by Cindi Myers
The car sagged in the roadway with three flat tires. Most of the windows were shattered, and bullet holes riddled the body. Patrick registered the damage as he made his way around the wreck, but there was no sign of Stacy. She wasn’t underneath or inside, or back in the niche between the rocks where she’d initially sought shelter.
He examined the snow beside the car, but his own movements earlier had trampled it into slush. On his knees now, he studied the ground for the waffle-soled tread of the hiking boot he’d seen in the tracks on the opposite side of the canyon. He found a partial print that might have been a match, but he couldn’t be sure. He started to stand, but a glint of something bright in the gravel caught his attention. He leaned forward and plucked a thin gold earring from the mud. His blood turned to ice as he recognized one of the hammered hoops Stacy had worn. She’d lost it here in the mud, in a struggle he hadn’t been around to protect her from.
* * *
“NO! LET ME GO!” Stacy tried to vent her rage on the man who held her in his unyielding grip, but he muffled her shouts with the sleeve of his jacket, shoving the fabric into her mouth until she was almost choking on the taste of dusty tweed. Thus silenced, she fought all the harder, kicking and scratching, but her struggles did nothing to slow his progress as he dragged her down the canyon. A second man trailed after them, an automatic weapon cradled in his arms as he scanned the embankments on either side of them.
Her heel connected hard with her captor’s shin and he grunted and shifted his hold enough to uncover her mouth once more. “Let me go!” she screamed again.
The man with the gun was on her in two strides, punching her hard on the side of the face so that her vision blurred and her ears rang. “Shut up!” he commanded.
She blinked and his face returned to focus—a hard, lean face, skin stretched tight over wide cheekbones and a square jaw. His eyes were so pale they were almost colorless, like ice chips set in his face, and his expression was just as cold. It was a face she’d seen before, but the knowledge only confused her. This man had worked for Sam; she was sure of it. So why did he want to hurt her now?
He leaned close to speak to her, his breath smelling of stale coffee and cigarettes. “You make any more noise and I’ll cut your tongue out.” As if to demonstrate, he pulled a knife from his pocket and flicked open the blade.
She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry. “What do you want with me?” she whispered.
His gaze swept over her, stripping her, reducing her to an object, not a person. “I want a lot of things,” he said. “The question is, which do I want first?”
The man who was holding her laughed at this—an unpleasant, awful laugh without mirth.
The pale-eyed man touched the blade of the knife to her throat, to the soft space over her vocal cords. He made a flicking motion and she felt a stinging pain, then the trickle of blood against her skin. “Do you think you’ll be more cooperative if I cut you first?” he asked.
She stared at him, terror rendering her speechless. “I think I’ll have to cut you,” he said. “For a start.”
She stared into his eyes and saw her own death there—a slow, painful death. She had no idea why these men had taken her, but she knew she couldn’t stay with them. She had to get away.
She closed her eyes and made herself go limp, pretending to faint. The bigger man who carried her laughed. “You scared her senseless,” he crowed.
“She’ll be easier to carry that way,” the pale-eyed man said. “Hurry up. We’re still a ways from the car.”
“What about that marshal?” the big guy said.
“Someone will deal with him later. He won’t get far with his car disabled.”
The big man shifted her over his shoulder, carrying her with her head hanging down his back, one hand grasping her bottom obscenely. She kept her eyes shut and tried to review her options, but she didn’t seem to have any. Except she believed she had to get away from them before they reached the car. Once inside a vehicle she would truly be at their mercy. They could knife her or shoot her or do whatever they wanted within the prison of a car. At least out here in the open she had a hope of outrunning them.
That was her first move, then. She had to find a way to make the big guy put her down before they reached the car. As soon as he lowered her to the ground, she’d take off running and take her chances. But what would make him want to put her down? She could be sick on him—except she’d never been able to throw up easily. Even when she was ill and emptying her stomach would have made her feel so much better, her body refused to vomit. Morning sickness for her had been constant nausea with little relief.
Being sick wasn’t an option, so what did that leave?
It left her with no pride and no shame. In the battle between momentary embarrassment and saving her own life, she chose life. Taking a deep breath, she tensed her muscles. Here goes....
“What the hell!” The big man howled and loosened his hold on her.
“What is it?” the pale-eyed man said.
“She pissed on me!” The big man slung her to the ground. As soon as she was free of his grasp, she sprang to her feet and ran toward the cover of a copse of trees. The air around her exploded with gunfire. Bullets ricocheted off rocks and thudded into the dirt at her feet, but she refused to slow. Better to die in a hail of bullets than be cut to death by a knife.
She reached the trees and pushed into a deeper thicket, barbed vines cutting into her hands and face. She prayed she wouldn’t be trapped in the underbrush, where Pale Eyes and his companion could easily pick her off. If she could push on through to more open ground she’d have a better chance of getting away, since the underbrush would slow the two big men even further.
What she would do then, she didn’t know. Even if she could get back to the car, it wasn’t drivable. Pale Eyes and his buddy had descended on her maybe fifteen minutes after Patrick had left her. Did this mean they’d met him on their way down and killed him? She had heard no shots, but Pale Eyes could have used his knife. She hoped somehow Patrick had survived, that he hadn’t given his life in order to protect her.
Whatever had happened to him, though, she was on her own now. She was stranded in the wilderness, with no weapon, no transportation and not even a coat to keep her warm.
The idea that she might die of the cold after dodging bullets all afternoon brought tears to her eyes, but she pushed them away. She wasn’t going to give up. Not when Carlo was waiting for her to come to him.
After what seemed like half an hour but was probably only a few minutes, she emerged into a clearing of tall grass and scattered boulders. She crouched behind one of the larger boulders, trying to catch her breath and listening for sounds of pursuit. But she heard nothing—no gunfire, no crashing through the underbrush, no running footsteps or shouts. Nothing but the rasp of her own breathing and the thud of her own heart.
“Stacy!”
Her name, shouted in the ringing silence, would have been startling enough, but the realization of who was calling for her made her jump up and push her way back through the underbrush toward the sound.
“Stacy!” Patrick shouted again. “It’s all right. You can come out.”
She emerged from the trees and stood on the side of the gravel road, looking back the way she’d come, at the two figures slumped in the gravel, at Patrick’s feet. He held Pale Eyes’s automatic weapon in one hand and his own pistol in the other. In the fading light she couldn’t read the expression on his face, but the relief in his voice was clear as he called to her. “Stacy! Are you all right?”
“I’m okay.” She began walking toward him. She was bleeding and wet and cold, and beginning to shake from the strain of it all. But she was alive, and Patrick hadn’t given up on her. They were going to find Carlo. They were going to find her son, or die trying.
Chapter Eight
They found their attackers’ car parked on the side of the road a quarter mile away, the keys in the ignition. A quick search of the backseat found ammunition for the weapons, some rope, a roll of duct tape and a couple blankets. The trunk contained two suitcases, an empty gas can and a spare tire. “Looks like they planned to tie you up and cover you with the blanket,” Patrick said, tossing her one of the coverlets. “Wrap yourself up in this. You must be freezing.”
“Maybe they were just going to wrap up my body until they could dispose of it,” she said.
“It would have been easier to leave you for dead back on that deserted road.” He slid into the driver’s seat and cranked the engine. The deeper they got into this, the less sense it made. Kidnappers took the boy, but left Stacy unharmed. Then different men came back for Stacy. They hadn’t killed her outright, which seemed to indicate they had intended to take her somewhere alive. The anonymous female caller threatened to kill Carlo if Stacy and Patrick kept coming after them, yet someone had set up an ambush on the most obvious secondary route for them to take. Once again, the attackers hadn’t killed Stacy, but had seemed to want her alive.
When he’d come upon the two thugs they’d been firing into the underbrush, shouting for Stacy. He took up his position behind a rock and called to them and they turned their attention to him. He’d been close enough to pick them off before they killed him.
He turned the car around and set the heater to run full blast. By the time they reached the highway he was starting to feel his feet again.
Stacy stirred and rearranged the blanket more tightly around her. “I recognized one of those men back there,” she said. “The tall one with the pale eyes. He worked for Sam.”
He hadn’t expected this; so far everyone they’d encountered had been a stranger to her. He slowed the car and glanced at her. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’d never forget a face like that.” She pulled the blanket more tightly around her. “He creeped me out. He was always staring at me.”
“What did he do for Sam? Do you know?”
“He was just another thug. Muscle. An enforcer.”
“Was he at the house the day Sam was killed?”
“No. He didn’t come to Colorado with us. He worked in New York. He wasn’t one of the family bodyguards, or anyone who spent a lot of time around the house. He was just, you know, an employee. He came to the house a few times to meet with Sam.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“A couple months ago?” She wrinkled her nose. “Maybe a little longer. Whenever he showed up I always left the room, so I have no idea why he was there.”
“Who could he be working for now?”
“I have no idea about that, either.”
“Do you remember his name?”
“No. I don’t think I ever heard it. It’s not like Sam introduced me to the people he worked with.”
“My people will run his fingerprints—maybe they’ll come up with a match. Did he say anything about why they wanted to kidnap you?”
Her face went a shade paler. “He said a lot of things about what he wanted to do to me—but nothing beyond threats. I thought he wanted to kill me, though I think he planned to...to hurt me first.” She swallowed, visibly gaining control of her emotions.
He covered her hand with his own. “I don’t think they—or whoever they were working for—wanted you dead. If that was the case, it would have been so much easier to leave your body in the canyon. Safer, too.”
“But the caller said I was to stay away, and I thought since we hadn’t, they wanted to punish me.”
“We don’t even know if the caller and these guys are connected. Or maybe the call was just a ploy to get us to take a different route. There aren’t that many ways to get to Crested Butte. Whoever wants you could have reasoned it would be easier to stop us and separate us in a remote canyon. Did either of those men say anything to let you know what they were up to? Or who they worked for?”
“No. They never mentioned Carlo or where they were taking me or who they were working for or anything useful.”
“What about the other guy? Did you recognize him?”
“Not really. But I didn’t pay a lot of attention to the men who came and went at the house. I only remember the one guy with the pale eyes because he was so creepy.”
Her voice shook, all the fear and terror of her ordeal condensed in those few words. “You did great,” he said, hoping to bolster her spirits. “You kept your head and you didn’t stop fighting. You got away.”
“Thanks to you. I was afraid they’d found you first and killed you.”
“They never saw me until it was too late.”
“Well...I’m glad you’re okay. I’m glad I’m not trying to find Carlo on my own.”
She slumped against the car door, weariness in every inch of her posture. Fatigue dragged at him as well, the long hours and constant tension catching up with him. “You look exhausted,” he said. “Even if we make it to Crested Butte, there’s no way we can locate the ranch tonight. I think we should stop and rest before we go on.”
“No, we have to keep going. If we can just get some coffee, I’ll feel better.”
“All right.” Maybe coffee would help. And something to eat, though he wasn’t hungry.
Over an hour passed before he spotted the gas station/convenience store set back from the highway. A sign advertised Beer and Bait and Clean Restrooms. “I’ll fill up the car while we’re here,” he said, pulling up to the gas pumps. “This looks like the only place for miles.”
“All right. I’ll get some coffee and try to clean up a little in the ladies’ room.” She started to open the door, but he put a hand out to stop her.
“Here.” He slipped out of his coat. “Your jacket’s torn and muddy. Put this on.”
“It’s miles too big.”
“Then it will cover more of you.”
She looked down at her clothes, which were all but in tatters after her dash through the briars in the canyon. “I guess I am a mess. All right. Thanks.”
She tossed the blanket in the backseat and pulled on his coat. She pushed the sleeves up and wrapped it around her as tightly as she could. She looked like a high school girl wearing her boyfriend’s letter jacket. Cute.
“What are you smiling about?” she asked.
He hadn’t even realized he’d been smiling. “Nothing. You go in and get what you want. I’ll be there as soon as I’m done filling the tank.”
When he came inside she was adding cream and sugar to a large cup of coffee. “You should get something to eat, too,” he said.
“I’m not hungry.”
“I know. But we’ll both feel better if we eat.”
She selected a couple granola bars while he added a ham sandwich to their purchases. While he waited for the clerk to tell him the total, he suppressed a yawn.
“I know the feeling,” the clerk said. “I come on shift at three this morning—I was supposed to get off at eleven, but the other woman didn’t come in, so I had to work a double.”
“I’m going to go on outside to wait,” Stacy said, gathering up her coffee and snacks.
“I’ll be right out,” he said. He handed a twenty to the clerk. “When you were working this morning, did you see a little boy, about three years old, with blond hair? He was probably with a man.”
She counted out his change. “Who wants to know?”
He took out his ID. Showing it was a risk; if she’d seen the bulletins saying Durango police were wanting to question him, she might conclude he was a fraud or somehow on the wrong side of the law and contact the authorities. He didn’t have time to waste straightening out this mess. But if she had seen Carlo and his captors it would confirm he was on the right track.
He
decided to risk it, and flipped open the leather folder. She studied it and nodded. “Who is it you’re looking for, again?”
He took out his phone and clicked on Carlo’s picture. “This is the boy I’m looking for. His name is Carlo. He was taken from his mother last night. We think the men who took him headed this way.”
She leaned close to study the picture, then nodded. “I saw him. At least I’m pretty sure it was him. He was crying, kind of throwing a temper tantrum, the way kids do when they’re so tired. The man brought him in to go to the bathroom and the boy didn’t want to go back out to the car. He sat down on the floor over there and the man had to drag him away. All the while he was crying and calling for his mommy.” She looked stricken. “I wish I’d known. I thought he was just being a brat. I always watch for those AMBER Alerts and such. I haven’t seen anything about this kid.”
“It’s a sensitive case. We’re trying to keep it quiet for now. Can you describe the man he was with?”
She frowned, concentrating. “He was maybe six feet, kind of thin, dark clothes. He was bent over the boy, so I never really saw his face.”
Patrick slid the phone back into his pocket and checked her name tag. “Thank you, Marne. You’ve been very helpful. Did you see what kind of car they were in?”
She shook her head. “Sorry. They parked around on the side and it was dark over there.”
“If you remember anything else, call this number. Let them know you spoke to me.” He handed her his card.
“I will. I hope you find him.”
“Thank you.”
He waited until he’d driven away to tell Stacy. “We’re on the right track,” he said. “The clerk back at the store thinks she saw Carlo early this morning. He was with a man who sounds like the one who snatched him from your room.”
“She did? Why didn’t you tell me before?” She turned to look back the way they’d come. “We have to go back. I have to talk to her.”
“There’s no need for that. She already told me all she knew.”
