The Rivals

by Joan Johnston

  “Hands behind your back, Jimmy Joe,” Sarah ordered.

  “Do it!” Drew snapped in a voice that demanded obedience.

  Jimmy Joe shrank from Drew’s wild countenance. “All right. Just don’t hit me again.”

  As Sarah cuffed him, Drew grabbed a handful of Jimmy Joe’s shirt, pointed the Glock he’d retrieved at Jimmy Joe’s heart and snapped, “Where is Morgan going?”

  When Jimmy Joe didn’t answer quickly enough, Drew shifted his grip to Jimmy Joe’s throat to cut off the deputy’s air and said, “Spill it!”

  “Top of the mountain,” Jimmy Joe croaked. “You’d better catch him, or we’re all going to be buried alive!”

  Drew’s face contorted as though he’d swallowed a piece of bad meat. “I have half a mind to smother you before I go.”

  “Drew,” Sarah warned. He looked dangerous enough—and powerful enough—to do it.

  Drew released Jimmy Joe’s throat with a sound of disgust, turned his back and stalked away from her, single-minded in his pursuit of the man who’d betrayed them all. He was already revving the second snowmobile by the time Sarah caught up to him and climbed on behind.

  “What are you doing?” he said.

  “I’m coming with you.”

  He bent one savage glance on her, then turned forward. She felt the steel in his back, the hard cord of muscle in his body, as she grabbed hold to avoid being tumbled off when the snowmobile suddenly accelerated.

  “What did you do with Jimmy Joe?” Drew yelled back at her as the snowmobile’s engine protested the speed he was demanding.

  “He’s taking a nap.”

  “Good,” Drew said with guttural satisfaction.

  Sarah hadn’t known she was capable of knocking someone out with the butt of her Glock. But she couldn’t afford to leave Jimmy Joe awake and able to wreak havoc.

  Morgan’s trail was easy to follow in the fresh snow, but there was no sign of him ahead of them, only the distant whine of machinery.

  The transformation in Drew was surprising, but Sarah realized she’d known deep down, all along, that there was a darkness inside him that he kept hidden. His stepbrother’s betrayal had ripped off the mask of civility Drew normally wore and exposed the jumble of fierce emotions inside. Ruthlessness. Cruelty. Menace.

  And yet, with Sarah, he’d held that violence in check. She could only imagine the self-control it had taken to appear so carefree, when he was anything but.

  Sarah focused on what Drew had said to her before they’d started their attack. I love you.

  She wished she’d said the words back. She opened her mouth to speak them now but realized the wind would whip them away. When she told Drew she loved him, she wanted to be looking into his eyes. She wanted him to hear what she was saying and understand that she would be his solace in the dark times—and his joy in the light.

  Sarah wanted desperately to tell Drew how she felt. To live happily ever after with the man she loved. And her children. And their children.

  “Do you think we can catch Morgan in time?” she yelled into Drew’s ear.

  Drew didn’t answer in words. He simply revved the engine until it screamed.

  22

  As soon as the door to the yurt closed, Libby was on the ground beside Clay, whose head was bleeding badly where he’d been struck. She put two fingers to his throat and found his pulse strong, if a little erratic. She heard voices outside and realized Sarah and Drew were making their move.

  Everything happened fast. A moment later, they were gone.

  Libby understood why Drew and Sarah had jumped on the second snowmobile and raced after Morgan. It was their best hope of saving everyone. But what if they didn’t succeed?

  Libby’s heart was pounding as she turned to look for something to stanch Clay’s bleeding head. She was shocked to find the four children sitting up and staring wide-eyed back at her.

  “Mom?”

  “Oh, my God. Kate!”

  Kate launched herself toward Libby, who hugged her daughter tight and rocked her back and forth. Libby’s throat swelled with emotion and tears stung her nose as she forced her daughter back far enough that she could look into her eyes. “Are you all right?” she asked, searching Kate’s face for any signs of trauma. “Morgan said he’d drugged you.”

  “We didn’t drink the water he gave us,” Kate said. “Lourdes had warned me what they would do. We dumped the water and pretended to fall asleep.”

  “Lourdes?” Libby said.

  “The girl who was here before me. They took her away.” Kate’s eyes darkened as she said, “I didn’t know what had happened to her—until these guys showed up and told me she was murdered.”

  Libby turned her attention to Sarah Barndollar’s children. The younger boy was sitting in the girl’s lap, while the older boy sat beside her protectively. “You must be Nate and Brooke and Ryan,” she said.

  “We are,” the girl answered. “When can we get out of here?”

  Libby saw that none of the children had shoes or coats. And Clay was still unconscious. “I think we should wait here for your mother to get back.”

  “What if she doesn’t come back?” Brooke said. “What if that guy Morgan manages to start an avalanche? I think we need to get as far from here as we can as fast as we can.”

  “I can’t leave Clay,” Libby said. “You go. I’ll wait here until he—”

  “We can carry him, Mom,” Kate said. “We’ll rig something, some kind of travois and—”

  “You’re right,” Libby said. She hadn’t wanted to face the truth, but there was no denying how desperate their situation was. “We can’t count on being saved. We’re going to have to save ourselves.” She eyed the children’s stocking feet and said, “What are we going to do to keep your feet from freezing?”

  “We’ve got it all figured out,” Kate said. “We’d already planned how to escape when that Jimmy Joe guy and Morgan showed up.”

  “That deputy went through our backpacks and frisked us,” Brooke said. “But he missed a couple of things.” She grinned broadly, revealing shiny metal braces, and held up a small penknife. “We don’t have to get through the door. We can cut our way through the canvas wall.”

  As the kids began to move around, Libby realized they’d already used the pen knife to cut through their trousers below the knee. They pulled off the sheaths of cloth and pulled them onto their feet to use as makeshift shoes, tying them with strips of cloth they’d torn from their long john undershirts.

  “I’m impressed,” Libby said. She looked around for something to make a travois, but there was nothing to be found. The yurt had been stripped of anything useful.

  Then she realized they could use parts of the yurt itself. The interior wooden poles could be pulled down, and the canvas would make a bed for the travois. The only question was, could they do everything that had to be done in time?

  Libby listened hard for the sound of the snowmobiles in the distance. She heard nothing but the wind in the pines. “We’d better get moving,” she said. “I don’t imagine we have much time.”

  She tied on Ryan’s makeshift shoes while Kate and Brooke and Nate pulled down two of the poles. The problem arose when they tried to cut the thick canvas with Brooke’s small penknife. It was hard, slow going.

  And they were running out of time.

  “Maybe we can carry Clay,” Kate suggested.

  “I might be able to manage a fireman’s carry,” Nate said.

  Libby eyed Clay’s powerful, over-six-foot frame and imagined it draped over Nate’s lanky teenage body. She didn’t think it was going to work, but she said, “We might as well give it a try.”

  Libby got on one side of Clay, Kate and Brooke on the other, and they lifted him upright. It took all of them to heave Clay up over Nate’s shoulder.

  Nate staggered a step or two, then sank to his knees. “I’m sorry,” he said, his throat working as he swallowed back despair. “He’s too heavy for me.”

  �
��Unh.”

  Libby wasn’t sure she’d heard the sound at first. When it came again, she realized Clay was awake. “Clay?”

  As she helped ease Clay off Nate’s shoulder and onto his back on the ground, his eyes fluttered open.

  She watched him survey the faces above him and saw his relief when he spied Kate.

  “Hey, Kitten,” he said in a hoarse voice. He reached out a wobbly hand and touched her cheek.

  “Hey, Daddy,” Kate said, moving his hand to her mouth and kissing his fingertips. Then she froze, looked guiltily up at her mother, and around to the three strangers before whom she’d revealed something that was supposed to remain a secret. “I mean Clay,” she said.

  “I like ‘Daddy’ better,” Clay said.

  “Oh, Daddy,” Kate said, laying her head across his chest and holding him tight.

  His hand came up to caress her hair, and Libby saw something she’d never seen before.

  There were tears in Clay Blackthorne’s eyes.

  He eased his head in Libby’s direction, winced and said, “What’s going on?”

  “Morgan took off on one of the snowmobiles, and Drew and Sarah are chasing after him on the other one. Sarah handcuffed the other man and knocked him out. Morgan seems determined to start an avalanche,” she said. “We need to get out of here, if we can.”

  “What’s stopping us?” Clay asked.

  Libby smiled and said, “We couldn’t move your carcass.”

  “Help me up,” he said.

  Libby and Kate each slid an arm under Clay’s shoulders and helped him lurch to his feet. He secured an arm around Libby’s waist and leaned heavily against her.

  He closed his eyes and muttered, “Damned yurt keeps moving.”

  Libby realized he ought to be lying down, but that was a luxury they couldn’t afford. “Do you think you can walk?”

  “I’ll walk,” he said through gritted teeth.

  When he tried, he stumbled, and if Kate hadn’t helped Libby hold him up, he would have fallen flat on his face.

  “We’ll help you, Daddy,” Kate said, easing an arm around his waist. “Lean on me.”

  The look of love on Clay’s face as he said, “Thanks, Kate,” made Libby’s throat ache.

  “If you guys are ready, we need to get moving,” Brooke said. She’d taken Ryan’s hand and was standing by the broken lattice framing the slit they’d made in the canvas wall.

  Libby was awed by the teenager’s composure. “We’ll follow you,” she said.

  Brooke shoved her way through the tear in the canvas, followed by Ryan and Nate. Libby went next, pulling Clay through while Kate pushed. Once they were outside, they found Jimmy Joe sitting on the ground moaning.

  “What do we do with him?” Nate asked.

  “Leave him there,” Brooke said coldly.

  “You can’t leave me here to die!” Jimmy Joe protested.

  “Why not?” Kate said. “You’re a murderer. You bragged about killing Lourdes. I bet you killed the girls that were here before her.”

  Jimmy Joe’s face flushed a livid red. “Leave me here, and you’ll all be murderers, too,” he said heatedly.

  “If you can walk, you can follow us out,” Libby said.

  “I can walk,” Jimmy Joe said, struggling to his feet.

  As Jimmy Joe rose, Libby felt Clay once more become dead weight in her arms. “Clay!” she cried.

  He was too heavy for her and Kate to hold upright, and Libby sank to her knees as they lowered him onto the snow.

  “What are we going to do now?” Kate cried. “We can’t leave him here!”

  “Jimmy Joe can carry him,” Brooke suggested.

  “I’m cuffed,” Jimmy Joe protested. “Besides, I’m hurt.”

  “I can get you out of those cuffs,” Brooke said.

  “You got a key, kid?” Jimmy Joe said with a sneer.

  “No, but I’ve got a hair pin.” Brooke pulled a jeweled bobby pin from her hair, stretched it wide and inserted one end into one of the cuffs behind Jimmy Joe’s back. Ten seconds later, it sprang open.

  Jimmy Joe pulled his hands around in front of him, rubbing his wrists. “How the hell did you do that?”

  “I practiced on my mom’s cuffs,” Brooke said. “Now pick him up, and let’s go.”

  “Not sure I’m going to do that,” Jimmy Joe said, his eyes narrowing maliciously. “Figure I can run a lot faster without all that extra weight.”

  “We let you go,” Kate said angrily. “Now help us.”

  “Sorry, little girl. Ain’t gonna happen.”

  Before any of them could stop him, Jimmy Joe Stovall took off running into the woods. Nate headed after him and had almost disappeared in the trees when Brooke shouted, “Nate, stop! Come back! He’s going the wrong direction.”

  “The wrong direction?” Libby said.

  “He’s heading farther into the canyon, not back toward the main trail,” Brooke said.

  Libby stared at the mountain above them, wondering how much more time they could possibly have. Would Drew and Sarah stop Morgan? Or were they all destined to suffocate beneath tons of snow?

  She looked down at Clay, who was out cold. “I want you kids to leave,” she said. “I’ll stay here with Clay.”

  “No,” Kate said, putting her arms around Libby’s waist and hugging her tightly. “I’m not leaving you, Mom. Or Daddy.”

  Libby met Brooke’s gaze and said, “You should go. While you still have time.”

  Brooke stared into the treeline, waiting for Nate to come huffing back to her.

  “I could have caught him, if you hadn’t called me back,” Nate said.

  “I know,” Brooke said. “But what would you have done with him when you did?”

  “I could have—” Nate began.

  Brooke cut him off with, “Kate and her mom have decided to stay here with Mr. Blackthorne. I need to know whether you want to leave them behind and try to make it out, or whether you want to stay here with them…and trust Mom and Drew to save us.”

  “That’s easy,” Nate said.

  Brooke lifted a brow and said, “It is?”

  “Sure,” Nate said, picking Ryan up in one arm and circling Brooke with the other. “We wait here for Mom and Drew to save us.”

  Drew had never been in a race where the stakes were so high. He took terrible chances, cutting corners around trees that would have sent him and Sarah flying, if they’d clipped them. At one point, he lost sight of Morgan, and his heart pounded its way up into his throat until he saw movement ahead of him again.

  Too late, Drew realized it had been a mistake for both of them to come. One of them should have stayed behind to try and move the children out of harm’s way. He’d been too consumed by hurt and blinded by anger at Morgan to stop and think.

  Drew had honestly never seen this coming. The more Drew thought of the devastation Morgan had wreaked and the lives he’d ruined, the faster he drove.

  “I see where he’s heading,” Sarah shouted in his ear. “I know a shortcut.”

  “You’d only be guessing where he’s going to end up,” Drew said.

  “We’re never going to catch him in time if we don’t do something,” Sarah replied. “We have to take the risk.”

  That was the last thing Drew wanted to do. Cold calculation was safer than taking chances. He was hanging on to control of his anger by a bare thread. But Morgan had moved beyond his sight again, and he knew that he had no choice.

  “All right,” he said. “Point me in the right direction.”

  “He’s heading for the Divide. If we cut across, we can get there ahead of him.”

  Drew followed Sarah’s pointing finger and headed off at an angle to the route they’d been following. He increased his speed as much as he dared, bouncing and skidding and sliding as fast as the snowmobile would travel. If they could get ahead of Morgan, they could intercept him before he reached the top of the mountain, where it was likely he’d set the charge.

  T
he terrain was so steep, Drew had to zigzag to move upward. Then he had a paralyzing thought.

  “What are the chances we’re going to start an avalanche ourselves?” he shouted back at Sarah.

  “Less than the absolute certainty that Morgan is going to start one,” she replied.

  Suddenly, they were at the top of the mountain. Drew stopped abruptly and let the engine idle as he searched the horizon for signs of Morgan. “Dammit! He’s not here!”

  “Turn this thing off,” Sarah said. “Listen.”

  Drew did, and heard the faint sound of an engine. “Do we wait here?” he asked Sarah. “Or head in his direction?”

  Then the other engine stopped.

  “We go to him,” she said.

  “He’s going to hear us coming,” Drew said as he revved the engine and took off.

  “Just move this thing!” Sarah said.

  In a matter of minutes, Drew could see Morgan standing beside his snowmobile, his eyes focused on something he was doing with his hands. Checking the fuse and cap, most likely, Drew thought, to make sure they were securely taped to the charge.

  Morgan looked up at him. And smiled.

  “How can you smile, you sonofabitch,” Drew said through tight jaws. “Knowing what you’re about to do?”

  “Lean to the left,” Sarah said.

  Drew veered to the left.

  “Put this godforsaken machine back on course and lean as far left as you can,” Sarah said.

  Then Drew spotted the Glock in her right hand.

  It was an impossible shot. The ride was too bumpy. The distance was too far. The target was too small.

  “Don’t do it, Morgan!” Drew shouted.

  Morgan turned to face them, yelled “Fire in the hole!” and lobbed the explosive charge right at them. Then he mounted his snowmobile like it was a horse, waved cheerily at Drew and took off in the opposite direction.

  “We’ve got ninety seconds before that detonates,” Sarah yelled. “Drop me off and—”

  “Take the shot first,” he said viciously. “Take it!”

  Drew’s right eardrum reverberated with the blast, as Sarah pulled the trigger.

  To Drew’s surprise, Morgan toppled off his snowmobile.