by Sean Black
It still wasn’t enough, though. He just couldn’t get enough purchase. Splinters dug deep into his fingers and the palms of his hands.
He stepped back and let out one more almighty kick. The door gave way. He shoulder-charged it, forcing his way through and inside.
He was met by the sight of blood. A small kitchen knife, the kind you might use to peel an apple, lay discarded in the middle of the floor. Mary lay on her side on a dirty mattress. Her T-shirt was spattered with blood. So was the top of her jeans. Several fresh wounds ran across her left wrist.
Ruth was kneeling beside her. Her clothes were also soaked in Mary’s blood. She flinched as Ty approached.
Right now Ty needed two pieces of information. Where she’d cut herself and how long ago. He knelt down next to the two girls. “Hey, listen, it’s going to be okay. You’re not in trouble. Not at all. I’m here to help you so you don’t need to be scared of me. Ruth? You understand me?”
“Yes.”
“Mary?”
Mary pushed herself up into a sitting position and backed tighter into the corner. She was making a high-pitched keening noise. The look in her eyes was primal, like that of a cornered wild animal.
“Mary?” he asked again.
She responded by pulling her knees up into her chest, making herself even smaller. She was beyond scared. Ty turned back to Ruth. “Ruth, I’m going to need your help. What happened here? Did she cut herself or did someone else do it?”
He was fairly certain that it was the former rather than the latter. But this place was nutty enough that he couldn’t rule out any possibility.
“She did it herself,” Ruth told him.
“Okay. Now, where did she cut herself, and when did she do it?”
“It’s her arm.” Ruth started to hyperventilate.
Ty did his best to keep his tone soothing. “Okay, that’s good to know. When did it happen?”
“I don’t know. I was having a nap. The noise woke me up.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Just now. Maybe a minute or two.”
That wasn’t the worst answer. If she’d been bleeding like this for a couple of hours she would have been in real trouble. “Okay, Ruth, we need to slow the bleeding. I think Mary trusts you, so I’m going to need you to help me with this.”
“Okay,” said Ruth.
She still seemed freaked out, but at least she was listening to what he was saying and responding. The hysterics had stopped.
“So what we’re going to do is. I’m going to make some fabric strips and you’re going to use the ones I give you to press down where Mary’s cut.”
He crossed to the middle of the barn, picked up the bloodied knife and slashed some strips from the bottom of his shirt. He walked back with a few and showed Ruth what he wanted her to do with them. “Keep as much pressure on as you can, okay? The blood will start to soak through. That’s fine. You keep the cloth where it is, and add another strip on top. Don’t remove the strips to see if the bleeding has stopped. Just keep the pressure on.”
He watched as Ruth took the cloth strips from him and took Mary’s arm. She was a fast learner, doing precisely what he’d asked her to do.
“That’s good. You’re a natural. Now, you keep doing that, and I’m going to go get some help.”
Both girls looked panicked. “No!” Mary screamed. “No! They’ll punish me.”
Ty took a breath. There was no way he was leaving here without these two girls. He was going to accompany them to hospital, whether Gretchen or anyone else agreed or not. And they weren’t coming back.
“No one is going punish you. You have my word on that. But I need to get you, Mary, to hospital, and, Ruth, I want you to get checked over too. So I’m going to need to make a call, and the only phone I can use is up at the ranch.”
“Okay,” said Ruth.
“Sit tight and keep the pressure on her wrist. I’ll be as fast as I can.”
Ty got up, pushed his way through the broken barn door, and out into the night. All he could think about was getting to the ranch house, making the call, then grabbing whatever vehicle was to hand, loading Mary and Ruth into it, and getting them the hell out of there.
He was so wrapped up in what he had to do, he didn’t even register the person waiting for him to emerge. By the time he saw them, and turned, they had already pulled the trigger.
57
Gretchen was sitting on the porch of the ranch house when she heard the shots ring out. They sounded like they were coming from the barn. She started down the steps, stopped and turned back. If someone out there was shooting a gun, what the hell could she do about it? Especially unarmed and in her robe and slippers.
She pushed through the front door of the ranch house and made a beeline for her office. Inside, she walked quickly to the corner and opened a wooden cabinet to reveal a safe. She knelt down and began to spin the lock. The numbers came easily. Six digits. Her father’s birthday.
As the safe clicked open, she thought she heard another gun shot, but she couldn’t be sure. She looked inside.
It was gone.
The gun she had confiscated was gone.
Immediately, she knew who had taken it, and why.
Without closing the safe, she turned and ran as fast as she could out of the room. One of her slippers came off as she made it to the front porch. She didn’t stop to get it. There was no time.
She cursed her big mouth. Why had she told Chris that Cross was a spy? Why hadn’t she just kept what she knew to herself?
This was a disaster. There would be no coming back from this. Not after what had happened to others.
Everything was ruined. Everything she had worked for. That her father had worked for. Blown away.
58
The bullet clipped the very top of Ty’s shoulder. Its glancing force spun him round. He let out a grunt, momentarily caught off guard, and dove for the ground as the gun fired again. The second shot was wide and low. It buried into the ground behind him.
Ty got back to his feet. Another muzzle flash burst through the darkness to his left. This time, he didn’t wait around. He took off running, moving in an irregular zigzag to make himself a harder target. The more distance he could place between himself and the shooter, the better his chances. He threw up his right hand across his chest, and reached up to his left shoulder. His fingertips grew warm and sticky with blood.
Headlights snapped on behind him, lighting him up. He threw himself to the ground as another shot rang out. A vehicle engine roared into life. Tires spun against the baked ground. The vehicle, a pick-up truck, reversed at speed, and stopped. It stayed put, the rumble of the engine a low, threatening growl.
Ty lay there for a moment. He reached up with his other hand to where he’d been hit. The blood was oozing rather than pulsing. That was the good news. It meant the bullet had hit the top of his shoulder without puncturing an artery. Finally, he struggled back to his feet. He pushed himself forward, powered by sheer adrenalin, and the certain knowledge that if he didn’t keep moving he was likely to wind up a dead man.
It was maybe five hundred yards from where he was now to the dormitories. A hundred yards further to the ranch house and the only line of communication to the outside world.
And the two girls were sitting in the barn. With no idea of who the shooter was, or their motive, he had to think about Ruth and Mary’s safety as well as his own. Mary was already bleeding, and she had that sprained ankle. Ty already knew that Ruth wouldn’t leave her. She was way too loyal to leave her friend to her fate. They would be sitting ducks.
Ty twisted his head round to look at where the first round had caught his shoulder. It was still bleeding, but it seemed to have slowed. The pain was bad, but manageable. He’d experienced worse.
Glancing back toward the pick-up truck from the hollow in the ground he’d found, he couldn’t make out the driver. The glare from the headlights was too strong.
He heard the truck d
oor open and slam shut again. The engine was still running. He saw a figure walk away from the pick-up. He stopped.
The figure stood parallel to the truck, about ten yards to the side of the driver’s door. The narrowness of the hips, and the broadness of the shoulders told Ty it was a man. But his closeness to the glare of the lights made it difficult to see any more details. Apart from one. His right hand dangled casually by his side. In it was a gun. Ty couldn’t be sure, but something told him it was his SIG.
Even with the throbbing pain in his shoulder, he couldn’t help but smile at the irony of having been shot with his own weapon. If he didn’t die from being shot again, he might just expire from sheer embarrassment.
Suddenly, the man standing next to the pick-up spun round. He was looking back at the barn. Someone was coming out, pushing their way through the shattered door.
Ty did some fast calculations. It was maybe a hundred yards from where he was to the shooter. There was no way he could make a frontal assault without getting caught by another round. Even allowing for the fact that the shooter was a pretty crappy shot, he’d be able to get off at least four more rounds. Each would be from a shorter distance than the previous one. He was almost bound to get lucky with one.
At the same time, Ty couldn’t risk the shooter heading for Ruth. She, after all, was Ty’s principal. In bodyguarding terms that meant the person whose life he had been charged with protecting. If that included catching a bullet for her, well, it was part of the job description. But maybe he could have his cake and eat it too.
He swept his hands across the ground in front of him. He found a small rock, dug it out of the dirt, scrambled to his feet, and launched it toward the pick-up truck. It fell short, but it had the desired effect.
The shooter spun back round. Ty took off running. Circling forward in a big sweep, outflanking the shooter on his right-hand side, pulling his attention away from the barn, and Ruth.
The shooter’s hand came out, and he fired another shot. A puff of dust burst from the ground about two feet in front of Ty.
A better shot from that distance. Bad news for Ty. Maybe the guy was finding his range. Or perhaps his off-target shots had been down to nerves rather than ability. As Ty knew from personal experience, there was a world of difference between hitting a paper target on the range and taking out a real live flesh-and-blood human being.
The ground fell away as Ty kept running. The slope would offer him some protection. He kept moving in a broad sweep. Now he was closing in on the passenger side of the pick-up.
Looking up, he couldn’t see the shooter. He had disappeared.
Maybe he had got back into the truck. Or he was hunkered down behind it, waiting for Ty to get into range and fire a shot when he couldn’t miss.
Ty hit the ground again. Just because he couldn’t see the shooter didn’t mean the shooter couldn’t see him. Standing in place would have made the guy’s job a lot easier than Ty planned on making it.
He could make it out the side of the truck about thirty yards in front of him. He scanned the side window of the cab. It looked empty.
Then he saw the shooter’s legs. He was standing on the driver’s side. He seemed to be waiting.
Ty stayed put. He looked around for Ruth. She was nowhere to be seen. Maybe she had slipped back inside the barn. Or made a run for one of the dormitories.
The shooter was on the move again. He edged toward the back of the truck.
Ty crawled forward on his hands and knees in the opposite direction. If he could get behind the shooter he’d have some kind of a chance.
The shooter stopped. He switched direction once again. He marched back to the front of the truck. He kept coming. The gun was at his side, but he was heading straight for Ty, who was stuck in no man’s land. He didn’t have enough distance to make the next shot tough, and he wasn’t close enough to rush the gunman. With no cover and no options, it was only a matter of time.
But he had one thing going for him. He could now see who was about to kill him.
Slowly, Ty got to his feet. He held up his arms in surrender. The shooter kept coming toward him, the gun at by his side.
There was no more than twenty feet between them. Ty stood alone, unarmed, and bleeding.
Chris Fontaine kept coming toward him. “Why’d you do it?” he said.
“Why’d I do what?” Ty asked.
Chris stopped and shook his head. “Come on, man. You know. Don’t play dumb. Why’d you lie to me?”
59
Lock slid into a corner booth at the diner. He made sure he was facing the door. If the bearded man with the gun had been waiting for him, he didn’t want to take any chances. Donald Price sat opposite. He glanced at the menu and tossed it back on the tabletop as a waiter headed over.
“Coffee,” Don told him.
“Make that two,” said Lock.
Apart from theirs, only one other table was occupied. According to the sign on the door, the place was due to close for the evening in another hour.
“So?” said Lock.
Don Price knew what he was being asked. There was only one question to which Lock would want to know the answer. What the hell was he doing there when he’d been told repeatedly to stay away?
“I can’t do this,” said Don. “I know you’ve told me I shouldn’t interfere, but this is my daughter we’re talking about. If something happened to her, I’d never be able to forgive myself.”
Lock waited. He wanted to make sure that Don had said everything he had to say before he made any comment. Then he said, “Ty’s with her. She’s fine.”
“Is she? You said yourself that there could be long-term psychological damage. I’ve read up on some of these places. They use some of the same methods we use to break down detainees at black sites. You think I should just stand by and let them do that to Ruth?”
It was clear that Don wasn’t about to be talked round. He hadn’t come all that way for a chat. The plan had to change. “Tell me what you’d like to do,” Lock said to him.
Don shot him a look that gave Lock chills. “What I’d like to do?”
“Okay,” said Lock, “Let me rephrase that. What do you want to do?”
Don laid his hands, palm down, on the table. “I want to get Ruth the hell out of there. That’s what I want to do. Did you know that a girl around my daughter’s age killed herself there?”
Lock glanced out of the window as a Sheriff Department’s patrol car pulled into the parking lot and parked up next to his Explorer. For once he found its presence more reassuring than threatening. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll help you as far as I can.”
Don Price glared at him. “What the hell does that mean? As far as you can? I contacted you because everyone told me that you get results. If I’d wanted a Boy Scout working for me, there are plenty of people out there who’d come a lot cheaper than you.”
The waiter arrived with their coffee. He set down the two cups and swiftly retreated back to the counter. Right now Don Price was giving off waves of rage.
“Am I allowed to make a suggestion?”
“Go for it,” said Don.
“Before we take the nuclear option with all that that entails, let me speak to Sandra. See if I can’t persuade her to withdraw Ruth from Broken Ridge.”
“There’s no way she’ll agree to that. Especially not if she knows that I’m the one behind it.”
“So, we don’t tell her. I can tell her I’ve been asked to look into the place by a concerned parent and I’m contacting others to see what they’ve heard. If that doesn’t work, I have a reporter at the Washington Post doing some digging too. Maybe she could be persuaded to contact your ex.”
“And how long would that all take? Listen to me, this has gone on long enough as it is. Every day Ruth’s in that place is another day too many.”
Lock leaned over the table toward Don. The cruiser was still parked next to his Explorer, but the patrol cop hadn’t got out. “You see that cop out there?”
Lock said. “You take Ruth out without your wife’s permission and he’s going to arrest you. You’ll go to jail, and Ruth will go right back to Broken Ridge. Why don’t you ask me how I know that’s how it’ll go down?”
“Why don’t you just tell me?”
Lock explained about the family connection to the local sheriff, and to the money that Broken Ridge kicked across to the election campaigns.
Don took a sip of coffee. He swiped at his eyes. Lock couldn’t be sure, but he thought the other man was crying.
“She’s my daughter. I can’t just leave her to rot away.”
“I’m not asking you to,” said Lock. He dug out his cell phone. “Let me call Sandra. If I don’t get anywhere, we can talk about the other options.”
Don looked at him, his eyes wet. “Okay.”
“You’re doing the right thing. Believe me, another night or two isn’t about to make a difference.”
60
It was now or never. Ruth had never been surer of anything in her life. She didn’t know what the argument between Chris and the new guy was about, but it didn’t look like it would end well, and when it did there was no way of knowing what Chris would do next.
If she and Mary stayed where they were, they would be sitting ducks. Witnesses to a cold-blooded murder. And there was no way either Chris or Gretchen would allow any witnesses. Broken Ridge would be over.
In the gloom of the barn, Ruth knelt next to Mary. “How’s your arm?”
Mary’s voice barely rose above a whisper. “I think it’s stopped bleeding.”
“Okay, that’s good, because we need to get out of here.”
“I can’t,” said Mary. “My ankle still hurts. I’d only slow you down.”
Ruth reached down and hauled her to her feet. “I’m not leaving you.”
Mary didn’t move. Ruth reached over and pushed away a strand of hair that had fallen over her friend’s eyes. “Listen to me. If we don’t get out of here, we’re dead. You understand?”
