by Cindi Myers
“He can’t help you now,” Victor said. He opened the sedan’s passenger door and shoved her inside. “He’s dead.”
A sob escaped her at the words. She fought against the tears. “He’s not dead,” she said. “You’re only trying to frighten me.”
Victor climbed into the driver’s seat and slammed the door. “I shot him in the chest,” he said. “I saw the bullet hit. I saw him fall. Dead.” He pulled onto the pavement and made a sharp U-turn, throwing her against the door of the car. She groped for her seat belt and fastened it.
“Don’t try anything,” he said, showing her the gun he still held in his right hand. “I’ve killed women before. I don’t have a problem with it.”
She believed him, but that wouldn’t stop her from fighting back any way she could. “Why did you shoot Simon?” she asked. “Who are you? What do you want with me?”
“You ask too many questions.” He glanced in the rearview mirror and signaled a turn back onto Fairplay’s main street.
She grabbed hold of the dash to steady herself as he made the sharp turn. The car was an older model, the dash faded and stained, the upholstery ripped. And it reeked of cigarette smoke. It must have been easy to steal, or maybe he thought no one would miss such a heap. “Do you work for Daniel?” she asked. “Did he send you after me?”
Victor laughed, openmouthed, showing yellowed teeth. “That would be a good one, me working for Metwater.” He glanced at her, the menace in his eyes making her ice-cold, in spite of the fur coat. “I need to talk to your lover. I am taking you so that he will have no choice but to come to me.”
“What do you want to talk to him about?”
“Again with the questions.” He shook his head.
“Maybe I already know what you want to know, and I can save you time and trouble,” she said.
“I want to talk to him about his brother. What do you know about David Metwater?”
The question surprised her. “Nothing. I never met him. And Daniel never talked about him. Or hardly ever.”
“Don’t you think that’s odd—that he didn’t talk about his twin—his identical twin—that he was so close to?”
“It was too painful for him,” she said. “His brother’s death affected him deeply. It made him change the whole course of his life.”
“Yes, it did, didn’t it? And you don’t find that odd also—for a man to turn his back on wealth and privilege, to go hide in the middle of nowhere, with a band of loyal followers—people he could depend on to do anything to protect him?”
“Losing his brother made him reevaluate the shallow existence he had been living and retreat to the wilderness, seeking spiritual purity.” Daniel had said those words so often she could repeat them by rote—but did she really believe them anymore? Where was the spiritual purity in cheating on her and lying to her and stealing—yes, she could finally admit the truth in Simon’s accusations—he had stolen money and other property that belonged to his followers. Daniel had said a lot of good things, but how many of his own words did he really believe?
The look Victor gave her was equal parts pity and disgust. “I see he has fooled you, the same way he fooled so many others.”
Yes, she had been a fool. But she was determined to be smarter in the future. “If it’s money you want, I can give that to you,” she said. “I have money.”
“Do you have a million dollars?”
She gasped. “Daniel won’t give you a million dollars. He doesn’t have that kind of money.”
“He has that and more.” He slowed to allow a group of schoolchildren to cross the street. The pavement gleamed wetly, the same dull gray as the sky overhead, in which no hint of blue showed. He held the gun low now, out of sight of passersby, but still aimed toward her so that a bullet would cut through her. “What about a key?” he asked. “Did your prophet ever give you a key?”
“What kind of key?”
“A safe-deposit box key. Small, and made of brass.”
Like the key inside the locket. “No,” she said, hoping the lie didn’t show. “He never gave me anything like that.”
“What kind of things did he give you?”
“He gave me this coat.” But not the necklace. Daniel hadn’t given her that—she had taken it.
He stared at the coat, as if he might see through it. The truck behind them honked its horn and Victor pressed down on the gas, sending them shooting forward. “Where are we going?” Andi asked, as the truck sped up and passed them.
“We are going to Breckenridge. That cop told everyone that’s where you were going—though it obviously wasn’t true, since you headed out of town in the opposite direction. But Metwater will have heard this is your destination, so he will try to follow you there. I want to make it easy for him to find you.”
“What makes you think he will bother to come looking for me?” she asked. “I’m not the only woman he sleeps with, you know.”
“Ah. So you are aware he is unfaithful. And yet you still love him. How touching.”
She bit her lip to keep from denying that she loved Daniel. She wondered now if her feelings for him had ever been real love.
“Your prophet needs money,” Victor said. “The police have frozen his bank accounts, and if he has the key I’m looking for, he won’t be able to use it. You are a rich woman. He will come to you for money.”
And tomorrow, on her twenty-fifth birthday, she would be even richer. Daniel knew this. He had even talked about taking her to Mexico or the Bahamas to celebrate—not that she wanted to be anywhere near a beach and bikinis right now. Since she had agreed that all she possessed belonged to the Family—to Daniel—they had both assumed that once she gained control of the trust, the money would become one of the group’s assets also. Daniel probably still believed that. He surely wouldn’t be able to fathom that a woman who had made such a fool of herself over him for so long would come to see him in a different light.
He wasn’t going to touch another cent of her money if she could help it.
“Besides—you are the only woman who is about to have his baby,” Victor said. “A man will go to great lengths to keep his child.”
She wouldn’t tell him that Daniel wasn’t the father of her child—that he had no special ties to her baby, even though he had always claimed he wanted to raise the baby as his own. He had claimed a lot of things that she was learning were not true. But if she revealed the truth to Victor, he might not see her as valuable to him anymore. He might decide to kill her, the way he had murdered Simon.
Simon. The memory of him, slumped on the ground, so still, sent a physical pain through her. When she had first met him, back in camp with the Family, she had hated him. She had thought him a cold, unfeeling lawman who only wanted to persecute her and her friends. But she had been so wrong! These past few days, he had treated her with so much kindness. He had been strong, yet gentle, serious, yet surprisingly funny, too.
He had been her friend, and her lover, and the knowledge that he was gone now was almost too much to bear.
* * *
PAIN RADIATED FROM Simon’s chest, and he had to fight for breath. He struggled back to consciousness, aware of the cold ground beneath him, the hard metal of the car against his head. Gritting his teeth against the throbbing in his chest, he shoved to his feet, then dared to look down at the hole in his coat and shirt—at the deep indentation in his bulletproof vest where the bullet that had struck him was still lodged.
He put his hand over the area, feeling the bullet and the torn fabric, but no blood. The vest had done its job. He was bruised, but not bleeding. He had had the wind knocked out of him by the force of the impact, but he was still alive.
Andi! Concern for her galvanized him. He spun around and stared at the open cruiser door, and the empty passenger seat. Footprints in the snow told the story of her leaving in another car—but not
alone. A clear image of Victor firing the gun stayed with him. But he had never gotten a good look at the vehicle he had been driving—the one that had taken Andi away.
He examined the tracks left by both the driver and the car. Victor had headed back toward Fairplay. Simon would start there.
Ignoring the dull ache in his chest, he returned to his cruiser and stared down at the flat tire. Victor had probably slashed it last night or this morning, then simply waited for Simon and Andi to drive away and followed them, knowing they would eventually have to stop. With a heavy groan, he knelt in the snow and began changing the tire.
Fifteen minutes later, he had the spare in place and had verified that none of the other tires were damaged. He headed back toward Fairplay, watching the roadside for any sign that a car had turned around. Victor may have been trying to fool anyone following into thinking he was going one way, when he intended to go another.
But who would be following him? He probably thought Simon was dead. He hadn’t bothered to fire a second shot or to make sure his quarry was mortally injured—he had been too intent on kidnapping Andi and leaving. That was a mistake Simon would make sure he paid for.
He slowed for the light at the turnoff to Fairplay. Which direction had Victor traveled? If he was working with Metwater, he might have headed back to Denver to meet up with the Prophet. Even if he wasn’t working with Metwater, Denver offered more places to hide and more opportunities to move on to other cities, states or countries.
The light turned green and Simon accelerated forward. He had no idea how much time had passed between the shooting and when he had recovered his senses, but it couldn’t be very long. Then he had to include the time he had spent changing the tire. Whatever that added up to, Victor had a good head start. Simon was tempted to use his lights and siren to pass the few vehicles on the road, but he didn’t want to give Victor warning that he was following. Better to run silent and travel as fast as he dared.
Which wasn’t that fast, considering the road was still coated with ice in places. He passed through the desolate stretch of country where he and Andi had almost been stranded yesterday. The wind had whipped the snow into waves in the empty fields, and ice glinted on the barbed wire fencing. A coyote trotted across the highway ahead, disappearing in the clumps of trees along a creek.
Red brake lights glowed ahead and Simon slowed, then stopped. He was last in a line of about eight vehicles, with no oncoming traffic. Frustrated by the delay, he turned on his flashers and pulled into the opposing lane and made his way to the head of the line. He stared into each vehicle he passed, but none of them held a blond Russian or a beautiful pregnant woman.
At the head of the line, a Park County Sheriff’s deputy had his cruiser positioned across both lanes, blocking traffic. Just past him, a jackknifed semi truck lay on its side at the bottom of the pass. Simon stopped his cruiser and got out. The deputy—not the one who had helped Simon the day before—nodded in greeting. “When did this happen?” Simon asked.
“About five minutes ago,” the deputy said. “Fortunately, nobody’s hurt. Driver got out okay.” He nodded to the side of the road, where a man in a shearling-lined denim jacket stood, hands in pockets, frowning at the disabled truck.
Simon looked beyond the truck, to the empty northbound lane. If Victor had come this way, he was out of Simon’s reach now. “Looks like you’ve got everything under control,” he said.
“Just waiting on the wrecker, but it will be a while,” the deputy said. “They said they have to get someone from Denver. If I were you, I’d try another route.”
“Thanks, I’ll do that.” He returned to his cruiser, drove past the growing line of waiting traffic, then pulled over to the shoulder and took out his phone.
Sergeant Daley answered promptly. “What’s up, Woolridge?” he asked. “But before you ask—no, we haven’t found Metwater yet. He’s gone off the radar.”
“I’ve got a different problem now. A guy who may or may not be working with Metwater—a Russian who goes by the name Victor Krayev—has kidnapped Andi—Ms. Daniels.” He gave Daley the descriptions of both Andi and Victor.
“We’ll put out an APB,” Daley said. “Got a description of a vehicle they might be traveling in?”
“Unfortunately, no. I never got a good look.”
“Got the jump on you, did he?”
“He shot me. Knocked the wind out of me, but my vest did its job.”
“Ouch. Knew a guy that happened to—he ended up with a bruised liver. But considering the alternative...”
“Yeah,” Simon said. “I think my guy is headed for Denver, but I don’t know for sure. I’m stuck in Fairplay, with the road closed. I’m going to try going around through Breckenridge, but it will take longer.”
“Don’t bother,” Daley said. “Interstate 70 is shut down too. Better to hunker down and wait out the weather. I’ll let you know if we get any leads.”
“Thanks.” He ended the call, then immediately phoned Ranger Headquarters.
Randall Knightbridge answered. “Hey, Simon! We thought maybe you’d decided to run off to Bermuda or something.”
“Bermuda would be nice, considering the weather here,” he said, frowning at the lowering clouds that promised more snow.
“Nice and sunny here,” Randall said. “But I hear the other side of the Divide is getting hammered.”
“Is the commander in? I need to speak to him.”
“Hang on a sec.”
A moment later Graham picked up the phone. “What’s the latest?” he asked.
Simon gave him as brief a report as he dared. “Are you all right?” Graham asked.
“I’m fine.” He rubbed his chest, which was bruised and sore, but nothing a couple of aspirin and a good night’s sleep wouldn’t help. “I don’t know about Andi. I don’t know what Victor wants with her. And I’m stuck here with the roads closed and more snow coming.”
“You don’t know for sure he went to Denver,” Graham said. “And while we can’t rule out that he might be working with Metwater, we have nothing that tells us he is. So where else could he have gone?”
“Anywhere.” Simon looked around him at the empty landscape. Two-lane dirt tracks led off from the paved road to remote ranches and national forest land. Maybe Victor had a hideout somewhere along one of those roads.
“Where did he think you were headed?” Graham asked.
“I’ve been telling people we were going to Breckenridge. I thought it would throw him off track.”
“Then it’s possible he headed there. Maybe because he thinks Metwater will be there too.”
“Maybe.” Simon shifted the car into gear. “One thing, at least—I can get to Breck from here. I’m going to check it out.” And hope he wasn’t already too late.
Chapter Thirteen
Though Andi kept her body still, her mind raced as they left Fairplay behind and climbed above tree line on the icy two-lane road. All color seemed bleached from the landscape of white snow, gray sky and black asphalt. The desolate country drove home how alone she was now. If she was going to survive, she had to come up with a plan on her own. She couldn’t count on help from anyone else.
She glanced at the man in the driver’s seat. Victor was young, good-looking and confident, like so many men she had known. Daniel had certainly fit that mold, but as much as his looks and confidence had drawn her in, she knew he had underestimated her. He’d mistaken her calm for passivity, her gentleness for weakness. Victor had made the same mistake. He hadn’t bothered to tie her up because, hey, what was a pregnant woman going to do to him? Especially when he was holding a gun on her. She couldn’t fight him in her condition, and it wasn’t as if she was going to run away.
Not only did men like Victor and Daniel see her as weak, they saw her as disposable. Interchangeable. They would use her as long as it suited their purpose, then
put her aside—or worse. She didn’t trust her chances with either one of them now. She couldn’t forget the feel of that knife Daniel had held to her throat.
Traffic slowed as they approached the small community of Alma, with its clusters of vacation cabins and false-fronted stores along the highway. “Some tourist afraid to drive on ice,” Victor muttered as they joined a line of cars crawling through town. He pounded the steering wheel. “Pull over and park, you idiot!” he said.
Focused as he was on the cars ahead, he wasn’t looking at Andi. He probably wasn’t even thinking about her. She reached around and carefully undid her seat belt, holding it in place with her left hand so that he wouldn’t notice it was loose. With her right hand, she thumbed the lock open and gripped the door release. The car rolled to a stop and she said a quick prayer, then shoved open the door and stumbled out.
Victor’s shout pursued her as she shuffled across the snow toward the first building she saw—a log cabin on the side of the road, children’s toys scattered across the snowy front yard. Brakes squealed and more shouts rose, but she ignored them and pounded on the door. “Please let me in!” she pleaded. “I need help!”
The door opened and a short woman with a mass of curly red hair answered. “I need to call the police,” Andi said. “Please help me.” She was crying now, her nose running, her hair falling in her eyes.
“What’s going on?” A man appeared behind the woman—a very tall, very broad man with a long black beard down to the middle of his chest.
“Call the police,” Andi said. “A man is trying to kidnap me.”
“My wife and I were just having a little fight.” Victor’s hand closed around Andi’s upper arm, pulling her away from the door.
Andi turned to look at Victor. He was smiling, but his eyes flashed with violence. He had driven the car halfway into the yard of the cabin. It sat now, both doors open, engine running. “No!” she protested, and tried to pull away.
“She’s moody because of the baby,” Victor said, and yanked harder on her arm.
