by D'Ann Lindun
“Do you believe Reuben and your father stashed the loot?” Shane asked point blank. “Do you know where it is?”
“I don’t have any idea where that money is, Marshal,” she said evenly, although anger flashed in her eyes. “And I have no idea why my father did what he did that day. He’s never said.”
“Is Gonzalez capable of murdering Isabella?”
Anguish filled Mesa’s eyes. “I’m afraid so, Marshal. Reuben’s bad to the core. And he blames Bella for leaving him soon after he was convicted.”
The answer Shane feared. “I’m going after them. Any idea where to start?”
She sighed. “Not really. When Rueben was arrested, Bella and I were grilled about where we thought the money was hidden. Neither of us have a clue. If we did, we would say so. She and I are honest, hardworking people.”
Nothing in the reports he’d read made Shane think she was lying. Sheriff Blackmore had said the same thing. All of the women connected to the crime had clean records. “Anywhere special your father or Reuben might’ve hung out?”
A one shoulder shrug. “There’s not a lot to do in Black Mountain, but hang out at the bar, but Starla Lee doesn’t allow barflies. She runs a nice place.”
“Think hard. Isabella’s life may depend on it.” Images of Harold LeBeau holding Ellie hostage swam before Shane’s eyes and he forced the ugly image away.
Mesa’s face scrunched up into a teary frown. “I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Did you camp when you were young?”
She snapped her fingers. “Yes! On the old Windfall place. There used to be a cabin where we stayed. It fell down a few years ago, though.”
“Can you tell me where it is? I have a map in the truck.” He hurried out to retrieve it. “Show me.”
She found a red pen and drew a line along the road to where the cabin was located. “Please find them, Marshal, before he hurts her.”
“I’ll do my best.” His best had to be good enough this time.
~*~
Shane followed a steep mountain road to the end. A gray Volvo sat parked in the turnaround area, but there wasn’t any sign of people.
He parked and stepped out of his truck. Thick forest surrounded him. A million places to hide. A million places to look.
He walked over to the Volvo and peered inside. Nothing of interest. At the edge of the parking area stood a large Forest Service map and an unlocked cedar box holding a check-in sheet for hikers, or trail riders. He scanned the entries. No riders registered in the last week, but a Tim and Karen Dearborn left here on foot yesterday morning.
He turned to the map, and found two trailheads leading from his current location. The right trail, Above the Clouds, led into the wilderness, high beyond timberline, eventually dropping into Durango. The left, Dark Valley trail, wound along the base of the mountains, overlooking Black Mountain below. It made a big circle, ending up back here.
Late afternoon sun beat down on Shane’s head as he unloaded the horses and his gear. The Windfall Place had been aptly named; downed aspen trees littered the area around the small park. A metal roof tipped over on its side and one wall were all that remained of the original homestead.
Setting up his tent and staking the horses on lush mountain grass didn’t take long. Shane then gathered an armload of wood for a fire.
Satisfied, he opened a folding chair, sat in it and looked around. Mountain peaks stood guard over the majestic pine and aspen forest. Untouched meadow grass reached his thighs, its sweet scent strong in his nostrils. A rushing creek promised fresh trout. If he were here for any other reason than a recapture, he’d be enjoying the hell out of himself. It had been too long since he’d had a vacation, or a trip home to Idaho. Winston forced him to take time off after Ellie’s murder, but he’d been so consumed with grief the time passed in a blur of pain.
Shaking off those sad thoughts, he built a fire and poured a cup of coffee from his thermos, then spread out the topographical map he’d bought at the gas station across his knees. The San Juan range was 1.8 million acres of wilderness. Finding Gonzalez would be like tracking a mouse in a cornfield. Almost impossible. But he had to somehow do it, or Isabella Califano might pay the ultimate price.
Tracing the map with his finger, he found two old mines. A good place to dump stolen loot. Too obvious maybe. A million dollars was a lot of money, not something someone could just put in a suitcase and walk away with. The armored truck had been abandoned beside the road, and Gonzalez and McCurdy had fled, presumably on foot. But where?
How was Gonzalez traveling?
Shane flipped through the pages in his folder and double checked a fact. Isabella Califano owned a Jeep. Interesting. There hadn’t been a vehicle parked in her driveway. Were they moving in her 4x4 then?
He folded the map and stood. As he turned to check on the animals, a glint of metal caught his eye. He stopped and stared into the distance, trying to find what he’d noticed. In the mountains, a rooftop or abandoned mine tailings could catch the sun’s rays. He focused hard, slowly sweeping his gaze over the distant mountains. There! He found it.
A tiny speck of metal.
From here, he couldn’t tell what it was. Probably nothing. But as he continued to stare, it became more focused. A structure of some sort. Probably an old, falling down shack like the one right here.
If Gonzalez had ever camped here as a kid, it was likely Rueben had considered the old structure for a hiding spot. In all likelihood, he’d once stood here and spotted the same metal structure. Had he made his way over there at one time and found a perfect hiding spot? It was a theory, not much to go on, but more than Shane had ten minutes ago.
He figured he could see more if he took the high trail, but the left angled closer to the rooftop he’d spotted earlier.
Purple shadows began to fall over his camp and he pulled on his jacket and tossed another log on the fire. Sparks flew into the evening air and the sweet smell of burning aspen filled his senses. His stomach growled and he turned to his cooler and dug out a steak. Placing the meat over a flat grill, he dragged his folding chair nearby and settled in to cook.
One of the horses snorted, and Shane looked the direction they did. A pair of hikers came out of the woods and headed for the Volvo. He pulled his steak away from the flames and walked over to speak to the couple. They were removing heavy backpacks when he approached them. Both wore windbreakers, shorts and heavy hiking boots.
He showed his badge to the man. “U.S. Marshal Shane Catlin. Can I ask a few questions?”
“Tim Dearborn. My wife, Karen.” The man scratched his day-old beard. “Don’t know what we could tell you, though.”
“I’m looking for a man and a woman, probably on foot. He’s Hispanic, heavyset, balding. She’s tall with long hair. Striking.”
The woman shot a glance at her husband. “Tim? Could this be those people we saw at lunchtime?”
Shane’s heartbeat sped up. “Where?”
“Here,” the man said. “When we arrived, there was a red Jeep parked here. A man and woman came out of the trees over there, didn’t speak and tore off.”
“Did they match the description?” Shane waited impatiently.
The woman removed her ball cap and her blond hair stuck out at odd angles. She smoothed her bangs. “Hard to say because she had her head down, almost like she was looking for something. It was difficult to see him clearly because he walked close behind her.”
“Could he have had a gun on her?”
The man jolted like he’d been tazed. “What? She was a hostage?”
“I’m not saying that for certain,” Shane said. “I’m just covering all my bases. “Who drove?”
“She did,” Karen said. “I’m positive because the driver ground the gears really bad and I glanced to see what was wrong. The Jeep sort of bucked and stalled before she got it under control and drove away really fast.”
Tim lifted their backpacks into the Volvo’s trunk. “It might have
been the same Jeep we saw down by Lost Lake later.”
“Where’s that?”
“Go back about a half mile, there’s a fork in the road. The left one goes to Lost Lake. There was a vehicle parked there mid-morning. We saw it from one of the points. We were way high, making it difficult to see, so it might not have been the same car at all, though.”
“Could you make out the people?” Shane asked.
“No,” Karen said as Tim shook his head. “But I spotted this beside the trail.” She dug in her backpack and pulled out a muddy watch.
Shane took it and examined the back. Engraved on the face were the initials I.C. Isabella Califano. “Where, exactly, did you find this?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Before the summit, I guess.”
He handed Karen a card. “If you think of anything else, call this number right away.”
CHAPTER THREE
Isabella stumbled to an exhausted halt. Not even the cold barrel of Reuben’s gun in her back could prod her to take another step. She sank to her knees. “I need to rest.”
“Get up.” He poked her with the pistol.
“Not until I catch my breath,” she gasped.
He dropped the backpack beside her. “Get a drink and let’s move.”
She dug around in the pack and found an unopened bottle of water. After drinking deeply, she swiped her chin with her forearm. “How much more?”
“Shut up.” He took the bottle from her and finished the contents. “Get up.”
She groaned. “I can’t take another step.”
“Too bad. I said get moving. He pointed the gun at her again and she resisted the urge to lie down and let him shoot her. They’d been hiking for hours in what seemed to be endless circles. She’d passed exhausted two hours ago. He’d seemed to be searching for something, but refused to say what. She didn’t know if it was the money, or a landmark, but he wouldn’t tell her.
With a groan, she pushed to her feet. “I can’t go much more.”
“You’ll go until I say stop.” He shoved the empty bottle in the backpack and lifted it by the straps.
“Just let me go. I’m no use to you.” She fought not to cry.
He hoisted her up by the arm. “Shake it, sister.”
With a moan of pain, she stood and began marching again. Where were they going? In what seemed random meandering, they had been up and down the mountain, staying off the trail.
A branch snapped. He grabbed her French braid and hauled her against him.
“Ouch! Let go!” She tried to untangle his fingers from her hair.
“Be quiet,” he hissed in her ear.
She froze as something moved through the nearby trees. A big bull elk glided by them, and she released her breath. Rueben shoved her and she stumbled forward. Her legs burned and her lungs felt like they might explode. She went to aerobics class three times a week and biked regularly, but nothing had prepared her for climbing up and down the rugged mountains. The sun drifted behind a peak, turning the forest dark.
“I can’t see, Rueben. Please let me stop.”
For a minute, she thought he’d refuse, but he grunted. “I hear a stream. Head that way.”
The sound of rushing water reached her ears and she turned that direction. Winding through trees, she spotted a gurgling creek in the near-dark. With a half-sob of relief, she sank onto a carpet of pine needles.
“Take off your shoes,” Rueben ordered.
“What?” She shook her head, not sure she’d heard right.
He gestured toward her feet. “Take off your boots and give them to me.”
“Why?” She tucked her feet under her hip. “No.”
“You won’t run off in the night, barefoot. Now hand them over.” He dropped the backpack on the ground and cocked the gun.
Would he shoot her here in cold blood? Leave her body to rot, or for the animals to feed on? He’d killed guards. He could do the same to her. Slowly, she untied the laces and slid her aching feet out of her hiking boots. She handed them to him. “Here.”
He took them from her and un-cocked the pistol. “Socks, too. That’s a good girl. Mind me and we won’t have no trouble.”
In spite of her fear, she rubbed her aching feet. Her toes and heels were blistered and red. “Can I stick my feet in the water?”
“Don’t try running.” He dug around in the backpack and pulled out a pop-up tent. “I’m going to set this up and build a fire.”
Did he mean for them to share a tent…a bed? Her heart pounded in a terrified beat. She scooted close to the rushing stream and dipped her toes into the icy water. A gasp slipped out of her at the frigid temperature. Snowmelt. Mountain streams stayed cold all summer long. The sun had all but slipped below the peaks, leaving behind a lavender-colored evening.
How could she escape before Rueben tried something with her? The rushing water was about two feet wide and maybe three or four feet deep. When they had been kids, the Califano cousins had camped up in the mountains and played in the creeks. The fast-moving water could be dangerous. One misstep and you would be washed away forever.
She glanced over her shoulder. Rueben had the tent set up and gathered a small amount of wood. Did he really mean to build a fire where someone could spot it and find them? Although, here, under the canvas of trees, any smoke would quickly dissipate.
Apparently, he did, because a few minutes later he had a small fire blazing with a pan of canned stew he’d stolen from her pantry bubbling on top of the flames. Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten in hours. She thought longingly of her half-eaten burrito still sitting on her kitchen table.
Pulling her aching feet from the creek, she struggled to stand and hobbled close to the blaze. Holding her hands over it, she let the warmth soak into them. Nights in the mountains, even in August, could be cold.
Rueben dug two plates and forks out of the backpack. He held up the utensils and grinned. “Nice to have one of these again.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You don’t get forks in prison. You have to eat everything with a spoon.” He tossed one of them at her. “Dig in. You’re going to need your strength for later.”
She caught it mid-air—all her years of softball paying off—and dished a good portion of stew. Ravenous, she dug in with gusto. Following it with a bottle of water, she felt half human again. Her aching muscles reminded her of what she’d been through, though, and what might be coming. A shudder ripped down her back. She fought for calm, and tried to think.
A piece of wood near the fire caught her eye. Could she do it? Bash Rueben in the head and run? Without shoes? Without appearing to do so she sought their location. There! A few feet away, near the tent.
She slipped on her coat and stood.
Rueben glared at her. “Sit down.”
“I need a—um—ladies room.”
He eyed her bare feet. “Don’t go far.”
Limping worse than she needed to, she moved out of sight of the fire and slipped behind a pine tree.
It was now or never.
Mouthing a silent prayer, she darted from behind the tree, grabbed a chunk of wood and cracked Rueben over the head. With a small moan, he fell sideways. Too frightened to see if he still breathed, she scrambled for her boots.
Shoving her aching feet in them, she half-ran, half-hobbled into the dark forest, winding through trees until she tripped and fell headlong into the dirt. Something snapped a branch behind her and she smothered a frightened cry with both hands.
Her heart pounded so hard she feared alerting the entire forest to her location. After a few moments, she looked over her shoulder and saw their fire, a tiny glimmer of light. Time to get far away as fast as possible. With stinging hands, she pushed up and tied her laces.
Hurrying as fast as possible in the rough terrain, she raced down the mountain. The sun fell completely away, leaving her in total darkness. The trees made eerie silhouettes against the night sky. An owl hooted and Isabell
a’s skin tightened. She wasn’t afraid of wildlife. If she left them alone they’d most likely do the same, although the slim possibility existed of accidently stumbling upon a bear or lion hunting a meal.
What scared her more than wild animals was the very real chance of falling into an abandoned mine shaft, or into a bog. Or worse, getting lost and going in circles. If she continued down she should make it okay, though.
As long as Rueben didn’t catch up to her, that was.
The thought propelled her forward.
~*~
An hour later, she stopped to catch her breath and to listen for sounds of pursuit. Only her pounding heart and harsh breathing filled the dark night air. Nothing moved. She took a deep breath, then released it. Time to get on with it. She forced her aching feet forward.
The change in topography came too fast to stop her fall.
One minute the ground was solid, the next it was gone. Like a pinwheel, she flew down the slope, head over heels. Grabbing at anything she could hold on to, she tried to halt her passage. But nothing stopped her downward spiral until she slammed into something solid. “Ouch!”
Isabella didn’t know how long she lay in the dirt before she caught her breath. She moved her limbs. All seemed to work. Her palm touched something slick and she jerked her hand back. “What the devil?”
Rolling over, she spotted the outline of a small plane.
Although difficult to see in the dark, she could tell the aircraft had crashed. The nose was buried in the dirt, the wing torn off. It looked like a bird a cat had caught, toyed with and half eaten. The image turned her stomach and she fought not to gag. “Get a grip, Bella.”
She stood and carefully edged her way to the front of the plane. The windows had been busted out on impact. She braced herself, half expecting to see a skeleton hanging out the front, but nothing was there.
Standing on tip-toe, she could see through the window hole. At first, only darkness met her eyes. But gradually, they adjusted, and she made out two seats, but not much else. Could there be a flashlight in there? She bit her lip and glanced around. Was Rueben behind her? Had she somehow tracked her through the night? If she climbed inside and he trapped her…
