MurderedIin Conard County (Conard County: The Next Generation Book 40)

by Rachel Lee

  He knew horses well enough to know that Scrappy might react to Lita’s nervousness and begin to behave the same way. While it wasn’t usually necessary, he used the reins to tie Scrappy to a tree trunk along with Lita.

  They nickered and huffed, an equine announcement of let’s get out of here, but he was sure they weren’t going anywhere.

  Only then, what seemed like years later but couldn’t have been more than a half minute, he knelt next to Blaire. She had the rag doll limpness he recognized as unconsciousness, and he feared how badly she might have hit her head.

  But there was a sequence, and the first thing he needed to do was stanch the blood from her wound. Time slowed down until it dragged its heels. Only experience had taught him that was adrenaline speeding up his mind, that time still moved at its regular pace.

  With adrenaline-powered strength, he ripped the sleeve of her jacket open and kept tearing until he could see where the blood was heaviest. Then he tore her shirt and revealed her shoulder, turning her partly over to see her back as well as her front.

  A through-and-through wound, bleeding from both sides, but not through the artery, thank God. Bad enough, but no spurts. Grabbing the sleeve he had just torn, he ripped it in half and pushed it against the two holes, front and back, as hard as he could.

  He could use her jacket sleeve for a tourniquet, he thought, but his mind was only partly on first aid. “Blaire. Blaire?”

  Her unconsciousness worried him as much as anything. How hard had she hit her head? Head wounds could be the absolute worst, even though he was sure he could stop the bleeding from her shoulder.

  He kept calling her name as he wound the jacket sleeve around her shoulder, making it tight. Stop the bleeding. Find a way to wake her up.

  Only then could he search out the shooter, and he damn well knew where he was going to start.

  * * *

  BLAIRE CAME TO with a throbbing head and a shoulder that was throbbing even harder. She cussed and suddenly saw Gus’s face above hers.

  “Thank God,” he said. “You hit your head.”

  “How long was I out and who shot me?”

  “You were out for about two minutes and I don’t know yet who shot you. But I saw the muzzle flash.”

  “Then go get him, Gus.”

  * * *

  “NO. I REALLY WANT to but I’m worried about you. I need to get you help.”

  She tried to sit up, wincing a bit, so he helped her, propping her against a tree.

  “I don’t think you lost a lot of blood,” he said, “but if you start to get light-headed, you know what to do.”

  “Not my first rodeo,” she said between her teeth. “The blow to my head wasn’t that bad. I’m not seeing double or anything. The headache is already lessening. The shoulder... Well, it hurts like hell but I can’t feel any serious damage.” She moved her arm.

  “The shooter messed up,” she said after a few moments. “Just a flesh wound. He must have used a full metal jacket.” Meaning that the bullet hadn’t entered her shattering and spinning, causing a lot of internal damage.

  “Blaire...”

  She managed a faint smile. “I always wanted to say that.”

  He flashed a grin in response. “Your head is okay.”

  “My shoulder’s not too bad, either.”

  He rested his hand on her uninjured shoulder, aware that time was ticking, both for her and for the escaping shooter. “I’m going to radio for help for you. Then, if you think you’re okay by yourself for a bit, I’m going after that bastard.”

  With her good arm, she pushed herself up. “I’m coming with you.”

  “Stop. Don’t be difficult, Blaire. You’ve been shot.”

  She caught his gaze with hers. “I’ve also been in combat. So have you. Trust me, I can judge my own fitness. There’s a ravine up there and I know the way around it. What’s more, he obviously has a long-range weapon. Do you? Do you really want to go after him alone? He could be perched anywhere.”

  He frowned at her, a frown that seemed to sink all the way to his soul. “You might start bleeding again.”

  “If I do, I’ll tell you. This feels like you’ve got me bandaged pretty well. Quit frowning at me. I won’t be stupid.”

  “Riding up there is stupid,” he said flatly. But looking at her, he realized he was fighting a losing battle. If she could find a way to get herself back on Lita, she’d follow him. Never had he seen such a stubborn set to a woman’s jaw. He wanted to throw up his hands in frustration. “I’m trained for this,” he reminded her. “Solo missions.”

  “I’m trained, too,” she retorted. With a shove, she reached her feet and remained steady. “See, I’m not even weak from blood loss. I’m fine.”

  Well, there were different definitions of that word, but he gave up arguing even though he had an urge to tie her to that tree. But, he understood, if that shooter realized she was still alive, he might be circling around right now. He could get in another shot without being seen.

  “Hell and damnation,” he growled. But he gave in. Better to keep her close.

  He had to help her mount Lita since she had only one workable arm, but once she was astride the horse, feet in the stirrups, she looked fine. No paleness to her face, no sagging. Maybe the wound wasn’t that awful.

  It was her left shoulder that was injured and she was right-handed. Like many of the rangers out here who needed to go into the woods, she carried a shotgun as well as a pistol. The shotgun was settled into a holster in front of her right thigh, and before he would allow her to move, he asked her to prove she could pull it out and use it with one arm. She obliged while giving him an annoyed look.

  “It’s a shotgun,” she said. “I hardly have to be accurate.”

  If he weren’t getting hopping mad, he might have smiled. “I just need to be sure you can use it. And I’m radioing this in, like it or not. We aren’t going to play solitary superheroes out here.”

  Damn! He’d gone from violent fear that she was dead into relief that she was reasonably okay and now he was so mad he was ready to kill.

  Someone had shot her. Why? Hell, he didn’t care why. Whoever it was, needed to be grabbed by the short and curlies, tied up in handcuffs and marched to jail.

  As they moved farther upslope, his radio found an area with clear satellite transmission, and he gave the sheriff’s office a rundown as they rode, including that Blaire had been wounded but was riding at his side. He asked they be tracked, and dispatch promised they would.

  Insofar as possible, he thought as he hooked the radio onto his belt again. He kept glancing at Blaire to be sure she was still all right and wondered if she had any idea how distracting she was. This wasn’t helping the search much. His concern for her wasn’t making him a better hunter.

  He would have liked to be able to shield her with his body, but since there was no way to know if the guy might circle around and take another shot, there was no safe place for her to ride. He suggested she lead the way because she knew how to get around the ravine, and all he had to do was point out where he had seen the muzzle flash. Plus, he could see if she started to weaken.

  She was a born navigator with a lot of experience. She guided with surety, part of the trip taking them away from the area from which he’d seen the flash, much more of it angling toward it and up as they left the ravine behind.

  He glanced down into that ravine as they crossed a narrow ledge of rock and realized there’d have been no way to cross it directly. None. The shooter was probably counting on it to slow them down.

  But their horses moved swiftly when the terrain allowed. Soon they found a trampled muddy place that he’d probably been using. From there his trail was clear for about twenty feet or so, giving them direction, then it disappeared in the sopping duff and loam beneath the trees.

  She drew rein and waited for him to c
atch up to her. “He probably followed as straight a path uphill as he could. For speed?”

  He nodded. “I agree.”

  “And there’s a road on the other side of that ridge,” she said, pointing. “Not much of one, little more than a cart track used by hunters, but he could have left a vehicle there.”

  “I bet.” He paused. “Let’s speed up. This is a rough climb. He had to get winded. To slow down.”

  But the horses wouldn’t, he thought. They’d just keep climbing steadily and as quickly as they could, as if they sensed the urgency. They probably did. Horses were sensitive animals.

  He kept one eye on Blaire while he scanned the area around them. The guy might have angled away from a straight path. It all depended on how scared he was and how much time he thought he’d have. If the shooter thought Blaire was down, he might think he had a lot of time.

  He hoped so. The fury in him had grown cold, a feeling he remembered from other conflicts. He was riding its wave, heedless of danger to himself, focused on the mission, focused on Blaire’s safety. Nothing else mattered.

  She, too, was scanning around them, but he had little hope they’d see much. The shooter probably had the sense to wear woodland camouflage, although the higher they climbed the thinner the trees grew. They were nowhere near the tree line, but for some reason the growth here was thinner. He tried to remember if there’d been a fire here at some point. The ground was plenty brushy, but the trees didn’t seem as big or as stout as they had farther below.

  Then he saw it. A flash of movement above them.

  “Blaire.”

  She halted and looked back at him.

  “I think I saw him. We’re sitting ducks right now. We’d better split up.” He hated to suggest it, given that she was wounded, probably suffering a great deal of pain and maybe even weakening. But together they made a great target.

  “Where?” she asked quietly.

  “Eleven o’clock. About three hundred yards upslope.”

  “Got it.”

  Then with a brief nod she turned Lita a bit, angling away from where he’d seen the movement. Misleading as if she were going to look elsewhere.

  He did the same heading the other direction, but not too much, teeth clenched until his jaw screamed, hoping that their split wouldn’t tell the guy they’d seen him.

  Then Blaire called, “I think I saw something over here.”

  Did she want him to come her way? Or was she sending their intended misdirection up to the shooter?

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” he called back. “Need room to turn around.”

  “Yo,” she answered, her voice sounding a little fainter.

  The brief conversation gave him the chance to look up again to the spot where he’d seen movement. There was more movement now. Rapid. Then something happened and he heard rocks falling. A man’s shape, suddenly visible, lost its upward momentum and instead he seemed to be scrambling frantically.

  Gotcha, he thought with burning satisfaction. “Now, Scrappy.” He touched the horse with his heels, speeding him up. If ever he had needed this horse to be sure-footed, he needed it now. Scrappy didn’t disappoint.

  With amazing speed, the horse covered the ground toward the man, who was still struggling as more rocks tumbled on him from above. The guy had evidently made a serious misstep and gotten into a patch of very loose scree.

  Taking it as a warning, Gus halted Scrappy about two hundred feet back, then dismounted, carrying his shotgun with him. He approached cautiously, aware that the guy was armed and desperate.

  Then he swore as he saw Blaire emerge from the trees on the other side. He was hoping to have dealt with this before she entered the danger zone. He was, however, glad to see she’d unholstered her shotgun and angled Lita so she could use it.

  “Keep a bead on him,” Gus called to her as he hurried carefully toward the man.

  The guy turned over, his rifle in his hands, looking as if he were ready to shoot. Gus instantly squatted and prepared to take aim, but the man evidently realized he was outnumbered. If he shot in any direction, one of two shotguns would fire at him.

  “Put the rifle away,” Gus demanded, rising and making it clear that he was ready to shoot. “Now.”

  He could see the guy’s face clearly, reflecting panic. He looked around wildly, his feet pushing at the scree beneath him but gaining no purchase.

  “Give up,” Blaire called. “You wouldn’t be the first man I’ve shot.”

  Well, that was blunt, Gus thought, easing closer to their quarry. Vets didn’t like to say things like that. He hoped to hell that wasn’t the blow to her head talking.

  “I’ve got him,” Gus called when he was ten feet away. Resignation had replaced panic on the guy’s face. He took one hand from his rifle, and with the other tossed the weapon to the side.

  Then he said the strangest thing: “I’m so glad I didn’t kill her.”

  Chapter Twelve

  A half hour later, with Jeff Walston securely bound in zip ties, Gus heard the sound of helicopter rotors from overhead. Medevac was on the way, and as he’d been told over the radio, a couple of cops were riding along.

  Good. He needed to be away from the source of his anger. He had enough experience to know he wouldn’t take it out on his prisoner, but he had never liked the uncomfortable, conflicting emotions the situation brought out in him. The guy could have killed Blaire. Maybe had wanted to. It would have been easy for Gus to treat him like a soccer ball.

  But he didn’t. Instead he sat beside Blaire, whom he’d helped to dismount and sit against a tree. For all she had claimed it was just a flesh wound, it was taking a toll on her. He was amazed at the strength and determination that had brought her this far.

  “I wouldn’t have minded having you on my team over there,” he told her.

  “That’s quite a compliment,” she murmured. “Thanks, Gus.”

  “You’re remarkable.”

  “I’m a soldier.” That seemed to be all she needed to say. From his perspective, it was quite enough.

  Because of the chaotic winds aloft so near the peak of the mountain, the helicopter couldn’t come very close or low. Through the trees he caught glimpses of three people sliding down ropes to the ground, and after them came a Stokes basket.

  Then another wait.

  “I wish I could go to the hospital with you,” Gus said. “But the horses...”

  “I know. Take care of the horses. They were good comrades today, weren’t they?” She smiled wanly. “Gus?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I think I was running on adrenaline.”

  That didn’t surprise him at all, but before he could respond, three men burst out of the trees in tan overalls. He instantly recognized Seth Hardin, a retired Navy SEAL who’d helped build the local rescue operations into a finely honed operation.

  They shook hands briefly as the other two put Blaire on the basket and strapped her in. Gus repeated her injuries to the two EMTs, then watched them race back through the woods to get Blaire onto the helicopter.

  Seth remained with him. “I’ll keep watch over the prisoner if you want to head back.”

  Gus nodded. “I need to take care of two horses. But FYI, I didn’t touch the guy’s weapon or much of anything except to put the zip ties on him.”

  Seth arched a brow. “That must have required some restraint.”

  “Exactly.” They shared a look of understanding, then Gus rose. “You armed?”

  Seth patted his side, pointing out the rather obvious pistol attached to his belt. “Of course.”

  “You want one of our shotguns? He said he’s alone but...”

  “Hey, you know what we’re capable of. I’ll be fine. I’m just going to make sure this creep can’t move an inch, then I’ll stand back and pay attention. It won’t be for long. The second c
hopper is supposed to be following with some more cops. You just get out of here. You don’t need to wear a neon sign to tell me how worried you are about Blaire.”

  * * *

  JEFF WALSTON WANTED to spill his guts. He started talking in the helicopter and by the time Gus was able to reach town, they had a pretty clear picture of the so-called Hunt Club.

  It was an ugly one. Micah Parish filled him in as Gus drove to the hospital. Gus listened with only one ear. He could get the nitty-gritty later, but right now he was badly worried about Blaire. Blood on the outside of the body didn’t necessarily mean there wasn’t internal bleeding. She’d held on, probably longer than she would have without a flood of adrenaline coursing through her, but now the question was how much damage had she worsened with her stubbornness.

  At the hospital they wouldn’t tell him much except that she was now in recovery. He could see her when she woke up.

  The wait was endless. His pacing could have worn a path in the waiting room floor. Still, pieces began to fall together in his mind. He began to see exactly where he wanted to go.

  It kind of shocked him, but as it settled in, he knew it was right.

  * * *

  BEFORE BLAIRE EVEN opened her eyes she knew where she was. She’d been in the hospital before, and the odors plus the steady beeping of equipment placed her firmly in her present location.

  As she surfaced slowly from the drugs, memory returned. Being shot, the insane ride through the woods that she would have been smarter not to do, helping Gus capture the bad guy. The ride in the Stokes basket up to the helicopter. Then nothing.

  She moved a little and felt that her wound had changed. Probably surgery, she thought groggily. Yeah, her throat felt raw, so there’d been a breathing tube.

  It was over. She’d be fine. She didn’t need a doctor to tell her that. She’d been in worse condition once before from a roadside incendiary device. That time she’d been saved by luck as much as anything, being on the far side of the vehicle.