Blue Sage (Anne Stuart's Greatest Hits Book 3)

by Anne Stuart

  Ellie would probably buy the rope. The words echoed in her head, sick, horrifying words. Was the town she’d loved so far gone that they’d contemplate lynching? She had to get out of here, fast, and warn Tanner. He had to keep out of town, out of sight of these trigger-happy idiots.

  She ran across the street to her car, no longer caring if anyone saw her. They were making too much noise to hear her engine start up, and if her tires squealed as she raced out of town she was beyond caring. All that mattered was to get to Tanner before he walked into a trap.

  Dust swirled up behind her car as she sped down the rutted dirt road. She skidded a few times, regaining control at the last minute, and almost plowed into the derelict cabin at the end of the road.

  He wasn’t there. She ran through the cabin, calling him, but there was no answer. “Damn you, Tanner,” she muttered desperately, heading out around the back. She raised her voice, calling for him, and started into the dense woods that surrounded the cabin.

  She didn’t get very far. The skin on the back of her neck began to prickle. She had the oddest feeling someone was watching her, someone who wished her harm. She hadn’t had that feeling in days, but there it was back again. She stopped where she was, looking around her, looking back at the cabin through the trees.

  It did feel haunted. She could understand why the big brave bullies of Morey’s Falls didn’t want to venture out there to get Tanner. She didn’t know whether it was the ghosts of the Indian massacre or the restless shade of Charles Tanner, Sr. All she knew was that she didn’t want to be alone in those woods any longer.

  She wouldn’t let herself run. She could hear rustlings, the stirring of the wind in the leaves, except that there wasn’t much wind. She could hear the snapping of twigs underfoot, except that she hadn’t stepped on any twigs. She looked down and saw with dawning horror the shredded remnants of cigarette butts. And she knew with a certainty that they weren’t Tanner’s.

  She did run then, tripping once on the uneven terrain and sprawling in the dirt before she got to her feet and ran once more. She listened for sounds of pursuit, but her heart was pounding so loudly in her chest that she could hear nothing but the noise of her own fear. There was no one in sight when she jumped in her car and slammed and locked the door. She sat for long moments, listening to her breath come in heavy gasps, listening to her heart jerk against her rib cage. And then she turned the key and headed off to find Tanner.

  She drove by Doc Barlow’s house first. There was no sign of Maude’s ancient car, but for a moment Ellie was tempted to stop. If anyone could talk sense into the townspeople, Doc could. Pete might listen if Doc were doing the talking.

  She was about to pull over when she saw a flash of hot pink by the side door. Ginger was standing there, looking out, her face in a weary pout, her blond curls limp. She looked straight at Ellie, her face disconsolate.

  Without conscious thought Ellie pressed down harder on the accelerator, tearing off into the hot afternoon. At that point she simply couldn’t face Ginger, face the self-satisfied smirk that had settled on her face the moment Tanner had dropped her.

  Besides, she couldn’t afford to waste any more time. Tanner had to be out at Maude’s. She could call Doc from there, see if he could do anything about the madness in town. In the meantime, the safest place for Tanner was back out Route 5. There might be ghosts out there, but at least none of them came equipped with a length of rope or a Winchester rifle.

  But Maude hadn’t seen him all day. It was getting on toward midafternoon by then, and even though Ellie tried to disguise the panic in her voice, Maude’s eyes darkened and her seamed face creased in worry. “You don’t think he’s in trouble, do you?” she asked, standing on her front porch and peering out over her empty acres.

  “Tanner was born in trouble,” Ellie said flatly. “The townspeople, Pete Forrester in particular, are getting riled up. I wanted to warn him to keep out of their way. He’s leaving tomorrow—all he has to do is lay low until then.”

  “Did he come to say goodbye?”

  Ellie felt a knife of pain spear through her. “Did you tell him to?”

  “I didn’t dare. I didn’t need to either, did I?” Maude looked obscurely pleased. “What did he say?”

  “Goodbye,” Ellie said flatly. “He said goodbye, Maude.” She turned back to her car. “If he shows up, tell him what I said.”

  “Where are you going now?”

  Home, she wanted to say. She wanted to go back to the old house, pull down the shades and climb into bed. Her head was throbbing, her knee was aching, and fear was a dry taste in her mouth. “I’m going to keep looking for him.”

  Maude nodded. “Call me if you don’t find him.”

  “Call me if you do.”

  She drove back through town, slowly, her eyes so intent that they felt dry and stinging. No sign of Maude’s big black car anywhere. The crowd at Pete’s had moved their field of operations: Bernie’s Bar and Grill, and the noise spilling from the open door in midafternoon was mixed with music. It was turning into a social event, the kind Morey’s Falls saw too seldom. Typical of them to arrange it around violence to an innocent man, Ellie thought with a twist of her mouth.

  Even the Gazette was still deserted. She couldn’t quite picture Lonnie in the midst of all that violent fantasizing, but maybe he was there for a story, rather than to participate in their vigilantism. Whatever it was, it no longer mattered. Not since he’d been part of the crowd that had cornered her in Davidson’s Market, not since she’d looked into the pale-blue eyes and seen a stranger there.

  She’d considered taking Shaitan and heading back up to their secluded mountain meadow, but had dismissed the idea the moment she’d had it. For one thing, she didn’t think she could bear to ride up there again. For another, if he was there, he was safe.

  Besides, where was Maude’s car? Maybe she’d just missed him, maybe while she’d been avoiding the main streets of town he’d breezed right through, and the incipient mob hadn’t even noticed.

  She turned back toward Route 5, hoping and praying he’d returned. But there was no car at the cabin, and this time she didn’t even bother to get out. She just skidded into reverse and tore back down the narrow road. Where in the world could he be?

  She was halfway back to town when she thought of the graveyard. She had no idea whether he’d ever made it out there, but if he was saying his goodbyes it made sense that he’d say it to his father.

  The Morey’s Falls cemetery was on a rolling hill at the east end of town, well beyond the town limits. It had been started in the days when the founding fathers were a little more optimistic about the future of their fair town. It made quite a trek every Sunday, when Ellie and half the town carried flowers out to the victims. She hadn’t gone the previous week. She told people she couldn’t face the telltale signs of the red paint that had been dumped over the headstones, but she lied. What she couldn’t face was one more ceremony devoted to the massacre.

  The long, straight roads were empty as she drove out to the graveyard. She’d hoped she’d never have to see the place again. One last time, she promised herself grimly. One more visit to the place where she’d spent far too much of the last fifteen years, and then she’d never have to come back.

  She saw the recognizable shape of Maude’s car from a distance, parked alongside the rusting iron fence that kept cattle and varmints from rooting among the graves. As she pulled up she spotted Tanner, right where she thought she’d find him, standing in the deserted corner where his father was buried.

  “What do you want?” he asked. It was an unpromising opening as she ran to the iron fence. He hadn’t moved, and the afternoon shadows made his face unreadable.

  She looked across the distance at Charles Tanner’s grave, frowning. It was covered with a blanket of plastic flowers, the faded colors still garish in the sun. She allowed herself a brief glance around the crowded graveyard. There were no flowers, no flags on any of the other graves, when she k
new for a fact that Pete Forrester bought a new plastic memorial for his daughter every month, and Sally Richmond made sure her veteran husband’s grave always had an American flag beside it. The red paint still shone faintly on the tombstones, like blood that couldn’t be washed away.

  She turned back to Tanner. There were flags heaped on top of the flowers, every flag in the place. She knew better than to ask him if he’d been the one to rearrange the cemetery ornaments.

  “Has this happened before?” Her voice came out strangled, and she had to repeat her question.

  “Every time I’ve been here. I put them back, haphazard, but they’re always back on my father’s grave.” His voice was distant, abstracted, and Ellie’s heart twisted inside her.

  “Come out of there, Tanner,” she said, soft enough to be persuasive, loud enough to be heard.

  “Why?”

  “I think Pete Forrester’s getting together what looks unpleasantly like a lynch mob. At best you can hope for tar and feathers, and the only place you’ll be safe is out at the cabin. They’re still afraid of ghosts—they plan to wait until you come back into town.”

  He was walking toward her, and she didn’t like the expression on his face. It was half defiance, half determination. He was looking for a fight. “Why keep them waiting?”

  “Damn it, Tanner, don’t do this! If you don’t care about yourself, think about them! They’ve suffered enough. How will they survive if your death is on their hands?”

  “I don’t intend to let them kill me.” He stopped a few yards away. “Is that why you came looking for me? One more act as Saint Ellie, protecting your townspeople?”

  “I don’t want any more killing,” she said hopelessly.

  “I don’t think you have anything to say in the matter. Nor, I expect, do most of your lynch mob. But someone around here wants more killing, and unless we find out who does, we’re going to be powerless to stop it.”

  “You won’t stop it by walking into a trap.”

  “Who are you worried about, Ellie? Them or me?”

  “You think it’s a difficult choice?” she cried. “They’ve loved and protected me for years. All you’ve done is hurt me.”

  “They’ve kept you a cloistered martyr for years,” he said ruthlessly. “I brought you alive. Them or me, Ellie?”

  It was no choice at all. “You, damn it. It’s you I’m worried about.”

  A slow grin began to chase the shadows from his face. “In that case,” he said, moving closer, “I’ll go back to the cabin. If you’ll…”

  She felt it before she heard the sound. A stinging sensation in her upper arm, as if the world’s biggest horsefly had chosen to take a chunk out of her. A moment later she heard the whine, the thwuppp and chink as a piece of granite flew off a headstone in front of her.

  She looked down at her arm. No horsefly could bite her through the flannel shirt, but the cotton was torn, and she was bleeding. She looked over at Tanner in dismay.

  “I think,” she said faintly, “somebody’s shot me.”

  * * * * *

  Tanner doubted he’d ever moved as fast in his entire life. He crossed the last few yards of cemetery, vaulted the iron fence and had her flat on the ground well before the second shot rang out. He cradled her head beneath his arm, forcing her down, covering her as he listened for the third shot.

  It didn’t come. He heard the noise of a car starting up, the screech of tires as it raced away, but he didn’t dare move. He just lay there, his arms around her slender body, listening.

  It was long minutes before he dared move. He would have waited longer still, but he had no idea how badly Ellie was hurt, and he didn’t dare put off checking on it any longer.

  He sat up quickly, peering around him. No one in sight, but that was no guarantee of safety. He hadn’t noticed the third car earlier. Someone must have followed Ellie out there, and the two of them had been too intent on arguing to notice.

  It was the kind of mistake they couldn’t afford to make. He looked down at Ellie. It didn’t look like much more than a graze, despite the generous amounts of blood soaking into her sleeve, but her face was dead white and her eyes were wide with shock.

  “Can you make it to the car?” He had to repeat the question before she acknowledged that she heard and managed a faint nod. A moment later he was up, pulling her with him as they raced across the flat ground to the car.

  She tripped once, her knee giving way beneath her, but was up again a second later. He shoved her into Maude’s old car, dived after her, and had the aging vehicle on the road in seconds flat. They sped off in a cloud of dust that obscured Ellie’s abandoned car, and headed back toward the outskirts of town, back toward the cabin.

  He knew he shouldn’t risk it. But he had to know, had to be certain. She was sitting huddled against the side of the car, clutching her arm, barely moving, but the bleeding seemed to have slowed. “Where was this lynch mob being formed?”

  Her voice was slow, almost sleepy. “At the diner,” she mumbled. “And at the bar.”

  “Typical.” Before he could have second thoughts he turned the car into town, waiting for her protests, waiting for her to lash out at him. She said nothing, huddling deeper into the car seat.

  The crowds were still going strong in the center of town. There were more cars parked there than he’d seen in the time he’d been in town, and the noise from the bar spilled out into the street. Obviously they were still in the planning stages.

  A deep sense of satisfaction began to spread over him as he turned the car and headed back out toward the cabin. No one even noticed Maude’s car and her renegade grandson—they were too busy getting worked up and liquored up to realize their quarry was in their midst.

  He knew he should take her to Doc’s and have a professional look at the bullet graze, but he didn’t dare. Finally he had proof that someone, not his own subconscious, twisted self, was out to kill and maim. Ellie had proof in her bleeding arm, and it wasn’t that pathetic semi-mob in town.

  But he couldn’t be certain that that someone wasn’t Doc. At that point there was no one he could trust, not with his life, not with Ellie’s. He’d have to count on his own considerable experience with first aid to handle her wound. He only hoped and prayed it was as slight as it appeared to be.

  It seemed to take forever to get out to the end of Route 5. He kept glancing over at Ellie, terrified that she might slip into unconsciousness, that the wound might be far worse than he expected. But she kept herself upright, holding her arm tightly, staring sightlessly ahead. The bleeding had just about stopped, and he’d seen the granite fly off the headstone, so he knew the bullet wasn’t lodged somewhere in her arm.

  He skidded to a stop outside the cabin, jumped out of the car and raced around to her side. She just sat there, unmoving, passive, as he gently touched her arm.

  He moved her hand away, pulling at the torn cloth, and then sighed with relief. As he’d expected, it was no more than a graze, not even that deep. The bleeding had about stopped—all he had to do was wash it clean and bandage it and it should be fine.

  “It’s okay, Ellie,” he said gently. “It’s only a scratch. We’ll clean it up and you’ll be all right.” He put his arms around her, planning to lift her out of the car and carry her into the cabin.

  That was when she started screaming.

  * * *

  Chapter Twenty

  * * *

  The sound of Ellie’s screams was a hideous, grating noise in the afternoon stillness. She was beating at him, flailing with her arms, trying to push him away, her eyes were black pits of despair, and her mouth was open in a desperate, endless cry of horror that erased time and memory.

  He tried to capture her arms, to hold her close, but in her panic she was too strong. Her arm started bleeding again, soaking through the torn shirt, and she tried to break free of his restraining hands, slapping and clawing at him, her breath rasping in her lungs. She was like a wild animal, and he knew if she co
uld she’d break away and run into the woods surrounding the cabin, run until she dropped, and it could take precious hours to find her if she did.

  Tanner shook her, and she looked up at him, her eyes wide and unseeing. He realized that she had gone back fifteen years, reliving the horror of the massacre that she’d effectively blocked out, and all he wanted to do was to put his arms around her and wipe it out again.

  But she wouldn’t let him. She kicked at him, slapped at him, screaming and desperate, and he had no choice. She was going to hurt herself if she kept it up, and the longer she struggled the more she bled.

  He slapped her across the face, only hard enough to shock her. The screams stopped abruptly, her eyes focused on him, and a vast shudder washed over her body. And then she collapsed against him, limp, weeping, clinging to him as if he were her only link with sanity.

  This time when he scooped her up she didn’t struggle. He carried her into the cabin, setting her down on the narrow cot, and when he tried to move away, to get the first aid kit he always hiked with, she wouldn’t let him go.

  “No,” she whispered, her voice raw and strained. “Don’t leave me.”

  “I’ve got to take care of your arm, love,” he said gently.

  She shook her head. “Don’t leave me.” And she pulled him down beside her on the narrow cot, burrowing against him like a tiny animal seeking shelter.

  But it wasn’t shelter she was seeking. Her hands were on the buttons of his shirt, pulling it apart, and then on his skin. Her legs were entwined with his, her hips pressed up against him, and he could feel his arousal growing. He told himself he was an animal, but it didn’t stop his response. Suddenly he wanted her, more than he’d ever wanted anyone, he wanted to bury himself in her soft, willing body, wanted to lose himself in her, to wash away the death and horror and pain. He wanted her eyes glazed and focusing on him alone, not on some remembered tragedy. He wanted life, not death.