The Healer

by Sharon Sala

  Bourdain sneered. No Barney Fife of a sheriff was going to take him down. Ignoring the scene below, he began to focus on the mountain looming before them. Just when he thought they were going to crash, the chopper went up, grazing the tips of the tree limbs with the skids, and then they were free.

  “Where are we going?” the pilot asked.

  “Look for a clearing about halfway up. There will be a small covered porch with a large clearing in front of it. Caufield’s SUV should be there, as well. It’s black. Should be easily visible from here.”

  “Open your eyes, you asshole. Nothing is easily visible from here,” the pilot snapped.

  Bourdain stared through the windshield, then glanced down. He could still see enough to get where he needed to go.

  Sheriff Mize was on the radio to Earl Farley.

  “They lifted off from Pushman’s field and are headed north. What’s the location on the black SUV?”

  “I don’t know, Sheriff. One minute it was coming down Delaware Avenue, and then it took a sharp left. There’s nothing but a dead end down there. I kept thinking the driver would realize it and come back out, but nothing happened. When I drove down there to check it out, it was gone. From the tracks in the snow, looks like they went into four-wheel drive and drove out through Harris’s backyard. Melvin is gonna be real pissed. Made ruts at least a foot deep.”

  “I don’t give a damn about the ruts in Melvin Harris’s yard. Just find that SUV,” Mize snapped, and jumped back in the patrol car and turned toward town.

  There was only one road that went north out of town, and it went straight up the mountain. So either Luce Andahar’s kidnapper was lying low somewhere in town, waiting to skip out when no one was looking, or she’d made a big mistake. There was nothing up the mountain but the end of the road.

  Between one breath and the next, Luce woke up screaming Jonah’s name. There was blood in her mouth, and the blinding ache at the back of her neck was so severe that she knew she was going to throw up.

  When she began to gag, Dorrie, better known to her acquaintances as D.J., started cursing.

  “Don’t you fucking throw up in my car!” she yelled. “Do you hear me? Swallow it, or you’ll be swallowing your damned teeth.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have hit me,” Luce muttered, and rolled over on her side just as the contents of her stomach spewed out on the back of the seat.

  “Fuck! Fuck!” D.J. yelled, and began pounding her fist on the steering wheel as they flew up the road.

  The snow was falling so heavily that it was all the windshield wipers could do to keep a clear view, and the curves on the road were getting slick. Twice, the SUV had fishtailed before she’d been able to regain control.

  Nothing was going as planned, and it was all that damned Bourdain’s fault. He’d just had to be here. Couldn’t let her do the job her own way. Hell no. Big man with the money thought he knew it all. If she wasn’t careful, he was going to get them killed.

  D.J. had only been past the cabin twice, but she knew she couldn’t get lost. There was only one road. It took you up, and it brought you back. Trouble was, that meant that if Bourdain didn’t show, they were trapped.

  Luce heard Dorrie muttering, but wisely stayed still. Her mind was racing, trying to figure out where they were going and how she could possibly get free.

  She knew that Jonah couldn’t be far behind them. He would have noticed quickly when she hadn’t come back with the mop. She wondered who’d cleaned up the mess, then knew she was losing it. Spilled chili was the least of her worries.

  After a while, she began to focus on what she was hearing. The engine was whining—obviously pulling hard. She knew they were on an incline, because she kept rolling to the back of the SUV. Even though she’d been blindfolded, something made her think that they were driving up a mountain, which made no sense. There was nowhere to go once you were up but back down again.

  Then the SUV hit a pothole, and Luce groaned. The top of her head felt as if it were going to explode. Once again she felt nausea stir. Moments later, she rolled on her side and retched a second time.

  Caufield cursed some more, then accelerated through the next curve.

  Jonah had been running through the back streets of Little Top, trying to get to where the chopper had set down. He’d figured Dorrie would be trying to make the connection and get out of town fast. When he heard the siren on Mize’s patrol car, then saw the chopper take off, he dropped to his knees in despair. They had her. He was too late. God only knew where they were taking her, but he knew it would be fast and far away.

  Fear shattered what was left of his control. He rocked back on his heels and screamed. When they heard the cry, it struck fear in the hearts of those who lived nearest. Some thought it was an animal; others feared it was the death throes of a man in mortal pain.

  And it was. For Jonah, losing Lucia was as painful as being pierced through the heart. He had been running ever since he left the diner, and he had been lost for most of that time. The snowfall was muting and mingling so many scents that he couldn’t stay focused. He was scared—as scared as he’d ever been in his life. He’d promised Lucia he would protect her, and now, five minutes after they’d taken her, he had no idea where they’d gone.

  He crawled to his feet, but he didn’t know where to go. He couldn’t bear to go back to their cabin. Her ghost would be everywhere. But he couldn’t just walk away from Little Top, because Bourdain had to know where to find him, so he could make his deal.

  Snow had blanketed most of his hair, and the back of his coat was covered in a mix of icy slush. He swiped his hands across his face, as if trying to clear his mind, then began to scan the area. He needed to get his bearings, but all he could see were faint images of houses and trees.

  Then, suddenly, a wolf walked out of the snow.

  Jonah stopped. He hadn’t known there were wolves anywhere in the state. He hadn’t seen any before, and he wondered if this one was even real.

  The wolf watched him without making a sound.

  “Do you know where she is?” he asked.

  The wolf howled, and the sound woke a sense of homecoming in him so strong that tears came to his eyes. But his question had been answered.

  He started to head for the diner to get his truck, then realized he was closer to the mountain than town. He turned toward the trees and started running. He’d run up this mountain once to help Lucia save her dog. This time, he was running to save her.

  D.J. wheeled into the yard at the old cabin site and pulled her SUV up as close to the porch as she could get. The chopper was going to need the entire clearing to set down, and she wanted to be ready.

  She had jumped out on the run and started toward the back of her car when a huge brown-and-white dog came out of nowhere. One minute she was standing; the next thing she knew, she was flat on her back and fighting for her life.

  The dog’s teeth sank into her wrist, and she screamed in pain as she heard bones break. Blind with pain and scared half out of her mind, she knew she was only going to get one chance to save herself before it was too late. When the dog lunged again, she put her forearm between its jaws and her face as she dug into her pocket with her free hand.

  The cold, smooth feel of steel beneath her fingers was a godsend. She dragged the gun up and out of her pocket just as the dog went for her throat. Once again she blocked the lunge with her arm, and once again the animal’s teeth sank through muscle and tendons, shredding them, along with her clothing.

  The pain was so intense that she thought she would faint, but it was now or never. She saw the fangs, saw eyes red with rage, then pushed her pistol into the big dog’s chest and pulled the trigger. Over and over. Until the gun was empty and the dog was lying flat on top of her.

  “Damn, damn, oh, damn,” she mumbled, as she struggled to get out from beneath its weight.

  She managed to pull herself upright by leaning against the bumper, but when she finally stood, her head was reeling fro
m shock and pain.

  Something warm was running down the top of her hand. When she looked down, she saw it was blood. Her blood. Coloring the snow beneath her feet.

  Furious that she’d been caught unprepared, she yanked the hatch open and, with her good arm, grabbed Luce by the hair and dragged her out backwards, while Luce screamed and cursed Dorrie’s name.

  D.J. yanked Luce up onto her feet, pulled and dragged her past the dog’s body to the porch steps, then shoved her backward.

  Luce fell hard, raking her back against the second and third steps, before she rolled over onto her side and sobbed.

  Hobo was dead. She’d heard the fight. She’d heard the shots. It was the silence that told the rest.

  Somewhere in the distance, she thought she heard a helicopter, then told herself she was crazy. No one could fly in this kind of weather.

  She didn’t know exactly where Dorrie was, but she could hear her moaning and cursing somewhere off to her right. She rolled over until she was sitting up, then scooted to the steps before she found her footing.

  She knew it was futile, but waiting to die wasn’t in Luce Andahar’s makeup. Even though her hands were tied behind her back and she was blindfolded, she bolted off the porch and made a break for the forest, screaming Jonah’s name.

  Running was the last damn thing D. J. Caufield would have expected the fool woman to do. She was bloodied and blindfolded and still acting like she had a chance.

  D.J. started to shoot, just to put the bitch out of her misery, then realized she’d emptied her gun into the dog. She started to reload, then remembered that they needed the woman alive to get to Gray Wolf. Shit. It wasn’t enough that her damn dog had nearly torn off her arm. Now she was going to have to chase her down.

  Cursing at the top of her lungs, she shoved her pistol in her pocket and took off across the yard, shouting Luce’s name.

  Sixteen

  J onah was halfway up the mountain when a cougar jumped out in front of him. It snarled, then screamed, before disappearing into the snowfall.

  Jonah kept on running, thankful for the update. At least he knew Lucia was alive and on the mountain. But there was another problem. One he hadn’t expected.

  The chopper. It hadn’t left the area. It was somewhere above him, lost in the blizzard. He didn’t know what the hell was happening, but he knew he was about to find out.

  A burst of fear sent him into overdrive as he began to sprint, leaping over fallen logs, dodging thickets of underbrush, all the while keeping her face in his mind.

  Before he knew it, he was at the creek. He cleared it in one bound and kept on going, taking heart in the knowledge that from here, it wasn’t far to the cabin. The snow was ankle-deep and still falling, and the wind was beginning to blow. He couldn’t imagine what it was like up in that chopper, lost in a swirl of wind and white. Whoever was up there had to be out of his mind.

  Then he heard Lucia scream. She was calling his name—screaming it, choking through sobs—and from the sound of her voice, she was running.

  With one last superhuman push, he burst out of the trees and into the clearing. He saw her, hands tied behind her back, blindfolded and bloody, running in the wrong direction.

  He felt her fear and confusion, then a searing, piercing pain, and knew she was on the verge of a breakdown. Something bad had happened—something—oh, God. Hobo. That bitch had killed Hobo.

  “Lucia!”

  He said her name, no louder than if he had been standing beside her, but he knew that she sensed his presence when she turned in his direction.

  “Jonah? Jonah?” she cried, and even though the sound was swallowed up by the storm, he heard her.

  “I’m here.”

  She staggered, then fell to her knees.

  He bolted forward, then increased his speed when he saw Dorrie coming at Lucia from the other side of the clearing. One of her arms was hanging limp against her side and her clothing was shredded and bloody, but it was nothing compared to what he wanted to do to her. Enraged by what Bourdain and his hired killer had done, he lengthened his stride. They wouldn’t put their hands on Luce again.

  Suddenly, there was a blinding whoosh of air and snow, and the whap-whap sound of rotor blades. The chopper was over their heads and setting down without care for who was beneath it. The cockpit was swaying from side to side as the pilot fought with the wind currents, trying to keep the chopper upright.

  Lucia was right beneath the skids, trying to stand up and run, but she was too weak.

  Jonah looked up. The chopper kept descending and was only a few yards above her head. He made a dive for her midsection, catching her in a flying tackle, then rolling them away just in time.

  Her breath was hot against his neck, and he could feel her shaking.

  “Jonah! Jonah! Dorrie…it was Dorrie. Not a man…a woman. They tricked us.”

  “I know, baby…I know. It’s all right now. They can’t hurt you again.”

  “Yes, they can!” D.J. shouted.

  Jonah looked up through the flying snow. Dorrie was standing over them with a gun pointed in his face, and behind her, the chopper door was opening.

  A man jumped out, then strode toward them, oblivious to the backwash from the chopper blasting his hair and clothes. The ten years since Jonah had seen him had turned his hair from dark to white. But his eyes were still the same—cold and greedy—and he was smiling.

  Major Bourdain.

  Their gazes met. Bourdain sneered, his expression challenging and victorious. Then Jonah turned his back to the blast of snow and wind, shielding Lucia as he helped her to stand. The wind was whipping his hair into his eyes and across his face, as he took off her blindfold, then untied her hands.

  “Leave her alone and turn around!” Bourdain called.

  Lucia was shaking so hard she could barely stand. Jonah whispered gently against her ear, then began to pull on the tendrils of her hair that had become caught in the blood drying on her face.

  The fact that Jonah Gray Wolf was ignoring him enraged Bourdain as nothing else could. How dare the son of a bitch act as if nothing was wrong?

  He pulled a pistol and jabbed the barrel into the middle of Jonah’s back to punctuate his words. “Don’t turn your back on me!”

  Jonah tossed the blindfold away, then laid his hand on Lucia’s head. It came away bloody. The look he gave Dorrie as he turned was colder than the snow falling down around their heads.

  “You shouldn’t have hurt her.”

  A shiver ran up D. J. Caufield’s spine. The warning in his voice was unmistakable, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. Her legs felt heavy, and the world was beginning to spin. She didn’t know if it was her or the wind from the chopper blades throwing her off balance, but either way, she was going down.

  “Shut up! Just shut the hell up!” Bourdain said.

  “All you have to do is lay your hands on her and she’ll be good as new.”

  But Jonah didn’t acknowledge him, and when Caufield suddenly dropped to her knees, Bourdain felt himself losing control. Before Bourdain knew what was happening, Jonah was staring through the snow, into the cockpit, directly at the pilot’s face.

  The pilot had been unable to see much of anything, and then all of a sudden a big Indian seemed to appear out of nowhere, watching him, blaming him. He frowned. Where had that emotion come from? He hadn’t done anything to the man. Suddenly he felt the skin tingling on his body, then beginning to sting before morphing into a hot, burning sensation. In a panic, he revved the rotors and lifted straight up into the air.

  Bourdain turned around in shock, then ran a few steps after the copter, screaming in frustration. “Come back! Damn you, you sorry bastard…come back!”

  He fired a shot up into the sky, but it was useless. All he could do was watch as his only means of escape disappeared. His shoulders slumped as he turned around, and it dawned on him that making amends with Jonah Gray Wolf might be the difference between life and death. He began t
o babble, desperate to make the man understand.

  “Jonah…son…I can make you rich beyond your wildest dreams. Your power would be beyond measure. People will bow at your feet and honor your name as no one has been honored before you.”

  Jonah didn’t pay any attention to Bourdain as he pulled Lucia into his arms. He steadied her until she was leaning against his chest with her head against his heartbeat. She was sick with pain, and weak from the loss of blood. No matter what happened afterward, he wasn’t letting her suffer another minute.

  He closed his eyes.

  Bourdain felt the air thicken, and the snowfall softened when the wind began to calm.

  “Wait!” Bourdain shouted, and pointed his gun, but the act was futile. He wouldn’t shoot. He couldn’t. “Don’t! Not now! Let’s talk this out,” he pleaded.

  The earth began to tremble beneath Bourdain’s feet. Earthquake? In the winter? Did such things happen? He didn’t know, but he didn’t want to be caught in a natural disaster.

  Bourdain looked for Caufield, but she was on her knees in the snow, struggling to get up.

  “Caufield! Go get your car. We’re leaving. Now!” D.J. rolled over onto her back and stared down at her hand. Blood continued to roll out from under her coat sleeve, staining the snow beside her leg. She heard Bourdain’s order, but she didn’t have the energy to move.

  When the ground continued to tremble so hard that the snow shook off the tree branches, Bourdain dove toward Caufield and started digging through her pockets for her keys.

  “Your keys! Where are you car keys?”

  “Get off me,” she mumbled, as she shoved him off her chest. “They’re still in the car.”

  Bourdain leaped to his feet, but then he paused, stunned by the sight of an aura beginning to emanate from Jonah’s body. The older man’s eyes widened, and his lips went slack. He’d never seen this before. If this was what Jonah had done to him that had saved his life, he was amazed. It was beautiful—so beautiful. His eyes filmed with tears as his heart swelled in his chest.