Angel of Mercy & Standoff at Mustang Ridge

by Heather Graham

  Eric motioned to Brad, who nodded. They started to retrace their earlier steps, silently circling the house.

  When Brad came around the back, he saw the form, dark and huddled low, trying to look in one of the windows. Quickly, silently, Brad began his approach. The figure started to turn, to rise, but he was already upon it.

  With impetus in his last step, Brad hurtled himself against the form. A low growl issued from his lips. Then he heard a whoosh of air and a soft scream.

  He was on the ground, straddled atop her, before he realized that the figure in the darkness was Wendy. With her wrists pinned to the ground, she looked so frightened and helpless.

  “Wendy!”

  “Brad!” Her eyes opened wide, and then narrowed. “Brad! You slimy son of a bitch—”

  “Well, what a nice reunion!” Eric interrupted brightly. He was leaning comfortably against the wall.

  Wendy cast him an evil glare, then turned her furious stare upon Brad once again. “What the hell—”

  “Where were you?” he demanded hotly.

  “What?” she returned.

  “Where were you? Where the hell were you?”

  “That isn’t any of your—”

  “You scared me to death!” Brad shouted.

  “I scared you! You muscle-bound Kong—you attacked me! You’re sitting on me. You—” She paused. “Eric! Tell him to get off me.”

  Eric smiled as he hunkered down on his toes near her head, chewing on a blade of grass. “I’ll bet if you just ask him real nice, he’ll get up on his own.”

  The grate of her teeth was audible.

  “Dammit, Wendy, where did you go?” Brad insisted.

  She exhaled. “This is ridiculous!” Despite her anger, there was a glaze to her eyes, as if she had been crying. Dimly, through the maze of fear and relief and anger, Brad wondered if she had been crying because of him.

  Then he wondered what the hell he was doing here, making the situation worse. But wasn’t this better? If someone had stumbled onto his trail, they would find Wendy—whether they found him or not. Now she was better off with him than without him. Now they would both be better off not to take any chances at all.

  “Wendy!” Nervous energy racked his body. She meant so damned much to him.

  “You...” Her teeth grated again as she struggled against his hold. Her eyes grew brighter, as if she were on the verge of tears.

  “Not that my whereabouts are any of your business!” she hissed, twisting her head to stare at Eric. “Or yours!”

  “I’m just an innocent bystander.”

  “Could you go stand somewhere else?”

  Eric laughed, but he didn’t move. Wendy stared from one man to the other—Eric, who seemed to be having the time of his life, and Brad, who still seemed deathly pale in the darkness.

  “I went to the damned store!” she spat out.

  “All day?” Eric queried politely.

  “Where’s the airboat?” Brad demanded.

  “I have my car!” Wendy snapped. “The boat’s across the water. I went into the garage, I talked to Mac. I got my car. I drove into Fort Lauderdale. I went to the drugstore, and I went to the grocery store. You want to know what aisles I perused? I bought a can of Pepsi from a vending machine. I stopped for a copy of the newspaper.”

  “That still doesn’t take all day! Dammit, Wendy, you scared me half to death.”

  “Well, dammit, Brad, you did the same to me! How the hell do you think it felt to know that someone was in the house?”

  “You knew that Eric has a key.”

  “But neither Eric’s car nor his airboat were visible. Why the hell am I explaining this to you?” Wendy exploded. She swallowed, wondering whether to laugh or cry or keep screaming. She was shaking, trembling inside and out because he had come back, because he was still with her.

  Grandfather had told her that he would be there. He had smiled and told her to be patient. He had told her to go home and wait, to trust in her heart.

  Although she had told Brad to go away, she had prayed that he wouldn’t. She had bought groceries for two. In the drugstore she had tried not to indulge in fantasy, but she had bought extra shaving cream and toothpaste and soap...

  For two.

  Which had been foolish. Eventually, he had to go away.

  Eventually, but please, God! Wendy silently prayed, not now. Let us have some time. I need that second damp towel in the bathroom just a little longer.

  “You’re explaining it to me because you worried me to death!” Brad yelled back at her.

  “You’re not even supposed to be here!” she reminded him.

  Eric cleared his throat. “Maybe we should hassle over the finer points inside.” He cleared his throat again. “Brad, er, I think you’re about to cut off her circulation at the wrists.”

  Brad instantly released Wendy’s wrists. Then he took her right hand in his own and began to rub it. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No,” she replied. “Just move, will you please?”

  Slowly, he came to his feet, then reached a hand down to her. She took it, eyeing him warily as she stood.

  “Did you leave packages in the car?” Eric asked.

  She nodded, then smiled sweetly. “Except for the bag that I was carrying. I dropped it in the bushes there when the G-man jumped me.”

  “Oh, well, no harm done,” Eric said, shaking out the tattered brown grocery bag and collecting the canned goods and cereal boxes that had fallen out.

  Brad and Wendy were still staring at one another heatedly. Eric shoved the bag into Brad’s arms. “Why don’t you take this into the house,” he suggested. “I’ll go for the rest.”

  “Yeah, thanks,” Wendy said. Brad was still staring at her. Rumpled and handsome, his tawny hair was all askew. She brushed by him and headed for the front.

  He set the bag down on the kitchen floor. By then, Eric had returned with two more sacks. “On the counter, Wendy?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Brad stood by the counter. “Wendy, where were you?”

  “I wasn’t out making a million-dollar coke deal, if that’s what you’re asking,” she said flippantly.

  “Oh, jeez,” Eric groaned.

  Brad grabbed her arm. “Wendy, I’m asking you a civil question! I want a civil answer!”

  “Civil!”

  “Wendy—”

  “I told you, I went to the stinking store! Then I came back and I went out to see my family. I went to the village. I had dinner with Willie and Mary and the kids. That’s it, that’s all! And it’s none of your business, anyway! You told me that you were leaving!”

  He swung around on his heel. Wendy glared at Eric, who merely shrugged and followed Brad outside.

  Brad was on the lawn, still tense and angry—but deflated. He looked at Eric. “Where the hell is her car?” he demanded.

  Eric laughed. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

  He led Brad to what looked like dark water, but there were stones beneath the water, which was barely an inch deep. It seemed that they walked across water, but of course they didn’t. There was even a trail hacked through the tall grass on the other side, and there, high on a dry clearing near the end of a dirt road, was Wendy’s small station wagon.

  Together, the men collected the rest of the groceries, then returned to the house.

  Wendy was putting things away, slamming every door she touched.

  Eric set the last of the grocery bags down. “Want some help, Wendy?”

  “No,” she said curtly.

  “Suit yourself. You want a beer, Brad?”

  “Sure,” Brad said.

  Eric sauntered casually past Wendy and reached into the refrigerator, helping himself to two cans of beer.
He tossed one over to Brad.

  Wendy stood at the sink, separating a pack of steaks into individual freezer bags. She sniffed. “The two of you already smell like a brewery.”

  “What?” Eric protested. “I’m crushed.”

  Wendy swung around to face him. “All right, where the hell have the two of you been all day?”

  “Fishing.”

  “Fishing.” She paused in her efforts and stared at him. “Fishing. All day. All day?”

  “Fishing. Shooting the breeze. Swilling beer. You know. Having a good old time.”

  Wendy turned back to her steaks. “Liar,” she said softly.

  “Ask Brad. I had a catfish on the line that you wouldn’t believe. He made me lose it. City slicker.”

  She looked up at Eric. He smiled blandly. “You going to let him stay on here?” he asked her bluntly.

  “What?” She flushed.

  “Well, I’m going home. I was wondering if I should take him with me?”

  Brad’s eyes opened wide in amazement. “Eric, I can sink my own ship!”

  “Stop it!” Wendy snapped. “Brad can stay.”

  “Stop shouting. I just asked a question,” Eric said defensively.

  Brad swallowed a sip of beer. Wendy was alive and well, and they were together. Heat filled him at the idea that their time together wasn’t over yet.

  “Good night.” On his way out of the kitchen, Eric offered Brad a wink. “Just watch out! She’s dangerous.”

  Wendy swung around. “Watch out? He tackled me out there, and I’m supposed to be the dangerous one.”

  “I think I can handle her,” Brad said.

  Wendy glared at him. A curious golden light was in his eyes as they swept over her. It made her feel warm. No, it made her feel hot, as if she would melt to the ground. Just seeing him there, tall, ruffled sandy hair, bronze and sinewed, made her remember the morning. She remembered what it felt like to run her fingers over his shoulders, over his back. She remembered watching the play of his muscles as he held her, remembered seeing the taut flicker of passion in his face as he gazed down at her...

  “Yes,” he said softly, “I think that I can handle her.”

  “Maybe,” Eric said. “Maybe not. You know, friend, she could be trying to trap you.”

  “What?” Wendy and Brad said simultaneously. They both stared at Eric, who maintained his facade of a friendly calm.

  “Trap you, Brad. She’s always wanted a baby. Did you know that? Did she ever tell you? She was trying to get pregnant before Leif died. Maybe she’s using you. Maybe she intends to trap you into marriage.”

  “And on the other hand, don’t you think you’re misleading her? You’re not the kind of guy to settle down. You’ve got important work. A hell of a job. And heck, any damn day of your life could be your last. Do you use that as a ploy to take advantage of lonely women?”

  “Eric!” Wendy snapped in disbelief and horror. No. Eric was her friend, he loved her. Why would he ever say such things? “Eric!” Her voice was small but strong, and it was laced with anguish. “Get out of my house! Get out! How could you—just get out!”

  She was as white as chalk.

  Eric nodded. “I was just leaving.”

  He walked out the front door. She heard it close. In absolute dismay, she let her eyes meet Brad’s at last.

  He was staring at her, staring at her hard. He started walking toward her.

  “Wendy...”

  “No!” Knowing that she was going to burst into tears, Wendy turned to run down the hallway. She just couldn’t stand any more, not today.

  Brad caught her by the shoulders, then swung her around into his arms.

  “No!” She struggled against his hold.

  “Use me, Wendy, if you would,” he whispered softly. Then his lips caught hold of hers, hot and searing, and she gasped at the power of his hands moving over her. He was lifting her, lifting her high into his arms, she couldn’t help but respond to the feverish heat of his body.

  11

  It was so good to touch her, so good to kiss her, to hold her soft and pliant in his arms. Her lips fused to his, seemingly as hungry as his own. He could have held her all night, drinking in a kiss such as this...

  At first he ignored the sound that came to him from the swamp outside.

  But then it came again, that sound in the darkness of night, and it penetrated Brad’s mind. It was a birdcall, soft but clear, cutting through the night, cutting through Brad’s desire and causing a prickle of danger to streak along his spine.

  Brad slowly lowered Wendy until her feet touched the floor. Her arms were still around his neck, but her eyes met his. She, too, had sensed the danger.

  “Eric?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Yes, it’s Eric.”

  “You said you had a pistol. What about ammunition?”

  She nodded and quietly slipped away from him. He stayed in the hallway, listening. Concentrating, he tried to clear away all other sounds. Then he heard the footsteps outside.

  He knew that Eric was out there...somewhere. But Eric had called to him, warned him, because someone else was out there, too.

  Wendy returned with a Smith & Wesson .38. He took the weapon from her and cocked it. “Stay here,” he whispered. “I want you to find a sheltered corner and stay low. Hold on to the shotgun. All right?”

  At last she nodded. He turned away from her and hurried down the hall to the front door. The lights were on in the kitchen and the living room. He turned them off and went to the window, where he stared out across the lawn. Nothing moved. He went to the front door and slipped out.

  Perched on his haunches by the corner of the house, Brad hesitated, then sprang around. His weapon was aimed straight ahead, at the ready. There was no one there.

  He moved silently along the side of the house. The night was dark, so damned dark.

  The birdcall sounded again. Someday, Brad decided, he was going to have to ask Eric what kind of bird it was supposed to be. An owl?

  It didn’t matter now. What was important was that he knew that Eric was moving almost opposite him, on the other side of the house. Within a few minutes, they’d both be at the rear, and their prey would be caught between them then.

  Their prey...

  He knew that someone else was there. He could feel it, smell it, sense it. All he had to do was turn the corner.

  At the edge of the wall, Brad paused, his heart thudding against his chest. He held the gun steady with both hands, and then he sprang smoothly around, prepared to shoot.

  A man was there, in back of the house. He hadn’t heard or sensed Brad or Eric yet—he was busy at work on Wendy’s bedroom window.

  “Hold it right there. Get your hands up—up high, clear in the air!” Brad demanded.

  The man dropped low. Brad saw a glint of the pale moonlight gleaming upon something in the man’s hands. He had a gun, too, and he was getting ready to shoot.

  Brad shot first. Carefully, very carefully, he squeezed the trigger. The gun went flying and the man screamed, clutching his hand.

  Eric flew around the corner, stooping silently to retrieve the thrown gun even as the fallen intruder tried to reach for it. Brad came forward, keeping the .38 aimed at the man.

  “Three fifty-seven Magnum,” Eric observed. “He meant to plug a few holes in you for keeps.”

  “Yeah,” Brad said softly. “Michaelson’s men do play for keeps.”

  “Cripes! I’m bleeding to death down here! You’re supposed to be the cop, McKenna. You’d better get me to a hospital quick, or I’ll be screaming my head off about police brutality.”

  Brad squatted down by the man, seeing a swarthy, pockmarked face. He’d thought he recognized the voice.

  “I’m not a cop. I
’m worse than that, Suarez, and you know it. I’m DEA. A fed. And you know what? We’ve been losing some good guys to scum like you lately. We don’t take the same heat as the poor local cops. I don’t care if you rot away of gangrene, Suarez.”

  “You know him?” Eric asked.

  Brad nodded, careful to keep the gun aimed at the slender but dangerous man on the ground. “Tommy Suarez. He’s so high up with Michaelson that he rarely has to take on the dirty jobs these days. We think that he killed a lot of people to get to his position. He used to give me my ‘order’—where to pick up cash, where to drive, that kind of stuff.” He hesitated. “This bastard killed my partner.” He pulled back the trigger so that it clicked.

  In a timeless moment he gritted his teeth, realizing he had to stop. He was emotionally involved here. But this guy had been the triggerman who killed his partner. Suarez had also been working away at the window to a bedroom where Wendy might have been sleeping.

  Sleeping, all alone. If Brad had left, Wendy would have been there—alone, innocent, vulnerable. And God alone knew what Suarez might have done with her to extract information about Brad—or just for the hell of it, because she was a beautiful woman.

  He aimed the gun straight at Suarez’s temple.

  “Hey!” Suarez whined. “You can’t do that! You’re—”

  “Who else is hanging around here, Suarez?” Brad demanded.

  “No one,” he said sullenly. “Hey, my hand is bleeding. You’ve busted it all to hell, you ass—”

  “Hey!” Eric grinned. His teeth were a bright white slash against his bronze skin in the pale moonlight. “My turn, Brad. I’m not with the government. I don’t have a scruple in the world, dealing with this swine. You hear that, Suarez? I’m not a cop, and I’m not an agent. I’m an Indian. And you know what, buddy? I’ve had enough of you guys slipping that rotten crack to our teens. They’re not starting out with a real fair deal to begin with. You know how many overdoses we’ve had out here in the last year? Since your friend Michaelson decided to make a septic tank out of our swamp?”