the van. There were no seats in the van except the front two.

  “I’m not that cold.” She was freezing. The rain was mixed with snow at this elevation, but she balked at anything he might ask of her.

  “Put it on.”

  She did as she was told and the familiar scent of her son wafted up to her nostrils. Swallowing back a new wave of terror, she fought to think of something to do. Maybe if she could connect with Troy on some level, appeal to what little good there was him … “Rawley was called up to the varsity playoffs as a freshman. That’s how he earned his letter.” Maybe Troy would be proud …