Final Stand

by Helen R. Myers

  While her eyes kept their secrets and sorrow, they openly searched his. “Gray, this is a mistake.”

  “That’s the first time you’ve used my name as though you really see me.”

  “I see you…I also know you don’t want this.”

  No, because it cost to feel, to want…to need. Until her, he believed he’d escaped the tax that life demands. He’d developed himself into an emotional pauper, finding a degree of comfort in what he’d escaped, only to realize the people he’d cheated didn’t really care in the first place.

  And what did he have to offer her even for one brief night? Thankfully, a greater force was driving him.

  “Now who’s clueless?” he asked. Because heaven help him, he could already taste her. She was a lost memory that shook him to his core.

  Sasha slipped her hand to the back of his head, drawing him down to her. While everything until now had been fast and edgy, this was something else, an honoring of the truth and a savoring of sensation.

  Their lips brushed together as though acutely aware that, like a matchstick being brought closer and closer to a score, things were about to change entirely.

  He initiated that change, urging her lips apart and deepening the kiss. As his tongue sought hers, a desire he didn’t believe existed exploded. Propelled by its power, he angled his head and wrapped his arms fully around her.

  At the same time old lessons died hard. Letting go wasn’t easy. He knew on some level he shouldn’t yield to the hunger that caused every joint and muscle to ache, and yet desire played dirty.

  As he slid his hands to her hips and perfected their fit, pleasure arced again, pushing him closer to a heady edge. In that instant he knew if he lifted her legs around his waist, he would come even before he could turn toward the bedroom. But before he could think of an alternative spot, he heard a low keening.

  The dog…?

  Torn between laughing or groaning, he felt Sasha step back.

  “Gray…?”

  That’s when he heard the real reason for Jessie’s cry. It was that terrible sound again. A siren.

  25

  Gray thought he reacted quickly, but Sasha beat him out the door. He followed. Despite his longer strides and her injuries, he didn’t catch up with her until they were nearly at the street, in time to see the fire truck disappear west over the slight rise in the road. Following it was Frank’s patrol car. Considering the hour, Gray assumed bringing up the rear was Murphy Cox.

  They weren’t the only ones to react to the commotion. A number of people were pouring from stores and offices to have a look. The reason was debatable. Gray heard someone to his right make the observation, “Two fires in one week. We’ll make the AP wires yet if we’re not careful.”

  In fact, they already had, although it didn’t surprise him that people were so out of touch. Last month six illegal aliens were found asphyxiated a few miles south of the interstate in a broken-down delivery truck that was later discovered to have been sabotaged. That in itself was nothing new—cunning coyotes were always bilking those who were desperate to get over the border—but this time two of the victims were kids.

  As Gray eyed the plume of black smoke rising against the early-evening sky, he speculated that it was a highway wreck. The black clouds soon turned to charcoal gray, suggesting that the blaze was pretty close, and that Tim Pike and whoever else on the truck were putting it out.

  “What if it is arson again?” Sasha asked, echoing the speculation voiced across the street.

  “You have to have something to burn,” he replied, “and there’s nothing out there. One good thing, though. It’ll help your situation.” At her dubious look, he added, “You’re here.”

  Maybe so, but several people were eyeing Sasha as though they hadn’t figured that out yet. Or maybe they were staring because the gossip mill had also passed on the fact that she’d spent the night at his place.

  “I’m gonna drive down there and see what’s up,” Billy Emmett declared from in front of the grocery store.

  “That’s why the chief and them went,” Don Sargent replied. “You get back to loading Mrs. Christy’s groceries. Fire looks to be about out anyway.”

  As the disgruntled clerk obeyed his boss, there were a few off-color remarks regarding Frank’s abilities—another sign of the fragile ties of friendship.

  Just as the smoke was reduced to a negligible marring of the cloudless sky, a patrol car raced back toward town. Gray recognized Murph behind the wheel. The hefty part-time officer honked a warning to the people stepping farther into the street, but folks were slow to take him seriously, and he came close to clipping a few of them as he pulled in at the police station.

  “It’s a car,” he announced, gripping both sides of the door frame to lift himself from his vehicle.

  He might as well have announced the discovery of a crashed UFO. The news created a new excited buzz in the small crowd collecting around him, and it took Murph a minute to quiet the group again so he could hear specific questions.

  “Too early to say whose. None of us has recognized it as local yet. But mind you, Tim and Hal were still pouring water on it as I left. I gotta get inside and get the chief’s camera.” Officer Cox could barely contain his pride that this important task had been issued to him.

  “Well, was it a wreck, Murph?” Don asked, looking confused.

  “I don’t guess so. Only one vehicle involved.”

  “Fat fool has never heard of people running off the road,” Wyatt Carter muttered under his breath only yards from Gray. The barber called to Murphy, “How’s the driver?”

  The patrolman shook his head as he made his way to the station door. “Ain’t one. Guess that’s the good news.”

  “Then how’d the car get there, let alone catch fire?”

  Murph looked as though the question hadn’t yet entered his mind. He quickly assumed a studious frown. “I don’t know. Shame to waste such a prime vehicle, though. Looks like one of those pricey sports jobs.”

  Sasha sucked in a sharp breath. Thankfully everyone but Gray was hanging on to every word. As she began retreating toward the house, he followed.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  She didn’t reply, and from the way she was holding her side, he assumed that was the problem. “Did you reopen the wound while running?”

  “No.”

  Her unwillingness to articulate what was wrong, especially after what had just occurred between them, stung. Taking hold of her arm, he forced her to stop. “Damn it, Sasha, isn’t it clear to you by now that I’m on your side. What’s going on?”

  What he saw on her face had him instantly regretting his sharp tone, and he eased his hold. “Something Murph said makes you think you know what this is about.”

  “I have to find out,” she said, glancing back to make sure they weren’t overheard. “Can we get up there?”

  “No problem. But you’ll run headlong into Frank’s wrath doing it, so I need to know why.”

  “What he said…a feeling. I can’t describe it.”

  “For your sake, I hope there’s no connection. Haven’t you noticed people’s reactions out there? Thanks to Frank, and probably me, they’re one rumor away from blaming you for it not raining. You go over to the fire and everything they’ve heard about you will be gospel.”

  Sasha laid her hand against his chest. “Gray, I have to get over there…and I need to take my gun. Will you get whatever you have? Will you help me?”

  He didn’t see that he had a choice. It was a no-brainer that she was intent on going with or without him. Since he didn’t trust her behind a wheel in her current state, let alone within reach of Frank, Gray dug into his pocket and pulled out his keys. Gesturing for her to lead the way, they got the guns, locked up and climbed into his aging blue pickup truck.

  “You might want to lay low,” he told her as he started the engine.

  “Who do you think we’ll fool?”

  “I’m not just talking about t
he people here. Your instinct to go armed tells me that you could be a target. Now get down.”

  She did. People did call out to them, and a few begged a ride. Gray hoped he wasn’t starting a parade, but a glance in the rearview mirror indicated that Murphy Cox was being delayed because he was trying to control that.

  As they crested the small hill, Gray yielded to the urge to touch Sasha’s hair that was spilling over the bench seat and his thigh. “You can’t hide that cannon of yours in your waistband, and my shotgun won’t go unnoticed by Frank. Once we get up there, we’ll have to leave everything in here.”

  “I know. But that’s better than nothing.”

  “You’re beginning to scare me.”

  “Don’t add to my guilt, Slaughter. As it is, I’ll do penance for asking this of you.”

  “You’re Catholic?”

  “Actually, I was christened Russian Orthodox. Catholic friends like to tell me that makes me a black-sheep cousin.”

  “So your name wasn’t just a dramatic impulse on your parents’ part?”

  “No more questions for the moment. I need to think.”

  “At least give me a clue as to what to watch for.”

  “If it’s a BMW Z8, a red one, watch your back.”

  Although that mysterious statement spawned a dozen other questions, Gray had reached the site and had to concentrate on making a U-turn while avoiding the other vehicles slowing to watch the scene.

  “Any of these look suspicious?” he asked.

  Sasha eased up and studied the gawkers, the two cars and the gray truck with a gooseneck trailer parked on the shoulder. “No.”

  Gray’s attention next switched to the fire scene. The fire truck and Frank’s vehicle were farther off the road and at first blocked their view of the burned car. Tim Pike was still hosing down the vehicle, and although it would be impossible to avoid getting wet from the subsequent backwash of spray, Sasha jumped out and started running, dodging around the sparse but prickly vegetation. By the time Gray caught up with her, they were both practically soaked—and in Elias’s line of vision.

  “Get away from—hell, Slaughter, you, too? What do you two think you’re doing?”

  “Where’s the driver?” Sasha yelled back at him.

  “Damned if I know. We’ve looked around, but as far as we can tell, the vehicle was abandoned.”

  “No one abandons a six-figure car.” Finally getting out of the line of fire from the spray, Sasha wiped her face with the sleeve of her shirt and scanned the area herself.

  “And just how would you know what this wreck cost?”

  Instead of answering, she circled the vehicle, and as soon as Tim shut off the water, moved in for a closer look.

  “Now what are you—Hey! Get away. There could still be enough heat or a lingering spark to blow that thing all over the place.”

  Gray had to agree with Frank, but Sasha wasn’t paying attention to either of them. He turned to Tim Pike, the well-liked fireman whose full dark beard did little to age his pleasant, round face. “Any clue as to what this is about? You got here the same time the chief did.”

  “If you ask me, it’s another gift from the person who triggered the fire last night. Makes about as little sense, too.”

  Less, considering that Sasha appeared right about the value of the vehicle. Cars didn’t interest Gray much, but he had a general idea what expensive was. “You’re sure it couldn’t have been an accident?”

  “Wouldn’t stake my life on it, but I do know cars like that stay on the interstate, they don’t travel the back roads where gravel and oil trucks kick up rocks and damage their windshield or paint job.”

  “Maybe they needed gas and were backtracking.”

  Tim made a face. “You don’t risk contaminating a high-dollar engine like that one with the crap from a small town’s underused tank.”

  Impressed, Gray was about to ask more when Sasha called to him.

  “There’s something in there.” She tried to reach in, but immediately pulled back and rubbed her arm. “Anybody have a pole with a hook or something?”

  “For the love of—” This time Gray wasn’t gentle as he yanked her away from the vehicle “Aren’t you scarred enough?”

  “Help me, Gray. It’s in bad shape, but is it a purse or briefcase? Damn, it’s a purse, I just know it is.”

  He looked inside and spotted the flat charred mass on the passenger floorboard. If she could recognize that mound of wet muck as a purse, he wanted to use her eyes to x-ray his next patient. His taking too long to respond cost him, though. She pulled away and began casing the area, paying particular attention to the ground. It was just as well, because Frank moved in to chew ass again.

  “Slaughter, I’m through with this bullshit. Now, what is her story?”

  “Give me a second.” Gray went after her. Realizing that she was looking for tracks, he said, “Footprints or blood?”

  “Please, God, not blood. Damn, Elias tromped through here as though he was at the White House Easter-egg hunt.”

  “What size shoe?” Gray was starting to put things together.

  She met his gaze briefly.

  “I have a little experience with tracking,” he told her.

  “Rubber soles just like mine, only one size larger. But if you really want to help, I’d feel better if you kept an eye out for any movement behind all that brush out there. This situation reeks of a setup.”

  Hearing that, Gray wanted to haul her to the safety of his truck. But doing as she asked, he replied, “We’d better work fast. Frank knows you’re hiding something now, and it’s making him totally nuts. The surprise will be if he doesn’t lock up both of us.”

  “He’ll have to shoot me to make me leave.”

  “This would not be a good time to tempt him.”

  “Instead of worrying about me, he should be questioning those people parked at the road, asking them if they passed any vehicles heading west.”

  Murph returned and Frank put him to work on the license plate. “Pike cooled the back end before it got too damaged,” he said. “Clean off that crud and tell me what you make out. Then radio in for an immediate check on it.”

  From her crouched position where she’d paused to examine a smeared print, Sasha pivoted. She’d obviously heard, too, and her expression reflected sheer dread. “Not yet,” she whispered.

  “Maybe he won’t have any better luck than you do with your phone,” Gray replied.

  “It’ll work. And where he’s calling, they’re tied in with the new updated NCIC 2000.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “National Crime Information Center, the enhanced law enforcement system. Now it ties in the forty-eight contiguous states with the FBI.” Rising, she did a slow three-hundred-sixty-degree turn, her whole demeanor increasingly dejected. “There’s nothing here. They have her.”

  “Who?”

  “Maybe you don’t need to radio for ID,” Tim suggested to the others. “There may be a suitcase in the trunk that’s in better shape. I’ll get a crowbar.”

  It wasn’t a difficult task for someone his size, but the instant he popped the trunk, he reared back, then began choking and gagging.

  His reaction had Sasha charging back faster than Gray could think to stay her. Even the “Don’t!” he wanted to yell stayed locked in his throat.

  As bad as Tim’s reaction was, Gray knew hers would stay with him for the rest of his life. When she reached the car, she became like a photo, trapped forever in one freeze-frame. He found himself thinking “Move,” knowing the longer she hovered there absorbing whatever she was looking at, the deeper the wound to her mind.

  Then slowly she did move, but only to reach out, her arm moving awkwardly like a broken wing. From past experience Gray understood that, in self-defense, her mind was already shutting down to where the limb couldn’t remember what to do on its own.

  By the time Gray got to her, she was bent over at the waist and hyperventilating. He didn’t w
ant to look inside the trunk. He’d seen death before, knew what fire did to bodies, knew the smell…He had no desire to relive such violence. But as with everything else this woman was able to draw from him, he made himself deal with it. And then, almost gagging as Tim had, he drew her back, away from the nightmare and its stench.

  Frank was next. Gray had his back to him and heard rather than saw him. Frank didn’t venture as close, but even so the repulsion came fast and succinctly.

  “Shit.” Seconds later he was beside them, ashen-faced and swallowing hard. “Poor fucker. Sure hope he was dead before he was put in there.”

  “So help me,” Gray ground out, “if you don’t shut up, I’ll make you.”

  The damage was done. The hands that had been gripping his shirt as though he was her lifeline pushed him away. Freed, Sasha approached the trunk again. In amazement, Gray saw her lean as close as she could to inspect the corpse. His stomach roiled against his imagination of what she was seeing, as much as it had against the remembered odor.

  After what seemed a small eternity, she walked to a thicket of brush and became violently ill.

  “That is one strange broad,” Frank muttered.

  Shooting him a killing look, Gray accepted a handful of paper towels Tim was pulling off a roll he’d taken from the fire truck, and went to offer Sasha what comfort he could. “You know, don’t you?” he asked grimly.

  She managed a weak nod.

  “Who is it?”

  “My mother,” she whispered.

  26

  His eyes burning, Gray drew her head against his chest. While she didn’t resist, she didn’t cling to him, either. She simply stood in that terrible limbo of incomprehension and acute knowledge.

  “Maybe you’re mistaken.” He garbled the words, and as he cleared his throat he realized the impulse to offer hope was a cruelty, too. But his intention had been to encourage her to hang on because she was the only one with answers…and Frank was about to demand them.

  “She’s wearing her wedding ring.”