He made a sign with his hand to show his father that he was going to sneak around to the far side of the cabin, where he could use the cover of vegetation to get closer to the door. There he might be able to head them off as they tried to carry Muirinn in.
He was just settling into his new hideaway when the van pulled up.
Jett’s heart began to drum loudly in his ears, but ice-cool anger held him tight, fiercely focused.
Trees swayed violently. Heavy wind rushed through the trees now, cones and branches crashing down into the underbrush. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Not a good time to be in dry forest. Most fires out in the wild were sparked by lightning, and the effect could be devastating.
Chalky emerged from the driver’s side of the van. Hurrying around to the back, he swung open the doors. Out jumped Bill Moran himself, still a strong hunter and outdoorsman in his early sixties. Bitterness leached into Jett’s mouth at the sight of the old police chief.
It would’ve been Bill who’d thrown Brock out of the van.
Jett inched closer, peering through the leaves, wondering what his dad was thinking on the other side of the clearing. Adam Rutledge had as much—and more—to lose as the Morans did.
Could Jett trust him to pull through?
He had to.
Jett had to believe that the man he’d loved and respected and looked up to all these years was still inside that crippled body somewhere, and that he’d do the right thing when it came down to it.
The roar of the wind grew louder, and the sky darker. Lightning glimmered in purple clouds in the distance, followed by a rumble of thunder in the peaks. The rain came down in a sudden heavy sheet, releasing the musky scent of soil that had been dry for too long.
Chalky and Bill began to ease Muirinn out of the van, holding her up by the arms.
She’s alive.
Jett’s heart caught in his throat, and rage swelled in him.
She was gagged, bound, covered in dirt, her legs buckling out from under her as they tried to get her to stand.
Every molecule in his body screamed to blast out of the bush shooting wildly, but he forced himself to stay put. One wrong move could get them all killed.
Kate came back out the door, yanking a hood over her head as she ducked through the rain and ran toward the men, rifle in her hand.
Chalky moved away from Bill and Muirinn to shut the van doors, and Jett raised his weapon, sighting carefully down the barrel, Chalky in his crosshairs. He hooked his finger through the trigger guard, slowly put pressure on the trigger—then hesitated.
He’d never shot a man, and something deep in him resisted now.
It was wrong, in spite of what Chalky had done. This was not the way to end the secrets and lies and deaths of the past twenty years—it would be playing into the same game. Jett just couldn’t do it. He would not allow Troy to one day look at him the way he’d been forced to look at his own father.
Instead, he slowly reached for the bear banger in the side pocket of his pants.
But before he could release the small trigger that would shoot the explosive cartridge out from the end of the pencil flare like a rocket, his father startled him by standing up suddenly and crashing out of the brush.
Everyone froze.
Kate was the first to react. She swung her rifle into position at her shoulder, aimed at Adam and pulled the trigger without a breath of hesitation. Almost simultaneously, Jett fired the banger.
It hissed from the flare, exploding like a grenade in a flash of light and sound behind Kate’s head, sending her shot wild.
Kate dropped into a crouch, arms protecting her head as her rifle clattered to her feet.
Chalky ran toward his wife, thinking she’d been hit. He dropped to her side as Bill released Muirinn to lunge for his weapon in the back of the van. Muirinn crumpled to the dirt on all fours, and immediately started crawling for cover behind the van, drenched in rain and mud.
Bill swung his weapon into position and aimed at Adam. He pulled the trigger just as Adam blasted a slug from his shotgun.
Kate shrieked as a gaping hole tore through Bill Moran’s chest and he was thrown backward against the white van. Chalky swung round, jaw slack, raw horror tearing across his face. “Adam?” he said in shock, still unaware that Jett was in the brush behind them. “What in hell are you doing?”
“It’s over, Chalky,” Adam’s voice was thin, barely discernable over the beating rain as he raised his shotgun again. Wobbling slightly on his feet, he took aim at Chalky, who was still hunkered down, his arm around Kate. “The past ends right here. Drop your weapon.”
Chalky slowly set his rifle on the ground at his side, his ghostly-blond hair slicking against his face with rain. “Adam, if we go down, you go down ten times worse,” he said, desperation snaking through his voice. “You planted that bomb. You killed those men.”
“And I will pay for it. We all will.”
Jett reached for another banger, his body hot, humming with tension. Rain dripped into his eyes as he hurriedly screwed the cartridge onto the pencil flare, then fired.
The blast exploded right near Chalky and Kate’s heads and they were momentarily stunned.
Jett used the instant to lunge forward, releasing a jet of bear spray on the pair huddled on the ground, incapacitating them further.
He coughed himself, eyes burning, rain drenching him, as he took their weapons and ran to the van. He grabbed a coil of wire from the back of the van. “Get Muirinn,” he yelled to his father as he rushed back to Chalky and Kate. He bound them tightly, back to back, his mind racing.
Thunder clapped above them and rain drummed down even harder. Over the trees in deep purple clouds, white streak lightning stabbed down to earth with a violent crack. They had to get out, now, before one of those bolts started a wildfire. Even in heavy rain, flames could grow and roar like the wind.
Rushing around to the side of the van, Jett dropped to his knees, reaching for Muirinn who was huddled ghost-white on the ground behind the wheels of the van.
Where was his father?
“Jett!” she whispered, as she clutched him. “Thank God you came!”
He gathered her up, quickly checking her out. Her pupils were dilated. And her pulse was thready. “Are you hurt anywhere?”
“No, just…drugged.”
“What did they give you?”
“I don’t know, but it seems to be wearing off.”
“The baby?”
“She’s still moving, I felt her kick.” Muirinn glanced over his shoulder. “Jett, I’m okay. Your father—go to him!”
He whipped his head around. With shock he saw his dad splayed motionless, facedown on the ground, blood seeping out of a dark stain under him.
“He was hit, Jett. Bill got off a shot before he went down.”
Jett scrambled over to his dad and rolled him over. Adam’s head flopped back.
Lightning streaked from the sky again, cracking into trees a few yards away. Thunder boomed right over their heads. The wind roared, flinging debris at them from the trees.
Jett hunkered over his dad, protecting his face from flying twigs and cones, and his father’s eyes flickered open. He was alive, breathing, but his dad had been shot in the gut, and the bleeding was bad. It was beginning to come out his mouth.
Muirinn shook Jett’s shoulder. “Fire!” she said in an urgent whisper at his ear. “I can smell smoke.”
Jett glanced back toward where the lightning had struck. Under the noise of the wind, he could hear the ominous crackle of flame taking hold in tinder-dry brush. He had to get Muirinn back to the plane, had to try to take off in this storm. Or they would die, consumed by fire in this desolate place.
He turned back to his dad. Adam’s face was a cold, gray color that Jett knew well. Adam coughed up blood. “Go, son,” he croaked. “Take her. Go. Start again.”
“I can carry you, Dad—”
He shook his head slowly. “Go, please. I won’t make it.”
Jett hesitated. In the corner of his eye, he saw Chalky and Kate desperately pulling against their bonds, rain puddling around them.
Adam reached up suddenly, clutching at Jett’s shirt. “It’s better this way,” he whispered. “I’d die in prison. And your mother would die just knowing I was in there. She didn’t know about the bomb, Jett. This is right, the way it must be. Be…good to your mother. This…is…” His father went suddenly still, his hand flopping back down to the dirt as life left him.
Jett’s eyes burned. Tears ran with the rain down his face. He felt Muirinn at his side again. He glanced up at her, anguish ripping through his chest. Her hair was plastered with rain to deathly pale cheeks, her eyes dark hollows.
His duty was with her now, with the baby.
His father had died to save the mother of his child—the daughter of the man he’d killed two decades ago.
But what about Chalky and Kate? He couldn’t just leave them bound and incapacitated in the face of a fire. That was akin to murder.
Jett took note of the wind direction. If it held course, the fire would move to the east—it might even sweep past.
He cupped Muirinn’s face in his hands. “The de Havilland is about a mile upstream. We can go along the bank. Do you think you can make it?”
She looked into his eyes. “We have to make it, Jett.”
His father was right—the past had been put to rest, and he had to move forward, protect his woman, build a future. And if they made it out alive, he’d do anything, everything, to make sure they were together—her, him, Troy, the new baby girl. And his heart swelled with fierce energy.
“Start going to the river, Muirinn. Head upstream to the plane. Wait for me there.”
“What about you!”
“Go! Now! I’m going to see if there’s a radio in the cabin.”
He hesitated for a split second, making sure Muirinn was moving toward the river, then he rushed into the Lonsdale cabin. He found the radio, set it to the right channel, and placed an emergency call to Search and Rescue, saying only that two people were injured at the Lonsdale cabin, and a fire was closing in. He had to yell as the storm played havoc with reception. “They’ll be on the east side of Wolverine River! Downstream of the cabin!”
Thunder crashed again. A branch smashed down onto the roof. Jett signed off.
He’d call the FBI in Anchorage as soon as he got the plane down. If the SAR team didn’t find them, an FBI manhunt would. There was nowhere for them to go, but into the wild.
Dashing out into the rain, he used his knife to cut Kate and Chalky loose, still dazed and disoriented. Holding a gun to their heads he said, “Run!”
They stared at him blankly, shivering, drenched. “Now! Or I’ll shoot.” He jerked the barrel of his rifle toward the trees. “Go that way, head for the river, downstream, cross it. I told the SAR guys you’d be there on the other side. Do it and you might escape the fire.”
They took off, scrambling and stumbling into the bush as he fired into the dirt behind them for good measure.
Hands shaking as the aftereffects of the adrenaline dump took hold of his body, Jett raced after Muirinn.
They reached the plane, and Jett managed to take off into the sharp, gusty crosswinds. They flew into the deluge, water writhing in pearly strings across the windscreen as they peered through the spinning prop blades.
Jett felt Muirinn’s hand on his knee, and his eyes darted briefly to hers. And in that instant he knew that if he could bring her safely through this storm they would be able to finally bury the past, and find a way to a future. Together.
And nothing in this world would ever be able to tear them apart again.
Chapter 17
The past was finally being laid to rest—on all levels.
SAR crews had airlifted Kate Lonsdale and her husband, Chalky Moran, to safety, and they were now being held by the FBI for questioning in Anchorage, the town reeling from the news that their mayor and police department were implicated in the murders—from twenty years ago and today. Media crews had descended on Safe Harbor en masse, and townsfolk were finding solace in finally seeing their story told, the old wounds cleansed—and healed—for good.
The FBI had also taken Lydia Wilkie into custody. In an effort to lessen the charges against her, she had confessed her role in the case.
She’d told FBI investigators that just over a month ago she’d gone up to clean Gus’s office while he’d stepped outside to smoke his pipe. Lydia had seen the “missing” crime scene photos of the Tolkin bombing on his desk, and she’d been unable to stop herself from reading what was on the screen of his laptop. That’s when she knew that Chalky, her nephew and godson, was in serious trouble, along with his brothers. Lydia knew what had happened in the mine twenty years ago, and she was aware that it had been Don, then a rookie officer, who’d removed the crime scene photographs at his brother Bill’s request. It was Bill and Don who’d then returned to the mine during the storm, and destroyed the tracks.
Lydia had gone straight to talk to her sister, Margaret, Chalky’s mother. And the Morans had quietly closed ranks, asking Lydia to help them kill Gus.
Lydia said she was devastated by what she had to do, but she’d done it to save her family. She already knew what medication Gus was taking, and the small amount of dried foxglove leaves added to his comfrey tea, in combination with his medication, should have killed him, making it look like a natural progression of his illness.
However, Gus had been impatient to get to the mine that morning and had barely touched his tea. The toxin had thus not worked right away, and Gus had driven out to the mine.
In desperation, she had phoned Chalky, and in a panic, Chalky and Kate had headed out to the mine where—just as Trapper Joe had indicated—Gus was feeling ill, and succumbing to digitalis poisoning. They made him climb down the shaft, where his heart had finally stopped.
They’d then driven his truck home.
However, when news of Gus’s absence finally hit the papers, someone passing by on a hunting trip remembered having seen Gus at the mine. And that’s when the search dogs were brought in. But upon locating the body, Don was able to persuade the ME and Dr. Callaghan that there was nothing suspect about how they’d found Gus.
Lydia had also been the one who’d removed the laptop from the table drawer, and she’d administered a sedative in Muirinn’s tea, but not enough to kill her—the Morans had wanted her alive so that they could use her to lure Jett.
Hamilton Brock had not been so fortunate. He’d been shot and killed with a police-issue handgun.
Jett would never forgive himself for leading Brock into mortal danger. His buddy had no idea what he’d been dealing with. Even he hadn’t grasped the sheer gravity of the situation at the time. But the main thing was that he’d flown through that storm, and he’d landed Muirinn and her baby safely.
Go, son. Take her. Go. Start again.
His father was right. Adam had given his life to atone for the sins of the past, and it was now time to move forward—in Adam’s memory. In Troy O’Donnell’s memory. In honor of all those who’d died and suffered because of the tragedy.
Jett entered the hospital room just as Dr. Callaghan was completing Muirinn’s ultrasound.
He’d had Troy fetched home, and the boy was sitting in the waiting area. Jett had spoken to his son, telling him everything.
Muirinn smiled as Jett neared her bed. “Dr. Callaghan says everything looks good.”
The doctor looked up as she covered Muirinn’s tummy with the sheet. “Everything seems okay, Jett. There’s no evidence of anything at all in Muirinn’s bloodstream. Whatever Lydia Wilkie administered worked through her system very quickly. The baby would have felt similar woozy effects, but the good news is that we’re into the third trimester, everything is fully formed and her vital signs are all good.” She smiled warmly, hazel eyes twinkling. “Mother and daughter are going to be just fine.”
Jett stole a glance
at the image still up on the ultrasound monitor, and his heart contracted so tightly at the sight of the blurred human form that he felt tears burn. He reached for Muirinn’s hand, looked into her amazing green eyes, into the lost years. And he didn’t need to say the words—they were finally sharing what they’d missed the first time around.
A pregnancy.
He smiled, throat thick with emotion. “I have someone I want you to meet.”
Her face changed, anxiety creeping into her green eyes. “He’s here?”
Jett nodded. “I had him flown back. We need to be together now.” He paused. “I’ve told him, Muirinn. I’ve told him that you’re his mother.”
Muirinn’s heart began to patter, nerves dampening her palms. She moved up into a sitting position, her entire being focused on that doorway.
Troy appeared—the dark-haired boy she’d seen on the dock. In the photos. Jett’s son.
Her son.
He hesitated in the doorway, glancing up at his father. Jett nodded encouragement, and Troy stepped into the room. His hair was the exact same inky-black as Jett’s, his skin tanned. Big green eyes fixed on her—the same unusual moss-green as her own eyes.
“Troy,” she said, her voice coming out soft and strange to her own ears. She felt so afraid. So fragile…so worried she’d scare him away.
Silently, he walked up to her bedside, his gaze riveted on her, his little mind processing so much.
He was clearly not a shy child—his walk showed a young confidence, a latent curiosity. And Muirinn loved Jett even more for being a good father, a father who could foster and nurture this sort of character in his son. It was the kind of confidence that would serve him well in life. Yet apprehension showed in his eyes, in the way he fisted his hands at his sides.
Muirinn ached to hold him, squeeze him so tight, grab back all the childhood that had been lost to her.
Cold Case Affair Page 17