Dakota Marshal

by Jenna Ryan

  Alessandra shoved the nightmarish question aside and continued to prowl.

  An elderly man had succeeded in dragging himself through one of the windows before he’d expired from a number of internal injuries. A younger man from Tennessee had lost the lower portion of his left leg. The driver had walked away without a scratch.

  There’d been a lengthy investigation afterward. Yes, the driver had been distracted, but on the mechanical side, some integral part of the undercarriage had developed a serious crack. As the bus veered into a sharp turn, the cracked portion of the suspension had snapped. No one could have saved it at that point. The vehicle had skidded sideways, slammed into the guardrail and gone for a slow, terrifying roll.

  She stopped pacing, breathed out her frustration. All this reliving, and nothing new was coming to her. But there had to be something. And it had to involve McBride.

  Settling on the arm of the sofa, she picked up her phone. McBride had been gone for twenty-three minutes…and her email alert was on. Maybe the storm was moving out of range.

  Larry was the sender. He apologized for not attaching any pictures. Morley was having trouble with both his camera and his cell, so it might take a little longer than planned to get the photos uploaded.

  He described the ditched truck as a rust bucket on four wobbly wheels, claimed it smelled like a sewer and, yes, the plates had been stolen—from a pickup in the parking lot of a bar on the outskirts of Rapid City. Alessandra did a startled double take when she read the location—half a mile from her clinic.

  Drawing back, she struggled with the revelation. Half a mile? Her heart beat hard and fast in her throat. He’d been that close to her, and she’d had no idea, no clue. Unless McBride was wrong, and Hawley really was behind this, because he had, after all, threatened her verbally.

  He’d also denied making any other kind of threat….

  Okay, enough. She slashed a hand through the air, stared at the door. “Come on, McBride.”

  Nothing happened, except the rain sounded heavier now. In an effort to stem the fear fluttering around the edges of her mind, she focused on her email.

  Joan, whose faith in McBride was unshakable, had sent a chatty message earlier that day.

  She said Dr. Lang wanted Alessandra to return ASAP. One of their favorite black lab patients had given birth to four puppies. Unfortunately, another dog had swallowed a rubber ball. A check written for after-hours services had bounced, the bathroom plumbing needed work and Joan’s bunions were killing her. All in all, a typical day at the clinic, one that brought Alessandra a moment of much needed relief.

  Then the lock on the door rattled. As her moment vanished, fluttering fear whipped up to full panic.

  Sliding from the sofa, she braced her forearms on an ottoman, gripped her gun in both hands and ordered herself to remain calm.

  If it was McBride, he’d call out to her. But would she hear him above the rain, the wind and the roar of blood in her ears?

  They should have arranged a signal, a double-triple knock or something equally simple.

  When the lock rattled again, her heart raced out of control. McBride had a key. If it was him, he’d use it.

  She swore, softly, succinctly. Her wrists threatened to tremble. No, not allowed.

  Overhead, something landed on the roof.

  Her eyes went up. A hot ball of fear climbed into her throat. Then, ten feet in front of her, the door burst open.

  “DON’T SHOOT!” McBride came in low and with a hand extended. He was soaked and muddy, and the sleeve of his jacket was torn from elbow to wrist.

  No blood, Alessandra noticed. Exhaling in a rush, she let her head drop onto her outstretched arms.

  He closed the door, leaned against it in a crouch, breathing hard. “Sorry, darlin’. I ran into an unfriendly barbed-wire fence and dropped the key. I thought about tapping on the window, but I didn’t think you’d hear it above the storm. Short of shouting at you and alerting anyone in the vicinity, all I could do was break the lock.”

  She brought her head up just far enough to see him. “So now we’re lockless, truckless and I sincerely hope bugless, and it’s going to be light soon.” A sudden thought struck her. “Wait a minute, shouldn’t we be watching Moe’s truck?”

  “I should be watching. And I plan to.”

  Of course he did. “I see,” she said. “And what will I be doing in the meantime? Sitting here with the sheriff’s wall-mounted friends?”

  His smile contained a trace of absent humor. “It’s an option. Not the one I had in mind, though. This area’s riddled with caves. Most of them are dead-end holes in the rock face, but if you’re inside one, no one can attack you from behind.”

  “That’s a novelty.”

  He tucked his gun in his waistband and stood. “You have to trust me, or a least trust that I know what I’m doing. The dispatcher gave me a locally drawn map of the area.”

  “Did she? How enlightening.”

  He smiled again. “I know the tone of that stare, darlin’.” Easing the blind aside, he ran his gaze around the clearing. “You’re annoyed because I didn’t let you in on the plan sooner.”

  The laugh that bubbled up had to be hysteria. “You know, I would be if I thought for a minute you’d actually planned any of this. But too much time spent with you lately leads me to believe you’re strategizing on the fly.”

  A low-battery beep from her BlackBerry eased the tension. “There’s still a signal. The weather gods are giving us a second chance to call for help, McBride. Since there’s a man out there who wants us dead, don’t you think we should seize it?”

  “I did as I was approaching the cabin. Best I could give the trooper I spoke to was this location and a description of the spot where I left the truck.”

  He wasn’t always communicative, she reflected, but he was always thinking. And, she seriously hoped, a full step ahead of the person gunning for them.

  McBride wanted the cover of darkness for their trek, so loading up a single small pack, they set off for higher ground.

  “The sheriff’s mother-in-law told me there are several geothermal pools in the area.” He boosted Alessandra over a huge fallen tree in their path. “She and her husband come here in the fall, get naked and dive in. Afterward, they meditate on the surrounding rocks.”

  “There’s a picture.”

  “I’m trying to free up your mind with casual conversation. You can’t think clearly if your brain’s a mass of knots.”

  “You want me to go through the bus trip again, don’t you?”

  “Smallest detail could be key.”

  Although the rain had slowed to a drizzle, the path was ankle-deep in mud. She stuck to the outer edge and watched for tricky drop-offs.

  “It was pretty boring, all in all.”

  “You said the driver came on to you.”

  “Me, the woman from Arizona and two or three others. Georgia, the welder, finally decided to come on to him. They were talking when the accident occurred.”

  “Georgia died a month later, right? But you don’t remember how?”

  “I’m not sure. It might have been from a brain aneurysm. A condition similar to that, anyway. Not something that could have been arranged.”

  “So strike Georgia from any and all lists. What about the driver?”

  “He got lucky accident-wise, but I remember hearing he was the victim of a home invasion a few months later.”

  “Anything come of that?”

  “No idea.” She looked up, way up at a steep wall of rock. “We have to do this, huh? Climb in the dark and the wet, with no safety gear?”

  “I’ll be right behind you.”

  He was also carrying the pack, which left her arms free. Still, thirty-five vertical feet of craggy juts and ledges later, Alessandra was more than happy to hoist herself onto solid ground.

  “Your father would be proud of you,” McBride remarked, joining her.

  She scrubbed her grimy palms along the legs of h
er jeans. “My father’d be appalled. I fired bullets at someone last night. You don’t do that in his world.”

  “No wonder he hated mine so much.” He motioned for her to start walking again and followed her. “What happened to the bus driver, Alessandra?”

  “I think he eventually got fired for lascivious behavior.” She tossed a look over her shoulder. “Told you he was a lech.” Then she halted so abruptly, McBride almost knocked her down. “Lech,” she repeated as she spun to face him. “Lecher. That’s what it was. Lecher not leopard. ‘One death for another. And another and another and another.’ There were four ‘anothers,’ McBride. Then he said, ‘Yours, your cop husband’s, that bastard lecher and…”

  “There was an ‘and,’ as well?”

  “Yes. Four ‘anothers,’ a ‘lecher’ and an ‘and.’”

  “And the bus driver, the alleged lecher, was the victim of a home invasion.”

  “Yes, but that invasion was years ago, McBride. After the crash, and before he was fired, but still far enough back that it’s probably not connected to what’s happening now.”

  “Don’t count on it.”

  “You do know we’re talking five, maybe six years here.”

  “Home invasion’s one thing. Armed home invasion is another. Think theft, armed robbery and possibly attempted murder in terms of prison sentences.”

  “The last two would carry much stiffer sentences.” She walked backward on a level patch of ground. “Are you saying the guy after us could have been the home invader and could have subsequently gone to prison for attempting to murder the driver of the bus?”

  “It would explain the time lag. Someone invades the driver’s home with a weapon, gets caught, goes off to prison. Driver recovers emotionally, life and time go on. Home invader’s released. Nothing’s changed in his head. He moves forward with his plan.”

  “About which we’re still in the dark.”

  “Good point.” He glanced at the sky, then turned her around and gave her a nudge. “Speaking of, it’s getting light. We need to keep moving.”

  At the pace he set, and given the difficult terrain they were covering, moving was all Alessandra could do. But while she might not be able to think in clear and concise lines, she could let her mind sift through snippets of other memories.

  A picture of the rude woman continued to pop up in her mind. She couldn’t be involved herself since she and her daughter were dead, but there she was in Alessandra’s head—loud, demanding and disruptive.

  After several minutes of trudging, they reached the spot where McBride wanted to be—within sight of Moe’s truck, yet not close enough to be seen.

  They crouched on the rim of an embankment so he could listen, observe and undoubtedly run down a long list of what-ifs.

  Alessandra asked, “Don’t you think I should—”

  McBride cut her off with a raised hand. “Answer’s no.”

  “But two guns are better than one.”

  “I doubt if Eddie would agree with you.”

  “So you expect me to cower in a cave while you take on a man with a scoped rifle. Honest to God, McBride, I can see the testosterone whizzing around your head.”

  “If that’s all you see today, be happy. Now do me a favor and don’t argue.”

  She made a sound—part frustration, part exasperation and, to her annoyance, part fear. She didn’t like caves. They reminded her of root cellars, specifically the root cellar under Grandmother Norris’s farmhouse, into which she’d accidentally locked herself as a child. Six hours of imaginary demons later, her parents had found her huddled in a corner, surrounded by every jar of homemade fruit, jelly and pickles she’d been able to reach. Her monster shield, she’d told them.

  There’d be no preserves in a cave. Then again, there’d been no McBride in her grandmother’s root cellar. Given a choice and in spite of everything, she’d go with McBride every time.

  “You’re worried, aren’t you?” she said as she stood. “Are you afraid he knows what we’re doing?”

  “He might. He strikes me as a man who’s insane, and insanity seldom takes a logical path. It’s hard to outthink someone like that.” He nodded up and to her left. “Mouth of the cave’s over there.”

  Alessandra hiked ahead of him on the overgrown path. As always, he had her back. Bushes and brambles crowded in on both sides. The drizzle had turned back into rain, and as it had done last night, the wind kicked up to gust and swirl around them.

  A leafy branch slapped Alessandra’s face. She pushed it aside and glanced downward. Staggered clumps of trees and bushes stretched along the embankment to the road below. Spying a movement, she bent for a clearer view.

  “McBride, stop. Look.” Snagging his arm, she tugged him to her level. “There, where the spruce trees form a tight circle. You can see the back of it.” Her fingers dug in as terror streaked through her. “It’s the yellow school bus.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Don’t move,” McBride said. “Not a muscle.”

  Alessandra wasn’t sure she could have if she’d wanted to.

  Thankfully, they weren’t wearing bright clothes. They could blend in with the trees and— What? Wait until the shooter noticed them? They were only minutes away from daylight, he had a sighted rifle and there was no sign of a state trooper.

  She’d stopped breathing. She realized it when her vision began to drift in and out. Exhaling carefully, she followed McBride’s stare.

  Strong gusts of wind bowed the small trees in front of them. For an instant, they had an unobstructed view of the vehicle’s back end. Without warning, McBride shoved her to the ground and whipped out his gun.

  Three shots from close by struck the pine behind her. Alessandra heard the thwacks and actually saw the areas where the bullets stripped the bark.

  “Cave,” McBride ordered. Blocking her from sight now as they ran, he engaged the shooter until they reached the opening.

  “Go, go!” He endeavored to pull her around him as she scrabbled through his pack for a flashlight.

  Yanking it free, she shone the beam in a broad half circle ahead of them. “There’s nowhere to go. This thing dead ends.”

  “Look down.”

  She did and saw nothing. Until…

  Ten yards ahead and around a slight curve, she spied a boulder. Barely visible beyond that was a jagged patch of black.

  A sinkhole, her mind said. While her senses resisted the thought, she knew it was their only hope.

  “Wait.” In a quick move, McBride doused the light and drew her down beside him. “Not a sound.”

  Again, she didn’t breathe, but this time the omission was deliberate. She heard the scrape and thunk of someone jumping from the entry boulder into the mouth of the cave.

  “I know you’re here,” a man shouted. His voice echoed off the damp walls. “This isn’t my first choice, I want you to know that. But it’ll do, it’ll surely do. Only thing that matters is that in the end you’re both dead. A death for a death, until I say it’s done.”

  McBride tracked him. But before he could move, a shot rang out. Less than a second later, an explosion rumbled through the cave.

  The rock walls at the opening blew apart with enough force to make the walls and floor shudder. The roar of cascading rubble was deafening. It created a shower of dust that billowed right to the back wall.

  Even as Alessandra watched in stunned silence, the light, the trees, the wind and the rain vanished. Everything around them went black.

  THEY MADE IT, heads down and coughing, to the sinkhole. McBride jumped in first, shone the flashlight down, then snapped it off and lifted Alessandra in with him.

  The ground sloped, gently in some places, up to sixty degrees in others. They slipped and slid through musty darkness. At one point she thought they must be getting close to hell. Unless they’d bypassed it and were about to emerge in China.

  Only a portion of the rocks and dust followed them down, and they had two flashlights, so at le
ast they weren’t descending blind. But several of the crawlways were tight, and once Alessandra actually got stuck. She didn’t panic, because the alternative to going forward was going backward, and the entrance to the cave had been obliterated. Just as long as the slopes and crawlways kept appearing, she told herself they’d make it out.

  Wriggling free, she hopped down and approached the top of another hole. Her heart sank when she heard the sound of rushing water.

  She went to her knees, angled her beam downward. “Damn.” Closing her eyes, she rocked back on her heels while McBride crouched to take a look. “I’m going to need a moment before I dive into that.”

  “What you need, darlin’, is scuba gear.”

  So much for positive reinforcement. She stared up at the rock ceiling. “Was that dynamite he used?”

  “That’d be my guess. He came prepared.”

  Why did she want to laugh? Whatever the reason, it couldn’t be good.

  Lowering herself to a cross-legged position, she pressed her forehead to the back of McBride’s arm. “Pretty sure I’m having a Freudian moment. Or maybe it’s a Jungian one. Either way I’m convinced that none of this is real. And not real equals nightmare—a projection of my deepest, darkest fears. Therefore, at some point I’m going to wake up in my bed in Rapid City and swear never to drink red wine on a Friday night again. Moment ended. Now pinch me.”

  McBride squeezed the back of her neck. “I have a better idea. On the off chance that this isn’t a nightmare, let’s work at getting out of here. Then if the pinching part fails, at least we’ll be living your night terror as people who are free to move and react. The water will subside, Alessandra, once the rain stops.”

  “I know, I just needed that moment of absurdity to release some of the tension.” She looked at him in the darkness. “I recognized his voice, McBride. I can’t put a face to it, but I know it from somewhere.”

  “Is it Hawley or his son-in-law?”

  “I don’t think so.”