22
“I see.”
Lynn did a quick mental review of what she knew about Waco. Cult leader David Koresh and a bunch of his followers had died in an apocalyptic conflagration after a standoff with federal agents in Waco, Texas, in April 1993. The ongoing confrontation and its fiery denouement had been broadcast on worldwide TV. She had anchored parts of the story herself for WMAQ. Some blamed the agents for what happened, calling it a case of government-sanctioned mass murder. Others blamed Koresh and the cultists themselves, saying they set the fire that consumed them. Whatever the truth was, the fact that Lynn remembered the case so well three years and countless other national nightmares afterward was a testimonial to its enduring horror.
“If you want to know, that’s what the nightmare was about. I have it sometimes, the same thing every time: I keep seeing that complex go up in flames with all those people inside. I keep thinking about the little kids.” The lack of emotion in his voice told its own tale. The scar obviously was deep, and painful. “I keep wondering if they knew what was happening, if they were afraid, if they suffered.”
“I remember. I was anchoring for WMAQ when it happened. It was all over TV.”
“Hell, we’d been planning that raid for months.” Jess made a sound that was part laugh, part snort. “It was called Operation Trojan Horse. We were going to rush in there with no warning, corral the men in one place, the women and children in another, and hustle Koresh out of there. Take out the chief wacko and it was over, we thought. End of raid. No casualties. It was supposed to be a surprise.”
“Something went wrong?”
“Everything went wrong. We went in in trucks—cattle trucks, mind you—covered with canvas, three of them, just went bumping up that long, dusty road in front of the compound overlooked by their watch-tower with a three-hundred-sixty-degree view. What was Koresh supposed to think when he saw those trucks coming, that’s what I want to know. Oh, lookee here, somebody’s sending me a stockyard’s worth of cows? Right. Then, while we were parked in front of the compound, still playing at being cows, three freaking Blackhawk helicopters carrying federal bigwigs came flying in from the north and started circling the buildings to observe. You ever seen a Blackhawk? Nobody’s gonna miss one, that’s for sure, much less mistake it for a mosquito. So even if the people inside hadn’t known we were there—say they were busy throwing up fences to hold all those cows—I’d say they kinda got the picture then. But we kept on truckin’, business as usual. What do you do, right? We jumped out of the trucks and started throwing flash-bangs—concussion grenades—while one of our guys was at the door trying to tell ’em we had a warrant. They blasted the shit out of us, and all hell broke loose. They had more gun-power than we did. They even had a machine gun with armor-piercing slugs. We lost four agents in the first five minutes. Talk about a freaking comedy of errors.”
“It must have been terrible.”
“You know what the joke was around the agency afterward? We whacked the Waco wackos. Funny, don’t you think?”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Lynn said quietly. She found his left arm where it rested on the outside of his sleeping bag and touched it comfortingly. His hand rose to clasp hers. Their fingers twined without conscious thought on her part.
“Wasn’t it? Like everybody else, I was pretty gung ho. Hell, we thought we were right. We were making the world safe for democracy, or something.” He gave another dry, unamused laugh. “We were saving the innocent from the evils of a cult. Only the innocent ended up dead, and if we had kept our noses out of it they might well be alive today.”
“You couldn’t have foreseen what would happen. Sometimes things go wrong.”
His hand, far larger than hers, was warm and strong. Lynn had an unexpected mental image of long brown fingers and a square palm enfolding her own slim, pale hand, and to her surprise she felt her pulse quicken.
“That’s what we kept telling each other: When you go out in the world to slay dragons, you gotta accept the fact that sometimes the dragon’s gonna win. In this case Koresh was the dragon, and he won.”
“You can’t dwell on it. There’s no point. You did the best you could.”
Lynn was mesmerized by her reaction to the feel of his hand on hers. The utter darkness deprived her of her sense of sight. Her hearing seemed heightened as a result. Maybe her sense of touch was too.
She could feel the calluses at the bases of his fingers and on his fingertips. She could feel the rope burns across his palms.
“You think I don’t know that? What we saw tonight brought it back. Thus the nightmare.”
“You think some kind of cult did that?” The horror of the scene and the condition of the bodies appeared in her mind’s eye, momentarily sweeping all other thoughts aside.
“Could be. All the signs were there. Or it could be a drug crime. Hell, maybe some disgruntled employees came back to off the boss in a particularly gruesome way. Who knows? All I can tell you for sure is that there are a lot of dead bodies out there and another madman—or madmen—responsible.”
“And they’re after us.” She shuddered.
Jess must have felt it, because his grip on her hand tightened. His thumb ran over her wrist, back and forth in a gentle, brushing motion that riveted her despite the topic under discussion. Heightened senses or no, the way she felt was ridiculous: For goodness’ sake, she told herself, he was only holding her hand.
“That’s the one thing I’m certain of. Though maybe they’ll realize we couldn’t identify any of them in the dark and they’ll hightail it out of here and leave us alone.”
To her relief, his thumb stilled.
“Do you think that’s possible?” A tiny note of hope sounded in Lynn’s voice.
“Possible? Sure.” Unspoken was the rider: Anything’s possible.
“But not likely.”
“Who knows? Just to be on the safe side we’ll assume they’re still after us and get the hell out of here as fast as we can.”
“If they are, they’ll be combing the forest. It’ll be daylight soon. They’ll see us if we leave this cave. I’m sure we’re leaving a trail in the moss. They’ll find this cave. They’ll find us.” The scenario, with all its attendant horror, just occurred to Lynn.
“Not necessarily.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re dying to hear that plan, aren’t you?” Reluctant humor laced Jess’s voice. His thumb began to move again. “Okay. There’s a river near here. I fish it sometimes. I’ve got a kayak pulled up under some bushes. All we have to do is make it to the kayak, and the river will take us to within about a mile of where we want to go. No fuss, no muss.”
“They’ll be searching the forest.”
“We’ll be on the river.”
“Good plan!” Lynn squeezed his hand with excitement. She was seeing the big dumb cowboy in a whole new light. He’d been a federal agent, he was educated, he had a plan—they might actually get out of this alive. The idea was intoxicating. She felt giddy with relief, and the strength of her euphoria told her just how scared she had been.
“I told you I had one.”
His thumb traced circles at the base of hers. A tingle of electricity at the point of contact unnerved her. Lynn stared down at their joined hands, although the darkness rendered them invisible. What was going on here?
“I thought you might be just saying that to shut me up.”
He was turning her on by holding her hand. There was no point in denying it, especially to herself.
“Now, why would you think that?” Lynn thought she heard a grin in his voice. “Oh, ye of little faith.”
Lynn made a face at him, forgetting that he couldn’t see, and returned her half-fascinated attention to the electricity generated by their joined hands. The fact was, she had been attracted to Jess Feldman from the first moment she had laid eyes on him. She was human, after all; she was as vulnerable to a studly male as any other woman was. Might as well admit that too,
while she was being honest.
“Hey,” she said to cover up, “it’s hard to put a lot of confidence in a rhinestone cowboy.”
It had been so long since she’d felt the warm, quivery stirring of sexual desire that she indulged herself. For just a moment, she simply enjoyed the feeling.
“Rhinestone, my ass. Owen and I grew up out here in Utah. We’re as genuine as cowboys come anymore. That ranch? We inherited it. Owen had the idea of making it pay, and it does. Plus it gives us lots of time to do the things we like to do, like mountain climbing, and fishing, and—”
“All those handy little outdoor skills,” Lynn finished for him, her toes curling as his thumb continued to move. She could lean over and kiss his mouth.…
“Exactly.”
“Your parents are dead?” Or crawl inside his sleeping bag with him.…
“Dad is. Mom lives in a condo in Florida.”
“Do you see her often?” Could he perform with a bullet wound in his shoulder?
“In the summer she comes to the ranch for a couple of weeks. In the winter we’re glad for an excuse to head for Florida.”
“Do you take your girls with you? And your wife?” Maybe, was her verdict. Or maybe not. That shoulder had to hurt. Nevertheless, Lynn felt a sudden, burning desire to get naked and put the question to the test.
“The girls sometimes. My wife divorced me years ago.”
Enough was enough. Time to call a halt. Lynn tugged her hand free. He let go easily. She pressed her knees together, fighting the lingering heat.
“Why?” She wrapped her arms around her legs again, gripping her wrists tightly with her hands. What had been an admittedly pleasant interlude was now over.
“I was gone a lot, and she got tired of it. She gave me an ultimatum: quit the Bureau or she was leaving. I chose not to quit.” He paused, then gave another of those unamused laughs. “There’s irony in there somewhere.”
“I’m sorry.” So he was cute. So what? She was not going to make the mistake of sleeping with him.
“I’m over it—and so is she. She’s remarried, lives in Houston. I get the girls six weeks out of the summer, every other holiday, and other times when I’m not working and can talk Sandra—my ex—out of them.”
“Do you miss them?” And sleeping with him would be a mistake. A vacation fling was not her style.
“Yeah. That’s the hard thing about divorce—the kids. They’re basically growing up without me. Vacations, summers—it’s like we’re strangers when we get together, and by the time we know each other again they’ve got to leave.”
“What are their names?” How could she even consider such a thing with Rory snoozing not three feet away? To say nothing of the other circumstances, like dead bodies everywhere and mass murderers on the prowl.
“Liz and Kate. Elizabeth and Katherine.”
“Do they look like you?” The thought of Rory was sobering. Fourteen-year-old Rory wanted to sleep with him too. So what did that say about the man’s powers of attraction?
He snorted. “They look like my ex-wife. Liz—she’s the older—is her mother’s spitting image. Personality-wise too. Last time we got together all she wanted to do was talk to her friends on the phone and go shopping. I spent three days in a mall.” His voice, rueful at first, softened. “But they’re good kids. I actually kind of got into looking for the perfect T-shirt to go with a pair of checked shorts Lizzie bought. I didn’t know there were that many shades of blue in the world.”
“You must be very patient.” Despite everything Lynn had to laugh at the picture his words conjured up. The awful thing about it, she thought, was that she was starting to like him. It was bad enough to be sexually attracted to him, but liking him was even worse.
It seemed more personal somehow.
“Or something.”
Lynn couldn’t be sure, but from the sound of his voice she thought he was smiling.
“Or something,” she agreed. She enjoyed the idea that he was smiling, and that alarmed her.
“We ought to check your shoulder,” she said, needing to distract herself. Liking a man like Jess Feldman could be dangerous. Caring whether or not she could make him smile could be dangerous. Where would it lead?
Straight to that vacation fling. Which seemed more appealing every time her overactive imagination began filling in the details.
“So check it.”
Her fingers touched the warm, smooth expanse of his shoulder, slid along it. It felt hard, and she remembered how broad his shoulders were. Her pulse fluttered anew.
Get over it, Lynn ordered herself, and determinedly turned her attention to the task at hand.
She refused to allow herself to think of him in a sexual way again.
“The bleeding’s stopped,” she said, voice brisk as she probed the bandage.
“Ouch! That hurts like hell!”
“There’s always the Tylenol.”
“I think we should save that for Rory. No point in wasting good medicine.”
“It might take the edge off.”
“I doubt it.” He shifted, the movement a soft rustle. “Lynn?”
She liked the way he said her name, in that low, rough-edged voice. Lynn realized that her pulse had quickened again, and she cursed her wayward libido. They were in mortal danger, on the run for their lives; now was definitely not the time to go all goo-goo-eyed over anyone, much less Jess Feldman.
Even if the time had been right, the man definitely wasn’t. She’d seen enough heartbreakers to recognize one when he crossed her path.
Though she’d never liked one before. That added a troubling dimension to the equation.
“What?” she questioned warily. If he invited her to crawl into his sleeping bag with him, she’d … she’d … decline. Coolly. Coldly. As if the thought was a not-so-amusing bit of impudence on his part.
The way she would have reacted to such a suggestion twenty-four hours earlier.
A day, she reflected, was a very long time.
She would decline with relief, actually. Because it would confirm everything she knew about his kind.
“Better wake Rory,” he said. “It’s time to go.”
23
THE BABY COUGHED, stirring in her arms.
Theresa stiffened,
“Elijah?” Her voice was soft, wondering. “Elijah!”
He moved again, as if in answer.
She snatched him up by his upper arms, holding him aloft, shaking him.
“Elijah!”
He began to cry.
Though she was deep in the silver mine, the main passage was a straight shot back from the entrance to where she had collapsed with Elijah on her lap. A few rays of moonlight penetrated the gloom, enough to permit her to see the baby’s face. His eyes were mere gleaming slits, but they were open; his cheeks were crumpled with indignation. His lips parted in a jack-o’-lantern grimace as he emitted one earsplitting howl after another.
He was crying! He was alive!
“Thank you, God!” Theresa sobbed out loud. Her arms dropped, and she cradled her baby brother close, her body rocking back and forth as if to soothe herself as well as him.
His resurrection was a miracle, a gift from God.
Though He had taken so much, He had given Elijah back to her.
For now. The warning appeared in Theresa’s mind out of nowhere, unbidden.
Elijah would live only as long as she could keep him safe. The evil still stalked them.
Casting a fearful glance over her shoulder at the distant starlit arch that framed the killing ground beyond, she thrust her little finger into the baby’s mouth to shush him as she got to her feet.
Death was close at hand. He would kill her and Elijah—if he could.
She had to take her little brother and flee.
24
June 22, 1996
6 A.M.
“IFEEL SO DIZZY. I have to rest for a minute.” As she spoke Rory sank, panting, to the root-clogged path.
Coming up behind her, Lynn stopped and looked worriedly down at her daughter. They’d been moving fast, trying to get out of the forest and onto the water as quickly as possible. Rory had seemed energetic enough at first, but in the last quarter hour or so she had started to flag.
Now Lynn got a good look at her in the first cold misty light of dawn, and her appearance struck fear into Lynn’s soul. Her forehead was much worse than it had been earlier. The skin from just above her right eyebrow to her left temple was purple; the outer edges of the contusion were so dark a shade as to be almost black. In addition, the area over her left eye was swollen to the approximate size and shape of a clenched fist. To make matters worse, Rory was ghostly pale and sweating.
“It’s all right, we can take a breather.” Jess, who’d been leading the way, had stopped, too, and turned back. He and Lynn exchanged a quick glance over Rory’s head. There’d been a change in their relationship during the night: They were friends now, allies. More than that, even, as a subtle electricity charged the air between them. When they got out of this mess—if they got out of this mess—maybe she would let herself explore this unexpected chemistry between them, Lynn thought.
Maybe a purely sexual fling would be fun, at that. Kind of like life candy after a long, bare-bones diet of work and child-rearing and doing what it took to get by.
“Drink some water.” Lynn pulled a bottle from her pack, unscrewed the lid, and offered it to Rory, who sipped listlessly before passing it back. Taking a drink herself, Lynn then held the bottle out to Jess, who accepted it, tilting his head back to drink.
Lynn watched as he swallowed, then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. Breathing hard, his pack resting on the ground, Jess looked like an older, black-and-white version of the glorious golden boy she had met days earlier. Beneath his tan his face was pale, and there were shadows under eyes that no longer appeared baby blue but gray. His hair was darkened with mist and looked to be streaked with silver, not gold. Stubble shaded the clean lines of his cheeks and chin. Even his bloodstained goose-down jacket was gray, and his faded jeans, in the dawn light, took on a grayish cast as well.
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