“None of that,” he hissed. “I can handle a woman as well as a horse, missy—and it can hurt a whole lot more than this.”
She stared back through the involuntary tears that smeared her vision, and allowed herself to be a horse again. For that one moment, she let herself feel the acquiescence to rules, to the hold on her head that wasn’t so different from her training halter, albeit a more painful one.
Slowly, he released her, never removing his gaze from hers. When she did nothing but sit, not even so much as a toss of the head, he relaxed. Let him take it as submissiveness, instead of the subterfuge she was practicing for the first time. Let him think of her as too much the horse—just as Carey did—while she waited for the right moment to act. With effort, she kept her eyes from shifting to the gun on the chair behind him. Let him forget he had Jess instead of Lady, while he carried a gun that she, too, knew how to use.
And would use, with the fierce protectiveness of a mare guarding her own, unhindered by any veneer of civilization she’d acquired in her short time here.
~~~~~
Jaime followed the movement of horse and rider around the ring, nodding in approval, a slight smile on her face. “Good job, Kate! You feel the difference in him when you push him up into the bridle?”
“It’s hard work!” her student replied, but there was no complaint in her voice as she rode by the aisle gate.
When Kate and her mount cleared the gate, Carey was on the other side, unhooking it and slipping through. Jaime’s smile abruptly faded; she felt a growl of annoyance fighting to come out. He knew the rules about interrupting lessons.
But the growl, too, faded, as he walked through the soft footing with long, hurried strides, his face broadcasting a message of trouble while his mouth seemed unable to manage it.
“What on earth has happened?” Jaime asked, trying to keep an eye on Kate as the light lovely trot disintegrated into a rein-tugging match between horse and rider.
“Jess,” Carey said.
“She’s at the library,” Jaime said, annoyance creeping up again. “Walk-trot transitions, Kate. Twenty strides each. From the seat.” Then, to Carey, “She wouldn’t tell me what upset her today, but she only gets that look on her face when it has to do with you. She’s run away from it—and you—and I’ll be leaving to get her in fifteen minutes, when this lesson is over.” She pointedly turned back to her student, but Carey didn’t take the hint.
“Derrick has her,” he said.
“What?”
“He got her outside the library. He wants to trade her for the spell.”
“But—” Jaime started, and couldn’t go any further with it. The spell was gone, and they’d never fool Derrick with a fake, not in this world of printer paper and ball point pens. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and then called, “Kate, something’s come up. I’m very sorry, but I’m going to have to leave. There won’t be any charge for the lesson.”
“Is everything all right?”
Jaime shook her head, too worried for a professional facade. “It’s a long story. Can you get Turner loaded up okay without help?”
“No problem,” Kate said. “I hope everything turns out okay.”
Not much chance of that. “Thanks. I’ll see you next week.”
Carey preceded her out of the ring with those same ground-eating strides; Jaime had to jog a few steps before she adjusted to his gait. “What are you going to do?” she asked, as they walked out into the night. Then she’d wished she’d waited, for she couldn’t see his face when he stopped and answered, and the ragged quality of his voice was not what she’d expected.
“He’s calling back in a few minutes. I’m going to agree to the trade, and then I’m going to go get her. I’ve already talked to Mark—he wants to go with me.”
“So do I,” Jaime blurted, her fear for Jess outweighing all sensible factors.
“We’ve only got two guns,” Carey said, his blunt response driving home the danger. “Derrick is sure to be armed, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he has his friend with him.”
“Give me one of the guns,” she said, unswayed. “I may not be very good with it, but the only other thing we’ve got is Derrick’s bow, and I know I can’t do anything with that.”
“That’s what Mark said.” Carey’s voice held a hint of dry humor. “He said you’d want to come. That’s the reason I almost didn’t tell you—”
“But you needed a ride into town,” Jaime supplied.
“Yes.” He didn’t sound the least bit apologetic. “And I couldn’t talk him out of calling Eric, either. He thinks we’re going to want someone there waiting with a car. For a fast retreat, which we’ll probably need.” He started walking again, leading her into the house. “Put a dark shirt on. I’d like you to stay out of sight...surprise reinforcements if needed.”
“You knew I’d come, too,” Jaime said, almost an accusation.
They’d made it to the kitchen; he stopped and looked at her. “I was pretty sure,” he said. “You’ve meant a lot to Jess. I think she means a lot to you, too.”
She didn’t answer; she didn’t think she needed to. But she thought again that she’d missed something significant earlier in the day, because Carey’s expression wasn’t quite the cool, matter-of-fact determination she’d come to expect from him.
It wasn’t cool at all.
~~~~~
Mark left the LK reception desk in the hands of a sleepy, curious co-worker and slid into the suddenly crowded front seat of Jaime’s pick-up, holding out his hand. Carey placed one of Derrick’s guns into it, and then dumped a generous fistful of ammunition into the other hand.
“Dayna’s coming too,” Mark announced, and Jaime stopped in mid U-turn to lean over the steering wheel and aim a questioning look past Carey. Mark shrugged. “I was surprised, too. But she was over at Eric’s place when I called, and she refused to stay behind. Didn’t even mention calling the cops.”
“No,” Carey murmured. “We can’t do that.”
“We know,” Jaime said grimly. “You think if we didn’t, we’d be doing this dumb-ass hero act? Good Lord, look at us. We put Clint Eastwood to shame.”
“No choice, Jay,” Mark said simply, and for a brief moment, she was swept by affection for her brother. And then it faded, and she pulled out of the U-turn and straight into the sparse traffic.
“The YMCA,” she muttered. “What a place for a show-down.”
“It’s as good as any,” Mark shrugged.
“He said he’d be in the lower parking lot,” Carey told them. “It doesn’t mean anything to me.”
“Easy,” Mark said. “Two lots behind the building, and one’s about eight feet lower than the other, has a short drive connecting the two. The lower one’s the furthest from the Y, so that gives us a good chance at sneaking Jaime in against the building. Eric’s meeting us out front, but I think he should kill his lights and roll down into place between the two parking lot entrances. Once we pull in, Derrick’s not likely to notice a car coasting dark.”
“I still don’t know how you think you’re going to get Jess away from him,” Jaime said, shaking her head as she stopped at the light in front of the courthouse, an impatient foot riding the clutch while she waited out the red.
Carey’s voice was full of confidence. “The fake’ll throw him for a minute. He never saw the real thing, and Mark said the parking lots aren’t well lit. All I need is that minute.”
“I don’t think,” Jaime said quietly, “that Jess will be very happy if you get killed doing this.” Despite the silence, she felt that some kind of communication passed between Mark and Carey, and she suddenly realized that Mark knew about whatever had happened earlier in the day.
As if to confirm her thought, Carey said, “I’m not sure she’s too happy with me right now, anyway. It doesn’t matter. What’s important is getting her out of this. I’d give Derrick that damn manuscript, if I had it.”
To her surprise, she believed him. Bu
t she didn’t have any more time to think about it, because the light switched to green and they were one turn away from the YMCA.
“Dayna can take the car. I want to be out there with you,” were Eric’s abrupt words of greeting as Jaime double-parked the pick-up beside his little hatchback.
Carey’s response was immediate. “No. There’ll already be too many people in that parking lot, considering Derrick expects only me.”
“Then let me be one of them,” Eric insisted.
No, Jaime pleaded silently. Not Eric, whose soul was too gentle to mar with the guilt of the potential violence they faced. “Carey—” she started in protest, but he was ahead of her.
“Can you shoot better than Jaime?” he asked.
Eric looked away. “No.”
“Then drive for us.”
A sigh. “What exactly do you want me to do?”
Jaime’s attention wandered as Mark relayed their half-formed plan; her hand drifted down to the automatic that lay on the seat beside her leg, glad for it but dreading the notion that she might actually have to use it. Lost in thought, she was surprised to find Mark standing outside her door.
“Hey, Jay, you out in the ozone or what? I’ll take the truck from here. You follow the building around and wait next to it until you’ve spotted Derrick. Then get as close as you can without being seen—that gun won’t be accurate from any distance—and keep an eye out for Derrick’s pal. He may be pulling the same trick you are.”
“Great,” Jaime said without enthusiasm.
Mark propped his elbows on the truck door and leaned in the open window. “You don’t have to do this,” he said quietly. “Eric can handle it, if that’s what you want.”
Jaime took a deep breath. “No. I’m fine. Just wish I’d thought to change my breeches—Derrick’ll probably smell me coming.”
Mark snorted, punched her softly on the shoulder. “Keep your head down.”
“Yeah.” Jaime climbed out of the truck, hesitating on the runner board where she was for once taller than Mark. “Be careful.” She gave him a rare, sisterly kiss on the cheek, hefted the gun, and left the pick-up behind.
The brick YMCA was bordered by shrubs and small trees, all tempting her to hide while she listened for signs of company. But she was too driven by the fear that the guys would get into trouble before she even made it around to the back, so she moved quickly from shrub to tree and finally to the back corner of the building, where she had a clear view of both parking lots. The only light came from two floodlights on the back of the Y and sporadic yard lights in the run-down housing that pushed up against the parking lot, but it was easy enough to spot Derrick. He stood boldly in the center of the lower lot, visible only from the chest up, given Jaime’s perspective. Jess stood beside him, a gun shoved against the bottom of her jaw. She waited quietly, and Jaime hoped she had the resources to continue doing so—and then to move when the time was right.
She heard the truck doors slam, one after another, and Mark and Carey walked into the upper lot, looking amazingly casual. Jaime heard the soft tire noise of Eric’s darkened car; it stopped at the entrance to the upper lot, unnoticed by the others.
“I told you to come alone,” Derrick called. “Alone and unarmed. You didn’t do either. Is that all that you care about this pretty little thing?”
Jess twitched in his grip, managed to turn her head enough against the pressure of the gun to look at Derrick; Jaime could well imagine the glare. She took advantage of the confrontation and, crouching, she crept forward, angling left toward the street and intending to get a clear line of fire.
Carey lifted the strung bow in a shrug. “The problem is, I don’t trust you. But yeah, I want Lady. I’ll give you the spell. It doesn’t really matter—you can’t get home.”
“Yeah, well—I don’t trust you either. Especially not since the mare is so insistent the spell’s been destroyed by some foolishness on your part.”
“You are the foolish one,” Jess said, her voice barely audible to Jaime. “You come after him again and again. I will kill you when I can.”
A chill ran through Jaime as she recognized the utter intent in Jess’s voice. She no longer worried if Jess would move when she had to—she worried that she wouldn’t wait, wouldn’t realize there was more to this than just Mark and Carey. She straightened just enough to reassess the scene before creeping forward again. The sound of her own movement nearly obscured Derrick’s laugh. Good. He thinks he’s already won.
“She’s spunky. Too bad I didn’t get the chance to ride her myself.” Then his voice changed. “The spell, Carey. First put that bow down—no, give it to your friend there. It’ll keep his hands full. Then bring the spell here—slowly. As soon as I’m satisfied, I’ll let your little filly go.”
Jaime eased down to her hands and knees, sinking to the pavement each time Derrick seemed to glance her way. Then she reached the edge of the two lots and went down to her stomach, not ready to go any further.
Carey took the quiver off his shoulder, held it and the bow up so Derrick could see them clearly, and handed them to Mark.
“Hold them out,” Derrick said as Mark’s hands fell to his sides, and, reluctantly, Mark did so. He and Carey exchanged a quick look before Carey stepped out away from him, holding out the hastily concocted fake spell, the other hand palm up in placation. He slid down the short, steep bank between the lots without seeming to notice it was there, and stopped a few feet away from Derrick and Jess.
“C’mon, c’mon, let’s see it,” Derrick said impatiently, snaking his gun arm around Jess’s neck to keep that threat alive while he reached for the paper. Jaime held her breath, waiting for Carey to pick his moment—but it was Jess who moved. As Derrick snatched the bogus spell, Jess twisted her head and sunk her teeth into his hand, exploding into offensive elbows and feet.
Derrick yelped as Jess ducked out of his weakened grip and whirled around, but not to run.
To attack.
Carey reached him first, grabbing at the gun. Seconds passed in a scuffle too close for Jaime to separate them, and she finally jumped to her feet and slid down the bank, stopping with the gun held out in almost steady hands. “Derrick!” she screamed, trying to startle him, succeeding only in startling Carey and giving Derrick the opening to slap his gun across Carey’s face.
Carey staggered back, stumbled, fell to his knees. Appalled, Jaime tightened her grip on the gun and shouted in best TV cop fashion, “Drop it!”
It didn’t work; he didn’t even seem to hear her as he brought his gun to bear on Carey, who was still stunned, wobbly, and trying to get to his feet. Oh my God I’m going to have to kill him—but suddenly Jaime didn’t think she could.
She never found out. Jess wrested the automatic from her grasp, whirling to shove it against Derrick’s chest—and pulling the trigger not once but three times, creating an oddly muffled noise that matched the jerking of Derrick’s body. He fell with a peculiar dull thump; Jess stared at the gun in her hand, holding it away from her as if it was carrion, then quite deliberately opening her grip and dropping it to the pavement.
Jaime snatched it up and handed it off to Mark as sprinted over; her brother knelt to check Derrick’s body. It was only a moment more before both Eric and Dayna were there, too, and gaping at the man Jess had killed.
But Jess seemed oblivious to all of it. She crouched by Carey, touching his face where the blood ran freely. When he finally responded to her, dazed but reaching out a reassuring arm, she dropped her head into the hollow of his shoulder and kept it there, shivering but silent.
Dayna didn’t gape long. Ever practical, she said, “We’ve got to get out of here. The porch lights just came on all the way down the street.”
Carey didn’t seem to hear her. He gently disengaged from Jess and made it to Derrick’s body without ever making it to his feet, feeling around the man’s neck. With a small satisfied sound, he pulled out a chain strung with small stones and crystals. As he sat back, his f
ingers closing around the gems in possessive relief, he glanced up at Jaime and said, “We can go home now.”
“Not if the police get here first,” Dayna warned.
“She’s right, Carey,” Jaime said, reaching for Jess, who was still curled up into a shoulder that was no longer there.
“Not even the police can stop me if I invoke this,” Carey said, but he drew himself together and stood, wiping the back of his hand across his face where the blood from his split and puffy brow still ran. He took a deep breath, bent and drew Jess upright. “I’ll take Derrick,” he said, distracted as he brushed a careful hand over Jess’s cheek, clearing away the parking lot grit that had stuck to her tears but leaving traces of his own blood. “That way no one here can get in trouble over him.”
Dayna gathered the guns, wiping them thoroughly on the tail of her shirt. “You won’t want these going back with you,” she said. “We’ll dump ’em in the reservoir. And Carey, I don’t want to sound heartless, but if you’re going to go, dammit...go.”
“No,” Jaime protested without thinking. “All his gear is at my place, and the gold—”
Carey shook his head. “Dayna’s right—”
“We can’t stand around arguing about it,” Mark said abruptly. “Eric, take this guy’s hands; I’ll get his feet. We’ll throw him in the back of the pick-up and talk about this somewhere else.”
Eric complied with a swiftness that bespoke his worry—though Jaime had decided they’d already lingered too long, that the police would have arrived if they’d been called. The shots had been muffled...
She picked up the bow and quiver Mark had dropped and they all moved in silent procession, led by Eric at the head of Derrick’s body. While Mark and Eric manhandled Derrick’s body into the truck, Carey removed his arm from Jess’s shoulders and swung her around to face him. “Jess...I think you should stay here.”
“Here?” Jess repeated, bewildered. “You don’t want me?”
The Changespell Saga Page 16
