Foster Justice

by Colleen Shannon

  Chad pulled Chester away from the water trough and got the saddle from the storage compartment inside the trailer. He saddled Chester with the easy efficiency of the born horseman. Then he ducked inside his truck, pulling out his pearl-handled pistol and carefully loading it. He strapped on his holster, took a long swig of water, and then mounted Chester. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Make yourself at home.” He kneed Chester up the long drive toward the bluff.

  Just before the bend took her out of sight, Chad turned in the saddle to look back. Jasmine still stood in the yard, swaying slightly, as if she wasn’t sure what to do.

  For now he had no time to think about her or all the stupid mistakes he’d made. He reined Chester up onto the bluff. Only then did he see the small rental car parked some distance away, down the slope toward the huge fracking rig that had been erected since he’d left. He pushed his hat back, scowling, because he understood enough about horizontal drilling to realize this rig probably was angled under their homestead, and this half of the land was his, not Trey’s.

  He glanced at his watch. Three forty-five. Their new accomplice was waiting near the rig. He saw the gleam of red hair exactly the deep auburn shade of Jasmine’s and this first physical proof of how wrong he’d been literally made him sick to his stomach. It also increased his fiery rage at Kinnard and his own stupidity. Like a puppet master, the man had used old Foster values against him and Trey. Chad was so glad Sinclair had gruffly reinstated him during their phone call, or more accurately, never accepted his resignation. No wonder his databases still worked and Riley had cooperated in sharing sensitive files with him . . . but they were on his turf now, quite literally.

  Sinclair had parked behind a huge pile of boulders so he couldn’t be seen from below. He walked up to meet Chad. “About time you got back.”

  Chad got down. “Fill me in.”

  Sinclair did, in his usual economical, logical way, finishing with, “And she’s never worn a wire before, so I thought I should supervise, stay close enough where I can help if she gets in trouble.”

  The words were barely out of his mouth before they saw a rugged Jeep cross the dry arroyo separating Foster land from the next parcel over. It was four-wheel drive, and the man driving it knew how to handle the terrain.

  “Not taking any chances, is he? Won’t even use the road.” Sinclair used binoculars to get a good look at his adversary.

  Even at this distance, Chad recognized the iron-gray hair and erect posture of the man behind the wheel. His lips curled in contempt and he wasn’t even aware his hand had fallen to his pistol butt until Sinclair gave him that minatory look that always pulled Chad back from being overly ambitious.

  “No more vigilante justice this time, Foster. You did enough of that with that gal Jasmine, and I can’t cover for you anymore. We do this by the book and the bastard will go away for good, given the amount of fraud and Trey’s death.”

  Chad’s teeth ground together. But he only nodded. Still, he clutched the pistol butt as if his hand had a will of its own.

  Down below, Mary pasted a smile on her face, though her fists clenched at her sides. In her lifetime, she’d had to suck up to so many men she hated that this meeting should have been easy, but it wasn’t. But then she’d never hated anyone as much as she hated Thomas Kinnard.

  Still, when he slowly got out of the Jeep, doing a three-sixty to appraise the terrain all around him, she moved forward to hug him. “Glad you made it okay. How was your flight?”

  He shrugged. “Have you heard from Jasmine?”

  “Not lately. Why, is there anything wrong?”

  “Not really, just curious. Why the hell is this rig idle?” He glared from the expensive pile of massive Tinkertoys, back to her.

  “My guys walked off the job, a dispute over their wages since they’re not union. I had no authority to give them a raise.” Her voice hardened a bit. “And as I told you, I’ve been so worried about Trey, I was not working efficiently anyway. The cell number you gave me was bad, and despite my repeated messages on your cell and at the office, you’ve never called me with a new one. Why is that?”

  Kinnard looked away from her piercing blue eyes. “Trey and I had a falling out. I think he’s changed his number because I can’t reach him either.”

  You lying bastard, Mary thought, but she only said coldly, “If that were the case, he’d have called me with the new number. Something has happened to him.”

  Kinnard glared at her. “Look, your problems with your boyfriend are your own business, but this rig goes back on line by tomorrow morning or you’re off the job. You think you’re the only geologist around who will take the generous compensation I’m giving you?”

  “It won’t mean a hell of a lot to me in jail.”

  Up in the huge boulders, Chad and Sinclair exchanged a concerned look as they listened, a tiny recorder whirring in Sinclair’s SUV. As usual, Kinnard was cagey. Nothing he said tied him to Trey’s death, but if Mary continued with her needling, he’d suspect her. They could both see she was starting to lose it.

  Chad began inching toward the bluff so he could see. The bastard was slippery as owl shit. But then the tenor of the conversation changed...

  Below, Mary couldn’t hide her fury and pain any longer. “I hope you choke on your own platitudes,” she snarled. “You think everyone in the world is dumber than you are. Well, Jasmine got a copy of your organization papers as the managing partner of the Del Mar Corporation. She gave it to the Beverly Hills police and they gave copies to the task force investigating your straw companies.”

  Kinnard’s gaze sharpened on her face. “How do you know that?”

  Mary stumbled a bit. “Ah, Jasmine told me.”

  “You just said you haven’t talked to her.” Kinnard grabbed her arm. “You’re hiding something.”

  Mary brushed him away. “You disgust me. I disgust me, for ever being taken in by you. Where’s Trey?” Her voice was so loud it echoed off the cliffs.

  Kinnard did a careful look-see again all around him, but when he spotted nothing, he focused back on Mary. His gaze dropped to her blouse, a heavy, black button-up affair rather warm for the weather. He reached for the top button.

  Up above, Chad saw Kinnard’s move and cursed. He mounted Chester, kneeing the stallion forward.

  “Not yet, Foster.” But Sinclair had drawn his own pistol. He, too, moved as close as he could to the path down the bluff without revealing himself.

  Mary tried to pull away from Kinnard, but that only ripped her blouse, revealing her tattoo, and, slightly above it, the tiny transmitter. Kinnard slapped her. “You bitch!”

  Mary doubled up her fist and struck him back, right square in the nose. “You’re alone, no one cares about you, and you’re going to prison for the rest of your life for having Trey killed!”

  But Kinnard wasn’t listening anymore. She was furious, but he was still stronger and taller. He grabbed her and shoved her toward his Jeep, where he pulled a roll of duct tape from the glove box. But he’d barely begun wrapping it around her wrists when a sound caught his attention. Horse hooves rattling on loose rock.

  Kinnard looked up to see Chad Foster poised against the cloudless blue sky. He was an Old West symbol of retribution in his hat, jeans, and boots. He wore a gun belt and his spirited quarter horse made short work of the slope. Chester was snorting with eagerness. His coat was shiny in the late afternoon sunshine, copper-red like blood. Once they reached the bottom of the bluff they accelerated into a gallop.

  And above Chad, a black SUV sped along the bluff, down the road toward the homestead.

  Biting off a curse, Kinnard shoved Mary into the passenger side, her hands wrapped with only one circle of duct tape. He ran around the Jeep, got behind the wheel, and hotfooted it back the way he’d come, down the arroyo. He still had a lead, but it was closing fast.

  CHAPTER 20

  Chad knew every inch of this landscape. Kinnard would come out on a back road that, with the many twi
sts and turns carved between bluffs in the hilly terrain, would eventually exit onto a blacktop that led toward Amarillo. Chad knew Sinclair had already radioed for backup and relayed the license plate number and description of the vehicle, but Kinnard had outwitted a police dragnet once before. It wouldn’t surprise Chad if the man had another helicopter waiting, and the border with Mexico wasn’t out of range for a big chopper.

  Bending low over Chester’s neck as the gap between him and the Jeep widened after Kinnard topped the arroyo and made the adjacent road, Chad kicked Chester slightly. That’s all it took. The stallion leaped forward like a rocket, though Chad knew he couldn’t keep up this speed very long. Chad eyed the hills above, seeing all the canyons and cliffs in his mind’s eye. Since he knew where this dirt road came out, he could cut through the hills, if Chester was up to it. It was a ways.

  Chad reached down to feel Chester’s withers. No foam as of yet, barely any sweat. After two days in the trailer, Chester was well rested. So Chad veered off the road up into the hills.

  Inside the Jeep, Mary struggled with the duct tape binding her wrists in front of her. At least Kinnard hadn’t had time to securely fasten them behind her back. He’d jerked the receiver off her chest and made her take the device out of her ear, too, smashing them both. But right now she didn’t care whether the Rangers were still listening. This had always been very personal to her. Now it was more than that, because she knew her life was in danger.

  She looked at him in utter and complete loathing, with plenty left over for herself. “You are a real piece of work. Have you always been a human bulldozer, destroying people’s lives, or did you have to work at it?”

  He didn’t even glance at her as he backhanded her hard enough to jerk her head back and make her mouth bleed. “Shut up, bitch. I trusted you, gave you huge authority on this job, and you’ve betrayed me and lost the millions you would have made, because of a hormonal rush for a kid who couldn’t pour piss out of a boot with the directions on the heel.”

  This was the closest he’d come to admitting his role in Trey’s death. She should have felt some visceral satisfaction that she’d at least forced that much from him, but everywhere she looked, especially here, she was reminded of Trey. Tears smarted behind her eyes again, and the fury drained out of her, leaving her the way she’d been most of her life: desolate and alone. “What are you going to do with me?” she asked dully. He’d left her purse behind, so she couldn’t even reach for her gun. She’d failed at this, just as she’d failed Trey.

  He had to concentrate on a challenging series of curves as the track followed the arroyo, but finally he answered, “I have a chopper waiting to fly me to Mexico. I’ll decide then, though natural redheads are real popular there. Not to mention valuable. They like tattoos down there, too.”

  The smile he lobbed sideways at her like a grenade normally would have made her cringe and run for cover. This time, she just sank back against the seat, giving up on trying to work free of her bonds, giving up, period.

  He eyed her with genuine curiosity. “You know, I’ve had people killed, though I didn’t give the order for Trey’s death. He kept fighting me to get away, even though I was trying to keep him alive to give you time to get the rig up and running smoothly. I figured you could calm him down when you came back to California.” He twisted the wheel sharply, knocking her against the passenger door. “Now, I may have to do the dirty work myself. Could get interesting—” He broke off as they both heard the noise at the same time. Hoofbeats. A horse not far away, galloping fast.

  Mary smiled through the blood on her mouth. “We agree about one thing. It’s about to get real interesting.”

  Chad was fifty feet behind them and thirty feet above. They were coming up to a long series of S curves and Kinnard would have to slow to navigate them. Urging Chester down a slope, Chad came up only twenty feet behind them now. He was riding too fast to pull his pistol and aim for the rear tires, plus he was worried he might hurt Mary if the Jeep tipped. He kicked Chester harder than he ever had. With a surprised grunt, the stallion bolted forward, finally breathing fast. Chad rode him up, almost to the rear bumper. The Jeep had a hitch and a rear tire cover. If he jumped, he might make it.

  He was reaching out when the passenger door opened. To his horror, as they gunned along a raised track above a bluff, Kinnard pushed Mary out of the Jeep without even slowing down. She screamed, and for one flashing instant, Chad saw the duct tape around her wrists so she couldn’t brace herself. She tumbled over and over sharp rocks on the edge of the road, cartwheeling over the bluff and out of sight.

  Chad cursed a blue streak, wheeled Chester to a stop, pulled his pistol, and fired at the Jeep’s rear tires. But Chester had been a rescue mount and he saw Mary fall. Without being commanded, he moved toward the bluff to start down it. Jolted in the saddle at this unexpected movement, Chad missed with his first three bullets, but he pulled Chester to a stop and the fourth one was spot-on.

  The left rear tire gave a loud whoosh as it deflated, but Kinnard kept going. Chad paused for one quick look down the road, but his backup wasn’t in view yet. He knew Sinclair would hear the shots and come as quickly as he could, so he reined Chester down the slope, cursing himself for not taking time to rig himself properly with a first aid kit.

  Chad knew he was playing right into Kinnard’s hands by stopping to help Mary, but he had to check on her before continuing his pursuit. As soon as he topped the bluff and saw her curled like a rag doll at the bottom of the steep slope, blood pooling around her head, he feared he was too late. Leaping off Chester before he’d stopped, Chad hurried over to her. She was deathly pale and still. He tested her pulse and was relieved to find one, though it was weak.

  Despite the warmth of the day, shock was her biggest short-term danger, so he used the only covering he had: Chester’s blanket. One side was sweaty but the other side of the thick fabric was dry. Chad wrapped her as much as he could. Then, gently, trying not to move her head, he felt for a wound. The depth of the cut into her skull concerned him greatly. He stood and whistled as loudly as he could. Then he pulled his pistol and gave two rapid-fire shots into the air.

  He loaded his revolver again with the full six shots while he waited for what seemed like hours, but finally he heard vehicles blasting up the road toward the bluff. He climbed up the slope, waving his arms on the side of the dirt road. Sinclair, with Corey next to him, pulled to a stop. The heavier truck behind him was laden with equipment, including heavier weaponry, surveillance equipment and . . . Chad’s heart leaped.

  He smiled at his boss. “Thank you.” He led them to the bluff, glad to see they’d brought a medic. Several troopers clambered down to Mary, one carrying a defibrillator.

  Confident Mary was in good hands, Chad unchained the ATV from the back of the pickup bed. The backup cars were too far behind to catch Kinnard now, especially since he’d be close to the blacktop by now, where he’d probably commandeer a vehicle. His only hope was going cross-country, following the arroyo, and there was no better mode of transportation than this now that Chester was winded. “Take good care of her, will you? For Trey.”

  Chad’s voice trembled a bit, and he cleared his throat before he said more clearly, “If you make it back before I do, would you please check on Jasmine? No matter what, even if you have to jail her as a suspect, don’t let her leave.”

  Sinclair’s knowing smile irritated the hell out of Chad, even under the stressful circumstances, but he got on the ATV, checked that the tank was full, levered it into top gear, and zoomed off so fast Sinclair had to back away from the cloud of dust.

  Chad heard Sinclair shout, “Don’t kill him!” but pretended not to.

  He was exhausted, running on adrenaline now, but the image of Trey’s still face would have goaded him out of a coma. Justice, Foster-style, was about to be meted out to this son of a bitch, for the last time . . .

  Kinnard’s left rear tire had long since shredded away when he finally reached
the blacktop leading back to Amarillo. The rim was crumpling now, and it struck sparks when he limped along the road. Finally, in the distance, he saw a car coming. Hiding his pistol beneath his dusty suit jacket, he angled his vehicle across the road, got out and waved his arms. He saw the startled face of someone who looked like a local rancher, for he had a beat-up truck filled with hay and wore a fraying straw hat, as the vehicle approached and slowed.

  The crank window lowered. “You okay, mister?”

  Before Kinnard could reach the driver-side door, wearing his usual charming smile, they both heard it. It sounded like a motorcycle, but the timbre was a bit deeper. Then Chad Foster burst up the side of the arroyo and bore down on him astride a powerful ATV.

  Cursing, Kinnard pulled his pistol and aimed it at the rancher. “Get out.”

  The rancher reached for the sky and slowly got out. He was tall, lanky, and he was eighty if he was a day. But when the ATV stopped alongside the road, he saw Chad clearly. He smiled, lowered his arms, pulled a toothpick from his hatband and started picking his teeth while he watched the show. He leaned back against the passenger door.

  Kinnard brandished the gun at the rancher. “Move. I’m taking your truck.”

  The next moment, the gun was shot out of his hand. Kinnard cursed, cradling his sprained wrist. He took time for one look at Chad’s liquid mercury eyes, shiny even surrounded by layers of dust and tiredness, vivid even beneath his hat, and then Kinnard used his unwounded hand to pull from his jacket pocket a switchblade he’d filched off a South Sider. He grabbed the old man, using him as a shield. He held the knife to a leathery throat. “Drop the gun or I’ll slice his gizzard.”