by Sherry Lewis
But the only way Kate would do anything without a fight was if she’d been forced. Because Tony had already shot at Fred, he couldn’t rule out the possibility that Tony was using that gun on Kate to get what he wanted.
Behind the Cavanaugh property, the path rose and fell, wound in and out of the trees and headed north. Fred’s boots clung to the ice and snow as well as anything he owned, but not well enough to give him any real traction. Still, it might be enough. In Kate’s fair-weather clothes, she wouldn’t be able to walk fast.
The cold seeped through his gloves and bit at his ears beneath his hat. His toes numbed in the ice. Kate must be frozen. Even if Tony didn’t kill her, she’d soon die of exposure in this weather.
Fred rounded a bend in the path and hit a patch of ice. His legs flew out from under him and he slid several feet down the mountainside, stopping only when his foot hit a tree and broke his fall. For countless agonizing minutes, he struggled to drag himself back up the hill to the path, but the icy surface nearly defeated him. Several times he fell back several feet and had to begin the task again. Digging his feet into the frozen ground, he hoped for enough traction to climb out. Pulling on rocks and trees with his hands, he scratched his way to the top, inch by painful inch.
On the crest of the hill, he stopped to catch his breath, but he’d already lost so much time . . . He’d never catch up with them at this rate. He’d never find them.
Pulling the frosty air into his lungs, he tried desperately to control his breathing so he could move on. Already, his arms and legs ached with the unusual strains he’d placed on them. His muscles burned. If he survived this escapade, he’d be stiff for days.
Margaret’s face flashed into his mind, the way she’d looked when he left the house. Terrified. She’d probably lost control of herself by now, worrying about him. She didn’t expect him to come back. She didn’t expect him to survive, but he would. He had to. She still needed him. All his kids needed him. The boys, Joseph, Jeffrey and Douglas still needed him around.
At last his breath came easier and he started out again. Where did this path lead? What lay north of the Cavanaugh property? No other houses lay beyond theirs, because their property adjoined the Shadow Mountain property. Nobody wanted to live near that old mine, except the Cavanaughs.
He fought the wind and ice up and down the trail until he doubted he could make it any further. His fingers burned from the cold, his lungs ached from the effort of breathing the icy air.
After what seemed an eternity, he rounded a bend in the path and the abandoned mine yawned below him. Even in the moonlight, he could see the gaping wound in the side of this once beautiful mountain.
He struggled to get his bearings. Far below on the valley floor, the two-lane highway cut through the rock. Here, it ran parallel to a shallow fork of the Arkansas River. He crept closer to the edge of the mine face and looked over. Even with part of the reclamation completed, the mountain had lost its natural protection against erosion. The entire mountainside crumbled in the face of nature’s assaults.
The old mine consisted of two sections. Fred stood at the highest point overlooking the upper quarry. A hundred feet below, the lower quarry stretched toward the river bed. Between the upper quarry and the lower, the sinkhole into which Brandon Cavanaugh had been pushed to his death gaped, a large, dark hole maybe sixty feet in diameter.
Fred crouched on the unstable edge of the mountain. The wind tore at him, coming at him from all sides. The moon disappeared behind a cloud, leaving him in total darkness except the pinpoint beam his flashlight provided.
Had he been wrong? Had Tony taken Kate someplace else? For one long, dreadful moment, he thought he’d lost them. He leaned back on his heels, cursing himself. He’d been so sure. When had he lost their trail?
He swore aloud, striking his leg with his fist in frustration. At that moment, the light from the other flashlight appeared far below and moved out of the trees toward the edge of the sinkhole.
How did they get to the bottom? The path he’d been on had ended here at the quarry ledge. He ran back a few feet but he could see nothing but trees—far too many of them.
Returning to the ledge, he looked over again, holding his breath until he caught a glimpse of the light. He might still be in time, but he had to find a way to the bottom.
He ran toward the southern ledge again and this time he found the trailhead to the lower quarry. Quickly, he started down the mountain, trying not to give himself away by making too much noise, but aware that he had, at the most, a few minutes before Kate met her death.
His foot slipped on an icy patch of ground and because he was moving too quickly, he couldn’t catch himself. His knee stretched, twisted away from his body at an impossible angle and he fell to his other knee in pain. The rifle slipped from his hands and slid on the ice down the side of the mountain. He lunged for it, but pain tore at his leg and forced him to his back.
He lay there for several seconds blinking back tears, knowing that each moment wasted on self-indulgence could endanger Kate’s life, but unable to move. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to test his knee. The slightest movement brought a groan to his lips and he wondered whether he would be able to get to his feet again.
Using the trunk of a small aspen tree for leverage, he tried to pull himself up. Pain tore at his knee and clutched at his abdomen, making him retch. He stopped halfway up and gave in to the nausea, but refused even then to slide back to the ground.
When the feeling passed, he forced himself to his feet. Still holding the tree trunk, he tried to step, but his knee buckled beneath him and nearly sent him forward into the snow. Now what? He was hurt, useless and unable to help Kate.
But he had to. He couldn’t count that Margaret had been able to reach Enos. If he didn’t reach Kate, she would die.
He managed to break a fairly sturdy limb from a nearby dead tree. Using it to steady himself, he made his way down the path. Every step caused his knee to throb and burn. Every jarring movement sent waves of agony up and down his leg.
At last he reached the end of the path and saw Tony and Kate silhouetted just a few feet in front of him at the quarry’s edge. Sending a prayer of thanks upward, Fred moved slightly off the path, nearly biting through his lip as every movement on the uneven ground jarred his knee.
Though he managed to get close enough to see them clearly, the wind carried away their voices. Tony leaned close to Kate, his manner threatening. He pushed her toward the ledge and for one sickening moment, Fred thought he would push her over, but he pulled her back and tipped his head back, laughing. He slapped her roughly and laughed again.
Look at him. He enjoyed hitting her and making her afraid. The sight of him sickened Fred. Tony had lived for years off Joan’s bounty, a parasite. But he’d killed her when he saw his meal ticket disappearing into the mist with Joan’s threats of divorcing Brandon.
Fred watched Tony as his face twisted with rage. What did he want from Kate? He’d lured her up here to get her power of attorney for Shadow Mountain—something she’d been only too willing to give him a few hours ago. What had changed?
He must have wanted something more from her, something she refused him. But other than the power of attorney—to deal with some minute portion of Shadow Mountain—what did Kate have that he wanted?
Madison.
With Kate out of the way, Tony would be her only surviving relative and he would have it all. He would own Shadow Mountain and control Madison’s trust until she reached twenty-five, and by that time there would be nothing left.
Whatever he did, Fred had to save them both. But having him on their side didn’t seem like much. Even if his knee had been in working order, he didn’t see what he could do. If he tried to reach Kate, Tony would send her over the edge to her death. Or shoot her. Or shoot him.
Cursing the loss of his rifle, Fred realized he had no weapon except his tree branch while Tony had a lot going for him. He had youth and strength. And he had K
ate as a prisoner. Other than the element of surprise, Fred didn’t have one thing in his favor.
Tony pulled Kate to her feet and held her by her thin blouse, her face close to his. His mouth twisted with words Fred couldn’t hear. He pushed her away roughly and she fell to her knees.
Tony moved slightly, turning away from Kate until moonlight glinted off the metal in his hands. Fred had been right—he still had the pistol.
Where in the hell could Enos be? Hadn’t Margaret found him yet? He was probably with the boys, safe and warm in the Bluebird having a piece of Liz’s carrot cake and a cup or two of coffee when they should be out here doing their jobs.
He couldn’t wait much longer. He’d have to do something soon or Kate would die. And then, without warning, Fred’s time ran out. While he watched in horror, Tony raised the pistol and pointed it at Kate’s head.
twenty six
Fred heaved himself up, using the stick for leverage. He’d never make it in time to stop Tony from shooting Kate, but if he could distract him, it might buy a little time. He limped toward them, each step agony, each step incredibly slow. Miraculously, Tony didn’t hear him coming. As if he watched himself in slow motion, Fred plodded on.
For some reason, Tony hadn’t pulled the trigger. If Fred could reach them before Tony saw him, he might still be able to do something to save her. Knowing he’d have to hit Tony hard enough to knock him out, Fred raised the stick and swung it backward over his shoulder.
Closer. He needed to get closer before he struck. If he struck too soon, he wouldn’t hurt Tony enough.
Kate hadn’t seen him yet, either. Shadows from the trees hid him for a few feet, but once he left their protection, Tony would see him immediately.
He lunged, the stick poised to strike, when Tony turned. Aware of Fred for the first time, the younger man ducked and leapt to one side enough to deflect Fred’s blow. It landed on Tony’s arm with a sickening crack.
Fred knew he’d hurt him, but not enough to stop him. Tony turned, ignoring Kate now, the pistol aimed at Fred’s chest. Fred stopped.
Kate scrambled up and threw herself at Tony’s legs, knocking him slightly off balance. Surprised by her attack, Tony lost his grip on the pistol. Kate scrambled after it as Fred brought the stick down on Tony’s left shoulder.
Tony remained intent on recovering the pistol. Struggling with Kate for it, he overpowered her easily. He wrenched the gun from her grasp and shoved her toward the edge of the sinkhole.
She scrambled to maintain her foothold, her arms swinging wide, her feet seeking purchase on the loose dirt. Fred lunged toward her, grabbing for any hold that would keep her from falling over just as Tony’s fist crashed into his face.
His vision blurred. Kate’s scream tore through the air. Before Fred could clear his sight, Tony’s fist hit him again, this time in the stomach. His breath left him. He gasped, desperate for air, but his stomach clenched and refused to allow his lungs to drag in any oxygen. He fell to the ground, doubled over with the pain in his stomach, his knee. His face throbbed where Tony’s first blow had landed.
He hadn’t saved her. He hadn’t been strong enough to save her. He’d been a fool to come up here alone; an old fool.
He took tiny breaths, trying to regain control of his body. Gradually, he realized Tony had left him. Or maybe he stood over him with the gun poised and ready to fire if Fred moved. Then he’d have everything.
Fred thought of Madison. Of her innocent little face and her trusting nature. He imagined her with Tony, growing up and learning from him. He thought of her, unloved and unwanted except for what Tony could buy, and fury rose like bile in his throat.
He’d be damned if he’d let that parasite get her. He’d die first.
He tried to pull himself up slowly, but his knee wouldn’t hold his weight. Curiously, no gunshot exploded, no blows landed. Gathering strength, he lifted his head and scanned the shadows. Nothing. Where had he gone?
No sound reached his ears other than the wind in the trees. He’d never be able to stand on this knee. He’d damaged it too badly. He’d never get back down the mountain for help, and help might never find him up here.
A faint click sounded in his ear. Tony hadn’t gone anywhere, but stayed nearby with the gun, just waiting for Fred to make a move.
He laughed, a low, chilling sound. Subhuman. “Don’t try it, old man.”
Fred looked toward the sound and saw Tony standing over him, the barrel of the gun ominously close to Fred’s head.
“What do you think you can do? An old man running in here like Superman to the rescue. I can’t believe it.” He laughed again, amused by his own joke. “Well, you didn’t make it. She’s gone and now you’re gone.”
Fred waited for the blast, but nothing came. He let out his breath slowly.
“You’ll never get away with it.”
“I already have. Three times. And nobody even suspects me.” His eyebrows rose and fell as he talked. Up and down. Fascinating.
Fred rubbed his knee and tried to relieve some of the pressure. “I did.”
“Like hell!”
“Why do you think I’m here? I’m not out for an evening stroll. Enos knows where I am—in fact, he’s probably out there watching you this very second.”
Tony brought the barrel of the gun closer to Fred’s temple.
Fred knew he should be afraid. He should be absolutely terrified of this maniac with the gun, but for some reason he felt curiously calm. And he noticed the strangest things. About Tony and the funny way his face moved when he talked. About the gun and the way it wavered slightly as Tony’s unsteady hand pointed it at his head.
He rubbed his knee again and looked into Tony’s eyes. Funny how they looked so empty, as if his soul had left his body. Opaque eyes. What would Summer Dey have to say about that?
Fred knew he’d lost all reason now. His knee felt swollen. He’d be in big trouble with Margaret over this. And Joseph. And Jeffrey. They’d probably want to put him in a home.
“Get up!” Tony prodded him with the gun.
“I can’t.”
“I said get up!” Tony screamed and the gun wavered a little.
“I can’t,” Fred shouted. “I’m hurt.”
“You stupid old man! Get on your feet! Now!” Rage had control of him. His face twisted and pulled as he shouted his mouth stretched wide.
With a peculiar sense of peace, Fred tried to push himself to his feet. One last chance, he told himself, but his knee would never hold him.
As it buckled, he fell forward, throwing himself toward Tony with every ounce of strength he had left. With a roar of pain, he pushed off with both legs, aiming at Tony’s midsection, and prepared himself for the shot he’d been expecting all night.
It didn’t come. Tony hadn’t expected him to do anything. Caught off guard, he lost his balance. His arm flew wide and with it, the gun and for the first time, Fred knew he had a chance.
Fred brought his arm up, catching Tony in the neck and pressing back with all his strength against his throat. Tony fought, but his blows did little more damage. Fred was fighting for his life.
Hatred twisted Tony’s face into a demonic mask. He swore, threw expletives into Fred’s face like weapons. He twisted and pushed and kicked, but Fred found strength he’d never tapped before and held on, pushing with all his might until Tony’s breath caught and his eyes began to bulge.
Footsteps, heavy rapid footsteps, came from behind. And shouting. And the sound of something heavy moving through the trees, but Fred would not be distracted.
He had to hold on. He had to prevent this man from killing or hurting anyone else. For Kate. For Madison.
He heard someone shouting his name.
He saw Kate falling over the rim of the ledge again and again and he wanted to hurt this man for all the damage he’d done. Joan and Brandon and Kate and poor, boring old George.
Someone pulled his arms from behind and shouted at him. “Fred!”
“Fred, let go! Good billy hell, Grady—get his other arm and pull him off before he kills him.”
Gradually, through the mists of fury that still swirled around him, he realized that Enos had arrived. Finally. But his arms and legs wouldn’t obey his foggy mind. He didn’t release the grip he had on Tony, didn’t pull his arm back.
When they dragged him off Tony, one on either side, his knee gave out and he staggered. Grady gripped him with one arm around the his waist, the other on his arm and held him while Enos checked Tony. Apparently satisfied he was still alive, Enos brought out his handcuffs and locked them around Tony’s wrists.
Fred’s throat burned too much to speak, but he needed to tell them about Kate. He dragged cool air into his blistered lungs and croaked, “Kate.” He couldn’t manage anything more.
“Where is she?”
Fred lifted his arm to point toward the edge of the sinkhole and found, to his surprise, that his limbs shook almost uncontrollably.
Ivan hurried to the edge of the quarry. Using a high-powered flashlight, he searched from the ledge. A minute later, he disappeared over the side.
Grady watched, his eyes wide, straining forward like a puppy on a leash.
“Help me over there so I can sit and get yourself over there to help him.”
Grady shook his head, disappointment coloring his features. “That’s all right, I’ll stay with you.”
“I don’t want you to stay with me, you young whelp! If my knee wasn’t so torn up I’d kick you over there myself. Just help me get over to that rock, then you get yourself over there and do your job.”
Grady didn’t need to be told twice. Flashing Fred a look of gratitude, he raced to help.
Tony, rousing himself, struggled against the restraints they had on him. “That old man’s crazy, Enos. He attacked me—just came out of nowhere. I want him arrested. He nearly killed me.”
Enos firmed up his grip on him and shot him a look of disgust. “Shut up, Tony.”