The Lonesome Lawmen Trilogy

by Pauline Baird Jones

  He leaned back in the chair, his thoughts racing. It had to be Phagan who’d brought the hounds down on him. Only way they could be here so fast, but how? He’d stripped him to the skin. Except for the glasses. Damn, the guy was good. He’d won the round. Now how to keep him from sweeping the field? There wasn’t much time, but he could buy a little more for himself if…

  He grabbed the secure phone and dialed. When O’Rourke, who’d stayed at base camp, answered he didn’t waste words. “We’re busted here. Get a chopper in the air, ready to pick me up.” He gave him the coordinates for pick up, then shut down the connection.

  With a last look at his men, he turned for the door. He’d miss them. He’d taught them well. Not bright, but good men, willing to work hard and kill on command. But there were more like them out there. Some he’d already trained here and had moved on. Others he’d find. Or they’d find him. Their kind always found each other the same way water always found its level.

  Just like he and Leslie had found each other? No, that had been an anomaly. Leslie wasn’t his kind. The world, particularly Grady’s world, was a better place without that waste of space. Stupid of Leslie to put killing women over the plan. If he could have learned a little restraint, but that wasn’t in his game book. He’d have escalated the killing. Could see that coming like a big, old truck and no way to stop it. Leslie’s frustration had been stronger than his head. Always. No regrets really, though Grady would miss the steady flow of money Leslie had provided.

  He checked his weapon, then gave a quick look down the hall. It was clear. He moved out, his weapon down, but ready if needed. He knew the corridors, knew where he might run into trouble. When he got there, he eased up to the opening, his senses stretched out. He sniffed the air, caught the faint whiff of evergreen in the current. He edged back, bringing his gun up—

  A blur of movement.

  The jolt to his chin crossed his eyes and started stars wheeling across his horizon. He fell hard, the wind knocked out of him. Before he could recover, Donovan was on him, his hands around his throat and squeezing. One chance…

  One hand fighting to break Donovan’s grip, the other edged down his leg and closed over the hilt of the knife. The world was growing dark. His head felt like it was going to explode.

  He pulled the knife out.

  Air. He needed air.

  With one last, desperate flail, he stabbed Donovan in the back.

  Immediately the pressure on his throat eased, though Donovan wasn’t out yet. Grady thrust up with his legs. Donovan fell back, but was after him again. Grady rolled away and rose in crouch. They both saw his fallen pistol at the same time.

  Donovan started for it, but Grady sliced the knife through the air in front of him, catching Donovan’s arm with the tip. When Donovan fell back, Grady grabbed the gun. Quick as a cat, Donovan flung himself around the corner at the same moment Grady fired.

  Grady thought he got him, but didn’t wait around to find out. He still remembered the look in Donovan’s eyes when they said good-bye. In a few minutes he was in his office. He pulled the key out of the neck of his shirt and stuck it in the lock on the panel. Once it was open, he started inputting the self-destruct codes. One half hour from now the whole side of the mountain would blow up. Not a bad finale for someone who’d started his life as poor, white trash.

  * * * *

  Luke heard the shots and ran forward. He found Donovan down in an intersection of hallways and did a quick sweep before approaching him. Still keeping watch, he checked Donovan’s pulse. Luke tried his radio, but some quality in the bunker blocked his signal.

  “Can’t get a signal”

  “I’m not out, just a little down,” Donovan said. His lids raised and he managed a faint grin. “Little bastard is good. Has the instincts of a wolf.”

  Luke helped him into a sitting position, but when he tried to check him for damage, Donovan pushed him away.

  “Don’t waste time with me. Go after him.”

  Luke hesitated.

  “Just go. I’ll start working my way down this main hall. See if I can find a way out. Maybe I’ll pick up a first aid kit along the way.”

  “I suppose you can bandage yourself, too?” Luke asked.

  Donovan’s brows arched. “Of course. Can’t you?”

  Luke grinned. “I’ll be back as quick as I can.”

  Donovan grabbed his arm. “He’s good. Reacts like prey. I heard him sniffing the air.”

  “I’ve done my share of hunting.” Luke stood up, checked his weapon, and then with a wry look at Donovan, sniffed the air. “That way, I think.”

  He moved down the corridor, but Donovan’s voice halted him one more time.

  “Just what are you intentions toward my daughter, Kirby?”

  Luke stared at him. “I’ll—” He shook his head. “—see you in a bit.”

  He shook his head again to clear it, then took off. The corridor stretched out, straight and empty. He could see places where it branched off. He checked a few of the rooms as he went along. Found rooms with bunks. A dining hall. Armaments rooms. Place was an underground military base. In a class room, he found posters on the wall diagramming bomb construction and deployment.

  Looked like Grady had a side-line training terrorists. He heard a sound out in the hall and padded silently to the door. His back to the wall, he pulled out the “toy” Dewey had slipped him before he left. It was a small video camera on the end of a flexible extender—the kind used by hostage rescue to see into a room. Crouching, he eased it barely around the corner, his eyes fixed on the monitor.

  Grady was standing in the hall, his head tilted as he listened. Luke saw his head lift, as he sniffed the air. He also saw something that chilled his blood.

  Bryn taking a quick look around the corner behind Grady. He saw Grady pick up her scent. Saw him start to pivot in her direction.

  “Don’t move! I’ve got you covered!” Luke shouted. As expected, Grady spun back in his direction, but Luke took his shot. It caught him in the shoulder. Luke didn’t want to kill him. His gun spun free, as the blow of the bullet spun him around. A second shot from Bryn’s direction brought him to his knees.

  He held his shoulder with his good hand.

  “Hands on your head,” he called.

  “Cross your ankles,” Bryn added as she emerged from cover.

  While Luke covered him, Bryn patted him down, then cuffed him. Grady’s face was pasty. Now Luke could see where Bryn’s shot had entered as blood spread in a widening stain across his middle.

  Luke hustled him into a chair, then cuffed his feet together, too. Grady looked like a snake about to strike. Luke’s hackles rose in warning. What did he know that they didn’t?

  “Did you see where he’s been?” Luke asked.

  “He came out of a room a couple of doors down. Why?”

  “Watch him,” Luke directed. “And see if you can raise some help. Donovan’s hit, I left him about a hundred yards that way.” He started out the door, then stopped. “And try to find out where—”

  Bryn gave him a look. “I do have a brain.”

  “Right. Sorry.” He jogged down the hall, glancing in rooms as he passed. The second door down was locked. His pistol to the lock ended that. He pushed the door open and found himself looking at what had to be Grady’s office. To one side was a map, no it was a layout of the compound. To the other was—

  The expletive was short and to the point. Luke had done a short stint with the bomb squad—until his mom pointed out how much Rosemary hated it. He didn’t have to ask anyone what that timer, showing barely thirty minutes, meant.

  * * * *

  Bryn grabbed Grady’s chin. “Don’t pass out on me now, you little bastard.”

  “He won’t talk,” Donovan said behind her. Bryn turned, found him hanging onto the door jamb. His color was worse than Grady’s, and he was leaving a blood trail that would have made a vampire dance for joy. “Not without some persuasion.”

  “I
can’t—” Bryn began.

  “I know you can’t. Leave me alone with him for a minute.”

  His eyes burned with the same fire eating away at her gut. If only he knew how bad she wanted to let him have at the little prick. She looked at Donovan and saw that he saw what was in her heart.

  “Just walk out the door. Go to the bathroom—”

  “We don’t have time for it,” Luke said, popping up beside Donovan. “We gotta get out of here. Place is gonna blow in under thirty.”

  “We can’t leave without Pru,” Donovan said, hoarsely.

  As one, Bryn and Luke turned to look at Grady. His grin was ghastly. Blood leaked out between his teeth.

  “Gonna be bigger than Waco,” he said between labored breaths.

  “Get Donovan out of here,” Luke said. “Start clearing your people out of the area. Way out of the area. He’s got enough armament to bring down the mountainside.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll be right behind you.”

  His face was calm. His voice was beyond calm. So why did she feel so…chilled by it? “Luke—”

  “Bryn,” he spun to face her. “You don’t have time.”

  “You can’t leave him here, no matter what he’s done.”

  “I don’t plan to. Now go.”

  After a long hesitation, she nodded. She slid her arm around Donovan’s waist, but he didn’t move. He stared at Luke for a long moment, then he nodded and turned away.

  Luke listened to the shuffle of their footsteps down the corridor, then turned to Grady. “Where are they?”

  He lifted his chin, his head lolling to one side. “Who?”

  “Miss Knight. And your passenger on the chopper.”

  That ghastly smile again. “Oh, him. He left. Very rude, I thought.”

  “And Miss Knight?”

  “No idea what you’re talking about.”

  Luke knelt in front of him, his gaze holding Dewey’s. “I know you think you’re going to die an anarchist’s hero, but you’re not dead yet.”

  He stared into Grady’s eyes. He’d never stepped over the line. Never. Not even when it twisted his gut with frustration. He believed in the law. He believed in those rights he had to read, even to pukes and perps and low lifes. The judging he left to the courts, even when he didn’t like what they decided. But it had never been this personal before. Amelia was his girl, even if she walked out of his life. He loved her and a man protected his own. It was that simple. It wasn’t about rights. It was about what was right. Grady might want to die, but he had no right to make that decision for anyone else.

  Luke held Grady’s eyes, saw them widen as Luke pressed his thumb into the wound. The gray surged into his face. Luke didn’t feel so good himself, but he didn’t stop. Not even when the blood bubbled over his thumb.

  Beads of sweat bloomed all over Grady’s face. Luke could see his struggle, saw his surrender in his eyes even before the guy knew he was going to cave.

  “All right. All right.”

  Luke stopped pressing, but left his hand in place. The clock was ticking. He wasn’t going to be jerked around by this little puke.

  He managed to lift his chin, the shadow of a real smile edging his mouth.

  “She got away. Couldn’t…believe it. Kicked Ray’s ass. Took his clothes and his gun. Locked Bub in a closet. I’m…guessing she just…walked away…looking like one of us.” His chest heaved with the effort, then he added, “Unless one of your Feds shot her or something. Not knowing.”

  Luke’s fist shot out, but he pulled back at the last moment, just popping him enough to put his lights out. Then he slung him over his shoulder and headed out at a jog.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Bryn and Donovan emerged from the underground bunker to a scene of orderly confusion. Her backup had arrived in several choppers. She saw Matt and Jake standing at the edge of the mayhem talking to Joe. When they saw her, all three of them ran over and took Donovan’s weight off her.

  “We’ve got to evacuate. Now,” she panted out. “Place is rigged to blow in about twenty minutes.”

  “Where’s Luke?” Matt snapped.

  “He’s coming. With Grady.” She avoided eye contact with him or Jake. “He had a couple of questions for him.” She cleared her throat, then asked, “Have you seen Dewey?”

  They both shook their heads. “Maybe you should check the prisoners?”

  Their eyes filled with sympathy, but without another word, they both turned for the entrance to the bunker. She stared after them for a minute, for the first time wishing she had a sibling. Then she turned back to Joe.

  “Get him on a chopper and let’s start evacuating,” she snapped. Joe took charge of a protesting Donovan, leaving her alone for a moment in the center of the storm. She looked around. Where was Dewey? She rubbed her face. In hope and fear, she started for the line of prisoners. Please God, let him be there…

  * * * *

  “You know,” Dewey said, helping Amelia over a snow-covered log, “this could be the real hell, with that whole fire and brimstone shtick a smoke screen. Because I wouldn’t mind fire or brimstone at all right now, so where’s the incentive to not go to hell?”

  Amelia crawled over the log and sat down so abruptly, Dewey almost fell back over the log.

  “Let’s take a break, shall we?” He sat down next to her. She was scaring him. She hadn’t said a word since they left the clearing behind. At intervals she’d checked a compass and made course corrections. He thought she was crying, too, though he couldn’t be sure with the snow goggles covering her eyes. Just seemed like she had an extra accumulation of ice around her goggles. And her breathing was harsh and labored, whether they were going up dale or downhill.

  It worried him how silently she cried. She seemed lost in grief and he didn’t know how to help her. After a brief hesitation, he covered her gloved hand with his. “What’s going on, Amelia?”

  At first he thought she wasn’t going to answer. Then she gave a huge sigh, one that quavered going in and out. She pulled off her goggles and looked at him, her eyes huge and sad.

  “I remember,” she said.

  “And?” he said, remembering another time when he’d faced a woman’s devastation. Phoebe’s eyes had looked like Amelia’s when she told him that Kerry Anne was dead. Looking at her brought it all back in a rush of pain and regret. He didn’t feel any wiser now than he did then. Would he fail her, too?

  “I wish…it had stayed gone.”

  “I understand,” he said.

  “Do you?”

  For the first time since he’d found her in the pantry, he felt like she was seeing him. The amazing part, she’d taken out Al without even blinking, even in that state. Been nice if the guy hadn’t fallen on him, but those were the breaks. Bryn was going to kick his ass for losing the glasses. If he could see her again, he didn’t mind. She could kick away with his blessing and cooperation. He reined his thoughts in. Man, he was seriously losing it.

  “Yeah, I do,” he said. “When I was…younger, I met this girl. Her name was Kerry Ann. She was…I, well, you know. And she was murdered.”

  Now Amelia covered his hand with hers. “I guess you do know.” She sighed again, but it didn’t sound so ragged. Her eyes had quit running, too. “We should get moving.”

  Dewey nodded, pushing up with an inaudible grown. He started to move out, but stopped and looked at Amelia. “Where are we going anyway?”

  Amelia crouched and drew a fairly detailed map with her gloved finger. “We’re around here somewhere. The camp is over here, the lower camp here. We’re heading for a little town that is approximately here.”

  “You saw all that flying in?”

  “I was unconscious when I flew in, but Grady gave me a tour. He had a map on the wall of his office.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Amelia smiled. “I have a good memory.”

  He crouched down next to her. “Which way is Denver?”

  Amelia marked it. “Why?�
�

  “Because Bryn and the brothers Kirby, are somewhere that way.” He pointed to a spot on her little map. “Somewhere here. Not far from the highway. Might be closer than this town. And downhill.”

  Luke? Nearby? Amelia studied the map, on the ground and in her head. If Dewey was right, they were closer. The problem? Grady’s camp stood between them. It would be tricky, but worth the risk to end up with Luke.

  She’d been worried about something in her past standing between them, but now she knew. She wasn’t involved with Donovan. She barely knew him from work, though she’d found him interesting. She wasn’t involved with anyone. She was old enough for Luke. And she was Prudence and Amelia, though Amelia was an assumed identity. She had her own money, from her mother and that’s how she used to get away from her father who wasn’t her father. There was a lot to sort through in her head and now wasn’t the time for it. Besides, she didn’t want to sort through it. She knew in her mind she was Prudence, but she didn’t feel like Prudence anymore. Amelia may have been a figment of her imagination, but now she felt more real than all the years as Prudence.

  “Okay. Let’s do it.”

  “You rested enough?”

  She managed a smile for him. “I’m fine. Let’s just hope they don’t take us for Grady’s guys and shoot us.”

  Dewey stared at her. “You just had to say it, didn’t you?”

  Her smile widened. She looked at the compass. “I think we should take a straight line this way for a few miles, so we don’t end up back in Grady’s arms.”

  To Amelia’s relief, the straight line was mostly downhill. She’d thought skiing was painful with her bruised body, but wading through snow, some of it nearly waist deep, was far worse. Dewey looked pretty unhappy about it, too.

  “So, who’s Bryn?” Amelia asked. There was a bit of moon, enough to brighten the clearings, but under the trees, the shadows were dark and menacing. The tiny flashlight illuminated the compass, but not much more. The snow was deep and delivered a double whammy with each step. It both slowed her progress and was treacherous under foot. Luckily it also cushioned her many falls. The cold bit into her lungs, making each labored breath that much more painful.