by Cassie Miles
“He was what?”
“Dying,” she said.
Kate pushed her way through the trees blocking the road. Her steps were heavy. She remembered the cumbersome backpack, the weight of Wayne, leaning on her as they trudged forward. They couldn’t go back. The hunters were after them.
She stepped out of the forested area. Acres of blackened, devastated land stretched before them. It was a nightmare landscape.
“The fire hadn’t come this far,” she said.
Flames leaped from tree to tree. The heat blasted her face. She wore her parka to protect her arms.
“This was our only escape,” she said. “The hunters wouldn’t follow us here. Only a crazy person would walk directly into a forest fire.”
“Not crazy,” Liam said. “That was smart thinking. It probably saved your life.”
She stumbled forward on the charred earth. Grime and soot coated her feet in the sandals. “I could see the edge of the flames. So close.”
She pointed downhill. Once there had been a forest. Now, there was only sky.
The earth beneath her feet was marshy. The grass grew high. She saw beaver ponds. An aching cough rattled in her throat.
“Here,” she said. “We went this way.”
Down the gently sloping hillside, she walked slowly, remembering what had been here before. Beaver ponds. A lot more water. Wetlands. Now, the stream, which was still blocked and diverted by the burned remnants of beaver lodges, broke into several paths. The water spread like trickling fingers, massaging the earth, encouraging growth. A bit of green lichen at the edge of the stream gave her hope.
She squatted down and touched the fragile growth. “Everything is going to be all right. We’re going to make it.”
She’d said those words to Wayne.
He coughed uncontrollably. His strength was at an end. Though she tried to hold him upright, he fell to his knees.
Water. He needed water. Desperately, she dragged him toward the stream.
The fire was so close. Bits of ash swirled in the air. She heard the roar of the flames, the snapping of tree branches.
“What is it?” Liam asked. “What do you remember?”
“Death.”
Kate knew what had happened next. The pain and horror would always be with her. Inescapable. “I know why I couldn’t remember. It’s too terrible.”
“You have to tell me,” Liam said.
Wayne’s cough went silent. The tension left his body. She didn’t want to believe he was dead. Against all odds, she fought to save him. If only they could reach the stream…
“Wayne couldn’t make it. He stopped breathing. His arms and legs went limp. His face was horrible, sunken. His eyes were dead.”
She couldn’t continue. Unmindful of the grime, she sank down on the scorched earth. Her arm raised and she pointed toward the remains of a beaver lodge. “Over there. I buried him.”
Chapter Nineteen
Amid the burned forest and former beaver ponds, Liam saw a surreal landscape for Kate’s visceral memories. He felt her struggle and her horror as though it had been his own experience. He ached for her, for what she’d gone through. This pampered princess had been thrust into hell. She’d dragged a dying man through a forest fire. And she’d failed to save him.
Now, it was up to Liam to complete and verify the picture—to find the man she’d buried.
Following the direction she’d pointed, he went toward the beaver lodge—a pile of charred sticks that resembled the remnants of a bonfire. The stinking miasma of the damp, burned forest shrouded the clear, Colorado sunlight.
The inside of his mouth was dry as cotton. He’d seen death before at funerals and wakes. As an assistant D.A., he’d attended an autopsy. In a clinical sense, he knew there was nothing to fear from the dead. Yet, he’d never before felt such a strong portent warning him to turn back.
Wayne Silverman’s body had been here for a month. The corpse would be horrific. But he had to see for him self. He had to know with unshakable certainty that her story was true.
He glanced back over his shoulder toward her. She hadn’t moved from the spot where she’d crouched on the ground, frozen in the grip of remembered trauma.
Liam went forward. His boots churned the turbid, muddy water as he splashed through a wide, ankle-deep puddle.
At the edge of the beaver lodge, he saw a dark, ugly shadow. It protruded from beneath a fallen, charred log. It was a man. Scraps of clothing clung to what used to be an arm.
Closer, Liam pushed aside blackened branches. Soot marked his hands. He stared down at the body. The skull was a mummified yellowish brown. The jaw gaped as though caught in a scream.
Though burned and rotted beyond recognition, Liam knew he’d found Wayne Silverman.
There was no need for him to make further identification. That was a job for the forensic experts. A job for the police.
He turned away. The image of that corpse would be with him forever. From the start, he’d suspected that Wayne was dead. Now he knew.
And he had to move on. He returned to Kate and squatted down beside her. “Are you okay?”
“I think so,” she said. Her blue eyes were awash in pain. “It’s over now.”
But it wasn’t ended. It wouldn’t be over until they knew the identity of the murderer. “Do you remember who shot at you?”
She shook her head.
When he touched her shoulder, he felt her trembling. Her slender, fragile body quaked.
“Now I know,” she said, “why I didn’t want to remember. It wasn’t because I was a thief or because I caused Wayne’s death. I couldn’t remember because I didn’t want to return to what happened here.”
Liam understood her reaction, but he was at a loss to reassure her. He couldn’t erase the past, couldn’t protect her from her own experiences.
Her voice shuddered. “Did you find him?”
“Yes,” he said.
“I want him to have a proper grave,” she said. “I don’t care what he did. If he was a blackmailer or a thief, it doesn’t matter. I want to put Wayne Silverman to rest.”
Liam helped her to her feet and guided her back the way they had come, leaving the nightmare behind them.
In the Jeep, he tried to call CCC on his cell phone. He wanted to notify Briggs about the exact location of the corpse. It was important for Detective Clauson’s case to have access to this body.
But the call wouldn’t go through. There was no decent signal from their remote location.
“We could go to Cougar Creek,” she suggested. “You could make the call from there.”
No way would he go near anyone from RMS or the Carradine family. “We’ll go back to my cabin. We can take the chopper from there and return to town.”
Their return drive was mostly quiet—the natural aftermath of emotions running high for too long. Liam took this chance to breathe. There was nothing more they could do. He had no other plans for investigation. With the financial data and the body, Clauson surely had enough to build a case. There would be forensics on the corpse; maybe the police would find a traceable bullet. Clauson could track the embezzled funds and come up with a name. Even if Kate never appeared as a witness, there was plenty of circumstantial evidence.
In that sense, she’d been right. It was over. Once the police made an arrest, she’d be safe.
She wouldn’t need him to protect her.
Over. It was all over. He’d go back to his regular life at his cabin. She’d go back to her social whirl. And never the twain would meet. More than likely, he would never see her again, never hold her in his arms, never hear her laughter.
But he knew that every time the rain fell, every time he heard the patter of raindrops against his cabin roof, he would think of her. Stormy and wild as a thunderstorm. Refreshing as spring rain. She would always be a part of him.
As they neared his cabin, she asked for the cell phone. “I want to try calling Tom again.”
“Why?”
“I can’t believe he’s involved. Maybe he can give me a decent explanation.”
He handed the phone to her. “Don’t expect too much.”
“When it comes to my extended family,” she said, “I’ve learned to expect the worst.”
Kate punched in her stepbrother’s phone number and waited while it rang. Much to her surprise, he picked up. “Tom, I’m glad I caught you. You’re finally answering your cell.”
“Katie? Where did you take off to?”
“I’m fine,” she said dismissively. “I need to ask you about something. In the past couple of weeks, did you go to Stanhope Jeweler?”
“Yeah, to get a copy of one of your mom’s necklaces. Some diamond thing.”
He didn’t sound like getting the copy had been any big deal. “Why?”
“An errand,” he said. “Just like all the other crappy errands I get sent on. Like I don’t have anything else to do with my time.”
“Who sent you?”
“What’s this about?” The suspicion in his voice was clear, but there was a lot of noise in the background, as if Tom was standing in the middle of a construction site. “Where are you, Katie?”
“It’s about Mickey Wheaton,” she said. “How is he doing?”
“How would I know?”
“You were friends. You and Mickey and Wayne.”
“Listen, Katie, I don’t know what you’re getting at. But stop it. Haven’t you gotten yourself in enough trouble?”
The background noise got even louder. “Where are you, Tom?”
“I needed to get away from the city. I’m at Cougar Creek.”
She disconnected the phone call. Tom was here. He was close.
Liam’s Jeep bounced along the road to his house. She could see the white wings of his Super Cub. He drove up the hill to his cabin, where the chopper stood waiting. They were minutes away from a clean escape.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Tom’s at Cougar Creek.”
“Good,” Liam said. “That means he’s not here.”
He parked in front of the cabin, climbed out from behind the wheel and stretched. He had been her rock throughout these difficult days. She didn’t want to lose him. She should tell him how she really felt.
But a sense of danger rose up inside her, overwhelming all other concerns. Something wasn’t right. “We have to get away from here. Now. This minute.”
“You bet,” Liam said. “I’m going to run inside, grab a couple of candy bars and we’re gone.”
“Don’t go into the house. There’s no time.”
“Two minutes,” he said. “You can wait for me by the chopper.”
She wanted to grab hold of him, to stop him from taking one more step. She leaped from the Jeep, watching Liam stride toward his front porch.
Frantically, she scanned the area. What was different? What was out of place?
Her gaze stuck on the hangar behind his plane. She caught a glimpse of another vehicle parked inside. Someone was here. They were hiding, lying in wait.
“Liam!”
When she called to him, he turned toward her.
Her final memory flashed across her mind.
Wayne Silverman came down the steps from the cabin. He walked back to the Explorer, carrying his backpack and smiling. On the porch behind him, she saw a rifle. The shooter took aim. It was Peter Rowe.
The same thing was going to happen to Liam. She could feel it coming.
“Behind you!” she screamed. “On the porch!”
Liam pivoted. He dropped to the ground and dodged as the shooter took aim.
Even from this distance, she recognized the professional assassin who’d attacked at her house in Denver. He held a Winchester rifle. No need for a silencer out here. He fired once, twice.
Liam darted behind a rock. “Get down, Kate.”
She ducked behind the Jeep. The cell phone was still in her hand. She called nine-one-one. It rang and rang.
Liam had taken the small handgun from the ankle holster. He angled around to get a shot.
She could only pray that he’d be successful. But he was overmatched. His little .22-caliber automatic was no match for the accuracy and range of the assassin’s rifle.
On the cell, the sheriff’s dispatcher finally answered, “This is nine-one-one.”
“I’m at Liam MacKenzie’s cabin,” Kate said. “There’s a shoot-out. Hurry.”
“Please stay on the line, ma’am.”
“No time.” Kate repeated, “Liam MacKenzie’s cabin. Do you know where it is?”
“Yes, ma’am. But I need for you to—”
“Hurry.” Kate dropped the phone.
The assassin came down the porch stairs. His pace was cool. His confidence unshakable. Apparently, he didn’t know Liam was armed.
Liam stepped out from behind his rock, aimed and fired three bullets.
The other man dropped to his knees. Without a sound, he went facedown in the dirt.
“Kate,” Liam called. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.”
But she didn’t believe they were safe. Her instincts told her that the hunters weren’t through with them yet.
As Liam edged cautiously toward the downed man, she held her breath. The assassin wasn’t moving. Was this a trick?
If so, Liam was prepared. He held the handgun at the ready. One move from the man on the ground, and she knew he’d fire.
Her heart beat fast as she watched. Careful. Careful. Liam picked up the rifle. The assassin still wasn’t moving.
As Liam jogged down the hill toward the Jeep, she saw Peter on the porch. This couldn’t be happening. Not again.
Before she could call out, a gunshot exploded. Liam stumbled but he didn’t fall. He kept coming toward her, circled the rear of the Jeep. Then, he sank to the ground and leaned his back against the fender. Blood drenched his white shirt from a wound at his shoulder.
She knelt beside him, helpless. Unable to stop the bleeding. Unable to save his life.
“Take the rifle, Kate.”
Her hands trembled. She was distraught, caught in the throes of panic. “You’re hurt.”
Two shots exploded from the porch.
“It’s a flesh wound,” he said. “A hit in the shoulder. I’ll be okay. But I can’t aim the rifle. You’ve got to do it.”
“I can’t.”
With his good hand, he gripped her arm. “Get mad, Kate. Get tough. I know it’s in you.”
She shook her head. She couldn’t go through this again. The terror. The pursuit. The death.
“If you can’t shoot,” he said, “you’ve got to run.”
Running from the hunters. She’d gone miles. She’d lasted days, weeks. Could she do it again?
“Not this time.” Her blood surged. Determination flowed through her body. “I’m not running.”
She would never leave Liam here to die at the hands of her stepfather. She planted a quick, hard kiss on his mouth. “I can handle this son of a bitch.”
Kate took the rifle, checked the bolt and nested the barrel against her shoulder. There were only two rounds left. She had to make her shots count.
In the shadows of the porch, she saw Peter Rowe ducked down behind a chair. Not a clear shot.
She wasn’t a marksman like her stepbrother, but she knew how to shoot. Taking aim, she squeezed the trigger.
Immediately, Peter fired back.
“Liam, I only have one bullet left.”
“I’ve got four more rounds in the pistol,” he said. “See if you can make him come to you.”
“How?”
“Negotiate.”
She swallowed hard. It was up to her, and she was going to make this work. She called out, “Peter, you win.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We give up. You win.”
“It’s not that simple, Kate. This isn’t a golf match.”
He sounded nervous, and his fear made her even stronger.
“If you let me take Liam to a doctor, we’ll disappear. You’ll never hear from us again.”
“No deals.” He darted to the edge of the porch, hopped over the railing. “Silverman tried to make a deal. I paid the filthy little blackmailer. Then, he wanted more.”
“I’m not like him.” She sighted down the barrel of the rifle, but she couldn’t see him. “You can trust me.”
“I trust no one.”
“Not even Tom?”
“Leave my son out of this,” Peter yelled.
In the quiet of the forest, she could hear his every rustling movement. He dodged toward the rock where Liam had taken cover.
She called out to him. “Tom was involved. Tom went to the jeweler to get the copy of the necklace. Mickey Wheaton saw him.”
“Mickey was another one who wanted a deal. He was going to start the blackmail all over again. But Tom had nothing to do with this. He was just doing me a favor.”
“You bastard!” she shouted. “You sucked your own son into your crimes. Why did you do it, Peter? Didn’t you have enough money?”
“I’m sick of living on Carradine family leftovers.”
Crouched beside her, Liam held his small pistol in his left hand. Quietly, he said, “You’re doing good. Make him angry.”
“Why?”
“So he’ll make a mistake. We need for him to come out from behind the rock.”
She called out again, “You don’t deserve a penny of my family’s money.”
“You spoiled little brat!” Peter yelled. “You don’t know what it’s like. Me and my son were never good enough for the holier-than-thou Carradines.”
“Damn right,” she returned.
“I tried to be a good father to you.”
Anger flashed through her, but she kept herself in control. “Don’t you dare compare yourself to my father. He was good and strong. You’re a loser, Peter. Weak. Shallow.”
“And you, my dear, are dead.”
He stepped out from behind the rock, and she pulled the trigger. Her bullet went wide. She had no more ammunition.
Peter fired once. The bullet clanged against the side of the Jeep. He fired again, marching toward them. Be side her, Liam rose to his feet and took aim. Each shot had to count. Peter was less than ten yards away.
