Heartbreaker

by Karen Robards

  For an instant, lying flat on that ledge next to Jess with her head cocked up like a baby’s in a crib, Lynn stared death in the face and knew it. Her blood ran cold.

  Santa Claus laughed, an eerily cheerful chuckle that made the hair rise on the back of Lynn’s neck. He lifted his rifle to his shoulder and looked down the sight.

  He was going to kill them without a word.

  Her fight-or-flight response kicked into high gear. But there was nowhere to run—and no way to fight.

  Jess’s muscles bunched. Lynn could feel him getting ready to—do what? What could he possibly do? She wasn’t waiting to find out.

  Acting instinctively, grabbing for the only weapon near at hand, she snatched up a large rock, reared back, and threw it with all her strength at Santa Claus’s head.

  It connected with a satisfying smack!

  Santa Claus cried out, staggering backward. The rifle arced upward. His finger depressed the trigger reflexively. A staccato burst of gunfire roared from the weapon, exploding through the chamber with white streaks of light like dozens of tiny lightning bolts. Bullets ricocheted off the ceiling and floor and walls. A man screamed in agony. All four dropped to the ground as Lynn cowered and covered her head. The torch fell, its flame flickering wildly as it rolled down the wet, sloped floor.

  Jess threw himself on top of Lynn, flattening her, driving the breath from her body.

  The ceiling came down.

  Just dropped straight down with an eardrum-shattering crash, obliterating the bad guys, extinguishing the torch, and producing a huge, choking cloud of dust.

  A split second later came another roar, more terrible than the first, followed by an enormous splash.

  What felt like the earthquake to end all earthquakes shook the chamber. Sprawled flat on the unforgiving ledge with Jess’s far from inconsiderable weight atop her, Lynn clung to the rock with every muscle in her body.

  The shaking ended quickly. The echoes lasted longer. When at last all was still, the chamber was as black as pitch. The air was thick with dust. Lynn heard what she thought was rushing water not too far below.

  Other than her own and Jess’s breathing, there were no human sounds.

  Just an ominous, gurgling roar.

  31

  “ARE YOU OKAY?” Jess asked in her ear.

  Lynn couldn’t draw enough breath to answer.

  “Lynn?” He sounded anxious. Gently he brushed the hair back from the side of her face. His hand felt for and found the pulse at the side of her neck. His fingers rested there, warm and callused. Sprawled on top of her, he made a very effective shield, Lynn reflected. Of course, she might just die of suffocation in the process of being protected.

  “Could you … get off me?” she managed.

  “Oh. Sorry.” His hand moved, and he rolled to one side. Lynn lay where she was for a moment, enjoying the luxury of drawing air into near-flattened lungs.

  Even if the air was full of dust.

  “Lynn? Are you okay? You weren’t hit?” He lay on his side with his back against the wall. Lynn wriggled around to face him. She felt limp with the aftermath of danger and emotion. For the moment she just wanted to lie there and savor having looked death in the face and survived.

  His good arm, which was bent at the elbow—she assumed his hand cushioned his head—formed a convenient pillow. She allowed her cheek to rest on it, luxuriating in the solid strength of his body, which she could feel along the whole length of hers. It felt wonderful to be alive, unhurt, and—at least temporarily—safe.

  “No. I’m okay.” She was cold, shivering in fact, and he radiated heat. She scooted closer. The stone on which she lay was hard and bumpy. The chest she snuggled against was hard too, but in a different kind of way: resilient-hard. And warm. So warm. “You?”

  “I’m fine.”

  His arm moved, wrapping around her shoulder and pulling her more firmly against him. As he spoke, his breath feathered her cheek. His large hand curled around her bare upper arm. She got the impression that his mouth was tantalizingly close, and her pulse quickened in response.

  “I didn’t think we’d get out of that one,” she said, ignoring the quickening.

  “I kind of had doubts myself.”

  Her head still rested on his biceps. As his arm flexed she was treated to a firsthand demonstration of the hardness of the muscle there. Lying right up next to him as she was, her hands flattened against the soft flannel covering his chest, her thighs pressed against his, Lynn realized just how strong and muscular his body really was. She realized something else too: that in Jess’s arms was just exactly where she wanted to be.

  In different circumstances, maybe, but definitely in his arms.

  Common sense pulled her back from the brink. Get a grip, she scolded herself. This was neither the right time nor the right place for a romantic interlude.

  Even if he just might be the right man.

  Lynn pulled free and rolled to a sitting position, not without a twinge or two of regret.

  “Careful.” His hand rested on her hip. Lynn, to her combined amusement and annoyance, liked it there. It was kind of casually possessive, she thought.

  She liked the idea of Jess being casually possessive of her.

  “The dust is dying down,” she said.

  “That’s good.”

  He sat up beside her, his movements seeming more ponderous than usual. Lynn wondered if his shoulder was bleeding again. It almost had to be, considering the abuse he had subjected it to. He had to be in considerable pain as well.

  It occurred to her that he was surprisingly tough, physically.

  “Is your shoulder bleeding?” she asked.

  There was a moment’s silence, as if he were checking.

  “No. It’s just sore as the devil.”

  “That’s good.”

  “I’m glad you think so.”

  Lynn smiled at the dryness of his tone. “It’s better than bleeding to death.”

  “I suppose.”

  “I don’t hear anything, do you? Down there?” She cocked her head, listening.

  “Nothing alarming.”

  “Do you think they’re dead?” she asked.

  Now that he was no longer behind her, she eased back until her shoulder blades touched the wall. The rock felt clammy against her bare skin. She was shivering again, with either cold or fear or some combination of the two. Drawing her knees up to her chest, she wrapped her arms around them.

  Snuggling with Jess again even for so basic a necessity as warmth would be a mistake. Right now what they had to concentrate on was survival.

  “If not, I’d say they’re definitely out of commission.” A hint of humor colored Jess’s words. “Were you aiming for that guy?”

  “Of course I was aiming for that guy,” Lynn responded, shooting him an indignant glance that was wasted since he could not see it through the darkness. “I’ll have you know that I’m a dead shot when it comes to hurled objects. I was the star pitcher on my high school Softball team. I struck ’em out every time.”

  “Oh, what those five two can do,” Jess quoted, his shoulder brushing hers companionably as he rested against the rock wall beside her. “I think you just saved our lives.”

  “It wasn’t on purpose, I have to confess. I only threw the rock because it was there. I didn’t expect it to really help. At best I guess I thought it would give our killer a headache to remember us by.”

  “Honey, I doubt he would have any trouble remembering you.” Jess’s voice was warm, caressing, and amused.

  “If he were alive,” Lynn clarified, ignoring the honey, which actually sounded kind of sweet, coming as it did from Jess. She suddenly felt anxious. As pitch black as their surroundings were, it wasn’t hard to imagine Santa Claus and his henchmen emerging Terminator-like from the destruction. “Do you think you could flick the Bic for a minute? I’m getting the creeps sitting here in the dark. What is that sound?”

  It was the same mysterious rushing
gurgle that had been present since the roof fell, only it seemed to be growing louder.

  A moment later, after a little rooting around that Lynn could hear and feel rather than see, Jess obligingly flicked the Bic.

  What Lynn saw as she looked down made her eyes widen with shock.

  The good news was, the bad guys were gone. The bad news was, the floor was gone. Everything except the ledge on which they perched was gone.

  The entire chamber had fallen into a swirling black river.

  Which was now climbing the walls.

  Toward them.

  Fast.

  “Oh, my God!” Lynn breathed. “What happened?”

  “At a glance I’d say that an underground river runs beneath this mine. Like all the other rivers in these parts, it’s up because of the rain and the spring runoff. I’m guessing here, but I think the water rushing beneath it must have weakened the floor. When you hit the kook in the forehead with the rock, and he sprayed everything in sight with automatic-rifle fire—except, by some miracle, us—the ceiling, also weakened by water, couldn’t take it. A huge slab of stone dropped onto the floor and, not incidentally, the bad guys. The floor collapsed under the added weight, falling into the river. Voilà.”

  “So why is the river climbing the walls?” Lynn asked, staring down in dismay at the roiling object of their discussion. The water gleamed as black as oil, throwing the reflection of the tiny pinpoint of light that was the Bic back at them.

  “I think the word is rising,” Jess said, lifting the lighter high as he scanned the ceiling. Despite having lost a good chunk of its substance, it still appeared solid. “At a guess I’d say having about two tons of rock dumped in it dammed the thing up.”

  “Oh, my God! If it keeps rising we could drown!”

  “Never a dull moment,” Jess said, and turned his head to smile at her. For a moment those baby-blue eyes were bright and intent on her face. “Doesn’t it say that about our vacations somewhere in our brochure?”

  “If it doesn’t,” Lynn replied with heartfelt sincerity, “it should.”

  His smile widened. “Still thinking about suing Adventure, Inc.?”

  “I’ll make a decision once I’ve survived.”

  His smile coaxed an unwilling curve to her lips. He was close, she realized, so close that she could see the reflection of the lighter as dancing twin flames in his eyes. So close that she could smell the distinctive aroma of masculine sweat. So close that she could see every whisker and scratch and grimy smear on his face.

  So close that she could shift sideways just a few inches, lift up her face, and kiss him.

  She was tempted. So tempted.

  “Honey, I’ve got news for you. I think we have survived.”

  “What?”

  “The bad guys seem to be dead.”

  “They do, don’t they?” As the ramifications of that rising river finally sank in, a tremendous wave of relief swept over Lynn. They were dead, and she no longer had to fear being murdered. Not for herself, or Rory, or Jess.

  The thought of Jess being murdered was almost as painful as picturing herself or Rory as victims.

  “I think I’ve figured out who they were. Remember when they were talking, and they said love heals? They’re Healers.”

  “What are Healers?” Her forehead wrinkled.

  “A religious cult. Officially, the World Assembly of the True Disciples of Our Lord God. That’s the name they’re incorporated under. Known informally as Healers because when they go around preaching their half-baked philosophy, they always end by saying, love heals.”

  “They’re incorporated?”

  Jess shrugged. “The Most Reverend Robert Talmadge, otherwise known to Healers as the Lamb—as in Lamb of God, you know—was a corporate lawyer in his former life. Then he got hit on the head by a bolt of lightning or something, found religion in his own peculiar way, and started this cult. When I was checking into him—I told you we did a lot of preparation for Waco, and scoping out other cult leaders who might have been able to persuade Koresh to surrender was part of it—he had control of about a billion dollars’ worth of other people’s assets and fifty thousand True Disciples spread out all over the world who would cut off their hands if he told them to. They sign everything over to him: houses, cars, trust funds, retirement savings. But there’s no law against people doing that of their own free will, just as there is no law against people joining cults. Everything Reverend Bob does is legal and aboveboard. They keep tabs on him, but the authorities can’t touch him.”

  “As far as I know, murder isn’t legal.”

  “Yeah, well.” He grinned at her. “You have a point. He’s crossed the line. They can touch him now. I figure what happened last night must have been the result of some sort of intracult dispute, and we got in the way. Whatever, the cops will descend on Reverend Bob like a flock of ducks on a kernel of corn when we tell them there are upward of a dozen corpses out there on the mountain, courtesy of his group.”

  “How can people do such horrible things in the name of religion?”

  Jess shook his head. “The world’s an insane place.”

  “I keep thinking about Tim,” Lynn said softly. “He had nothing to do with it. He was killed because they were after us.”

  “Yeah, Tim.” Jess’s eyes clouded, and his jaw hardened. Watching him, Lynn realized that he fought the pain and guilt of Tim’s death by pushing the murder out of his mind and carrying on as if it had never happened. Such denial, she decided, was perhaps the best way to deal with a tragedy for which there was no cure.

  Lynn could tell by looking at him that he didn’t want to talk about Tim anymore, and she respected that. In fact, she understood how he felt. She didn’t want to talk or think about Tim, or the other victims either. What they had to concentrate on for the present was saving themselves.

  “We’re still not out of the woods, you know,” she reminded him, glancing down at the rising water.

  “You mean the water?” He looked over the edge. “It’s got about eleven feet to go before it reaches us. I’m betting it won’t get this high.”

  “Oh, really? What makes you say that?” His lack of panic, groundless as it might be, was heartening.

  “It’s not rising as fast as it was. Look for yourself. And most of the debris that fell was loose rock. The floor and ceiling slabs probably broke when they hit. More loose rock. Which means that sooner or later, with nothing solid in its way, the water will shift the blockage or seep through it so that it can return to its natural path.”

  “Oh, great. I hope we’re still alive when it happens.”

  “We will be. It should start going down in a couple of hours.”

  “Assuming we haven’t drowned by then.”

  “We won’t drown,” he said positively.

  “What are you, psychic?”

  He laughed. “Okay, listen. We won’t drown because if the water should get up this high—which it won’t because it’s just about stopped rising—it’s going to go down the tunnel behind us. Picture it like this: this room as a giant bathtub, and the tunnel as the overflow valve. The water can get only so high before it’s drained off. If that should happen we’ll still have about three feet of air above us to play with. Worst case scenario is we’ll get a little wet.”

  “So what else is new?” Lynn said, absorbing his words and deciding they made sense. “I haven’t been dry in two days. And I’m freezing. What did you do with the jackets?”

  Jess grimaced. “I’m afraid they got jettisoned in all the excitement.”

  “Down there?” She pointed.

  He nodded in confirmation.

  “Great.”

  His eyes moved over her. Lynn met his gaze, read his mind, and gave him a look that dared him to say anything about her Wonderbra.

  “You’re all scratched up,” Jess said instead.

  “The tunnel was a tight fit.” Lynn realized that she was no longer one bit cold. If anything, under his gaze she wa
s starting to feel warm. All over.

  “This one’s bleeding.” He rather gingerly shifted the lighter to his right hand and touched a scratch on her shoulder with a forefinger. About the size of a dollar bill, it was more scrape than scratch. Though tiny drops of blood beaded on its surface, it bothered her not at all.

  “It doesn’t hurt,” Lynn replied, her gaze moving from his finger to his face.

  “So’s this one.” His finger trailed along her collarbone, leaving a path of heat in its wake.

  “I’ll live.”

  “You’ve got dirt on your nose.” He touched that next, swiping the rough pad of his thumb down the slender bridge as if to wipe the grime away.

  “So do you.” Lynn managed a laugh, though her heart was beating a mile a minute at what she saw in his eyes.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said. “Even dirty.”

  “So are you,” she responded, then bit the tip of her tongue in chagrin for what she had revealed. Telling him she found him physically attractive was probably a big mistake.

  “Think so?” His eyes gleamed at her. The Bic went out. His good arm moved, sliding around her shoulders. She could feel him shifting so that he was lying down again even as he drew her with him.

  Just as she’d thought, big mistake.

  She went without resistance.

  “We need to be thinking of a plan to get out of here,” she said severely, even as she battled the urge to give it up and wrap her arms around his neck.

  “Anal,” he chided.

  “I am not anal.” Lynn pressed her palms flat against his chest. The idea was to hold him off. Or, she thought as her hands registered the masculine allure of the chest she was touching, maybe not.

  “Go ahead, lie to yourself.” He pulled her closer, and she went without even a token protest. She lay facing him, her head on his biceps again, his arm around her shoulders. His face was so near that all she had to do was lift her chin a fraction more and their mouths would meet. She knew, because her nose made tingly contact with the scratchy underside of his chin when she lifted her head that first little bit.