by Joanna Wayne
“It’s easy to understand,” Clint said, the bitterness drawing his voice to a husky low, “once you know the real identities of the players. Thornton’s real name is Jake Edwards. He’s Whacko’s brother. Apparently crazy is a family trait.”
“Shut up, Clint.” Jake threw his arm over Darlene, catching her neck in a vise grip between his forearm and his body. “I’ve heard enough from you.”
“So it was you. And Leon lied to protect himself.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He dragged Darlene toward the ladder that led to the loft, right past a bale of hay. For one brief second she fastened her gaze on the hay rake that rested against the bale and then looked away, not wanting to alert Thornton that she’d noticed it.
And just a few yards ahead of her was Clint’s gun, shoved against a spare tractor tire. If there were only some way she could break loose. But Thornton’s hold on her was too tight. He was too strong. And the barrel of his gun was still at her temple.
The lights in the barn flickered, and for one terrifying instant the barn was bathed in total darkness. In that second the barn door flew open, letting in a blast of cold mist and sending loose blades of hay dancing around her feet.
Jake spat out, “What the—”
Darlene turned, and her heart plunged to her stomach.
“McCord.” The name slipped off her tongue as the man standing in the door took in the scene and went for his gun.
“Drop the gun, Thornton, and let Darlene go.”
“I knew that amnesia story was a bunch of bull.” Jake tightened his grip on Darlene’s neck. “You seem to remember McCord well enough.”
He was right. The second McCord had spoken, she’d known who he was. She had been with him, a few nights ago, sitting on the front of his truck. He’d lit his pipe.
The memories rushed into her head. Still confusing, still hazy, but they were there. The amnesia was fading. But was it too late to matter?
“Drop the gun, Thornton.” McCord ordered. “And then you can tell me what this is about.”
“James McCord, meet Jake Edwards,” Clint said, “brother of the late Hal Edwards, an old war buddy of yours.”
McCord’s face registered surprise and then shock. He held his gun in front of him, one hand ready to pull the trigger, one holding the barrel steady and pointed right at Jake’s head.
“Drop the gun or I’ll shoot, Jake. You know me, I’ll do it.”
“I’m not dropping anything. If I die, Darlene dies. And then you’ll have to kill Clint the way you killed Hal, or he’ll tell the world the ugly truth about you.”
“You don’t even know the truth.” McCord spit the words at the man who’d eaten at his table, drunk his wine, and pretended to be his protector.
“I know the truth, all right,” Jake countered. “You killed my brother in cold blood, and you did it in front of six other men. That’s how audacious you were. You were so sure your friends would stand behind you, so sure you would get away with it. Only one person talked. And he named you as the hit man.”
“You’ve got it all wrong, Jake.” McCord kept up his chatter, buying time. “Hal was killed while on a mission. Your brother died a hero. That’s the way his death was reported. Don’t muddy his reputation now.”
“Shut up, you old fool. You can’t sway me. Not when I’ve waited so long. Besides, there was never any glory, not for Hal. He didn’t come waltzing home to have a big shiny medal pinned on him.”
“I didn’t come ‘waltzing’ home.” McCord lifted his prosthesis, balancing on his one good leg. “I came hobbling home.”
“And you were just about to hobble up the steps to the White House. The people’s choice to lead them into the twenty-first century. Only you’re not going to make it. I’m not going to let you make it.”
“Do you want me to take my name out of the hat, Jake? I can do that. I will do that. Let Darlene and Clint go, and we’ll talk.”
“It’s too late now, McCord. Thirty years too late.”
“What makes you think I killed your brother?”
“I don’t think it. I know it.”
“You weren’t there. You were rotting away in some jail in Kansas for holding up a liquor store. The man who told you I shot Hal was lying.”
“Nice try, but I also heard the words right out of your mouth. The night you told it to Darlene on Glenn Road.”
“You couldn’t have.”
“I could and I did. You were wired.”
“No way. The truck might have been, but we got out of the truck. There was no way to have me wired.”
“There was a way.” This time it was Clint who was talking. “Jake planted the bug in your wallet—the one we found at the scene of the crime. The forensics boys picked up the indentation. They notified me by e-mail a little while ago.”
“Give it up, McCord. Drop the gun. Or the babe here gets it first. At the count of three. One, two...”
Darlene heard the metallic click as Jake cocked the pistol.
“Drop it, McCord,” Clint ordered. “He’s not bluffing.”
McCord dropped his gun onto the floor but for a second Darlene thought he was going to lunge for Jake. Instead, he straightened and held his position close to the door.
“Do you really think killing any of us is worth spending the rest of your life in jail, Jake? Why don’t you just go to the people with the truth,” Clint taunted, still not giving up. “Let them see for themselves what a sorry bastard McCord is. Hell, better than that, you can sell the story to one of the tabloids and make a fortune for yourself.”
Jake kicked the post Clint was tied to. “You take me for a fool, don’t you? All of you.” His voice was rising, louder and higher, straining so that his words slurred. He was going over the edge. They’d pushed him too far.
“Get against that post to the left of you, McCord.” Jake picked up a length of rope and tossed it at McCord’s feet, ordering Darlene to pick it up and bind the senator’s hands.
“Do what he says, Darlene,” Clint urged. “This isn’t over yet.”
When she’d tied the knot to suit Jake, he dragged her to the stud nearest Clint. The rope was already in place, dangling and curling around the post like a snake ready to strike.
He let go of her arm and grabbed her around the neck again, this time squeezing so tightly she couldn’t breathe. She struggled and gasped, the way she had done the other night in the hospital. Only he’d never be able to hold her like that and tie a rope around her hands.
She focused on the gun. She’d have to find a way to get closer.
“Don’t try to get loose, Darlene.” Clint was pleading with her. She met his gaze. He was trying to signal her, but she had no idea what he wanted her to do.
She lunged, but went nowhere. Jake was already pulling the knot tight around her wrists. He stooped and tied her feet to the post as well, before he walked to the ladder that led to the loft. Climbing up the first few rungs, he stretched to the opening and retrieved a palm-size recorder.
“I think you’ll all find this interesting. You most of all, McCord, though I had no idea you’d be here for tonight’s performance. This along with the double murder /suicide note I’ll leave in a perfect imitation of McCord’s handwriting will more than satisfy the police and the media. Especially since everyone in town will back up the fact that Clint and Darlene have been investigating McCord.” He flipped a switch, and the barn was filled with sound.
The voice was McCord’s. The Texas accent, the rough cowboy edge, the euphemisms. Unmistakably James McCord. He was apologizing to the American people for lying to them, for letting them believe he was a hero when he had disgraced the country so flagrantly.
“I’ve never said anything like that,” McCord said. “That can’t be my voice.”
But it was his voice, taken from other tapes and forged into a product that no one would doubt. Jake Edwards’s technology had bonded with evil for the perfect crime. They would all die, and McC
ord would be blamed.
Jake Edwards would walk away a free man.
His raucous laughter filled the barn as he reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a silver lighter. “I’m going to be leaving now, but I won’t leave you in the cold. I’m going to start a fire to warm you.”
“You should have brought some fireworks,” Clint snarled. “Made a party out of this. After all, you waited thirty years to get your sick revenge.”
But Darlene couldn’t take it as well as Clint could. She didn’t want to die. She wanted to live. She wanted to make love with Clint and have his children.
“Why, Jake, why?” Darlene begged through the shudders of fear that shook her as Jake touched the flickering lighter to the dry hay. “Can’t you just shoot us—at least be human enough to let us die quickly? You’d do that much for an animal. Can’t you do it for us?”
Jake walked over to stand in front of McCord. “This is the man who can answer that question for you.” He started a new fire and fanned the smoke toward McCord’s slumped body. McCord coughed as the smoke surrounded his face.
“But ask him quick, Darlene. He’s already coughing his last breaths away.”
Darlene closed her eyes as the smoke curled around her face and seeped into her lungs. “I love you, Clint,” she said, her voice shaky and hoarse. If he answered her, she didn’t hear him over the crackle of the spot fires that sprang to life all around them. Couldn’t hear him over the hysterical laugh of a madman as he slammed the door of the barn behind him and dropped the heavy latch into place.
Chapter Sixteen
“Hold still, Darlene. I don’t want to cut you with my pocketknife on top of everything else.”
For a second she thought she was dreaming. She opened her eyes. Clint was at her back, sawing away on the chunky rope that held her to the post.
“How did you get untied?”
“Jake’s high tech, but he’s not a rancher. Those knots couldn’t hold a newborn calf.”
“They could unless the calf was named Houdini.” She blinked back tears. She wasn’t sure if they were from relief or from smoke, and she didn’t really care. “I tried to get loose,” she said. “My ropes only held tighter.”
He pulled down the protective mask he’d made from his shirt and kissed her, a quick peck on the lips. “Don’t talk. Save your breath.” He returned to the task of cutting, not slowing or speaking again until the rope gave and her hands broke free.
She shook them vigorously, the sudden, rapid circulation creating a tingling sensation that ran up and down her arms. She sucked in a ragged breath and realized how close she’d come to giving up on life.
“Take off your shirt and cover your mouth while I get the ankles.” Clint half coughed the words, but he didn’t hesitate to bend low into the dense smoke to finish the task. Darlene rubbed her eyes and searched through the thickening smoke for McCord, as Clint sawed through the tough rope at her ankles with the thin blade of his pocketknife.
Finally the last ends were cut clean, and she kicked the loose rope from her feet. “I can’t locate McCord,” she whispered, her voice so hoarse she could barely hear it herself. “The fire is worse toward the door.”
“I’ll get him. You head for the loft.”
“No, I’m not going without you. I’ll follow you to McCord.”
He ignored her offer, tugging her toward the ladder.
“We have to help him, Clint,” Darlene pleaded. “We can’t leave him to die.” Her voice sputtered in the black smoke. She tried to yank away from Clint, but she was no match for his strength.
“Get up the steps, Darlene. Now. Don’t turn back, no matter what you see or hear. And use this if you have to.” He pressed his revolver into her hand and shoved her into the ladder. “Now climb!”
“No. Not without you and McCord.”
“It’s too late to save McCord. He’s by the door where Jake concentrated his fire-setting effort. Go to the windows and swing them open. Then close your eyes and jump. Don’t think. Just jump!” He held her close one last time before pushing her away. “Now climb. I’m right behind you.”
She slipped on the top rung and turned to grab hold of him, but he wasn’t there, just his voice yelling at her over the crackle of flames that had now taken hold and were leaping toward her. She stopped, terrified, yet determined to find him.
“Jump, Darlene. You’re our best chance.”
New flames erupted behind her, so close that the heat scorched her skin. She stopped at the window and called for Clint. This time there was no answer. But she didn’t wonder where he was.
He had gone back for McCord. Like father, like son. Heroes to the end.
She closed her eyes and jumped. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ’em. She would find a way to save them.
Or die trying.
CLINT FOUGHT HIS WAY through the flames, dodging fiery beams that burned loose and came crashing down around him. He found McCord and fell to the ground beside him. The older man wasn’t moving but he was breathing, heavy jagged breaths that still hadn’t provided the oxygen to keep him fully conscious.
Clint slashed at the ropes, pressing as hard as he could. Fortunately, the snatch of rope Jake had used on McCord was thinner than the one he had used on Clint and Darlene. It responded more quickly to the sharp edge of the knife.
The second the rope broke free, Clint fit his hands beneath McCord’s shoulders. He could barely stand himself without his knee buckling under him, but he no longer felt the jabbing stabs of pain where the bullet had shattered his flesh. He was too numb from the smoke and the effort to breathe.
“You’ve got to help me, McCord. I can’t do this by myself.” He could taste the panic swelling inside him. He was tired, weak. If he could just rest a minute...
No. He couldn’t think like that. If he stopped, it would be the end for both of them. Sweat poured down his face, rolling into his eyes and mouth. He tugged, but McCord didn’t budge.
Mustering his last reserves of strength, he slapped McCord hard across the face. He had to bring him to, had to have the man’s help or they would never make it up to the loft and out the window. And there was no other way out. The door was completely engulfed in flames.
Their chances were almost nil, with the flames turning the area around the ladder into ribbons of fire and falling timbers. But he had to try.
He shook McCord as hard as he could, and this time McCord shifted and groaned. “Put your arm around my neck,” he urged, his throat so dry he could barely form the words. “You have to help me.”
“I can’t. Go without me, Clint. I’ll only slow you down.”
“I can’t leave you. You know that. We make it together, or we don’t make it.”
Clint tried to see the loft. He couldn’t. The flames were shooting up all around it. Even if he had the strength to carry McCord, they couldn’t make it now. He collapsed beside him.
“You had to know we didn’t have a prayer,” McCord rasped. “Why did you come back for me?”
“I don’t know.” Clint slumped over on McCord, his arm still slung around his shoulder. “I guess I couldn’t just leave my dad to die without trying to save him.”
“What did you say?”
“I said...Dad.”
McCord buried his face in Clint’s arms. “This is a hell of a time to find out you know the truth. A hell of a way to find and then lose a son.”
They were both coughing now. And crying. Or maybe it was just the smoke.
Clint closed his eyes and thought of Darlene. She’d wanted him to share his life. Now he wasn’t going to have one to share. He only hoped she knew how much he loved her. He covered his head with his arm as the fire crackled around him and the flames got closer—
The barn suddenly shook violently around him, knocking him backward. He straightened and then gasped in surprise as the wall behind him toppled and the hood of his pickup pushed its way inside.
Darlene had found a way.
Adrenaline spurted through him, aided by the new supply of oxygen that rolled through the hole the truck had made. Darlene jumped out of the driver’s door and rushed toward them.
Darlene Remington, FBI agent to the rescue. Torn clothes, wet hair, tear-stained face. And no one had ever looked so good.
Together they dragged McCord to the truck and pushed him into the passenger side. Clint climbed in beside him, and Darlene jumped behind the wheel, backing away from the building just as the other side of the barn gave way and the remainder of the roof crashed to the ground in front of them.
“Next time you tell me to catch a plane out of Vaquero, I’ll take you up on it,” she said, swerving the truck into a 360-degree turn.
“Sorry, lady.” Clint reached across McCord and managed a weak high-five, linking fingers and holding on. “You missed your chance at leaving. I’m not making that mistake again.”
Darlene tried the turn again, this time winding up headed in the right direction.
Heading home.
CLINT GLANCED AT THE CLOCK. It was pushing midnight, and they were just getting home from the emergency room. Darlene had to be as worn out as he was from the close call with death. And still dealing with the shock of finding the severely burned body of Jake Edwards a few feet from Clint’s back steps.
The best they could figure, the man had lingered to make sure they didn’t escape; or just to hear their cries as the fire took their lives. Only he’d stood too close. His clothes had apparently caught fire from a windblown spark, and he had taken off running for the house.
He’d never made it.
“Can I help you with that crutch?” Darlene asked, stepping in front of Clint to push a chair out of his path.
“I might as well learn to use it. Looks like I’ll be stuck with it for a while.” Clint leaned his crutch against the arm of the sofa and fell to the cushioned seat. Wincing at the sudden jab of pain, he eased his leg to the pillow Darlene had positioned on the coffee table.
“And this is for you,” she said, pressing a skinny capsule into his hand. “One every four hours. And don’t make that face. I’m just following doctor’s orders.”
