by Alice Sharpe
One guy had buzz-cut silver hair and wore a long coat; the other one wore a camouflage jacket. The mayor and Jason walking together, Jason’s hand on the mayor’s arm as though forcing him to come along, the mayor’s gait stiff and labored.
Nate jumped off the bleachers and started winding his way out of the park in the general direction of the freeway, his eyes peeled for some sign that Sarah had managed to find a cop. No such luck. For a second, he thought about returning to the stands to warn people, but warn them about what? If Jason’s goal was to conduct a random shooting into the crowd, he wouldn’t be taking the mayor the opposite direction, would he? And panicking a large group of people could lead to a stampede and trampling.
For about the fortieth time since leaving Arizona, Nate wished he’d kept his badge and his gun. Who had he been trying to kid? He was who and what he was—a deputy, plain and simple. He didn’t want to sit behind a desk as sheriff. He didn’t want to spend his life hiding on his ranch. He just wanted to be a decent lawman again, but this going at it through the back door was crazy. At least Sarah wasn’t in the middle of it for a change, and that was something to be thankful for.
The noise of the crowd behind him quickly began to fade, but traffic picked up and cars sped by on the road to his left. Nate stopped running after a few minutes in order to slow down and look around. Where had the two men gone?
The sky had clouded over, the shadows under the overpass ahead deep and dark. Nate stopped altogether and stood with his back against a signpost, listening. A car whizzed by followed by another car, and as the noise of their engines drifted away, Nate heard a voice coming from the dark part of the overpass.
“Come to your senses, son,” the mayor said, his tone reasonable and calm. “Shooting me won’t bring back your father.”
“I’m not your son,” Jason said. In contrast to the mayor’s voice, the boy’s reply was raspy and raw with emotion.
Nate peered into the gloom and saw the flash of metal. There were two men in there. How did he approach them? They’d see and hear him the moment he got closer.
Headlights coming from the other direction were mounted high enough to announce they belonged to a large semitruck. Nate looked off to his right and glimpsed a subtle path etched into the dirt leading up the embankment and under the overpass. He pictured a shelf of sorts where people with nowhere better to be waited out rain and snow. Using the roaring noise of the approaching truck as cover, he scrambled up the dirt trail, and sure enough, erupted onto a narrow ledge littered with cast-off garbage. He hunkered down and considered his options.
He was now directly above the two men, whose voices were still drowned out by the sound of the retreating truck. They were standing on a very wide sidewalk, facing each other. Jason was holding a gun close to his own body, pointed at the mayor’s chest.
Nate knew he had one chance to get this right. He had to throw himself down the ten feet of slope, hit Jason dead-on and knock the gun out of his hand. He knew the moment the kid became aware of Nate’s presence, instinct would guide his next move. He would turn his weapon and fire without hesitation.
“You don’t get it, do you?” the mayor was saying as Nate’s muscles bunched in his legs.
“I get it,” Jason said. “I just don’t want any more. I can’t do it.” He reached out and shoved the mayor, who stumbled backward.
Another car was coming, and once again, Nate used the distraction to cover himself. He started down the slope. When he saw Jason’s head begin to turn, he launched himself into the air. A second later, he collided with the boy, who folded under the impact of Nate’s body.
For a second, they struggled, then Nate wrangled away the gun. He stood, keeping the kid under cover, breathing heavy from exertion and adrenaline. His hat had flown off in the attack and lay in the middle of the road. The mayor had stumbled backward after Jason’s shove and now stared at the boy, his face red beneath the tan, his eyes all but popping out of his head, the tendons in his neck bulging.
“You okay?” Nate hollered as a car roared by, its tires flattening his hat.
The mayor limped toward him, heavily favoring his right leg. With a start, Nate realized this was the first time he’d seen the man stand since getting to town. “Thanks to you,” he said.
“Stop him!” Jason shouted, still on the ground.
Nate’s brow furled. “‘Stop him’? What are you talking about?”
“He shot my dad,” Jason said, sitting up now, holding his head.
“You can’t believe that,” Bliss said. “The boy is obviously crazy.”
“I’m not,” Jason said, and for the first time this trip, he met Nate’s gaze with his own. He got to his feet, lurching a little, unsteady, rubbing his chin, then he turned his attention to the mayor. “You shot Dad because I told him who you really are. He went to work early. He said he was going to call you and demand you come talk to him. And you shot him, you bastard!”
The mayor looked at Nate’s hand. “Give me his gun.”
Nate clutched the weapon tighter. “The police will show up here sooner or later. We’ll let them figure this out.”
“This isn’t any of your business,” Bliss said.
Nate glanced at Jason again. “What exactly did you tell your father?”
It took Jason a few moments to speak. Tears streamed down his face and his voice trembled. “Dad said he was going up to B-Strong to interview Morris Denton. I told him the truth. Horrible things.”
“You’re not making sense,” the mayor said. He’d moved to within four feet of Nate and Jason.
“Morris is a doper,” Jason said.
“Watch what you say about people,” Bliss hissed.
“You really run the camp,” Jason continued, his voice icy calm. “You choose people to do what you want. You chose me. Today was my turn. I was supposed to shoot into the crowd, keep my bullets low so little kids would get it in the head and adults in the gut. You said—”
The mayor struck fast, hitting Jason in the face with his fist, knocking the boy to the ground. The action jarred Bliss’s body and he wheeled away. A truck drove by and Nate caught a momentary glance of startled faces. No doubt they thought there was some sort of drunken brawl going on. Good—maybe they’d call the police.
“What the hell is going on?” Nate demanded of both of them.
“The boy is off his rocker,” the mayor said, wiping spit from his chin with his fist. “Give me his gun and I’ll take him back into town.”
Nate reached down to grab Jason’s arm and haul him to his feet. Another car sped by.
“Ask him how he hurt his leg,” Jason said.
“You shoved me,” Bliss spat.
The image of the two men walking away from the park flashed in Nate’s mind. “You were walking funny way before Jason shoved you,” he said.
“That’s because you shot him,” Jason said, looking at Nate. “That’s why he sent Peter after you and now Peter is dead just like his brother.” Jason once again glared at the mayor as he added, “You called us your foot soldiers, but the truth is we were your puppets.”
“What are you talking about?” Nate asked, but he knew. He knew.
“It’s him, don’t you see? He’s got this crazy idea that if people are afraid all the time, they’ll fight to keep men like him in power. They’ll oppose gun laws. He uses their fear. He finds guys who are troubled or weak—”
“I’m not going to stand here while this brat slanders me,” Bliss sneered. “Put a bullet in him and save the taxpayers the cost of paying for his trial.”
At that moment, someone touched Nate’s shoulder and he turned to find Sarah facing him. He’d been so involved in what was going on, he hadn’t heard her approach. She looked positively worn-out, pale and breathless.
“Where are the cops?” he asked
her, wishing with all his heart she hadn’t arrived at that moment.
“They must still be in the park. Someone said they saw a tall man in a hat run off this way, so I followed, and then I heard yelling, so I hurried. Nate, what’s going on?”
Nate took a chance he understood everything correctly. “Jason, run back to the park. Get the police to come out here. Don’t tell them your name or they’ll stop to arrest you and there’s no time. Go now and hurry.” He wanted to send Sarah with the boy, but he didn’t think she had speed in her right that moment.
In a flash, Jason was running back to the park. His exit created just enough chaos for the mayor to take advantage of the distraction. Once again moving way faster than Nate anticipated, the older man grabbed Sarah and pulled her against his chest, his arm moving up to circle her throat. “Give me that gun,” he growled, “or I push her in front of the next car that comes by.”
“It’s too late. It’s over,” Nate said, looking for a way to shoot the mayor without hitting Sarah. There just wasn’t one. “You killed Mike. You must have taken his computer and phone, and then when I called him, you listened to the message and knew I was in town, that I’d survived that near accident down by Vegas. Did you pay someone to sabotage my car? And why kill Mike? Did he figure out your involvement in the B-Strong camp? What the hell were you doing out there? Recruiting gunmen to sacrifice for your own agenda?”
“You have no idea how many of us there are,” Bliss growled. “I’m just one man, but there are others all over the country. The malcontent losers we choose are all on a one-way bus to nowhere. We have to stay vigilant. This is not the time for restraint and caution. This is the time to fight back, to take control. I gave those boys’ deaths a meaning.”
“And the innocent people they killed?”
“Every single one of them died for their countrymen. What greater honor?”
“You are a warped, twisted man,” Nate said, Bliss’s claim there were more like him a chilling thought. But how else could they attack Hawaii and Nevada and Iowa and heaven knew where else? “You’re hiding behind the flag and corrupting the very ideals you say you stand for. You don’t want people to be free to make choices. You want to decide for them. You followed us to Carson City, you ran Sarah off the road, and what the hell did you or someone like you do to Alex’s plane?”
“Mike Donovan was a miserable little weasel. He poked around and poked around. I had to stop him. He would have ruined everything. And you and your buddy are no better.” He took a deep breath and lowered his voice. “We’re not going to talk anymore. One last time, Matthews. The gun for the girl.”
“Don’t do it,” Sarah said as a car raced by. A big truck was right behind the car. Bliss yanked Sarah closer to the street. He smiled at Nate and pushed her with abandon. Sarah stumbled backward toward death. The truck blared a horn, swerved and kept going, but another car was on its heels. Nate grabbed for Sarah with one hand. Her fingers slipped from his and he dropped the gun in his effort to grip both her wrists. He was vaguely aware of the screech of brakes. For one second, Sarah’s terrified eyes stared into his, then he pulled with everything he could muster. They both rolled to the pavement as the car continued on its way. Sarah must have hit her head. Her eyes were closed and her body was limp. Nate struggled to his feet and quickly pulled her body to the sidewalk, lifting her to safety just as another car went by.
When he looked up he found exactly what he’d expected to find—the gun was gone and George Bliss was running away from town, practically dragging his injured leg in his rush to escape. Nate took off after him. Bliss turned, took aim and fired.
Nate crumpled to the sidewalk but not before he saw a dark car swerve onto the sidewalk and hit Bliss head-on with such purpose and speed that the mayor’s body flew over the hood and landed with a dreadful thump several feet away.
The car’s engine roared as it regained the road and disappeared up the highway, leaving Mayor Bliss’s body in its wake.
Nate closed his eyes as the world drifted away.
Epilogue
One Month Later
The sun felt great coming through the windshield, the breeze from the open window warm and welcoming. Sarah checked the rearview mirror as she did every few minutes, just to make sure the horse trailer was where it was supposed to be, fastened to the back of her new truck, Skipjack safe and secure and on his way to his new home in Arizona.
She then glanced over at her passenger and saw he’d woken up from drifting off somewhere in Nevada. The past month in the hospital had robbed his skin of its light tan, but that would come back, as would his strength. She would make sure of that.
“Where are we?” he asked, stretching his long legs, then wincing as the movement hurt his still mending wounds. He’d almost died four weeks ago, and in fact, if it hadn’t been for the slight cushioning impact of her father’s leather notebook, which Nate had carried in his jacket, he probably wouldn’t be sitting here.
“About two hours from your place,” she told him.
“What do you think of Arizona?” he asked.
“It’s beautiful.”
He waited a second before following his question with another. “Think you could go to school and live here?” he asked, his hand coming to rest on her thigh.
She looked over from the straight road ahead and smiled. “I think it’s possible.”
“Yeah, me, too,” he said softly, gently squeezing her leg.
She glanced at him again. “You haven’t heard from Alex’s wife lately, have you?”
“Not for a while. From what I gather, there’s been no sign of him anywhere. If he’s still alive, he must be somewhere no one expected him to be, either injured or snowed in. I can’t believe I wasn’t able to help look for him.”
“I know it’s been gut-wrenching,” she said.
“Yeah. Well, a lot of things have been gut-wrenching lately, right?”
“Yes. Don’t think less of me, Nate, but I have to admit I’m glad someone killed Bliss. I don’t know who it was or what the motive was or anything else. I’m just glad Bliss is history.”
“You have every right to feel that way,” he said, his voice kind, but she knew he worried about the who and why aspects of Bliss’s murder. “The man was behind killing at least four kids as well as your father and Stew Netters,” he added.
“And Morris Denton.”
“Gallant doesn’t think so.”
“But Denton was found overdosed in his motel room the same day Netters died.”
“There’s no proof to link Bliss to that motel room. Besides, drugs seem to be kind of outside his operational pattern. He was more of a ‘shoot now, ask questions later’ kind of guy. And since his secretary disappeared soon after Bliss’s death, there’s just a paucity of information. Too bad he burned a bunch of papers before he left.”
“Maybe Denton accidentally killed himself.”
“Maybe,” Nate agreed. “The important thing is B-Strong has been seized by federal agents, and law-enforcement agencies are ratcheting up antiterrorist investigations in the hope of ferreting out other militia groups.”
“That is important, but equally so, at least to me, is that you and I survived,” Sarah said as she cast him a loving look. “I have something to tell you,” she added.
Nate looked over at her. “Yeah?”
“Open my purse and take out the paper inside.”
He did as she’d asked. “This is one of those letters, isn’t it? One that Johnny wrote you before you were married.”
“Yes. Read it. Out loud, I mean. Please.”
He cleared his throat. “‘Baby,’” he began, and in some odd way,
he sounded a little like Johnny. “‘Baby, don’t cry. I promised you that I would marry you and that hasn’t changed. I know losing the baby hurts and I know your dad celebrating the miscarriage hurts even more. But you belong with me now, Sarah, and together, we’ll have a bunch of kids, as many as you want. So don’t cry. Nothing has changed. Love, Johnny.’”
Nate lowered the letter and took a deep breath. “Well, now I see why you loved him so much,” he said.
She blinked a couple of times. “Yes. Well, I always fall in love with really good men. Both times now. It’s like I’ve got a gift for it.”
“I’m sorry you lost the baby,” he added.
“Thank you for saying that. It was really early in the pregnancy, but I guess that doesn’t matter sometimes. Dad was overjoyed. He told Johnny to get lost and made plans to send me to live with an aunt in Alaska. My mom had flitted off to who knows where by then. What Dad couldn’t wrap his head around was that Johnny and I wanted that baby. It hadn’t been planned, but from the moment we knew, everything just changed. It was a tragedy to lose it, not the blessing Dad claimed it was, and it broke my heart.”
“Did you try again?” he asked softly.
“No. There was school and work and loans. And I was afraid. You know. And then it was too late. He was dead.”
She saw a rest stop ahead and pulled off the road, parking the rig in the shade of a big tree. By unspoken agreement, she and Nate both got out of the truck and met in the front. He took her hand and led her to a picnic table, where they sat side by side on the table itself, their feet on the bench, their shoulders and hips touching. The sun beat down on their heads. To Sarah it felt as though the rays infused themselves right into her bones, spreading light and warmth through her body.
“I love you, Sarah,” he said, gripping her hand and looking into her eyes. “I have from the beginning and I don’t see it ever changing. But if I learned anything in this last month or so it’s this—I’m born to be in law enforcement, on the front lines, taking care of business. As soon as I get home I’ll tell my boss I want my badge back. I know it’s a lot to ask of you, but do you think you could handle being married to another cop?”
