by Jenna Ryan
“Someone from the bus?”
“Or after it.”
“Like your dead seatmate’s partner?”
“Or the rude woman’s husband. It surprised me that she had one, but she did. Visualize Walter Mitty and you’re there.”
“Did I hear about this rude woman?”
She raised her head. “You don’t tell me stuff, I don’t tell you stuff. I thought about the trip a lot while you were relocating the truck. The woman and her daughter died. The only time I saw her husband was at the inquest. He didn’t show much of anything emotionally.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“I told him I was sorry for his loss.”
“Was he?”
“Sorry? For the loss of his daughter, yes. For his wife…?” She made an uncertain sound.
Since there was nothing they could do but wait, McBride drew her to the nearest wall and tucked her in beside him. Sliding an arm around her, he pillowed her head on his shoulder and set his chin on her hair. “Might as well be comfortable.”
Her lips curved. “You’re way better than a bunch of mason jars, McBride.”
“Can’t say I’ve heard that comparison before. In what way was the woman rude?”
“She made about fifteen of us play musical chairs. She and her daughter purchased their tickets separately and therefore weren’t seated together. She was determined to sit at the front, and she wanted her daughter with her. I was across from them at first, but someone else wanted my seat, so I moved again. That’s when I met John Gregory.” Her eyes rose to the overhead rocks. “Do you think he’ll assume we’re dead, or as good as dead, and leave?”
“Eventually. He might give it an hour or two, but my guess is, he’s thinking we won’t get out.”
“I’m not sure I’m thinking differently.”
McBride’s eyes gleamed when he looked down. “If I said that, you’d deck me.”
“I’m out of my element here,” she reminded him. “Also very, very tired. And scared. And worried. And hungry,” she realized, giving his stomach a light punch. “Because you refused to stop at that all-night Cherry Bomb diner we passed sometime around midnight.”
“Be glad we squeezed in a couple of hours of sleep.”
“I am, but I still don’t understand what you had against Cherry Bomb. Even my father used to cave and take me to the drive-through once or twice a year.”
He glanced away, considered for a moment, then rested his head on the wall. “My father’s second wife worked in a Cherry Bomb near Tulsa before they were married. He went into it with the express purpose of relieving the cashier of her money. He stuck a gun inside his jacket, walked through the door and knocked a loaded tray out of Mary Ellen’s—future number two’s—hands. The cashier got mad at Mary Ellen and told my father to take a hike. Their boss heard the yelling and stomped out of the kitchen.” McBride’s mouth crooked into a humorless smile. “That’s when things got ugly.”
ALESSANDRA DIDN’T SAY a word. She didn’t miss one, either. Over the next two-plus hours she heard more about McBride’s father than she’d heard in all the years they’d been together. The truth wasn’t pretty, and he didn’t like telling it, but finally, she had some basic knowledge of McBride’s and his father’s nonrelationship.
“No matter how you work it, darlin’, my old man makes yours look like Grandpa Walton.”
She tried not to smile. “That’s a stretch, but I get the idea.”
He shone his beam downward again. “Water’s receding. The rain must have stopped soon after our homicidal bus thief blew up the front entrance. Another hour should do it.”
She shifted position, traced a circle on his stomach. “Right about now I’d love a pepperoni pizza. From Toscana’s, in Wriggleyville. Onions, extra cheese, mushrooms. Deep dish, not thin crust.”
He picked up the thread. “A bottle of Chianti.”
“Cherry cheesecake for dessert.”
“Hot sex after dessert.”
“That’s not fair.” She laughed. “I want food, and you’re pushing my lust button.”
“We still have an hour to go. Pizza and wine are out, but the hot sex has possibilities.”
“You truly are a sick man, McBride.”
“You think? Look in the backpack.”
“You’re joking. If you brought along a box of condoms…” She stopped as she looked in the pack. “You didn’t bring condoms. You brought chocolate. Two big bars of seventy percent cocoa chocolate.” Framing his face with her hands, she gave him a resounding kiss that echoed through the chamber and came very close to diverting her. But the ground was hard and damp and, well… Chocolate.
“You’re too easy,” he said when she tore off the wrapper and broke the first bar into pieces.
“Comes from my mother’s side of the family.”
Slipping one of the squares between her teeth, she climbed onto his lap and leaned in to offer him a bite. When he took it, she smiled, then set her hands on his hips and did a slow gyration.
“My turn to reveal. You met her, but did I ever tell you about my Aunt Angelica? She used to be an exotic dancer at a club in the Bahamas. It was called Gilt, and I have to tell you…” She let her mouth slide in temptingly close to his. “The club wasn’t misnamed.”
SHE MIGHT NOT HAVE seen it all, but Alessandra figured after more than three hours in a cave with McBride, she’d done most of it. Or as much as she’d ever need to.
They’d had sex inside a cave. A big, cold, wet cave from which they weren’t yet certain they would ever escape. Like a last cigarette before the firing squad, they’d enjoyed each other’s bodies. Except her mind still refused to believe they were going to die in there.
She’d managed to lose all sense of time. As predicted, however, the water level eventually dropped. When it did, McBride jumped into the hole up to his knees.
“If it can get out, there’s a good chance we can, too. Unless this underground river empties into an underground lake.”
She said nothing, just sent him a look that made his lips twitch.
They began the arduous trek through the waterbed. As it had all along, the ground sloped downward. The passage narrowed and broadened several times, but thankfully never seemed to end.
Then they turned a corner.
For a suspended and vaguely surreal moment Alessandra watched the river tumble into an impossible abyss.
“I’m not seeing this.” But she couldn’t drag her gaze away. “A waterfall. In a cave.” She shone her light down. Way down. “There’s no bottom, McBride, just another bend that’s taking the water deeper.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He angled his own beam in the opposite direction. “There’s light coming through some of the rocks up there.”
Spinning, Alessandra pumped an imaginary fist. Yes! Now those rocks were small enough to move.
It required time and a great deal of effort, but one by one, the prison wall crumbled and a hole appeared. A little more pushing and shoving and soon it was large enough for them to squeeze through.
“Well, there was an adventure you don’t have every day.” She brushed off while he looked around. “Any idea where we are?”
“Not really, but we want to go east, which means we’ll have to climb.”
“I’m going to be so thin when this is over, I’ll be able to pig out on chocolate from now until Christmas and not have a thing to worry about.” She started off, still brushing bits of rock from her clothes. “Don’t give me that get-real look, McBride. I’m a woman. I think about it.”
“Uh-huh.” He tapped her jacket pocket. “Think about that instead. You’re beeping.”
Surprised, she located her phone. “It’s a text from Larry. He says the sheriff’s people lifted three clean prints from that abandoned truck. They’re waiting to hear if any of them can be identified. The truck itself was stolen from a Rapid City tow yard, so no help there.” She scrolled to the end. “He’s still working on sending the pictures you want
ed.”
An unexpected obstruction appeared at her feet while her eyes were still on the screen. “I don’t want to look,” she said aloud. But of course she had to. “That’s not a wall, McBride, it’s a minimountain. Did I mention that climbing isn’t my strong suit?”
He wrapped his hands around her waist to get her started. “It will be when this is over. Climb, stick and keep telling yourself we’ll get him.”
She took a moment to prepare mentally, then huffed out a breath and began pulling herself up the craggy face.
“When you get to that ledge, stop and rest,” he said from below. “I want to check the top first.”
“We’ll get him,” she muttered. “We’ll get him. We will get him… If we ever get off this wall that’s the size of Mount Everest.”
Not all the rocks were rough and the smooth areas felt slick beneath her fingers. She made the mistake of looking down once and had to stop for a minute to combat the dizziness that swept through her.
Get to the ledge, she told herself. Another ten feet, and she’d be safe. Ten, seven, five…
She reached up. As she did, the toehold supporting most of her weight crumbled. She knew her other foot wouldn’t hold her, but she had nothing solid to grab.
And nowhere to go, her startled mind realized, except down.
“DON’T MOVE, don’t squirm, don’t even blink,” McBride ordered.
In mild shock Alessandra held herself perfectly still. McBride had caught her with his own body. Caught and somehow trapped her between himself and the rock wall. She had no idea why they weren’t both lying at the bottom, but since they weren’t, the least she could do was freeze and pray.
“Find a handhold,” he said with amazing calm.
She groped and was finally able to wedge her fingers into a crack. Two cracks. Her foot located a protrusion, and for the first time in God knew how long, she released a shaky breath.
“Okay, that was really horrible.” The trembling in her knees abated. “Did we lose much ground—or, well, altitude?”
“A few feet.” He kissed the back of her head. “I’m going to let go now, darlin’. You ready to move?”
Did she have a choice?
She fixed her eyes on the ledge. It was still in sight and, thankfully, the tremors in the rest of her muscles were diminishing.
Take a deep breath, she told herself, and climb.
It took five minutes to reach the ledge. Those minutes felt like hours. And it had to be days since they’d left the cabin.
McBride scaled the remaining eight feet like the mountain goat he apparently was. Seeing nothing, he went to his belly and reached for her.
“Moe’s truck should be just over the next ridge.”
She caught his hands. “I don’t like that word, McBride.”
“What, ‘truck’?”
“‘Over.’ Although ‘truck’ isn’t a whole lot better.”
He chuckled. “It’s an easy hike.”
On her knees and momentarily safe, she examined her scraped palms. “An easy hike to a truck with a tracking device attached to it, and someone in a stolen school bus possibly still keeping watch. Unless it really has been days since we left the sheriff’s cabin, I’m still sensing a strong element of danger.”
“It’s been four and a half hours,” McBride revealed. “Have faith, Alessandra. We’ll be in Ben’s Creek before dinner.”
She didn’t ask, just stood and started walking. The rain had stopped, and she wasn’t dead. There’d be food in Ben’s Creek, and a bed. If they were very, very lucky, there might even be some answers to questions like…
“What could you, me and a lecher possibly have in common?” she wondered aloud. “Beyond the bus accident?”
“I like to think not much, but obviously someone disagrees. Are you sure there was no other lecher on the trip?”
She turned, kept walking. “Now how would I know that?”
“Just making conversation, darlin’. Turn back around and get behind me.” He pulled his gun out of his waistband. “We’re closing in on the spot where the bad guy’s bus was parked.”
She waited below while he scouted the ridge. The sun had returned. With it came heat and teeming insect life.
Shedding her jacket, Alessandra tied it around her waist and thought longingly of a rose-and-chamomile-scented bath, a really good pinot noir and—and what else? Not Cary Grant at this point. Not McBride, either, if she was smart. After this sample of his current job, she’d rather be married to a cop than a U.S. marshal—albeit, maybe not to a detective in Homicide, which McBride had been when they’d met.
Whoa, stop, back up. What was she doing thinking about this, anyway? She loved him, she always would. That didn’t mean she could live with him again.
Even if part of her wanted to, she had more important things to think about. Like who wanted them dead, and why?
McBride returned to find her leaning against a pine tree, fanning herself with a large leaf.
“The bus is gone. Truck looks fine from a distance. No slashed tires or smashed windows.”
“Any state troopers?”
“Not so far.”
“I know you didn’t have time to look for it earlier, but will you be able to find the tracking device before we leave?”
His grin had a dangerous edge. “Consider it done.”
“What does that mean?” She stopped fanning, slid her gaze to his face. When he didn’t reply, her eyes narrowed. “Don’t do this to me, McBride.”
“We need to finish it, Alessandra. He’ll figure out we’re not dead sooner or later.”
“I know that, and I’m not going to be cliché about this. I’m not,” she said when a spark of humor appeared. “I want it finished so I can go home, get another dog, go gambling with Joan and her sister and—oh, God, I don’t know. Live my life, maybe?”
He took her hand, kissed it. “If you’re done, there’s more chocolate in the truck.”
The laugh that rose felt good. “Any more sugar, and I won’t need a truck to get to Ben’s Creek.”
“There’s also a small grocery store a few miles south of here, or so the dispatcher’s map says.”
“You don’t mind stopping?”
“Ten minutes. You buy food, I’ll contact the state troopers.”
That sounded reasonable, and yet… “You’re very cheerful all of a sudden. Why?”
“Let’s just say, some of my training hasn’t been entirely by the book. Yeah, the guy can track us with the device he planted. What he probably doesn’t know is that with a little tweaking and a lot of luck, we might be able to track him back.” The glint in his eyes deepened to a frightening level. “One way or another, I’m gonna get that bastard, Alessandra. And when I do, he’ll wish to hell he’d taken that stick of dynamite he used to blow up the cave entrance and blown himself up with it instead.”
Chapter Sixteen
“You’re back.” Larry greeted them with open arms outside Moe’s repair shop. “I was starting to think I’d never see you again.”
“I can’t tell you how many times we came close to making that thought a reality,” Alessandra said as he smothered her in a crushing bear hug. She waved at Moe and Curly, who waved back, and at Morley, who wagged his remaining three fingers at her.
“Where’s the truck?” McBride asked after he, too, had been firmly embraced.
“Yours is up and running, good as new. The one from the ditch got hauled to the county impound. Mayor’s idea, not the sheriff’s or mine. It’s not a far drive. We can go there first thing tomorrow morning. Tonight’s Moe’s ninetieth birthday bash. We’re using my barn, and you’re coming, both of you.” Larry stuck out a finger at McBride’s dark expression. “No lip, no back talk, no saying it’s too dangerous. I’ll tell everyone to arm up and be on the lookout for strangers. Now, d’you want to stay at my place or Ruthie’s motel?”
While both options appealed to Alessandra, thirty minutes later she found herself listening t
o the rumble of a generator and waiting for the water to heat inside Cheech’s trailer.
The creek bed being marginally cooler than the stuffy interior, Alessandra waved McBride’s hat and offered him an unperturbed smile as she walked back and forth in front of the metal steps.
“Don’t give me that look, I know why we’re here rather than at the motel. Have I complained? And no matter how pissed off you are, it’s not my fault your double-duty transmitter’s not working properly. Where do you think he is?”
McBride sat on the step of the trailer, knees apart, her recharged BlackBerry between them. “Last blip I got showed him halfway between the sheriff’s cabin and here.”
She tried to keep her stomach from coiling into slippery knots. “So he is en route.”
“He could be heading back to Rapid City.”
“But you don’t think so.”
“Not really.” He trailed her with eyes she suspected she’d never be able to read. “Relax, darlin’. I won’t let him hurt you.”
“I know.” She batted a blackfly with his hat. “I also know I’m overlooking some small detail about that bus trip. Something that ties you, me, the lech driver and another person together.” Halting beside him, Alessandra angled her head so she could view the BlackBerry screen. “What’s that picture?”
“The truck Ruth’s son found in a ditch. Morley’s not a great photographer.”
“Give the guy a break. He wasn’t working with the best subject. That thing’s ancient. It’s three parts rust to one part spit.” Sitting on the step beside him, she peered over his shoulder. “It also looks vaguely familiar.”
“Yeah?” He brought up a second shot. “Are we back to your bull breeder and his son-in-law?”
“God, no. Hawley wouldn’t be caught dead in a junker like that.” She made a waffling sound. “Ryder might, though. He fixes up old vehicles in his spare time, sells them and gives his wife the money. While she’s off shopping in Minneapolis, he does his disgusting sex-on-the-side thing.”
“Sounds like a gem of a husband. What does his father-in-law think?”