by Layne, Lyssa
“We’ll be up late working things out. I’ll update you in the morning. Get some sleep, it’s been a hard couple of days.”
The temptation was too strong. She reached for him.
He wrapped her in a hug, so warm, so powerful, she couldn’t think of anything else but him. “Thank you for taking care for me.”
Brad pulled her close, studying every plane, every curve. Was he trying to etch her into his memory banks as she was doing with him?
“You’ve given me so much in a relatively short time.” She stared out the window, the moon full lent its stark brightness to the land. Beyond its scope in the sky, stars twinkled like glittering diamonds bringing back the images of Brad kissing her the night of her opening. Back to the first time she ever felt wanted.
Brad kissed her and left her staring out the window.
Brad moved down the hall, to the silence of the room and all four pair of curious eyes on him.
“Well?” they asked in unison.
“She wants me know what our plans are. I’m at a loss.”
Nick pushed off the fireplace mantle. “I say we set up a trap. No one knows these mountains like Brad and I.” Nick moved to lean on the back of gramps chair.
Brad’s gaze ran around the room. Apparently they were all in agreement. “Vince, what do you say?” He’d never tell Vince that his input was the most valuable. Gramps and Nick would want to keep him safe. Joe would too, but at least he’d understand the need to be the one to take her back. But Vince, well, he would tell him the truth. Good or bad. He knew that now. And more than anything he needed the truth. “What do we do?”
“You can’t go back. You’ll be asking to be arrested as soon as you're identified. You do what you have to and I’ll do all I can to protect you.” Vince pointed with this chin. “By the way, what’s in your hand?”
“These are two jobs that Chris was working on before we left town. One’s ready to be dropped off at the post office. The other one though is something I could use your advice on.”
“How can I help with a job Miss Jansen did?”
“That’s just it. Back in June she took these photos. We both noticed something a bit on the odd side while scanning through them.” Brad opened the large manila envelope, pulling the proof sheets from within. He flipped through to the pages he needed and handed them to Vince then waited to see if he picked up on the same thing he and Chris had spotted.
“What am I supposed to be looking at?”
“If you don’t see it then I’m obviously on the wrong track.”
When Vince was done he handed them to Joe, who then passed it on to Nick and Gramps.
“Sorry, but I don’t see a thing,” Nick said.
“Joe—anything?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “Not that I can tell. How about a hint?”
Nick squinted at the picture. He turned his head a bit, to get a different perspective on the picture and nodded slowly. “The only question I have is, what is that jerk-off of a cop doing talking to Marty’s wife?”
Brad looked up excited, “That’s who she reminded me of, Rosie.”
“I don’t get it,” Nick said. “What’s going on?”
Joe took the picture from Nick only to have Vince steal it back. “Let me see that.”
Brad watched Vince, the intense look on his face as he dissected the picture. He narrowed his eyes, then stood abruptly and headed for the front door as he called over his shoulder, “Brad, Joe, outside now!”
The detectives followed their boss.
***
He slipped into the lab unnoticed, reached under the desk, and removed the key from its taped hiding place. He inserted into the locked cabinet, rifled through it, his gloved hands carefully checking the labels. When he came to the chloroform, he poured a liberal amount into a re-sealable plastic bag then dropped in several large gauze pads. He watched the pads soak up the liquid then added a bit more to make sure they were totally saturated. He sealed baggie and pocketed the valued object. Come tomorrow, he’d need it and some luck if he hoped to pull off this final plan.
He patted his pocket, smiling to himself, proud as could be that his plot was working out better than he’d planned, despite the botched attempts of that stupid kid. By this time tomorrow, he’d have it all. And never again would he have to hear the name that could nauseate him faster than the speed of light.
Detective Brad Maxwell.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Jared limped across his kitchen floor and plugged in the coffee pot. The stitches in his leg hurt worse than the bullet wound in his shoulder. He started to walk away, but then turned back and pulled the plug out. He didn't want anyone to know he was home and the smell of coffee would surely give him away. No one would suspect he'd snuck back into his own place.
“I'll have to call Christine,” he muttered as he made his way into the living room. He stopped again, scanned the room then berated himself for doing so. He regretted leaving the hospital. But he still wasn’t convinced Vince Roberts believed in Brad. That’s why he ducked out the way he did.
The cloak and dagger stuff had him on edge, but no way would he subject himself to Mrs. Roberts's ministrations. Good thing his day nurse knew all about her. Said she was worse than cupid. From all he'd overheard about the silly woman, he was safer in familiar surroundings. Too bad he had to take matter into his own hands. Christine would be angry with him. And Brad? Well, he'd be plain livid. Didn't matter. This was his life, not theirs and he would do as he pleased. After all, he'd been living on his own and taking care of himself long before any of them came along and he'd be doing it a long time after were gone.
Except for Christine. She was his best friend, never made judgments, and never looked down on him. He'd take a bullet for her. Hell, he'd done exactly that. If he knew he was going to die, he'd do it again. God, he needed to get in touch with her as soon as possible. But where was she? Jared dropped down onto the couch, grabbed the remote and clicked on the television and turned the volume down. Good. Lethal Weapon. One of his favorite movies. Nothing better than a guts and glory flick.
“Where are you, Christine?” he whispered.
He flinched at the knock on his door. Clicked the remote and turned off the television. Should he answer? Well, hell, he couldn't hide forever, could he? He eased off the couch, hobbled to the door, threw caution over this shoulder and flung it open. He smiled wide.
“Well, he-ll-o there,” he murmured to the beautiful statuesque blonde who grabbed him by the collar and pulled him into a lip lock. “What took you so long?”
***
Christine finished the last of the breakfast dishes, dragged herself to the bathroom to brush her teeth and comb her hair then trudged back to the living room and stared out the window. She would talk to Brady while she waited for Brad, Nick, and Joe to return from the Sheriff’s office and Forestry Station. If Brad was right, this thing would end today. She sighed.
She stared out the window. Where was Brady? And what the heck had been so important for the guys to go rushing off like that? And why wouldn’t they tell her their plans?
The back screen door made a slight noise. She called over her shoulder, “Brady, there’s a bit more coffee if you want it. Otherwise I’ll wash the pot so you don’t have any clean.” She gasped as she was grabbed from behind and a damp cloth covered her nose and mouth. Her arms flailed like wounded birds in an attempt to free herself, but a weakness seeped through her and darkness invaded her senses.
Brad caught a glimpse of raised dirt as if someone was on the back roads. He ignored it and turned down the road to his grandfather’s house. From his rearview mirror, Nick and Joe were arguing in the car behind him, while Vince sat silently in the passenger’s seat of Joe’s Jeep. Brad pulled up in front of the house, jumped from the Jeep, and tore into the house. The door slammed against the wall.
“Chris, Gramps, where are you?” he yelled. He spotted his grandfather on the floor and knelt beside him. “Ni
ck, call an ambulance. Gramps is hurt.” After making sure his grandfather was being looked after, Brad jumped up and ran through the house calling for Christine. He slammed out the back door into the yard. Nick's voice could be heard giving instructions and an address as he made his way back into the house and knelt back down beside his grandfather.
“How’s he doing?” Nick placed a hand on old man's forehead.
“He’s still out, but his pulse is steady. I think he was just knocked out,” Joe said still holding the old man’s wrist.
Brad waved at the other man. “Vince, use your phone and get as much help as you can. Looks like he’s got Chris and I think we just missed him when we pulled in. I’m going to try to follow. Tell the Sheriff that I’m heading to the bridge on the back road out of Iowa Hills that comes out by Colfax.” Brad lit out on his motorcycle. The bike would allow him to get into tighter places than a car. If he was right about who was behind Chris’ kidnapping, they'd head for the bridge. He cornered the turns like a racer at Laguna Seca Raceway.
Damn it! Chris was gone and that scared him. More scared than the gun fight that killed Marty. He followed the old dirt road and quickly covered ground that was as familiar as if he’d been on it yesterday. There were lots of abandoned homes and line shacks back in these hills and just as many turnoffs. If a person wasn’t aware of their surroundings they’d easily get lost. He saw the fresh tracks in the dirt and a slight film of dust still settling. That meant they'd come through here mere minutes or so ago. They were probably headed for the old house tucked way back in the trees. Nick and he camped there during the fall when they’d go hunting.
He had to get to Chris in time.
He just had to.
***
Christine's head ached and she felt woozy and nauseated. A sick stupor encapsulated her body. Why couldn’t she move? She struggled, but couldn't seem to move very well. The more she wiggled, the more her head hurt. Irritating, noisy springs creaked beneath her as if they were about snap apart. She tried to open her eyes, but couldn't see.
She craned her neck, flexed her hands, tried to move her foot. She was blindfolded and trussed up like Thanksgiving's turkey with her hands in front of her and her leg tied to—something. Geez, they taped her mouth shut.
She'd get loose and kill the rodent who did this to her! Grunting indelicately, she reached up to remove the blindfold, then quickly peeled the tape off her mouth. She swallowed hard, tried to lick her dry lips, but her mouth felt like the Gobi Desert. She stretched her mouth, worked her jaw and tried to get an accurate feel for where she was. “Okay, God. Let me have just five minutes wi—” she clamped her mouth shut.
There were voices outside and to the left of her.
She used her teeth to untie the ropes, then rubbed feeling back into her wrists. Now was as good a time to be grateful for her twice yearly visits to her dentist? Geez, does everyone go effing nuts at a time like this?
She tried to sit up, but the dizziness swamped her, she fell back onto the bed. She took a deep breath and tried again, this time able to lean far enough forward to untie the rope wrapped around her ankle and secured to the bed rail. She narrowed her eyes to her rolled up left pant leg. Her prosthesis was missing.
“That rat-bastard took Slim.” She growled between clenched teeth. How dare he take such a liberty. She scanned the room and spotted it propped in the corner by the door. Whoever kidnapped her must have thought her brain had been amputated, along with her leg. Moron probably thought that reaching her prosthesis would be a challenge. The world was full of idiots.
Chris scooted up on the bed, then maneuvered on one bare foot to the window to find out whose voices she heard. She thought she recognized one of them.
“I’m out of town on police business right now, but I’m hoping to be back by tonight. I was just wondering if you had any plans. Maybe I could bring some dinner and movies? You know, keep you and the kids company. What do you say?”
He had the nerve to kidnap her, and then make plans for dinner and a movie. She cocked an ear to better hear the one-sided conversation. Maybe he'd say a name or something.
“I promised the boss I’d check out some things. I should be back by seven tonight.”
A male. Vaguely familiar. Think. Who is it? Who was he talking to?
A pause, then, “Well, you must be busy. I’m sorry I called your mom. I didn’t realize you were trying to get away from stress. If you’d have just told me, I wouldn’t have called.”
She heard muffled murmurs.
“Look Rosie, I know you’re upset, I’m not trying to do anything but keep you and the kids from being alone. You know how cops are, we stick together. If someone’s hurt, we help the family out.”
Rosie? Was he talking to Marty's Rosie? Of all the nerve. How dare he try to move in so quickly? Wait a minute, how does Rosie fit into her kidnapping? “What the—”
Startled, Christine jumped as something hit the outside wall. Apparently her kidnapper didn't realize the sound reverberated through the house.
“Yes, I know Brad was Marty’s best friend but as you can see, Brad’s slipped out of town and now there’s a warrant for his arrest. You just wait and see. Shortly you’re going to find he was the one responsible for Marty’s death. Come on, wake up, even Vince believes it or he wouldn’t have taken Joe’s badge and revolver as well.”
Christine leaned forward, barely making out the form leaning against the house. Dean! She grumbled under her breath. “I should have known—sleaze-ball.”
“Look, I don’t want to fight, I just want to make sure you and the kids are okay. Is that so wrong?” He blew out a harsh breath before she heard him growl, “Fine, I’ll check on you tomorrow. Bye.” Dean swore.
Apparently, Marty’s widow wasn’t as stupid as he believed.
Well neither was she.
Christine scooted around the end of the bed and stood on her bare foot, then took three hopping steps toward the corner and grabbed her leg from its propped position. She was about to hop back when she heard footsteps on the other side of the door.
“Okay Chris, keep your balance,” she whispered. “If he comes in, you only have one chance. You can do this,” she muttered encouragement she didn't quite feel. But she could do this. She had to.
Breathe slowly, remember Jared’s techniques. Don’t let this SOB control you. Stay in control yourself. A wave of calm slowly veiled her. If she didn’t know better she’d swear Jared was in the room lending his strength in her time of need. Eyes on the door, the handle slowly turned. She raised the brace over her head. The second she saw a bit of his hair, she slammed the bar down on his head, hard. He dropped like a gnat smacked by a flyswatter.
Christine squeaked aloud as the force of the blow knocked her off balance. She rolled as she hit the floor the way Jared had taught her. She crawled to the bed and fastened her prosthesis in place then rolled down her pant leg. She took the rope from the end of the bed and tied his hands.
He moaned.
Making a dash for it, she slipped from the shack and followed the trail. Where the hell had he taken her? She stopped and listened, then turned toward the sound of the river, planning to follow it. Maybe she’d find her way back to Brady’s cabin. She watched her step, kept an eye on her footing, and smiled as the sound of the water grew closer. She snapped her head around at the sound of breaking branches behind her, then picked up her pace, and left the pathway into the trees. She came to an abrupt stop. “Shit!” She was on a damn cliff way above the river. She’d spied a ledge and looked down. She glanced behind her and muttered a curse. “God, I hated heights.” She ducked back into the trees and she mumbled and cursed again. Dean was following her. How did he get loose so easily?
The uneven ground played havoc with her ability to easily maneuver the forest. What looked like solid footing was inches of old mulched pine needles, branches, and leaves. Christine steadied herself with her hands as she moved from tree to tree. She checked the area behind her
every third tree or so, then hid behind a monolithic pine and held her breath as Dean came into view.
Dean lumbered by, rubbing the side of his head where she’d hit him. She saw a smear of blood and wished she’d hit him harder. Time to run back up the trail and—
“Chris, are you out here? Answer me.”
Mother in heaven—Brad. She'd never expected to hear the beautiful sound of his voice again, but if he didn’t shut up she might never hear it again, especially if Dean heard him, too. She edged toward the path and gasped as she was grabbed from behind.
“Brad, get out of here,” she screamed.
Dean's breath was hot on her neck, his hand sweaty, making her skin crawl. “Don’t worry sweetheart, he’s not going to leave you. He’s too hot for you. Call out all you want. The sooner he gets here, the sooner I can get him out of my life once and for all.”
Christine struggled, tried to move herself away from the ledge. Dean grabbed her by the hair, shoved her to the ground and pressed her forehead into the dirt and rocks.
“Quit fighting bitch. You’re as dead as he is, so knock it off or I’ll just shoot you now.” Christine quit struggling, winced as he pulled her up by her hair and yanked her head back and shoved the barrel of his gun in to her side. “Are you ready to behave?”
She bobbed her head, and tried to quell the acid churning in her belly. She’d have only one chance to get out of this and keep Brad safe, and she had to make it good. Dean pulled her alongside of him, pressed her closer. She pretended to stumble, bent forward and grabbed earth. Like a slingshot, she twisted and threw both handfuls of dirt into his eyes. When he reached for his face, she elbowed him in the stomach then kneed him in the groin, and then knocked him to the ground.
She hesitated, then made the only choice she had. She looked over the edge of the cliff and almost squealed with delight to see that there was a wide ledge safe enough to stand on. She shimmied over the edge and she ducked down enough so Dean couldn’t see her from the trail. Her heart pounded against her chest. Her vision swam. She refused to look down. Just when she thought she was safe, she heard Brad call out.
