“Mother Shasta, if I could turn back time, I would. We were in love once, promising to be together ‘til death us do part.”
A vow her husband had taken literally.
Now the matter of her death was back in play. What would happen next? What would be Christiaan’s next move?
His initial reaction would probably be to strike out and disable the enemy. Then his boardroom training and royal upbringing would kick in. “Never complain. Never explain.” His stepmother had repeated that mantra so many times to Brianna that she was surprised it hadn’t been tattooed on her forehead.
She hoped he followed the same path he’d taken eight years ago. After the press beat him and his family senseless, he’d issue a statement then quietly retreat.
And her mountain would be saved.
As well as her heart.
Something blocked the sun from Vicky’s eyes. So close a warm breath caressed her cheek.
“I... know... who... you... are.”
The words struck her like a bolt of lightning.
Christiaan. Lost in her wallowing, she hadn’t heard him approach. How long had he been there?
“You do?” was all she could squeak out.
“Yes. I. Do.” He stared her down with eyes dark with rage. “Did you really think it would be that easy to hide from me?”
Vicky rolled to her left, found her footing, and jumped to her feet, keeping the boulder between herself and Christiaan. Unfortunately, the tactic also meant the only escape route was behind him.
Or through him. A well-placed headbutt could smash his nose or at least stun him, buying her at least five, ten seconds. Twenty, tops.
She bit her lip then brushed a hand through her hair. “How’d you find me?” Vicky met his gaze, her chin set, ready to make her move. She hoped fierce showed on her face because adrenaline had her voice wavering.
“I didn’t. But your partner did. Something about a morning ritual that sets your day on the right path?”
Today obviously being the exception. Damn Dean and his big mouth.
“Look… I—”
“Shh… relax,” he purred, touching her face.
She remained still as he traced the outline of her cheek. His warm touch made her tremble. From fear? Desire? Anticipation?
“Do you really think me capable of murder?”
Vicky tried to look away, but couldn’t. All she could do was study his face. A picture of anger and pain. Desperation and determination. Passion and desire. But not murder.
A primitive instinct of self-preservation welled up in her.
Get real, girl. You didn’t think he was capable eight years ago and look what happened. She needed to get out of here.
Vicky pulled away from his touch and rocked her head back. This was gonna hurt.
“I’m surprised at you. A smart, capable, determined woman such as yourself stooping to cheap theatrics.”
Vicky froze. “What?”
“You heard what I said.”
“Wait a minute.” Her hand brushed through her hair. “What did you mean when you said you knew who I was?”
Christiaan straightened and crossed his arms. “You’re one of those people who stoops to desperate tactics to divert attention away from a baseless position.”
She laughed.
“You find manufacturing a ridiculous story about my marriage funny?” he said with a scathing stare. “Dragging my late wife into this was reprehensible.”
Her secret was safe.
“I’m sorry.” Vicky struggled for seriousness. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Spare me the mock stupidity. The reporter couldn’t have made the leap from alcoholism to murder without your help. You’re the only person outside my family who knew details like that.”
Vicky could see him mentally kicking himself for opening up to a stranger the other night. But thank God, he saw her as a stranger.
“Let’s say you’re right,” she admitted. “Why are you here? What do you want?”
“Back off the smear campaign. Back off Mineral Springs. I need this project to move forward... NOW.”
Desperation played on his face. His control seemed to falter.
Vicky straightened to her full height, crossed her arms, and drew back her shoulders. She hoped the fierce stance made up for the nine-inch height difference. “No,” she answered.
“I’m running out of time and patience.” He stiffened for a moment then spoke with an arctic calm. “Tell me what I can do to make you back off.”
“Pack up your circus of destruction and move on.”
“I’m not leaving,” he said. “I’ve spent too much time, money, and effort to abandon this project.”
“Then you’re stuck between the proverbial rock and a hard place. You can’t build without ShastaWatch’s approval, and you can’t get that without my help. And that will never happen.”
A sense of triumph flooded through her. For the first time since marrying Christiaan, she had the upper hand. His life may be better because Brianna was dead, but Vicky would do everything in her power to make it worse.
He leaned forward and stared directly into her eyes. The cold determination burning there sent shivers down her spine.
“One way or another...” Christiaan whispered, lips curved in a dangerous smile. He slipped a finger beneath her chin. “I will build Mineral Springs, and there isn’t anything you can do about it.”
Vicky drew a shaky breath, her earlier bravado fading. Zonder strijd geen overwinning.
She could claim victory for the first battle, but the war was far from over.
“Potverdomme. You remind me so much of my late wife it’s scary.” Christiaan turned on his heel and headed down the trail.
Scary? Try deadly.
The sweet smell of blackberry bushes tickled Vicky’s nose as she carefully slipped through a tangled stand bordering the Mineral Springs property. Grabbing a handful of the dark fruit in passing, she tossed the berries into her mouth and savored the rich, sweet black nectar. Another of nature’s beauties lost to bulldozers if Christiaan won.
The confrontation at Serenity Rock still had her a bit unnerved. Christiaan had always been passionate about business, but his emotions for this particular project bordered obsessive.
Vicky shivered though the air was humid. How far would he go to make sure his project happened? How far would she go to make sure it didn’t?
Right now, at least trespassing plus breaking and entering.
A red-tailed hawk screamed overhead. The majestic bird met Vicky’s stare and circled, riding the wind on slow, measured wing beats. It disappeared over the ridge toward Summit’s temporary base of operations.
Was Mother Shasta sending a message? What you’re looking for is over here?
Vicky picked her way along the west ridge, overlooking the meandering river below. Christiaan’s plans were to divert the flow underground to extract heat from the buried hot volcanic rock. What’s the loss of a major source of water for California to ensure all the Starbucks in LA have enough juice to blend frappuccinos?
Through gnarled Ponderosa Pine and Incense Cedar trees she caught sight of the breathtaking Little Glass Mountain in the distance. Here, an unbroken field of jumbled and jagged rock that once flowed as lava from the mountain ten miles away lay. For centuries, local tribes gathered snowflake and rainbow obsidian here to make sharp-edged tools. Now, rock hounds risked broken bones, lacerations, and rangers hiking the flow to add the extremely sharp natural volcanic glass to their collections.
The beauty of Mineral Lake’s crystal clear water burst through the trees further down the ridge. Once the center of a volcano, the lake had challenged many an Indian brave over the last several thousand years to earn his warrior status by diving three hundred feet to the bottom and retrieving a stone. Medicine men still used the lake to practice their arts, believing the creator descended from nearby Mt. Shasta to bathe in the lake, thereby giving it healing pow
ers to cleanse the body and soul. Unfortunately, they had to wait until nightfall to conduct ceremonies to avoid motor homes and boaters.
Further down the ridge, Vicky started down a well-worn path that snaked around boulders and old-growth trees to Mineral Springs Highlands. Here, Christiaan planned to build his geothermal project, covering up to eleven square miles with power plants, well fields, steam pipes, roads, and transmission lines.
Halfway down the path, a natural bridge served as the starting point to a series of caves and tubes formed when molten lava began to cool at the surface while the interior continued to flow. Multilayered and extending for miles, the highway of caves once served as an Indian stronghold against enemies, especially U.S. Army soldiers. The rough terrain, irregular pathways, and sharp rocks used as weapons enabled the Indians to defeat any force, even if outnumbered. Unfortunately, battles to protect their homeland now often took place in courtrooms, where they usually lost.
From the bridge, Vicky spied the large drill rig and pipe stack from last night’s photos. The area sat quiet, no one in sight, the drill still. Lunch time. Great timing. Fingers crossed everybody had hit town for a bite to eat.
Beyond there, sat the temporary trailer serving as Summit’s site office. That was her best bet to find something that could help her fight Christiaan. No idea what exactly, but it was worth a shot.
Vicky headed down a narrow path lined thick with blackberry bushes that followed the contours of the rock face to the bottom. She’d been here many times with Chief Running Bear to partake in one of the numerous steaming mineral springs dotting the area. On two occasions, they stumbled upon bears lunching on the blackberries.
The Chief said the tribes believed that the energy that heated the springs had a spiritual origin and should not be tampered with.
Too bad she didn’t have time to relax. A long soak in the thermal waters would feel fabulous right now.
Vicky reached the bottom and stepped into the clearing when a rustling in the bushes caught her attention. A bird? A squirrel? A bear?
“Victoria, love, fancy meetin’ ye ‘ere.”
Duff. Her breathing eased.
The Irishman stepped out from the greenery and wiped a bead of sweat dripping from his graying brow. Soaked clothes clung to an older, but still well-muscled body.
“You look like you’ve been running a marathon,” Vicky said. “But we both know better.” The only thing she’d ever seen him dash for was another drink.
Duff laughed, pulling his t-shirt from his sweaty chest. “Took a dip in wan of those springs everybody raves ‘bout. Tot it might make me oul’ wrist feel better.” He knocked on his cast.
“Isn’t that what a few pints are for?” She smiled.
“Aye, couldn’t ‘urt,” the Irishman answered. “What do ye say we go get a few, love? Ye look like ye could use a bit o’feelin’ better.”
“I can’t. I… I…” Come on. Think. Think. “I’m going to take a dip myself.” Hopefully into something that would make her worst nightmare disappear.
“I’ll join ye.” Duff grinned and winked. “Can’t think a better way to spend a grand afternoon such as dis tha’ gettin’ hot with a lovely young lass.”
Biting her lip, Vicky pushed a hand through her hair.
“Um… well… I… I prefer to take mine naked,” she spit out.
“Me, too.” He winked again.
Vicky let out a short snort at the possibility of seeing Duff in the buff, colorful tattoos and all. The majority of the female population of Mt. Shasta would give their eyeteeth to be in her shoes right now.
Vicky would gladly hand over all thirty-two pearly whites not to be. Even with a smile on his face and a casual stance, the fifty-something was tough, basic, and vaguely primitive. But he was a friend, that’s all.
“Look, Duff, you know I like you, but I...”
“No harm, love,” he offered. “But be careful. Ye never know what you might run into ‘round ‘ere.”
She exhaled in relief. Yeah, he got the message.
“I’ll be careful,” Vicky said.
The Irishman flashed that infectious grin, then his face grew tight.
“An’ I suggest you stay away from thet caves, especially thet wans ‘ere at ground level.”
She looked at him funny. “Why?”
“Crazy things can happen thar. Remember a couple of months ago, when those two wee’ins wandered in, lookin’ fer a bit of excitement an’ adventure?”
And they’d found it. Poor boys. The young teens had remembered a flashlight, but not fresh batteries. Her rescue team had been alerted after the boys hadn’t returned home by nightfall, and one of their mothers found an email outlining their plans to find Indian treasures in the centuries-old caverns. Vicky hadn’t been the one to find them but had ridden in the helicopter to the hospital and listened to their stories of banging, lights, and voices.
“I already warned a couple of Indiana Jones wannabes I saw lookin’ ‘round. Crazy newlyweds. Totally clueless to how dangerous those caves can be.”
She nodded her head. “Don’t worry. The only hot water I want to get into is right over there,” she answered, pointing toward her favorite mineral springs a few feet away.
“Okay then, love. Enjoy.” He smiled, waved goodbye, and walked off.
“No peeking,” she called out.
His boisterous laugh echoed off the rocks.
Vicky waited five minutes, then headed toward the trailer. Passing by a silent drill rig— which looked a bit dirty for not “being in use”—she weaved around the pallets of sacks she saw in the photos last night until finally reaching her intended destination.
Sneaking alongside the trailer, she peered through a window. No lights. No signs of life. She tried the door. Locked.
No problem.
Vicky slipped off her backpack, unzipped a side pocket filled with odds and ends, and retrieved two paper clips. Thanks to an overnight jail stint for disorderly conduct at an anti-mining protest in San Francisco, a granola bar, and a hungry, but friendly cellmate in for burglary, Vicky learned how to pick a lock. In seconds, she was inside.
Thank you, Slick Fingers Selma.
A flick of a switch and light flooded the trailer. Based on the crap stacked, packed, and strewn about, storage was the main function of this building. Vicky weaved her way around, scanning everything in hopes something might prove useful.
A door at the back opened into a small office. An old table with a desktop computer at one end, two old filing cabinets, and three worn chairs covered the majority of floor space. Maps, charts, and photographs papered the walls.
Your typical job site. Nothing notable. Nothing telling so far.
Vicky jerked at the drawers of each filing cabinet. Locked.
Again, no problem.
She bent down, tilted one cabinet backwards, and pressed up on the metal locking bar. Click. Unlocked. The move worked on the second one, too.
Thank you, Magnum P.I. reruns.
Vicky rifled through each drawer. One held a stack of what appeared to be thermal images of the Mineral Springs area. Another contained long, folded strips of paper that looked like EKG readings. Other drawers were filled with file folders marked everything from Federal Filings to Time Cards.
In the bottom drawer of one cabinet lay two unmarked cardboard tubes. Twisting off the end of one, Vicky slid the contents out and laid everything flat on the table. Atlas-sized maps segmented into grids were covered with different colored dots connected by odd-shaped ovals. Another sheet had similar markings as well as either red or green plus signs.
The other tube contained various multi-colored maps of North America, some marked in meters, some in degrees Celsius, and one marked with numbers followed by a formula of some kind.
Vicky shook her head, more confused now than when she’d broke in.
And you were expecting…. what? A file marked “Damning Evidence. Take Me?”
Sure would have made life ea
sier. She was no expert, but nothing here seemed unusual.
Stuffing everything back in, Vicky pushed the locks in then headed for the 21st-century’s version of the filing cabinet.
One press of the power button and the computer hummed to life. Within minutes, the VL Holdings logo appeared on screen. She accessed the file management area and scanned file names, some in English, others in Dutch. Unfortunately, not one was named “Damning Evidence.”
However, one called “An todhchaí” stood out.
Hmm... What language is that? She clicked on the file.
A Password Required box popped up. Christiaan was CEO, so he’d probably have complete access to everything. The only secret code she could remember was their joint ATM PIN. Vicky typed in “Brianna.”
The computer answered with “Incorrect Password.”
Duh. Wrong wife.
She tried “Astrid.”
“Incorrect Password.”
Hmm, what would Christiaan use? She tried his mother’s name, Ingrid. His father’s, Gerhard. The name they’d picked out for their son, Pieter.
Password Required. Password Required. Password Required.
So much for my future.
Okay, so maybe he didn’t have complete access or his passwords have gotten more sophisticated.
She tried a file named “Diord Fionn”. Hmm… don’t recognize that one. Password Required. “Costs to Date.” Password Required. “Marketing Strategy.” “Another File Name.” “Another File Name.”
Password Required. Password Required. Password Required.
Biting her lip, she went to Programs, clicked on the Internet browser, and accessed the History file. Unfortunately, all she found was the basic stuff anyone would expect to find on a corporate computer, including a few porn sites, trash mag sites, and You Tube videos. She read over the complete list, but nothing stood out.
On a lark, she clicked one of the You Tube links. Up popped an animation titled “How Fracking Causes Earthquakes.” Vicky watched as little trucks on screen pumped wastewater from the fracking process into drilled injection wells. Next, the liquid pushed through a deep layer of rock. Soon, the fluid leaked into nearby fault zones, causing them to slip and unleashing an earthquake.
'Til Death Us Do Part Page 9