Dangerous Refuge

by Elizabeth Lowell

Even on the uphill, he was going too fast to stop. He would hit her unless—

  He wrenched the wheel hard to the left, away from the female shape and the miserable excuse for a road.

  Between one second and the next, the going went from rough to deadly. The truck’s wheels bounced over rocks as big as dogs. The steering wheel whipped back and forth, trying to break his grip. He fought it, but didn’t win. The truck’s center of gravity pitched up. What had started as a hard turn became a four-wheel skid. The world twisted around him like a freak show at a carnival. He braked and steered into the skid, fighting the heavy truck for control.

  Headlights, tires, and metal frame did a slam-dance over the rocks and saplings at the edge of the road. He saw a boulder bigger than the truck on a collision course and knew the end of the ride was seconds away. He cramped the wheel to avoid a head-on and told himself to go loose and let the seat belt do its work.

  He hoped his body listened.

  The battle of metal and stone lasted only seconds that screamed like slow-motion minutes. Or maybe it was him. He was dimly aware of his head and right wrist whacking the steering wheel as the truck’s front end tried to rear like a horse. His vision tunneled, then started to go black from the outside in.

  At least I missed her.

  Didn’t I?

  There was no way to answer the question right now. The truck slid sideways down the boulder and came to a wrenching stop. The diagonal ache that cut across Tanner’s body from the seat belt told him that he was alive. He shook off the darkness and tried to release the belt with his right hand. It fumbled and sent back messages of pain, the kind that was in sync with his racing heart, telling him his right hand was pretty much useless right now.

  Part of him noticed the steam shooting from beneath the truck’s crumpled hood. The truck was finished, but he wasn’t. Automatically he freed himself with his left hand and then opened the door with a well-placed shove of his shoulder. Before he got out, he made a grab for his pistol, automatically using his right hand.

  With a searing curse, he switched to his left hand and awkwardly got the pistol free of its holster. The ache in his back told him he’d have a Glock-size bruise, but what really pissed him off was that as a left-handed shooter, he made a great dancer in a titty bar. But his right hand wasn’t taking directions right now.

  Tough shit, mook. Get going and find Shaye.

  Holding the Glock in his left hand, he heaved out through the slanting cab door. He swept his glance around, saw nothing but the dim radiance of the Bronco’s headlights through the tatters of steam that swirled around his own ruined truck.

  If they’re anywhere near, they already know someone has crashed the party.

  “Shaye!” he yelled. “Are you all right?”

  The yap-yap of a .22 firing came simultaneously with the whine of two small-caliber rounds hitting the truck. With steam blowing and hissing around him, Tanner couldn’t even see a target to fire back at.

  But somebody sure could see him.

  No wonder Shaye didn’t answer. She’s hiding.

  He refused to think about any other possibility for her silence.

  Crouching, he kept under cover of the truck as long as he could. Whether it was Ace or Kimberli, the shooter would close in on the wreck, hoping to finish the job. At a distance, .22s were only a step up from throwing rocks.

  Still bent over, he ran away with as much speed and stealth as he could manage. Keeping something between him and the shooter—trees, a boulder, a big cluster of scrub—slowed him down, but not enough to matter. Pain was there, keeping pace with his heart. That didn’t matter, either.

  A pure rage fueled him. It was the flip side of the fear that had iced his gut ever since he’d seen that the SIM had been removed from Shaye’s cell phone.

  Ahead, the pale shapes of boulders huddled together between dark trees.

  Good cover.

  He scrambled among the boulders. Then he crouched and forced himself to breathe slowly, carefully, while he listened for any sound from his back trail.

  Several hundred feet away, the truck’s engine hissed and gurgled in its death throes. Somewhere beyond the truck, someone coughed wrenchingly. He hadn’t heard anything like it since he’d gone through pepper-spray training. He hoped it was Ace puking his guts out.

  The coughs faded into a tense kind of silence. A waiting silence. All breaths held.

  No sound of oncoming footsteps.

  No sense of pursuit.

  Nothing but the ringing in Tanner’s ears from a head-butting encounter with the steering wheel.

  Gradually the night brightened, a combination of his eyes adjusting and the partial moon shining through the ragged forest.

  I can stay here and wonder about Shaye or I can get off my ass and go in the direction I saw the woman. If it was Shaye . . .

  It can’t have been Kimberli. No glitter anywhere.

  And he was almost certain the figure had been wearing the kind of sensible trail shoes Shaye preferred.

  Pushing aside any worries about wishful thinking, he began working his way back toward the place where he’d swerved to avoid hitting a woman.

  Shaye.

  It has to be her.

  She has to be alive.

  Forty-five

  Shaye scrambled back on her feet from the spot where she’d thrown herself when the vehicle came roaring up out of the night. She had heard the rending, endless battle of rock and metal, the echoing silence filled with hissing sounds, and then the quick snaps that could only have been Ace’s .22.

  The thought of him walking up to the wreckage and murdering the driver made her ache to be armed herself.

  She was terrified that Tanner had been at the wheel.

  She knew the driver had saved her life by wrecking the vehicle rather than hitting her. The square grille and placement of the headlights had been that of a truck, while the violent light and screaming engine had been the stuff of future nightmares.

  Even as she had flung herself back, the truck had gone sideways, and the stark, spearing headlights had bounced and bounded until it all ended in a hideous crash that she hadn’t seen because she was too busy trying to get to her feet.

  Then Tanner’s voice calling her name.

  Followed by two shots.

  He wrecked trying to miss me and now he’s—

  Viciously she slammed down on the thought.

  The sound of Ace’s gun wasn’t that close, not really. He could have been shooting at me.

  If so, he had missed by several hundred feet.

  Tanner!

  But she only screamed in her mind. If he was alive, he could be hurt, needing help.

  And Ace was out there, somewhere.

  Surely he has to be running out of bullets.

  She could find out the hard way if he carried extra ammo, or she could be smart and try being invisible.

  Remember, it’s just business for Ace. He’s got three people who know too much running around in the darkness. He’ll go after the closest one first.

  The truck.

  He’ll be coming in from the direction the shots came from. I have to get to the truck first. Tanner will be armed, and it won’t be with a yappy little Chihuahua of a gun.

  She headed down toward the truck as fast as she dared. Her leg had settled into a steady kind of burn that didn’t get in her way. Most of the time.

  The truck was in a small runoff channel. Moonlight gleamed on the pale rocks and dirt around it. She was tempted to shine her light through the windows, but knew it would only make her a target. Instead, she half skidded, half ran down the slope. If she moved quickly enough, she would be able to get the truck between herself and the source of the shots.

  Maybe Tanner isn’t alone. August could be with him.

  The thought made her feel better, even as she doubted it. If the deputy had been present and conscious, he would have returned Ace’s fire.

  Her eyes readjusted to the dim moonlight agai
n and she could make out a single headlight turning silver the ghostly seething of steam around the truck. Breath coming hard, she ran close enough to look inside.

  Empty.

  The .22 barked again. Glass broke as the single working headlight exploded.

  Damn you, Ace!

  Shaye abandoned the treacherous cover of the truck that was also a magnet for a killer. She followed the straightest line she could take and still keep under some cover, hoping that Tanner had done the same.

  The gunshot had come from up the hill, almost a straight line from where Kimberli had fled the Bronco. Darting from one ragged shadow to another, Shaye waited to hear the next shot.

  Nothing but her own breathing.

  She saw another shadow ahead. Moving.

  Tanner.

  Shaye wanted to call out to him but was afraid she would only draw fire in their direction. Hoping Tanner heard her coming—she was hardly catlike in her scramble around trees and boulders—she sprinted toward him.

  But the shadow was gone.

  Was it my imagination?

  Too late to change her mind. She knew Ace was coming and all she had was a flashlight she couldn’t use and a prayer that she was afraid wouldn’t come true.

  Forty-six

  The third time Tanner tripped over a shadow and went to his knees he admitted that his head had whacked the wheel harder than he thought. Adrenaline was a great painkiller, but it didn’t last long enough. The ringing in his ears was way too loud. And his eyes were having trouble with the faint, tricky light.

  Need a few minutes to get my head clear.

  He didn’t have them.

  Shaye. Get to Shaye. That’s all that matters.

  He levered himself up to his feet, waited for the double vision to pass, and kept going. The tricky light and shadows shifting in the wind weren’t helping. His head throbbed, feeling like it was too big and then too small, like the brain and bone were trying to live in the same space at the same time. The gun in his left hand felt wrong, but holding it in his correct hand wasn’t going to happen.

  The moonlight barely revealed the next step in front of him. The distant lights of the Bronco were ahead and to the right, up the hill. So were the bigger trees and best cover. That was where Shaye had been.

  But Ace held that ground.

  Doggedly, Tanner picked his way through jagged blue-black shapes and the coy, flat light of the moon. Every few feet he paused to listen to the night. All he could hear was the heartbeat in his head and the ringing in his ears. His right wrist would have joined the chorus, but it didn’t hurt enough to be heard.

  Tanner glanced up the hill and couldn’t see anything useful. If Ace was still up there, he wasn’t allowing the Bronco’s lights to silhouette him.

  Wait. Something close. Just ahead.

  Automatically, Tanner put his back to a small tree and brought the Glock up into firing position. Usually he didn’t notice the weight of the weapon. Tonight it felt like holding a bowling ball at arm’s length. He could do it for a while, but not for too long. He used his right forearm as a brace and held the pistol pointed at the place where he might have seen motion.

  He waited, staring until his eyes hurt.

  It was like looking at tar on black velvet at midnight. Nothing to see.

  There it is.

  Someone coming this way. Not making much noise either. Or the ringing in my ears is drowning out everything else.

  He kept the gun up. If the person hadn’t seen him yet, he couldn’t move. Movement drew attention.

  There. Again.

  His finger tightened on the trigger.

  Just a little closer. Be certain of the target.

  Wait . . . wait . . .

  Forty-seven

  Shaye hesitated. She had seen someone in front of her, but now there was nothing. The figure hadn’t been Kimberli—too big and no glitter. It hadn’t been Ace—his khaki clothes were pale in the moonlight. That left Tanner in his dark T-shirt and jeans.

  There was the faintest glimmer of moonlight off something. It could have been a gun.

  Oh God. He can’t tell it’s me.

  She could speak up and maybe get shot by Ace at a distance with a .22, or stay silent and get shot close up and for certain by a cop’s gun.

  Easy choice.

  “Tanner,” she said roughly. “It’s Shaye. Don’t shoot.”

  The shape dissolved and Tanner’s voice said, “Jesus. I nearly shot you.”

  She felt tears stream down her face as she ran to him and buried her face in his chest. He flinched, made a rough sound of pain, and then gave her a one-armed hug.

  “You’re hurt,” she whispered.

  “Hit my head, right wrist is—”

  Her fingers covered his mouth. “Too loud,” she said.

  He barely heard her past the ringing in his ears, but he lowered his voice. “This better?”

  “Yes. We have to get to cover.” She pointed toward the jumble of boulders just uphill.

  “Been there,” he said softly. “No good for two.”

  She pointed toward the bigger trees. “Ace.”

  Tanner made a circle-around motion.

  She nodded and headed out, climbing up in a direction that would eventually lead to big trees.

  Wanting to object, yet knowing she was right, he fell in behind her. Or tried to. He couldn’t keep up.

  “Wait,” he said in a low voice.

  At least he hoped it was low. The only thing that had real volume was the ringing in his ears.

  She appeared by his side.

  “Can you shoot this?” he rasped, holding out the Glock.

  For the first time she realized that he was essentially one-handed.

  “Yes. But I’m not very good.”

  “Extra magazines.” He tapped his left jacket pocket.

  She hesitated, then pulled out two magazines and put one each in the back pockets of her jeans. The instant she was finished, he placed something in her hands. It wasn’t as heavy as other handguns its size, but it wasn’t exactly a feather. The weapon was warm from his skin, but still it chilled her. She wanted to tell him she couldn’t do this, then realized it wasn’t true.

  She just didn’t like pistols. Too easy to screw up with them.

  But Tanner didn’t look real steady on his feet right now. She was lucky he’d had the training to wait and be certain of his target before firing.

  He tapped the safety on the Glock, showing her the on/off control.

  She nodded, worked the control until she could do it by touch alone, and turned back toward the slope. The pistol was an uneasy weight in her right hand. She considered asking him for the holster, but didn’t. She would be slow enough getting the pistol into firing position as it was.

  Wish I’d spent more time with handguns. But I didn’t and it’s way too late now. I know the basics.

  It will have to be enough.

  The night had tipped from cool to chilly. Wind sucked heat from anything warm, especially bare skin. The bigger trees that would give cover seemed to get farther and farther away.

  Shaye listened, heard only the occasional stumble from Tanner. He was falling behind. She waited, listening carefully, and heard nothing beyond the two of them. Either Ace wasn’t following them or he was used to stalking game.

  A chill went over her at the thought.

  As soon as Tanner caught up, she pushed on again, heading toward one side of the Bronco’s gleaming headlights.

  Is Ace doing the same?

  Is he just waiting to get both Tanner and me at once?

  Can I really shoot Ace?

  Forty-eight

  Ace watched Shaye and Tanner as he had once watched them from a ridge behind Tony Rua’s house. The difference now was simple: tonight he would kill both of them. The only reason they were alive now was that he hadn’t wanted to rush out and replace his .38 pistol so soon after he killed Rua. People might wonder why Ace needed a new handgun. It was a question
he hadn’t wanted to answer.

  Some people would say he was too cautious, but some people were stupid. Ace wasn’t.

  No more long shots with a short pistol. I’ll get up close and real personal before I put a bullet in them.

  Besides, he hadn’t decided whether it would be more satisfying to rape Shaye in front of her boyfriend, or kill Tanner in front of her and then rape her. And kill her, of course. He’d buried more than one body in an abandoned mine. Saved so many questions.

  The top of his head still burned from the pepper spray, feeling like it was scraped raw, but his eyes had stopped watering uncontrollably. Now they just sort of dripped. He probably looked like he’d been bawling, when that was the furthest thing from his mind.

  Shaye would pay and then pay again. He’d take a long time with her. A long, long time.

  No. Something else might go wrong. Just finish it and move on. Especially with Davis here, even though he was moving like he hurt pretty bad.

  Maybe he’s already dead.

  If not, he will be.

  The thought of more work made Ace swear. It would be bad enough rounding up the stupid females and dumping them down a mine shaft, but Tanner Davis weighed as much as the two women together.

  There’s lots of room in the mine. It will all work out. I’ve got enough ammo.

  Still, it irritated the hell out of Ace having his plans bumped off track at the last minute. But that was the way luck came—good and bad. He had his alibi. With a few nudges, Conrad would decide that the fool women had gone looking for mustangs or land or whatever, and when they hadn’t returned, Davis had gone looking for them in a roaring hurry, wrecked, and ended up lost somewhere.

  As for Ace, he’d have a mess of trout as proof of where he’d been—and there weren’t any trout in these hills where he was right now.

  He eased past the still-steaming truck. No one inside, but it never hurt to be sure. His vision wasn’t really clear yet, because his eyes kept watering and he kept having to strangle coughs. His ears worked just fine, though. He could hear sounds ahead and upslope.

  They aren’t very far away at all. If I had my .38, I could kill or wound them from here.