A_Wanted Man - Alana Matthews

by Intrigue Romance

  “Meaning what?”

  “After the accident we spent a lot of time shouting past each other, but we never really sat down and talked about it. About exactly what happened.”

  Callie hardened. “I know what happened.”

  “That’s the thing, Cal, you think you do, you think you have it worked out exactly how it went down, but you never really listened to my side of the story. You pretended to, but you made up your mind about me before I even walked in the door.”

  “People have eyes, Harlan. They told me what they saw.”

  He shook his head. “They got it wrong. It was a party, remember? They were drunk and too busy dealing with their own B.S. to pay any attention to…”

  He paused, his gaze suddenly shifting to a spot above her right shoulder. The eyes tightened slightly, then grew wider.

  Callie wheeled her head around, looking up toward the rocky hillside. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “I thought I saw something move up there. Someone watching us.”

  Callie scanned the hillside, looking up toward an outcropping of rocks, using a cupped hand to shade her eyes against the sunlight. She stared intently at those rocks, but saw nothing unusual.

  But before she could tell Harlan this, he suddenly grabbed her arm and shouted, “Look out!”

  An explosion went off and dust billowed, chunks of the mountain breaking free, the entire hillside soon following, a tidal wave of rock and debris tumbling toward them.

  The horses whinnied in terror and began to scatter, the thunder of their hooves drowned out by the rumble of the falling rock.

  Harlan jerked on Callie’s arm, pulling her out of the path of a rolling boulder.

  “Go! Go!” he shouted, and the two kicked into motion, trying to avoid the onslaught.

  She heard Mercer cry out in alarm and saw Rusty scramble to his feet as another boulder blasted past the deputy, coming within inches of flattening him.

  They all ran, giving it everything they had, as the landslide bore down on them, the rocks and dirt seeming to consume them.

  Harlan picked up speed, dragging Callie along with him as she saw Rusty go down, followed by Mercer. She let out a shrill, terrified shriek—

  And before she knew it, her world was nothing but broken earth and stone as the avalanche pulled her and Harlan under.

  Then everything was still.

  Chapter Fifteen

  When Harlan awoke, he was buried beneath the debris. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but guessed it was seconds rather than minutes.

  He tried to move. No pain. Didn’t seem to be hurt in any substantial way. A gap in the rubble was letting air come through, and he could see daylight.

  He still had hold of Callie’s arm and could feel her pulse throbbing beneath his fingers.

  Alive, thank God.

  But in what condition?

  “Callie?”

  Nothing.

  Releasing her, he twisted his body, shifting the earth around him until he was able to move his arms. He began pushing rocks and dirt aside and finally broke through to the surface.

  “Callie?”

  She uttered a faint, muffled groan.

  Sounded far away.

  His heart pounding, Harlan got to his feet and frantically burrowed through the mound of dirt and rock, tossing it in all directions until he finally found her—still in one piece, but rattled and a little banged up.

  Her breaths came in long gulps as she drew in precious air. “…thank you…”

  “Are you okay?” he asked. “Anything broken?”

  She checked for any serious damage, then shook her head. “I… I—I don’t think so.”

  Harlan pushed aside the rest of the debris and helped her to her feet. He heard more groans nearby and saw both Mercer and Rusty struggling to free themselves as well.

  The way that hillside had come down, it was a miracle they were all alive.

  “Everyone okay?” he asked.

  Mercer grunted in the affirmative as he kicked some rubble aside and stood up, cursing under his breath.

  Rusty said, “I think I may have twisted something, but I’ll live. How are you guys?”

  “Mad as hell,” Callie said, still breathing hard. She rubbed her elbow as she wheeled around to look up at the mountain. “Who was that up there?”

  Mercer cursed again, spitting dirt. “Our fugitives, is my guess. At least one of them. Must’ve come back to see if anyone was looking for ’em.”

  But Harlan wasn’t so sure. “That sounded like a dynamite blast. Where would they get dynamite?”

  “From Jonah, no doubt. Old guy was crazy enough to keep some handy. Maybe up at the cabin.”

  “Does that mean we’re getting close?” Callie asked.

  “According to Landry’s map, we’ve still got the Lost Woods ahead of us.” He gestured. “And I hope one of you still has a copy of the thing, because both it and my GPS are buried somewhere under this slide. I was checking our route when the blast went off.”

  Harlan climbed up and over the rubble toward the mountain, straining to see if anyone was still up there.

  No sign of life.

  “Whoever it was, I’m betting they’re long gone. Probably started riding the minute they set off the blast.”

  “He better hope I don’t catch him,” Mercer said. “It won’t be pretty if I do.”

  Callie looked concerned. “We’ve lost the element of surprise. What if they take off before we can get to them?”

  Mercer dismissed the idea with a wave of the hand. “They take off, where they gonna go? This isn’t exactly friendly country, and there aren’t any more outlaw hideouts to head for. Besides, whoever did this thinks we’re dead. I sure would.”

  “Maybe so,” Harlan said, “but we need to move faster. No more rest stops.”

  The comment must have reminded Mercer about the horses. Looking visibly worried, he scanned the landscape until he found all four of them grazing a couple hundred yards away at the bottom of sloping incline. They looked unfazed now, as if the world hadn’t just fallen apart around them.

  Mercer let out a breath and said, “Gotta love those gals. Always sticking close to papa. More than I can say for my ex.” He looked at the others. “I assume you folks are ready to mount up and go?”

  Rusty was checking his right ankle. “Sooner I get off this thing, the better. Looks like it’s starting to swell.”

  “All right, then,” Mercer said, then put his fingers to his mouth and whistled. The horses responded immediately, coming toward them in a loping gallop.

  Mercer dipped into his shirt pocket and found a wooden matchstick. Stuck it between his lips.

  “Let’s get after these cowards before they figure out we’re still alive.”

  THERE’S NOTHING LIKE a brush with death to help you get your priorities straight.

  As they continued along the overgrown trail, Callie realized that all this drama between her and Harlan was little more than trivial nonsense.

  What did any of it matter right now?

  What she needed to do was concentrate on the task at hand. Get the job done and worry about the rest after the killers were behind bars.

  But even as she told herself this, she had to admit that when she’d heard Harlan’s voice calling to her from beyond the rubble, the relief she’d felt had been palpable.

  She thought for sure he hadn’t survived the slide, and she couldn’t quite fathom a world without him in it. She may not have seen him for a decade, but at least she had always known that he was out there somewhere. Living and breathing. Being Harlan.

  And that meant a lot to her.

  More than she was willing to say.

  When she thought about it, she realized she had been just as happy to see him emerge from that burning house with Gloria Pritchard clinging to him. Even at the height of her anger toward him, that sudden fear of losing him had ripped through her like a dark tide.

  If that meant she wa
s still in love with him, then so be it. But she couldn’t let it interfere with what they’d come here to do.

  No distractions.

  She needed to get down to business, and Harlan seemed to be feeling the same way. He had gotten quiet again as they rode along the trail, the Lost Woods looming up ahead. He had taken the lead now, using Landry’s map to guide them, and his focus and stolid determination was a comfort to her.

  It was also, she was beginning to realize, an aphrodisiac.

  Why was she letting him get to her like this?

  Concentrate, Callie.

  No more personal drama.

  THERE WERE A LOT OF LEGENDS surrounding the Lost Woods.

  Several acres deep, it was a nearly impenetrable maze of ancient Douglas fir that stretched into the sky above them, their high, thick branches exposing only patches of blue. It was said to be haunted by the ghosts of outlaws past, men who had fled here to escape a posse only to find themselves hopelessly lost, and dead within days.

  Except for the Pritchard gang, of course.

  Others said that the trees themselves would watch whoever entered these woods, tripping them up with their gnarled roots, covering them with branches after they fell, so that their decaying bodies would become part of the earth and never be found.

  Callie didn’t take much stock in these legends. She wasn’t the superstitious sort. But the moment they rode into the woods, the world seemed to grow darker—not simply the blocking of the sun by the trees, but a kind of kinetic darkness that swirled around them like the souls of angry spirits.

  “Lovely place,” Rusty said. “Tell me again why I volunteered for this manhunt?”

  Mercer huffed a chuckle. “Who says you volunteered?”

  “At least tell me I’m getting hazard pay. Somewhere there’s gotta be a silver lining to this operation.”

  “The silver lining is waiting at that cabin,” Callie told him. “When we catch the bad guys.”

  “Spoken like a true training deputy.”

  She knew he was only half-serious, but he was starting to grate. “And you’re talking like a whiny rookie.”

  “Hey, what do you want from me? I almost got killed back there and my ankle hurts.”

  “So do my elbow and my butt,” Callie said, “but you don’t hear me complaining. At least we’re still alive.”

  “And I’d like to stay that way, thank you very much.”

  She looked at him. “What are you trying to tell us, deputy? You don’t think you’re cut out for this job?”

  “Just blowing off steam,” he said.

  “Well, blow it another direction. And be grateful we’re still in one piece, even if your ankle does hurt.”

  She knew she sounded harsh, but she couldn’t help herself. Maybe she needed to blow off a little steam, too.

  She softened. “Look, Rusty, I’m sorry, but this isn’t much fun for any of us. Once we’ve got these creeps in jail, we can all go to the Oak Pit and get drunk. I’ll even get that cop groupie with the fake boobs to massage your ankle if you want.”

  Rusty smiled. “You wouldn’t have to try too hard. In fact, if the Pritchard Ranch hadn’t burned up last night, I think I might’ve sealed the deal.”

  Uh-oh. TMI. She was suddenly sorry she’d brought up the subject. “Well, if you do get lucky, I hope you’ll keep it to yourself.”

  His smile widened. “Don’t worry, I’ll try to limit it to just a few hundred of my friends.”

  Despite her mood, Callie managed a laugh. Rusty may have been a complainer, and he may have had trouble handling crime scenes, but he wasn’t shy and he knew how to make her smile. He was a nice distraction from the gloom surrounding them.

  When it came down to it, he was also a good cop. But as his training deputy, she was required to keep that tidbit of information to herself. She needed to help him build his confidence, not his ego.

  Up ahead Harlan brought his horse to a halt in the middle of a small clearing and signaled to the others to stop.

  “What is it?” Callie asked.

  He scanned the woods as they all pulled up alongside him. “Trail ended. No sign of it anywhere.”

  Callie looked back the way they’d come. The trail had indeed stopped at the edge of the clearing and didn’t seem to pick up anywhere else.

  “What does the map say?”

  “That we follow it through the trees, and when we come through to the other side, we’ll be just above Robbers Canyon.”

  A small spike of concern stuttered through Callie. “So where is it, then? Did we go off course?”

  “Not according to Landry.”

  “Maybe he lied,” Mercer said. “Another reason for refusing to come with us.” He paused. “Ladies and gentlemen, I think we’ve officially been punked.”

  “But why?” Callie asked. “He’s just set himself up for an obstruction charge. He could go to jail.”

  “You think so? He’ll just claim he got it wrong, or he forgot. That we were pressuring him too much.” Mercer swore under his breath.

  “Or maybe he doesn’t care,” Harlan said. “Maybe he was setting us up at the get-go.”

  “How so?”

  “What if that landslide wasn’t caused by Billy Boy and his friends at all? What if the one we have to watch for is—”

  A shot rang out, echoing in the trees. Mercer grunted and flew off his horse, landing hard on the ground, blood pumping from his upper left arm.

  Harlan whipped around. “Down! Everybody down!”

  Another shot rang out and they all dove, the bullet striking a nearby tree, splintering wood. One of the horses spooked and reared up, nearly stomping Mercer’s head as her hooves came crashing down. Then it and the others scattered, galloping off into the trees.

  More shots followed, one after another, the bullets punching the ground around them. Callie grabbed for her service weapon, but it was hard to tell what direction the shots were coming from, and she was too far away for her weapon to be effective. Unfortunately, their rifles were with the horses.

  “Callie!” Harlan shouted. “Over here!”

  She wheeled around and saw him dragging Mercer behind a tree. There was a momentary pause, then the shots started again as Callie and Rusty followed Harlan and dove for safety. They quickly pulled themselves upright, putting their backs to the tree, Rusty in pain, holding his ankle.

  Her heart pounding wildly, Callie peered out into the woods but saw nothing. She glanced at Harlan and Mercer. Harlan had a hand clamped over the wound in Mercer’s arm, trying to stop the flow of blood.

  “How bad is it?”

  “Not good,” he said.

  “I’m fine,” Mercer grunted between gritted teeth, his face about three shades paler than usual. “Give me a gun. I’m gonna shoot this son of a—”

  “Quiet,” Harlan told him, then cocked his head to listen.

  Silence.

  The shots had stopped.

  He gestured to Callie. “Keep your hand clamped over the wound. I’m going after this guy.”

  “What? How can you even tell where he is?”

  “I’m guessing he’s on the move, either getting out of here while the getting’s good or looking for a better angle. Either way he’s bound to make some noise.”

  She didn’t like the idea of Harlan going out there alone. “Why don’t we all just stay right here. Safety in numbers.”

  “And let him get away? Or worse yet, get into position and take us down? I don’t think so.” He gestured to the wound. “Take over.”

  Callie knew she couldn’t stop Harlan, and arguing about it would only waste precious time. When he released the pressure, Mercer groaned. Callie quickly took Harlan’s place, clamping her hand over the wound.

  “See if you can stop the flow,” he said. “If he loses too much blood, he’s gone.”

  Callie nodded, then immediately reached down and unbuckled Mercer’s belt. She’d have to use it as a tourniquet.

  “Good thinking,” H
arlan said, then got to his feet and disappeared into the trees.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Harlan had never been in the military, but he was lucky enough to have military training of a sort. When he was nineteen, he and his big brother Sam had gone to a three-week boot camp in Montana where they’d learned the same tactical and evasive maneuvers that were taught in the marines. Not quite the same thing, sure, but it had given him a confidence that would have been sorely lacking otherwise.

  After he was recruited by the feds, he’d trained at Glynco and found that much of that training was similar. And in his time with the Marshals Service he’d been in his share of tight situations, including a hostage recovery that had nearly gotten him killed.

  In other words, Harlan was no stranger to violence. He may not have encountered it on a day-to-day basis, but he’d seen enough to know how to maintain calm and to focus on his objective: finding the shooter.

  He had no doubt that it was Landry out here. The bogus map had sealed that conclusion. And judging by the way Bickham had been so quick to defend Jonah Pritchard yesterday afternoon, to confront three officers of the law with a shotgun, it was obvious where his loyalties lay. Baked-in loyalties, so to speak, and Harlan didn’t think Jonah’s death had changed anything. Despite what Meg Pritchard may or may not have done to her grandfather, Landry’s mission was to protect and defend the family, and he was doing just that.

  Harlan moved from tree to tree as quietly as possible, stopping to listen for any telltale sounds—the rustle of bushes, the scattering of birds, the crack of timber.

  But he got nothing.

  He was almost certain that the shots had come from this direction, but the more time he spent out here, the more he began to wonder if Landry had fled. The man wasn’t exactly a young buck, and he had to know that any physical confrontation would only end with him getting hurt.

  Harlan was starting to think this was an exercise in futility, when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Nothing more than a distant glint of light in the trees but it was enough to make him swivel his head and take a closer look.