'Til Death Us Do Part

by Annie Oortman

“Damn. That would suck.” She made a mental note to ask Rainbow if she knew anything about the Die Frackers Die group behind the video. Vicky wouldn’t mind asking them if they knew of any fracking activity in the Shasta area. Considering the numerous surrounding fault zones, it would be worth looking into.

  Flipping the computer off, she headed over to take a closer look at the maps and whatnot hanging from the office walls. Satellite images and geochemical surveys of the Mineral Springs site covered one side. Everything looked written in code. USGS... geopressure… MEQ... MW… Vicky wrote the alphabet soup down on the notepad from her backpack. She’d Google them at the office later.

  On another wall, a large standard Forest Service map of the area was marked off in grids. Vicky counted at least five strangely shaped green crosses pinned to the surface. To the right hung a clipboard with a sheet titled “Drill Sites.” Each line corresponded to one of the green crosses and listed today’s estimated depths. Most figures were in the five- to six-mile range.

  “I knew it! I knew they weren’t just exploratory drilling.” Through her research, she’d learned geothermal test wells rarely exceed three miles. Vicky fought the urge to rip the incriminating sheet off the clipboard for evidence. No need to hand Christiaan direct proof she’d been here. She’d simply mentally file the information for future reference.

  A quick check of her watch told her she needed to get out of there. Christiaan’s men would be back from lunch soon. She glanced quickly at the remaining maps before retracing her steps. Relocking the door, Vicky slung her backpack over a shoulder and headed toward the drill rig. Maybe a little sabotage to a few hydraulic lines could delay the project until ShastaWatch could find a way to end this nightmare.

  Within minutes, the mission was complete. She weaved her way around half-full pallets and headed back up the ridge. At the natural bridge, Vicky stopped at one of the caves to grab a handful of blackberries from bushes framing the dark opening. Lots of boot prints and wheel marks in the dirt at the entrance mixed with bear tracks. The bears were obviously looking for berries. The people, adventure and treasure.

  Hmm… Indiana Jones wannabe couple? More like Dancing with the Stars wannabes.

  A huge whiff of air brushed over her as a hawk dove inches from her head.

  “What the—” Vicky ducked as the bird swooped again, enormous talons grasping perilously close to her cheek. Her right foot slipped on loose stone. She caught herself, or so she thought, before pitching forward. Scrambling to remain upright, she found herself tumbling down the mountainside.

  Debris rained down from all sides. Vicky came to rest precariously on a thin, flat ledge. Heart pounding, she clung there. Blood trickled into one eye, making it burn. A sharp, jabbing pain exploded from her arm.

  The cause? A large boulder had her right arm pinned against the rock face.

  Vicky struggled to get free. A sharp pain ripped through her arm with each yank.

  Taking a deep breath, she shoved against the boulder. Nothing. Another deep breath. She tried lifting with her knees pressed under the rock. Nothing.

  Vicky reached her left fingers down to touch her right hand. The contact barely registered. She tried wiggling the thumb. Nothing.

  The lack of bone-splitting noises when the boulder hit probably meant no broken bones. No blood dripping from behind the stone was a good sign, too.

  She was simply stuck.

  Visions of the mountaineer forced to cut his forearm free with a dull knife a few years ago ran through her head. She had a knife, too.

  In her backpack.

  Which was no longer hanging from her shoulder.

  Along with her radio.

  Vicky ran the free hand through her hair and looked around. Her ice axe still hung from her hip! Never leave home without it.

  A rustling in the bushes above caught her attention.

  “Hello?” Vicky struggled to see what caused the noise, but her trapped arm gave her a limited field of vision. “Is anybody there?”

  The noise stopped.

  “Please, I need help.”

  More rustling, then silence.

  “Help?”

  Nothing. Probably an animal foraging for food.

  A sharp twinge of disappointment hit her then she began to laugh. First, playing James Bond, searching for the missing piece to a puzzle that could stop Dr. No from taking over the world. Then, asking an animal for help. The stress of dealing with Christiaan was driving her crazy.

  She slid down and sat on the ledge as best she could. “Okay, Vicky,” she said aloud. “Pull it together. Let’s calmly and rationally assess the situation.”

  Average survival time on Shasta without water is five days.

  Subtract two days due to lack of shelter.

  Three days.

  Never mind being a sitting duck for a hungry bear or craving-a-midnight-snack mountain lion. Of course, her tone-deaf rendition of Mamma Mia could be her saving grace.

  Who needs Bear bells?

  Vicky let out a half-hearted chuckle. She assumed she’d stay alive until someone found her. The odds?

  Not good.

  That help from heaven above would take pity on her poor soul and send rock-eating Goran to feast? Considering the creatures were characters in a video game... a hundred to one.

  That she could telepathically contact Dean and let him know she was in trouble? Considering her partner could barely manage the voices already inside his head... seventy-five to one.

  That somebody would happen along this way and rescue her? Considering most people obeyed the “No Trespassing” signs, and she was one of a few who knew the only trail here... fifty to one.

  That at some point she’d be missed and a search party sent out? Considering she didn’t have another Climbing for Singles trip scheduled until the end of the week and Rainbow was already two hours into her yogathon fundraiser... ten to one.

  That she would die here? Even money.

  Grabbing her ice axe, she started pecking away at the boulder. At this rate, she have it pounded down to rubble in a month or two.

  “Mamma Mia, here I go again. My my, how can I resist you...”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Christiaan stared out the diner window, neither interested in the ham sandwich sitting in front of him or the phone on silent lying next to it. He wasn’t hungry, and he wasn’t in the mood to deal with any more calls or emails about Bri.

  His PR department could handle that. He had enough on his plate today. Vicky Golden had declared war, and he still scrambled for a battle strategy.

  He’d spent most of the day since their confrontation putting out fires. Her little stunt had cost him hard-won confidence with his lenders, requiring some fast-talking to prevent them from calling in his loans.

  She’d also damaged the delicate truce he’d negotiated with various government officials. Assuring them he wasn’t a murderer and could be trusted had taken all the diplomatic skills he’d learned from his father.

  Christiaan stared into his cup. This Dutch Boy was going to need more than his finger to save the leaking dyke that was his company.

  Potverdomme, Vicky. Potverdomme!

  “Sorry, I’m late, bro.”

  He looked up in time to catch Baz sliding into the other side of the booth.

  “Where have you been?” Christiaan asked. “When I got back to the penthouse, you were nowhere to be found.”

  Baz grabbed a menu. “Just doing what needs to be done.”

  “Like dealing with problems caused a la Vicky Golden?”

  “Yeah,” he answered, not glancing up.

  “Like subcontractors not wanting to be associated with a murderer?”

  “Yeah…” Baz shook his head. “Exactly.” He caught the arm of the waitress walking by. “Hello there...” He smiled, stroking her arm while he glanced at her nametag. “… Phoebe. How about some of that marvellous coffee I smell?”

  “Of course.” She smiled. “Want something sweet to go with tha
t?”

  “Like you perhaps?” Baz winked. The waitress flushed all the way to her ears. “I’ll settle for a cheeseburger... for now.”

  “Yes, sir.” She wrote the order down. “Are you a baron, too?”

  “No.” Baz rolled his eyes. “I’m not.”

  “Oh.” She frowned then left.

  “You should have lied. She’d have been all over you,” Christiaan said. “I only got her to stop calling me ‘Your Grace’ about five minutes ago.”

  “I don’t need your advice or your title to get women.” Baz leaned back and extended his arms across the top of the booth seat.

  “No, no you don’t.” Christiaan’s lineage had always been a sore point with Baz, especially when it came to most people’s reactions over the years.

  Christiaan changed the subject. “So, who’s looking to pull out of the project?”

  Baz straightened. “Nobody yet. Everybody just wants to hang tight ‘til this thing plays out... one way or another.”

  “Like I have time to ‘play’.”

  “Whoa, man. Why so worked up? This isn’t the first time we’ve been ambushed with headlines.”

  Christiaan stiffened, his face tight. “Attacking the project is one thing,” he said then turned to stare out the window. “Vilifying Bri’s memory is another.”

  “So it got a little too personal this time. You’ll live.”

  Christiaan eyed his friend for a long moment then shook his head. “You have no idea what it’s like to be prime fodder for the media.”

  “Of course I don’t, Baron van Laere.” Baz’s eyes narrowed. “No one cares what the lowly gardener’s son does.”

  “They should.” Christiaan smirked. “Your antics would keep them splashed in ink for years.”

  “But my blood doesn’t run blue.” Baz bowed his head then rolled his hand in front to pay homage to Christiaan.

  “I’d trade you any day.”

  “Right. If it were only that easy,” Baz answered sarcastically.

  “Here ya go.” The waitress placed a cup of coffee in front of him. She turned to Christiaan. “Do you need anything, Your Gra— Christiaan?”

  “No,” he answered. “Thank you.”

  Baz followed the swing of her hips as she walked away. “That, my friend, could take your mind off your troubles.”

  “For about ten minutes.”

  “Ten seconds maybe, considering how long it’s been since you had sex.” Baz laughed then began tapping on his phone, humming some old pop tune Christiaan couldn’t quite place.

  He had no interest in his friend’s latest sex candidate. Vicky was all he could think about. He needed to do something about her. The problem was he also wanted to do something with her, to her.

  His big head wanted one thing. His little one, another. How could a woman he’d only met a few days ago affect him at an emotional depth he’d let die with Bri?

  “Great... this keeps getting worse.” Baz turned his phone around so Christiaan could see the screen. Google News results on his name had hundreds of articles in just the last several hours. The first few entries filled the screen.

  American Press Hints Freak Death No Accident

  Baron Silent On Wife’s Untimely Demise

  Could van Laere Death Be Ruled A Homicide?

  No Body, No Evidence, No Murder Say Dutch Authorities

  Eight Years Ago: van Laere Reaction to Wife’s Death said Fake

  Baron Admits Better Life with Dead Wife

  Christiaan sighed. He wasn’t surprised. Once the first story hit, it was just a matter of time until his family’s name was dragged, covered, and buried in the mud.

  Anymore of this and no one would want to work with VL Holdings.

  And he’d be bankrupt.

  He threw his napkin onto the table and leaned back in his chair. “This thing is getting out of hand. Maybe I need to face the truth that this project isn’t going to happen.”

  “No, we can’t stop now.” Baz’s eyes shot up like a deer caught in the headlights.

  “I know you’ve been working hard on Mineral Springs for many years,” Christiaan said. “But if we pull out now, before this gets any nastier, maybe I can salvage what’s left of my company. Sell the property. Auction the leasing rights.” Neither option tasted palatable.

  “No, not when we’re so close.” Baz dropped his phone to the table then began rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “We need this, Chris. I really need this.”

  Oh no. Not the “don’t-make-me-beg” face. Obviously, his friend had once again spent his bonus before he earned it. What was it this time? A car? A house? A woman?

  The previous three times this happened, Christiaan had advanced Baz the money to cover his debts. This time, Christiaan didn’t have anything to advance. Everything he owned and borrowed was leveraged against Mineral Springs’s success.

  “So...?” His friend stared at him expectantly.

  Christiaan needed time to think. To figure out his next move. Everything was falling apart faster than a Kleenex in a rainstorm. He needed to regroup, to figure out his next move.

  And, what exactly, to do about the infuriating, exasperating, intoxicating Vicky.

  “Look, you said it yourself,” Christiaan explained. “Everybody just wants to hang tight until this thing plays out. Let’s put everything on hold and take a few days to see if we can talk Vicky into—”

  “Into what?” Baz slammed his coffee cup onto the table. “The bitch isn’t interested in talking. Hell, the only thing she’s interested in is screwing up my life.”

  “It’s just a few days—”

  “Damn! Your women ruin everything.” Baz slammed his fist on the table. Coffee flew everywhere.

  With one hand, Christiaan snatched his phone from the table. With the other, he grabbed a handful of napkins to keep the liquid from running onto him.

  “Sorry.” Baz dabbed at the coffee seeping into his shirt. “Better clean this up before it stains,” he said, heading for the men’s room at the back of the diner.

  Baz’s phone sat in a puddle of coffee. Christiaan picked it up and wiped the device with a napkin before dropping it into his shirt pocket.

  The waitress appeared with a rag and began clearing the table.

  He scanned his phone screen. Lou had called, so he dialed the PI.

  He picked up in one ring. “Talk to me.”

  “Lou, it’s Christiaan. You called?”

  “Yeah, just letting you know the package arrived. I had one of my guys meet the plane and deliver the photo to the lab.”

  “Great,” Christiaan said. “How soon until we know something?”

  “Can’t say. Let me give my guy a call. I’m gonna put you on hold for a minute.”

  Christiaan heard a click followed by silence. The waitress smiled as she finished cleaning up the mess. With his free hand, he pulled Baz’s phone out of his pocket. Hopefully, the coffee bath hadn’t damaged the device. Finding a replacement in this small town would be next to impossible.

  Good sign. The screen burned bright.

  The phone suddenly blared Blackberry Smoke’s “Sleeping Dogs”. Caller ID showed the caller was from the environmental engineering firm hired for field-testing. Probably calling to give Baz grief about the media reports.

  Might as well handle this himself. Christiaan hit answer and held the device to his free ear.

  “Mr. Yager? Chuck Lape,” a male voice said. “I’m calling to reiterate my concerns.”

  “Chuck, it’s Christiaan. I understand your concerns, but let me assure you—”

  “Mr… um… Baron van Laere? Oh, man, I must have dialed the wrong number.”

  “No, no you didn’t,” Christiaan said. “Mr. Yager… Baz had to step away for a few minutes.”

  “Mr. Yager…” The seismologist cleared his throat. “Mr. Yager was quite clear I was only to talk to him.”

  Christiaan shook his head. Baz and his ego trips.

  “Well, Mr. Y
ager works for me, and since your concerns are with me and my past, don’t you think I’m the one you should be talking to?”

  “Sir… Mr… Baron…” Chuck stammered.

  “Alstublieft… please, call me Christiaan.”

  “Christiaan… my concerns aren’t with you. They’re with the unmapped fault zones. As I—”

  “Christiaan?” Lou’s voice echoed in the other ear. “You there?”

  “—mentioned to Mr. Yager in my report, transpressional rupture of a main strike-slip fault could infer—”

  “Hello? Christiaan! You there?”

  “—to accommodate relative motion between several tectonic plates, rupturing an unmapped north-dipping fault—”

  “Hold on,” Christiaan said.

  “Christiaan,” Lou growled. “My guy says—”

  “—and causing a significant seismic threat for the surrounding continent. That’s why I cautioned—”

  Potverdomme! He couldn’t focus on either man’s information with both talking at the same time.

  “Hold on!” Christiaan repeated.

  “—Mr. Yager against the use of explosives—” Obviously, the seismologist was on a roll. Christiaan let the man ramble on in the background while he focused on the priority at hand.

  Vicky Golden.

  “—the lab’s pretty backed up,” Lou continued. “They’re promising something in twenty-four to thirty-six hours tops.”

  Christiaan let out a frustrated sigh. So much for a quick offense. Back to playing defense. The waitress set two fresh cups of coffee and Baz’s cheeseburger on the table then disappeared.

  “In the meantime,” Lou said. “I’ll get up to speed on your wife’s case.”

  “That’s right. You weren’t working for me then.”

  “No, I was fishing for Blue Marlin off the coast of Costa Rica.”

  Christiaan laughed. Lou hated fishing, but that was his cover story anytime anyone delved into his background. The security chief had shared few details about his past, so Christiaan was fairly certain that eight years ago Lou had been either been chasing al-Qaeda terrorists in Afghanistan or IRA extremists in Europe.

  “Now you’re just fishing for an unknown woman’s identity,” Christiaan said.

  “A much easier and safer job, my friend. I’ll let you know something about the photo as soon as I do.” Lou cut the connection.