“That doesn’t rule out suicide.”
“The place we found him does. At the base of Saddle Horn Ridge in the Absaroka Range. No way he could have gotten out there if he’s in the later stages of emphysema.”
The reporter nodded. “That sounds fairly solid.”
“So Hodgeson threw Burne’s case. Did he do that with any other cases?”
Prohaska shook his head. “Not that I could find. And I’ve looked, believe me. Ever since Hodgeson didn’t show up at a meeting we were supposed to have, I’ve been trying to figure out what happened to him.”
So he’d been working on the case for months and hadn’t found anything. That didn’t bode well for them.
Sarah tilted her head. “How about Danny Gillette? What can you tell us about him?”
“The Norris County Sheriff?” Prohaska’s meaty brow creased. He lifted his shoulders in a jerky shrug. “Not much. Seems to do his job well, believes in America and apple pie and all that. Why do you ask?”
“So you don’t know of any reason he has for wanting Larry Hodgeson dead?” Eric dropped the bombshell and watched for the reaction.
His eyes rounded. “You’re saying Danny Gillette is responsible for killing Hodgeson?”
“And Randy Trask. And Glenn Freemont, too.” added Sarah.
Prohaska lifted a hand, palm out. “Hold it right there. Can you prove any of this?”
A shot cracked through the canyon.
Eric’s heart jumped to his throat. He stared at the reporter for a second as a red spot bloomed high on his shirt. Giving a low grunt, Prohaska flopped belly first into the dust.
Eric spun around, looking for where the bullet had come from. He hadn’t seen anyone approach. Hadn’t heard anyone.
Walter Burne stepped around the rock formation behind them, a handgun in his fist. “Hello, Sarah Trask. Where’s my money?”
Eric’s thoughts raced. This couldn’t be happening. Where had Burne come from? How in the hell had he found them?
Sarah’s eyes flared wide, her dark hair blowing in the wind. She glanced at Eric.
The drug dealer raised the gun and pointed the barrel straight at Sarah’s face.
Pure, focused anger tightened Eric’s muscles and hummed in his ears. Here he’d told Sarah that Burne wasn’t a problem, nothing to worry about next to the sheriff. But he’d never expected this. How could he have been so wrong? He had to think. He had to stall. Scooping in a deep breath, Eric forced conviction past shaky lips. “Put the gun down. We have the money.”
Burne lowered the gun a few inches, but still kept it pointed at Sarah. “You do, do you? Then give it to me. Now.”
Eric had to do something. But what? He couldn’t rush the scumbag. Burne wasn’t standing that far away, but he could still get a shot off before Eric tackled him. A shot that would hurt Sarah…or kill her. He had to think of something else. Anything. And he needed to buy time until an idea came. “How did you find us?”
“I have my ways. I told you not to mess with me.”
“The phone.” Sarah’s voice sounded choked. She wrapped her arms around her belly as if she could shield their baby from a bullet with flesh and bone.
“Very good. The lady wins a prize.”
The phone. Of course. He knew police could find a cell phone by triangulating the signal between service towers. It had never occurred to him a guy like Burne could do the same, as long as he was willing to spread a little money around to the right people. Except for the time they’d spent waiting for Prohaska’s call last night and the call to the reporter’s cell phone today, he’d turned it off, for what good it had done. That last call had led Burne right to them.
Burne held out his hand, palm up. “Speaking of the phone, I’ll take it back now.”
Eric handed it over. If it wasn’t their only link to the outside world, he’d be eager to be rid of the damn thing. “How did you know to come around the other side of the badlands? Why not just take the road?”
Burne gave him a look that said he’d seen through Eric’s stalling tack. “Because I’m not an idiot. You have about two seconds to give me my money.”
“It’s on the ATV.”
“Nice try, but I checked when I parked my bike next to it. Which makes me think you don’t have the money at all. Do you?”
Eric’s throat felt drier than the badlands themselves.
“I’m tired of this. It’ll be worth twenty Ks just to watch the two of you die.” He raised the gun. A crack split the air.
Sarah jolted and fell.
Chapter Seventeen
Eric threw himself at Burne, the gunshot ringing in his ears. He hit the man full force. The two of them flew backward. Eric landed on top of him on the craggy ground.
The drug dealer gasped for breath.
The scum had shot Sarah. He’d shot Sarah. Eric pulled back a fist and let it go, smashing into the man’s face. His nose popped under the blow. Blood gushed through his nostrils. Eric pulled his fist back to hit him again.
Burne lurched upward, slamming his forehead smack into Eric’s nose.
Eric reeled backward, stunned for a second, pain clanging through his head.
Burne bucked his body, shoving Eric back and to the side. He brought something up. Something he held with both fists.
The gun.
Eric lashed out with his hands. His first thought was to block the bullet from crashing into him. But once his hands were moving, they seemed to take on an intention of their own. A will that moved faster than thought. He grabbed the gun, the barrel hot against his fingers. He pulled, trying to wrest it from Burne’s grip.
The scumbag’s fingers clamped down on the weapon, his fists like iron. Strong for a weasel. But not as strong as Eric.
He grabbed Burne’s wrist and twisted. Something popped. A grunt escaped Burne’s clenched teeth. Still he didn’t release the weapon.
Using all his strength, Eric twisted the gun around, still in the dealer’s fist. He had shot Sarah. Eric would make him let go. He would make him pay.
The gun exploded between them.
At first, Eric wasn’t sure what happened. Had the bullet gone wide? Had it hit him? He couldn’t see anything but the man’s shoulder. Couldn’t feel anything but searing heat. Couldn’t smell anything but burned gunpowder.
Then he smelled blood.
Burne gurgled deep in his throat. He stared at Eric with eyes that didn’t see. Wetness oozed through a hole in the black leather duster. He shuddered and slumped to the ground. Limp fingers released the gun, leaving it in Eric’s hands.
Dead? Hurt? Eric didn’t know. Didn’t care. All he could think about was getting back to Sarah. Making sure she was all right.
She was all right. She had to be.
He struggled to his feet and stumbled across the craggy ground, loose rock shifting under his feet. His heart thudded as if trying to break through his rib cage. She was lying fifteen feet from the reporter, crumpled in the place he’d seen her go down.
Please make her be alive. Please.
He fell to his knees beside her. She moved her head, meeting his eyes with a tight-lipped grimace.
Thank God.
“You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.” He didn’t know if he kept repeating the words for her sake or his. Either way, he couldn’t stop. “You’re going to be okay.”
A dark stain marred her jeans, the spot encompassing her whole thigh and growing. A tear marked the center of the indigo cotton.
“Burne?” Her voice was barely loud enough to hear over the wind.
“He’s no longer a problem.”
She nodded and asked nothing further.
“I’m going to look here. I’m going to see…” He fitted his fingers into the edges of the hole and pulled. The fabric gave, only a little, but it was enough to see blood pulsing from the puncture in her skin.
“How bad?”
“Not bad. It’s going to be fine.” A leg wound. It could be worse.
She wouldn’t die from that. Not, unless, she lost too much blood.
His throat felt tight. The thought of losing Sarah, of losing their baby…he could hardly breathe. He needed to think. He needed something to stop the bleeding. He fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. His fingers were thick, clumsy, trembling. Too big to fit buttons into holes. Grabbing each side of the fabric, he pulled, popping the buttons. He slipped the shirt off his back and wadded it into a ball, then pressed it against Sarah’s leg. “I have to get you to a hospital.”
“Hospital? No.”
“I can’t handle this on my own.”
“You said it was fine.”
“It is. It will be. If you get to a hospital, you’ll be fine.”
“But the sheriff…” A sob shook from her chest. “The sheriff. He’ll find us.”
She was right. The hospital would report a gunshot wound. The sheriff would find them.
He lifted the balled-up shirt from her thigh. Blood pulsed out of the wound, another wave seeping into her jeans. He clamped the cotton and fleece down tight. This couldn’t be happening. He felt dizzy. Like he couldn’t set his mind to reality. Like he was floating outside, somehow, watching events happening to other people. People he didn’t know.
Sarah gritted her teeth. Her eyes looked shiny, glassy. The lines of her beautiful face contracted with pain. “A leg wound isn’t going to kill me.”
“It’ll be…” He closed his mouth. Who was he trying to kid? It wasn’t going to be fine. She wasn’t going to be okay. Not unless he did something. Not unless he did something now.
Heat suffused his chest. Lose her. He could lose her. To blood loss. If not that, infection. Chaos spun through his mind, turning his stomach, making him want to double over in pain.
This was what had held him back four months ago. This. Not emotion or lack of control or anything else. If he never loved her, he would never lose her.
Problem was, he loved her with everything he was.
“I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“Don’t.” She shook her head, several dark hairs sticking to the tears streaking down each cheek.
“There’s no choice.”
A groan came from behind him. Eric spun around.
The reporter moved his arm in the dust. Slowly, back and forth. He tried to lift his head but fell back against rock. He was alive.
With two people in need of medical care, two people he wasn’t sure he could move, Eric knew he couldn’t handle this on his own.
He grabbed Sarah’s hand and pressed it to the shirt on her leg. The cotton was nearly saturated already and squished under her palm. “Hold this. Put as much pressure on it as you can stand.”
She gritted her teeth and pressed down. “What are you going to do?”
“What I have to.”
“Eric? What does that mean?”
He let out a long breath. Reaching out a hand, he brushed his fingers over her forehead, pushing back stray hair. “I’ve figured some things out, Sarah. About me. About what has been holding me back. I love you, Sarah. I love you, and I don’t care if you believe it or not. And no matter what happens, I’m not going to let you die.”
She made a small sound deep in her throat. A sigh, a whimper, he wasn’t sure.
He leaned down and kissed her forehead. He’d been so stupid. He’d wasted so much time. Time he could have used making Sarah happy. Being happy himself. Time that could have meant something. Now he was nearly out.
He stood and stepped over the harsh terrain, making his way to where the meth dealer lay on his back. The man stared up into the wide Wyoming sky. Already his eyes looked opaque and dull, his complexion more like rubber than flesh.
Eric unzipped the man’s coat. His whole chest was soaked with blood, making it impossible to tell the true color of the shirt underneath. He ran his hands over the man’s pants and inside the coat. Finding what he was looking for in a pocket in the lining, he pulled it out with a sticky hand.
He knew water would ruin a cell phone. He hoped the same wasn’t true for blood.
SARAH STRUGGLED TO raise her head, to see what Eric was doing. Nausea claimed her stomach. She lowered her head back to the rocky ground and focused on breathing. In and out. In and out. Eric’s words ran through her mind, over and over again, like an old compact disc stuck on Repeat.
He loved her. He loved her.
She’d wanted so badly to hear those words. Months ago, before he’d left and nearly every day since. But now that he’d finally said them, what did they mean? What did they matter?
A chill penetrated her skin, deepening until it worked into her bones. Her leg had stopped hurting. Really since that first cold, cutting sensation, the pain hadn’t been as bad. Not as bad as her bloody jeans would suggest it should be. And that had her scared more than anything.
She heard a rustling from nearby. The shuffle of footsteps over rocky soil.
Eric loomed over her, his face cloaked in shadow, blocking the sun. He took the wadded-up shirt from her hands. She could feel the pressure increase on her leg. “How are you doing?” he asked.
She shivered. “Cold.”
He gripped her hand, rubbing it between his palms. “You’re probably going into shock. Don’t worry. Layton will be here soon.”
“You called Layton?”
“I couldn’t think of anyone who could do a better job of protecting you.” He smiled, but his eyes didn’t twinkle the way they did when he was teasing or wanted to kiss her or even the time she’d caught him watching her while she slept.
“What about you?”
He looked away, craning his neck to stare down the road as if willing Layton’s truck to crest the hill.
“You’re going to run, right?”
His chest rose and fell, sweat slicking his bare skin.
He didn’t have to say it. She could tell from the weight of his silence that he’d made his decision. A decision he thought he had to make to protect her. “You can’t be here when Layton arrives, Eric. He might bring the sheriff.”
He pressed his lips into a bloodless line.
“Eric, the sheriff will kill you.”
“Layton said he won’t.”
So he’d made a deal with Layton. If Layton took care of her, he’d turn himself in to the sheriff. She felt tired, so tired. As if getting each word out of her mouth was a desperate undertaking. “Please.”
“I had to.”
For her. He was doing this for her. Giving himself to the sheriff. Throwing his life away to make sure she was safe. “Eric.” Her voice sounded dry in her throat, dryer than the land she was lying on.
He leaned close to her, his mouth only inches away, and suddenly all she could think about was kissing him. Pulling him down to her. Tasting his passion. Here she was hurt, Eric was going to die, and the only thing she could focus on was how much she wanted him. How much she needed him. And how she might never see him again. “I don’t want to lose you, either, Eric.”
Tears glistened in his eyes. “You have to trust me.”
Trust him? Trust him to do what? Get himself killed? Throw his life away in exchange for hers? “You’re not listening.”
He leaned a little closer. “I’m listening now.”
“Run.”
He shook his head. “That won’t work. They’ll have you.”
“But at least they won’t have you, too.”
“And when they threaten to hurt you, then what should I do, Sarah? Turn and walk away?”
“Yes. Pretend you don’t care.”
“And you think they’ll believe that? You think they’ll believe I would let you and our baby get hurt? Die? Because I’m not that good at pretending, Sarah.”
A shiver shook her, one she would never be able to warm. “What did you tell Layton? What did you promise you’d do?”
“He’s coming to take you to the hospital. The sheriff is with him. If I go without a fight, he’ll say I kidnapped you. I made you go with me against y
our will. You won’t be charged with anything. And you’ll go to the hospital. They’ll stop the bleeding. You’ll be okay. Our baby will be okay.”
So that was it. Just what she’d feared.
Tears streamed down her cheeks. Pain hollowed out her chest. Emptiness. She couldn’t let Eric give his life, yet he was right about the baby. She had to think of their unborn child. “Layton will make sure I get to the hospital no matter what else happens. You don’t have to make this bargain.”
“Here he comes. Just hold on, Sarah. Everything is going to be okay. I promise.”
Even without lifting her head, she could see the plume of dust rising from the road. “Eric.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“Please, Eric.”
He shook his head. “I told you I would never leave you, and I meant it. I love you, Sarah.”
She’d yearned to believe those words. Prayed for it. Never thought she could really let herself. But she believed him now.
Only now it was too late.
Chapter Eighteen
The sheriff’s white SUV followed Layton’s pickup into the tiny parking area. Sarah watched it approach, her eye drawn to a black-and-white dot in the truck’s bed just before the world smeared into a blurry mosaic of color.
She blinked back her tears but it was no good.
Layton climbed from the truck, a red box in his hand that Sarah identified as the first-aid kit he always kept in his truck for the horses and ranch hands. He ran along the trail, heading straight for them. The sheriff dismounted from his vehicle and followed in Layton’s wake. As he drew closer, he pulled a gun from his holster and leveled it on Eric. “Stand back from her, son.”
Eric gave her a long look, then slowly climbed to his feet and took several paces back.
The sheriff positioned himself between Eric and Sarah. He put his back to the edge of a small drop in the canyon. “That’s fine. Stop right there.”
Layton ducked to her side. He kneeled down and looked into her eyes. “Oh, Sarah.” His voice ached with worry, with pain.
She had the urge to fold herself into his arms, to let him make things all better like he’d always tried to do when she was a kid and her parents had just had a knock-down-drag-out or Randy had just done something stupid and risky. “You can’t let the sheriff take Eric, Layton. He’ll kill him.”
Rocky Mountain Fugitive Page 15
