“Deal.”
I packed the Jeep, noting he’d taken out the radio, replacing it with something I didn’t recognize. Slipping the cell phone into a pocket, I left.
*
The three hour drive gave me time to go over what I knew. I was missing a piece of the puzzle, something just beyond my reach. As if I should know, but nothing came forward. I couldn’t go after Jillian flying by the seat of my pants, I’d get her killed, and me too.
I took out the small flip phone from Barry, and dialed Laramie.
“Karen Barnes.”
“Hey.”
“Holy shit. I can’t leave you alone for a month, can I?”
“Apparently not. Listen, I have a few things I need you to look up. I have a friend on it, but maybe you can get a few more facts than he can.”
“Hold on, let me get pen and paper.”
Twenty minutes later I hung up. Cornelius might have some contacts, but so did I.
*
Dillon city limits shone in the late afternoon light, but I bypassed it, heading for home. Hopefully it still stood. Going around the deep bend of the drive, I released a pent up breath seeing the house in good condition, at least on the outside. I parked in the back, grabbing the bags and cautiously made my way inside. I found the living room in shambles, the kitchen cupboards and drawers emptied on the floor, and every room turned upside down.
Did they really think I’d hide it here? I shook my head.
It took hours to clean the mess, but as I dumped the last of the dirt into the trash, a little factoid whispered in my ear. A little known one, unless the person was a hardcore fan of football.
Chapter Twenty Two
I sat in the parking lot, watching the sheriff’s office. The car was stolen, sort of. I’d used one of Jesse’s and left a note.
Through the binoculars, I watched Blaze pace in his office, face red, making angry gestures, and several phone calls. He shattered the phone the last time as he slammed the receiver home.
Cornelius “Blaze” Porter. He’d been under my nose the whole time, and according to Barry, the last puzzle piece he’d needed to put it all together. Our only question: Where was Jillian?
I’d been to the bank, withdrawing the map and letters from the safety deposit box. Glancing at the manila envelope, I’d memorized the map, but wasn’t in a hurry to dig up the stable. Amazingly, it was the one stall Dad and I never used because of the sunken depression we’d tried countless times to fill. The horses refused to stay in the stall.
Shaking off the memories, I brought up the binoculars, and watched as Cornell stumbled into Blaze’s office. Slumping in the chair, he started talking. I focused on his mouth. Lost … think he … couldn’t find map … a drink. All I could see was Blaze’s back, and Cornell answering, Not … fault … has ally … she’s … my place.
Jillian must be at Cornell’s. I knew where he lived.
Cornell’s place was situated to the south of mine, one of the reasons he’d attempted to snag our ranch before Dad died. The town’s citizens backed him, and as I’d learned, was why Dad had called on a favor owed by one Paul Barnes. They’d been soundly defeated, and within a month. I was off touring the world, and didn’t have time to worry with domestic matters. I rubbed the center of my chest, wishing the pain would go away.
Regrets seemed to grow slowly, their roots insidious, quiet, and just when a person thought they had it under control, bloomed into full grown forests. Filled with memories and the need to jump through time to reverse dumbass decisions.
I drove past Cornell’s place, his house situated near the road. Parked to the side were five vehicles, of various types. I noted three men walking around the house, and kept going. I’d have to come through the fields, at night. Glancing in the rearview mirror, I noted how the house and barn were situated, and two more men.
Turning on a dirt road bordering the property, I slowed, the recent rain helping to keep the dust to a minimum. It stretched for ten miles before turning again, and the abandoned property came into view. The family left in the 1970s when the price of cattle plummeted and left many ranchers destitute. I parked the car on the backside of the house, and grabbed the duffels. Inside, I found the house was still in decent shape considering the forty years of neglect.
The living room was empty and would work. I’d slept in worse places.
I emptied both duffels, counting ammunition and weapons, and sitting on the floor to clean. Taking the guns apart and cleaning proved cathartic. The routine, checking all pieces for problems, ensuring each had the right ammo, calmed the riot of thoughts and allowed me to think of what to do.
The sun walked across the sky, marked by the dull light moving across the dust encrusted wood floors. As the sun set, I stood on the wood porch, memorizing the yellows and oranges, the purple streaks, the light blue becoming dark blue with the stars little pinpricks of light.
With only the light of a Coleman lantern, I stared out the window, filthy from years of neglect. I could hear insects moving under the floorboards. Memories of the town and how they’d treated us surfaced. The constant bullying at school, people refusing us service at different establishments, how Dad was forced to go to Bozeman to get supplies. Jillian’s parents not talking to us, but she’d remained loyal. And a few years ahead of us, the town high school hero, Blaze Porter.
He hadn’t been lying, our lives were intertwined from a fateful day one hundred thirty years ago.
I shook off the memories. What I planned to do would likely leave me dead. But for Jillian, it was worth my life. She was a better person than me, and would do the world more good than I ever could.
Chapter Twenty Three
The moon gave off a weak light, as I marched through vast acres of Montana grass perfect for fattening livestock. Most of the land was Cornell’s, and I noted problems. Several head of cattle were lying dead on the perimeter, probably within the last week. Each showed signs of severe dehydration. Passing a watering tank, it was bone dry. The place where a small creek normally ran, was covered in dried grass, a few fish decomposed, most of the flesh gone from the dry summer.
All they’d ever had to do was ask. The natural spring was on my property, and I would have shared. The need to try and take the rights was beyond my comprehension. All they had to do was ask.
Shrugging off the sympathy for the dead animals, who’d suffered needlessly, I walked the last hundred acres, and crouched behind a copse of pine trees. I had a line of sight on the house, watching men come and go, some of them fairly young. Each loaded for bear.
I went through each weapon, double checked I hadn’t lost the three spare magazines, the ten extra rounds of shotgun shells, the satellite phone, three grenades, two smoke bombs, or the four hunting knives. The dark blue BDUs would be hard to see in the moonlight, and I pulled out the small can of face grease. With practiced ease, I covered my face to match the material.
I noted the rough time frames for changes on guard. Every twenty minutes, they rotated in and out, walking close to the house. I didn’t see any dogs, which could have been problematic. The house itself was an old homestead cabin built onto and renovated. I could make out the original building, the home’s weakest point. It also meant it was likely the house didn’t have a basement. They’d keep Jillian close, and I was betting in the center of the house, in the old structure.
The most recent addition was to the far west, and the hardest to penetrate. The men were coming out of the house through the back door, and I guessed it was through a kitchen. They were keeping away from Jillian, meaning she had some watchdogs.
I had to go in through the front, hope Jillian could walk, and they hadn’t broken her mind. She was a strong woman, but the violence was new to her, and would take time to come to terms. Even if she was fully dissociated, I could get her out. Catatonic, or her head wound not yet properly taken care of, I’d have to carry her. I went through various scenarios of both situations.
I let three rota
tions pass, and as they finished the fourth, I ran in a crouched position for the three trees lining the front. Stopping behind the middle tree, I watched. Two men walked in front of the door and disappeared around the front. I ran for the front door, pressing against the wall, and listening. Taking a chance, I tested the doorknob. Unlocked. At least I wouldn’t make a noise gaining entrance.
The front room was lit by a single lamp in the corner. Next to the standing lamp, was an old leather chair, probably Victorian era, with open arms and legs. Tied to the chair was Jillian. The front room had walls making it hard to see into the kitchen, but I heard several male voices, smelled cigarette smoke, heard raucous laughter as they spoke of what to do to Jillian before she died.
I looked to the corner. My heart stopped. Her chin was on her chest, her breathing weak, and nothing donefor the gaping head wound. Blood stained her shirt and pants, a small puddle on the floor between her booted feet. Heat grew, and everything in eyesight transformed into hyper 3D.
I’m going to kill them all.
I moved on the balls of my feet, pulled one of the knives and cut her loose. She slumped forward, her face buried at the crook of my neck.
“Lithen, Jillian, I have to carry you acroth my thoulderth.” I dropped the “s” sounds to avoid detection. “Itth going to hurt, honey.”
Nothing.
I leaned down, shoving my shoulder into her hip and wrapping her around my shoulder, lifting her weight easily. Shrugging her into a better position, I wrapped an arm around her knee and held her wrist. I was going to damage her, but she might survive.
I grabbed a grenade, pushed the lever, and pulled the pin with my teeth. I walked out the door, tossed the grenade behind me, and jogged to the copse of pine trees. As I lowered Jillian to the ground, the front of the house exploded in a fireball reaching thirty feet high. Wood flew through the air, screams were heard, one truck flipped on its side, and fires started around the house in the dry grass.
I flipped the safeties, slung the twelve gauge over a shoulder, and stalked into the open.
It was time to kill. I was going to enjoy every, single, death.
Chapter Twenty Four
People scattered, dragging a few bodies out the back. I raised the Sig, sighted the crowd and shot three before they realized what was happening. Four men dropped to the ground, loading rifles. Stupid, weapons aren’t loaded.
I walked behind one smoldering car, lifted the Sig and put four shots at the ground in front of the men. I smiled at the screams of pain. I dropped the empty mag, and reloaded. I tried to pick off the men attempting to reach my flank, but missed and hit one in the leg. I swung and gut shot a third.
A bullet hit the meat of my left thigh, and I pulled out a tourniquet. Tying it off, I emptied another mag, and reloaded. I ducked as a hail of bullets pinged, hitting the metal of the vehicle. I rolled to the right, jumped to my feet, and ran to the side of the burning building. The wound burned and sent tendrils of agonizing pain through my left side. Damn it, Aiden, you can do this. For her, you will.
Taking a deep breath, I crouched and ran for the back side of the building and a small shed. Bullets followed, one winging my ass. It burned, like a long cut with a hot knife. I fell behind the shed, and glanced at the trees where Jillian lay hidden. They hadn’t thought to look for her there. The relief helped to think of my next move. I pushed on the metal of the shed, and found it not flimsy, but not great shelter. I took out the second grenade and stood, stretching a shoulder. I had to throw it twenty feet to live through it. I had to kill them all or Jillian’s safety would never be guaranteed.
Pushing down the lever, and pulling the pin, I took a pitcher’s stance and threw it at the farthest vehicle, where many huddled. I jumped behind the shed, and rolled into a ball. The detonation blew the shed onto me. The weight intensified the pain of the injuries and I gritted my teeth.
Crawling out, I chuckled. Would love to have seen the truck fly through the air and land on the crappy car next to it. Shapes moved in the darkness, and I guessed six or seven men were still alive.
I’d used the Sig ammunition, time to move on to the shotgun.
Shouldering the Ruger twelve gauge, I started going around the house, hoping to surprise some of them. I saw a figure peeking around the corner. The fire created enough heat to make it intolerable, yet the man was remaining in place.
I snuck behind him, poked his back, and he turned. He couldn’t have been older than eighteen, eyes wide in fright, shudders running along his lean frame, side of his face burned, hair still smoking.
His arms shot up, and he dropped to his knees, “Please.”
I sighted his head. It would be quick, messy, and he’d never know the difference. I could live with it, not the first time shoving nightmarish decisions into the black hole of things I didn’t want to think about. He’d been in on the harm of Jillian. I think.
I made the mistake of meeting brown eyes in the light of the raging fire. Fear, confusion, sadness, all rolled across his face, but not a tear.
“If you are going to kill me, do it now, please, Mister. I can’t live with the things they did, I don’t want to live with it.” He looked at the ground, giving me the perfect target.
He’s a child.
I fired into the ground in front of him, stepping back as the dirt flew and he fell backwards into a fetal position.
“Go now. Run. Don’t let me ever see you around people like this again, do you hear me? I don’t give a damn if they are your family, you walk away.” I lowered the shotgun.
He stood, nodded once, and ran for the road.
In those seconds, I’d finally reached my end point. The one in which I could no longer ignore certain actions. When my previous life no longer bled into the one I’d tried to create.
I glanced around the corner, seeing fires gaining strength, bodies laying askew with missing limbs, blood spattered on the cars, and two men checking for survivors. While the kid hit my sympathetic side, not realizing what he was getting into, or what they were teaching him, these men were not an exception. They’d done it, knowing full well what it meant. Their greed overrode all else.
I shouldered the shotgun, and ran forward, found a good spot, stopped, sighted the back of one and pulled the trigger. The second man stood, and his face took the full force.
I was done. Only a few more ends to tie up, and then prepare. I would not be allowed to keep my life, no matter who was on my side, or a friend’s allies.
I’d just committed death penalty crimes. With a smile.
Chapter Twenty Five
I carried Jillian to the abandoned house, falling when my thigh gave out, getting up, and marching forward. The injury on my rear end throbbed, and exhaustion didn’t leave me alone.
Jillian didn’t make a sound.
Stumbling into the living room, I pulled out the first aid kit, and cleaned her head wound, finding she was going to be badly scarred. The two of us needed a hospital, and soon.
I placed Jillian in the back seat of the stolen car, and drove to Bozeman, not trusting Dillon. The hour was excruciating, hoping I wasn’t taking precious time from Jillian.
The ER was packed, but bloody footprints and Jillian’s open wound were enough to get immediate attention.
*
I woke in the recovery room, an older man standing at the end of the bed scribbling notes. I moved and he glanced up, smiling.
“You, sir, are one of the most interesting patients I’ve seen in some time. But you are going to live.” He put the chart on the end of the bed.
“Woman,” I croaked. Cleared my throat and tried again, “I brought in a woman, is she going to be okay?”
“Dr. Jillian Winters, yes. She’d going to have a massive scar on the side of her head, going to need plastic surgery, and rehabilitation, but yes, she’s going to live.” He tilted his head slightly.
I nodded and fell asleep.
*
“Wake up, butthead.” A familiar femini
ne voice boomed.
I opened one eye, gave a crooked smile at the sight of Karen. She leaned on the rail, her curls shadowing part of her face. “I’m up.” She put a straw to my lips.
“We have to stop. I swear, we’re the reason these hospitals are staying profitable.” She put the cup on the side table.
“I’ll be going to prison soon, no worries.”
“No, you won’t. It seems nobody can confirm it was you.” She raised an eyebrow.
“Karen, I walked in with two bullet wounds, covered in blood.”
“Ah, but a certain mayor’s son says it was you who saved his life after the house exploded, and identified the person who did all the killing looked a lot like a certain sheriff.”
My jaw dropped.
Karen laughed, and pulled the ratty chair under her butt. Something nagged at the back of my fuzzy brain. She sat back, crossing her legs in a fluid movement.
“You’re moving easier,” I smiled.
“Yes, honey, I am. Are you ready to talk?” She put an elbow on the chair arm, and rested her head on a fist. “The sheriff is still out there, the danger isn’t gone. Your Jillian is going to recover, but I have other news.”
Twisted Iron Page 9
