by Meg Gardiner
Jo couldn’t move. She wanted to slug him and run away and burst into tears and bury her face against him, all at once.
Gabe had been the PJ on scene the day her husband, Daniel, suffered fatal injuries in the medevac chopper crash. He had broken the news to her.
She nodded. “I get it.”
He clasped her tight. “Be sure you do.”
He turned and sped down the hill. She followed, chased by the wind.
44
The forest closed in on both sides of the logging road, black and shaggy in the headlights of the Tuolumne County sheriff’s car. Haugen rolled along at 5 mph. The engine thrummed and the heater blasted. Overhead, the clouds had sped away, and the temperature continued to drop. The wind battered the car and scattered gravel across the road. Mile after mile, it was nothing but bitter emptiness. California was America’s most populous state, yet so much of it was unbelievably isolated.
Then the road curved. On the left the hill dropped away into the river gorge where the Hummer had crashed.
He slowed further, looking again for Von. And, absent Von, looking for skid marks in the gravel, indicating where the limo had plunged off the road.
He stopped.
The cruiser’s radio squawked. “D.V., come in. Ron—are you there?”
Haugen didn’t answer. Didn’t look anywhere but straight ahead, at the looming ponderosa pine at the edge of the road.
The tree was huge. It stood well over one hundred feet. Maybe one-fifty. Its trunk was fat, its bark tough and split with age. He was amazed no logging company had hacked it down.
Von was hanging from it.
Behind the patrol car, Sabine pulled up in the Volvo. Stringer edged around it in the blue Tacoma pickup. When he flashed the high beams, the light caught Von’s broad back, round head, and black jacket, glistening with rainwater.
He hadn’t been hanged, not by the neck. That, to Haugen, was the most surprising thing. He was swinging from one dislocated arm, his hand cinched in a noose that swung from a high branch in the pine. The skin of his hand had the bluish tinge of frozen fish.
On the passenger seat, Haugen’s walkie-talkie crackled.
“Howdy, partner,” said Ruby Kyle Ratner.
Von twisted from the rope, his coat rippling in the wind. Haugen reached for the walkie-talkie.
Ratner continued, singsong. “You know your fractions, don’t you? The smaller the denominator, the bigger each piece of the pie. And I love pie. My, yes, I do.”
“Work with me, and we’ll share,” Haugen said.
Ratner laughed. It was a squee-like giggle, a whinny. “You are a card. You know that? An absolute card.” He stopped laughing. “A joker.”
Haugen put down the cruiser’s window and waved urgently to the vehicles behind him. Get over here.
Stringer and Sabine climbed out and jogged up, hunched into their jackets. Haugen lifted his thumb from the walkie-talkie’s Transmit button, so Ratner couldn’t hear their conversation.
He pointed at the ponderosa pine. “Ratner did this. He has Von’s walkie-talkie, so presume he has Von’s gun as well.”
Stringer squinted against the wind. “And?”
“Get him.”
Stringer simply stood there, eyes on Von. “Should we cut him down?”
Haugen’s anger rose. “I said, get Ratner.”
“But—”
“If Autumn and her friends reach the road, this sight will terrify them and weaken their will. Listen to me. Ratner knows what the game is. He figured it out. If he gets us, he’ll contact Reiniger directly. We have to take him out.” He snapped his fingers. “Go.”
Sabine leaned close to Stringer’s ear. She was six inches taller than he was. “Don’t be a pussy.”
Stringer drew his weapon from inside his coat. He racked the slide on the pistol and jogged up the road, into the cone of the headlights. When he passed Von, he reflexively shied away.
Haugen didn’t look at Sabine. “Your insult was ostentatious.”
“Stringer doesn’t respond to subtlety. He needs the loving lash of correction.”
“Ratner is playing with us. This nonsense about the lasso. His stupid cowboy patois. He’s a fool.”
Despite the cold, she took a long, cool moment to appraise him. “No, he’s not. He’s a psychopath.”
“He’s a stupid man.”
“Because he didn’t go into high finance, like you? He’s not stupid; he’s calculating. He has the upper hand. He’s out there and we don’t know where.”
“He’s a thug.”
“A loose cannon. A sick, unhinged loose cannon. You already had proof of that. Now you’ve got more. Don’t underestimate him.” She began walking back to the Volvo. “I’m going to drive up the road. You and I need to put distance between our vehicles. That way, if anybody climbs out of the gorge, we can pinch off their escape.” She looked back. “And we need to drive this situation. Do something, Dane. You’re in a damned police car. Use it.”
She hopped in and gunned the SUV up the road, spewing gravel from beneath the tires.
Peyton scanned the ground for the bracelet, but the ground was stupidly covered with pinecones and rocks and roots. Her teeth were chattering. The cold made her furious. Her head was pounding and her mouth was dry. Stupid altitude. Stupid Dustin, opening the champagne and handing it to her in the limo.
Her chest heaved. She let out a breath, full of tears.
Dustin was gone. Grier was gone. Noah was hurt. That pararescue guy, Gabe Quintana, was a hard case. He would not have understood about the bracelet. If she had asked him about it he would have told her no. She had no choice but to go back, on her own, quickly.
The light in the sky flashed so briefly that she thought at first it was more lightning. But the thunder didn’t come. The light flashed again. Blue, white, red, it swept across the mountainside. She let out a sharp breath and changed direction and pummelled up the slope toward it.
It was a police car. Her heart pounded. Her mouth was so dry she couldn’t even swallow anymore. The cops were there. The nightmare could end, right now, if she could just claw her way up the slope to the road. Her feet slipped on a slick patch of moss and she dropped to her knees. She got up, staggered, wiped her hands on her shirt.
“Help,” she said.
The police car was really there, straight above her. The lights were strobing between tree trunks, like angel wings.
“Help me.”
Her voice didn’t carry. Panting, she wobbled up the slope. The lights grew brighter. She thought she heard static from a police radio.
“Hey. Help.”
She cut through a break in the trees. For a moment the view up the slope was unobstructed, all the way to the road far above her. Parked at the edge of the drop-off, angel lights spinning, was a black-and-white police cruiser.
“Help me.”
Wings beat the air, and a bird swooped past. She cringed. “Shit.”
Ducking, she turned and saw an owl glide through the trees along the slope.
She ran a hand over her hair, making sure that the filthy thing hadn’t crapped on her head. Her fingers stung with cold. Her hair was damp and clumpy from the rain. Her nose was running. She wiped it and turned back around.
A man stood in front of her.
He was a small man, in black, wearing an Edge Adventures windbreaker. His face was obscured by the night.
A moan ran from her throat. He slapped her. Smack, her face stung and her head jerked sideways. He grabbed her sweatshirt, pushed a gun under her chin, and pulled her up against him.
“Cry like a bitch and I’ll shoot you.”
The gun felt cold against her skin. The man’s face was right in front of hers. His eyes were narrow and he smelled of sweat. He’d been at Candlestick Point. He was one of the hijackers.
He raised a walkie-talkie. Static squawked from it, and she realized that was the sound she’d heard a minute earlier, the sound she had taken for a police radio
.
He pressed a button. “Got one.”
A moment later came the reply. “Who?”
“Peyton Mackie.”
From the walkie-talkie: “Where are the others?”
She recognized the voice. Smooth and chilly. It belonged to the tall man in the ski mask, the one who had driven the speedboat. The boss.
The gunman leaned close to her and whispered, “Where are the others?”
She whimpered.
“You’re not valuable on your own,” he said. “You’re only valuable for the information you can provide me. And with every second you don’t provide it, that value shrinks toward zero.”
She took a breath of the cold air and blinked stinging tears from her eyes and tried to keep from peeing her pants.
Through her teeth she said, “They crossed the river and climbed out of the gorge. Headed west. There’s a ranch over there.”
“How far?”
“I don’t know.”
“See, there goes your value, headed downhill again.”
“Maybe a mile.” She pointed, straight across the river, ninety degrees from the way they had actually gone. “And they’re going slow. You can catch them.”
Damn, why did she say that? Why did she make him think he could track the group down on his own? She should have . . . “I’ll take you.”
His smile was sudden. “You don’t know anything about negotiation, do you? You just know about giving in. Too late, stupid.”
Her legs sagged. “No. Please. Don’t—”
The gunshot didn’t sound loud. Just close and shocking. The blow felt surprisingly muffled. Peyton went down, hitting the cold dirt beneath the little man. The blood felt warm. And there was so much of it.
The pain in her collarbone was terrible. She was on her back. He was lying on top of her. His breath came in one long, sick exhalation. Oh God.
He was bleeding all over her.
She slapped at him and kicked and shoved him off her. He slid to the dirt, and his black Edge Adventures windbreaker looked shiny with blood and there was a smell in the air, acrid and sharp.
She wasn’t shot. He was. She kicked at the man’s body. She shoved him away with her feet and crabbed backward on the dirt.
She looked around frantically. “Who’s there?”
Another man stepped from the shadows. He held a pistol in his hand. It shone in the moonlight.
“Get up,” Kyle said.
Peyton gaped. “You shot him.”
“You bet I did. He was gonna kill you.”
“Don’t hurt me.”
He looked at her with those crazy eyes, bright and fluid under the moonlight. “Why would I hurt you?”
“Please, don’t. I’ll give you anything you want.”
He didn’t blink, even in the brisk wind. Something seemed different about his eyes. Slowly, deliberately, he put the gun in his pocket.
“You don’t have to give me anything. Just tell me why you’re so scared.”
She looked at the dead man. Revolted, she shut her eyes. Kyle had saved her. “Where have you been?”
“Looking for a way out of here. Where’s Dustin? Did he come back?”
She went still. “What do you mean?”
“We got separated. He took off when he thought he saw lights through the forest.” He held out a hand. “Come on, let me help you up. We best get moving.”
“Kyle, Dustin’s dead.”
“What?”
“Jo said Dustin was shot.”
“Oh Lord.” He put a hand to his temple. “Sweet Lord, no. Did Von get him?”
She hesitated. She didn’t know what to believe. She glanced at the body again.
Warily, she took Kyle’s hand.
He pulled her to her feet. “You’re shivering.”
“Jo thought you . . .”
“What?” His voice sounded gentle.
“She said you shot him.”
He recoiled. “Me?”
Peyton nodded. Her breath steamed the air.
Kyle raised his hands. “That’s plain crazy. Dustin? Me, shoot Dustin? Why on earth?”
“That’s what she said.”
He put both hands to his temples this time, as if he couldn’t process the news. “Jo said she saw me shoot him?”
“No, she said . . .” What had Jo said? “She found his body. Him and a rancher.”
“So you only have her word that any of this happened. None of you saw it. Dustin may still be out there, hurt. Or trying to escape.”
“Why would Jo . . .”
It made no sense. She was cold and confused and very frightened.
But Kyle was calm. “What do you actually know about Jo?”
“She’s a doctor.”
“So she says. You seen any proof?”
“She . . .” Peyton tried to think. “She set Noah’s leg.”
“Did she?”
Peyton felt a new chill. “Actually, Gabe did.”
Kyle looked around watchfully. He took her elbow and led her deeper into the trees, out of the moonlight. “How do you know she is who she says she is?”
“Who else would she be?”
“She showed up at the clearing where the gang pulled the Hummer off the road. Came strolling out of the woods as cool as all get out. What are the chances of that?”
“Are you saying there’s another reason she was there?”
“There ain’t no such thing as coincidence. You think anybody would drive up that logging road if they didn’t have a special reason to be here? No way.”
“Wait—you think Jo was lurking there?”
“What did she say was the reason she drove all the way out to the back of beyond?”
Peyton’s stomach was tangling in a knot. “She didn’t.”
“Exactly.” He looked worried. “This ain’t good.”
“What do you think?”
He rubbed his neck. “You tell me if we’re on the same wavelength.”
“You think Jo’s working with the people who hijacked us?” she said.
“What possible other reason could there be for two groups to end up at that spot?”
Her stomach, her entire body, felt twisted. “Oh my God.”
“Where’s Autumn and the rest?” He smiled. “I mean, where’d they go, for real.”
She felt her face flush. “You heard me tell that hijacker they crossed the river?”
“Crafty girl.” The smile spread. “You were quick on the draw back there, to bullshit him. And brave.”
That smile of his was mega-bright. It bucked Peyton up. She gave him a smile of her own.
“They headed up the river, on this side. They’ve got a horse, and they’re planning to find a way up to the road. You know, get in cell phone range and call the cops.”
“That’s what Jo wanted you to think.”
“Oh God. What should we do?”
“We have to warn your friends. Come on.”
He ushered her past the dead body. They ran along the hillside through the trees, parallel to the raging river below. All at once she felt warm.
“Thank you for what you did back there,” she said.
“Nothing any man wouldn’t do.” He flashed the smile. “For a beautiful lady.”
“That guy—the dead guy—what was he after?”
“Good question. I know Autumn comes from money, but what about the rest of you?”
“Dustin’s family, you bet.”
He glanced at her. “What about you, pretty lady?”
“My dad’s a stockbroker.”
“Megabucks?”
“Hardly.”
She stumbled. She was deeply out of breath. Kyle caught her wrist and steadied her. His eyes lingered on her face. She’d seen that look before. He was captivated by her.
“How far upriver are the others?” he said.
“We walked—I don’t know—twenty minutes?”
Below them the water rushed by, choppy with whitecaps. A branch
hung low in front of them. Kyle swept it aside with his right hand. The gun glinted in the moonlight.
And she thought: How lucky that he had that gun. Where did he find it?
45
Gabe and Jo crept along the riverbank. Jo’s breath frosted the air. The sky was crisp and close, the stars overpowering, a white fire fall. But in the clear air the temperature continued to drop. The wind cut through her.
Gabe raised a hand. Stop.
She brought herself up. Ahead, on the bank above the churning torrent that had become the river, she saw what had drawn Gabe’s attention.
Gabe crouched down. He held the buck knife low by his side. Jo nudged up behind him. She took a long look at the lump on the hillside. It was a man’s body.
Gabe held still for a slow, deliberative half minute. He and Jo could see the man’s shirt, shining with something dark and wet. They didn’t hear or see anything else. Finally Gabe stood and ran up the path. He knelt and put two fingers to the man’s neck.
“Dead. He’s been shot,” he said.
Jo took a closer look. The wound in the man’s back was an entry wound. No exit wound on his body. A single hole. “Not killed with a twelve-gauge shotgun, that’s for sure. This was done with a handgun.”
Gabe looked across the river, and up the hill. “Kyle.”
“Where’d he get the weapon?” she said. “And who is this?”
As soon as the words left her lips, she knew. Her skin seemed to ripple. “They’re here.”
They scanned the hillside.
“How much farther to the Hummer?” she said.
“Couple hundred yards.” He peered up the path as though trying to force X-ray vision. “Peyton ran across this guy.”
She thought about it for a moment and realized he was right. There was no other explanation or reasonable likelihood.
“I bet he was armed. But I doubt she disarmed him,” Jo said.
Their eyes met. Gabe said, “I think we’re in the middle of a battle.”
“Between the kidnappers and the Bad Cowboy?”
“I didn’t say it made sense.”
Jo looked around. Where was Peyton?
