by Gemma Bruce
———
Dillon stood frozen, his hands still cupped to his mouth from his warning, refusing to believe what he was seeing. Andy falling backward off the falls. A surreal slow motion that was at once beautiful and horrifying. She seemed to arc in the air; then she flipped over and fell headfirst toward the lake.
“No!” he cried.
He vaulted to the edge of the boulder. Searched the far reaches of the lake where the falls fell in an opaque curtain of mist, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t find her body broken on the jagged outcroppings of rock that lay at the base of the falls.
“Andy,” he called. “Andy!”
Then he saw a flash of white rising out of the water, only to disappear again. It had to be her shirt. He kicked off his shoes and dove in.
He came up for air in the middle of the lake, his lungs in spasm, his muscles numb. Mind over body. He’d done it before; he would do it now. He swam like he’d never swum before, toward the place where he’d seen her go under. He kept his face above the water, searching for any sign of her. Found nothing. He stopped, tread water while he looked frantically around. Called her name again, not caring if it drew her at-tacker’s attention. Heard no responding call. Saw no sign of Andy. Dove down, searching underwater until his burning lungs forced him back to the surface. He panted, blew out air while he scanned the lake. Still nothing. Gulped in air and dove again.
———
Andy dragged herself out of the water and collapsed on the boulder, embracing its hard surface with the same gratitude that she’d felt making love to Dillon on it just a couple of days ago. It had been her only thought when she hit the water and realized she was still alive. Get to Dillon. But where was he? She was sure he’d been standing here when he yelled to her. But he wasn’t here now.
She pushed herself up to one elbow, every muscle screaming at the movement. Her shirtsleeve had ripped open and the skin beneath was abraded and raw. Her face burned, and her body felt like it had been pummeled with a hammer.
“Dillon?” It came out in a whisper. She cleared her throat as her whole body began to shiver uncontrollably. “Dillon?”
She tried to stand, only to fall back hard on her butt. Pain shot up her tailbone. She shifted to one hip and saw two big sneakers a foot away. And slowly the meaning of those empty shoes penetrated her brain. He was in the water, looking for her.
She crawled up to her hands and knees. Looked out across the lake. Thought she saw someone near the middle. She opened her mouth to call to him, but he dove down just as a shot split the air, and a spray of water erupted where he’d been a moment before.
They were shooting at him. And he’d be a sitting target when he came up for air again.
She struggled to her feet, pressed herself back against the fallen rocks behind the boulder. The shot could have come from any direction. Her only chance was to get to Dillon before they killed him.
And the only way to do that was to go back in the water. She didn’t want to, but she didn’t have a choice. She pulled off her wet socks; she’d already kicked off her shoes when she first came up for air. Then she eased herself off the side of the rock. Nearly cried out when the cold shot through her body. Forced herself to take a breath, then slipped beneath the surface.
She swam in an arc, staying close to the edges of the lake, so she had a chance of taking in air without being seen. Twice, she went down, twice she came up for air. She’d reached the opposite side of the lake without finding him. She dove again and almost lost it, when she came face-to-face with another pair of eyes. Dillon’s.
She touched his arm and turned toward the nearest shore. The lake was shallow here, tapering to a rock-strewn crescent of beach that gave way to dense forest. They crawled out and collapsed on the stones, gasping and coughing.
Then Dillon grabbed her arm. Pulled her to her feet. “The trees,” he said between chattering teeth.
They stumbled into the forest, dropped onto a bed of pine straw. “Thank God,” he said and pulled her close. They lay together, forcing air in and out of their lungs.
“We’ve got to—” she began.
“I know.” He pushed to his feet. Before she could follow, a rifle butt came down on Dillon’s head, and he fell to the ground. The blow didn’t knock him out. He staggered to his feet, lunged at his assailant.
“Dillon, no!” she screamed. This time the rifle butt swung into his bad knee. With a yelp of pain, he went down. And stayed there. Crouched in a ball, hugging his knee with both hands.
Andy reached for him.
“Don’t,” said a voice above her.
She looked up, past the rifle, to the man who held it. She thought it would be Katherine Dane. Then she remembered that brief moment when she’d mistakenly wandered into the eternal orgasm room. And it all made sense.
Eureka, she thought, just as Bernard Bliss clipped her chin with the rifle barrel and she thought no more.
Chapter 25
Andy saw spots of light behind her closed eyes, heard a buzzing of voices. She knew she’d been out for only a second, but jeez, she felt like it had been eons. She slowly opened her eyes, just enough to peer through the lashes. Bernard Bliss stood in the same place he’d been standing when she went down for the count. Only now he was backed by three of the navy-uniformed security guards.
Shit. Bliss, she could handle even frozen to the bone. But the three thugs were too much even for her. Dillon had raised himself to one knee, but she was pretty sure he wasn’t going to be able to make it to his feet. Bernard had known right where to hit him to inflict the most damage.
Anger seethed inside her. The emotion was enough to make her take on all of them at once. But her brain told her that she’d be too stiff to move fast enough.
Maybe Talbot and the troops were on their way to the rescue. A glimmer of hope flickered for a second and died away. If Dillon had warned them where he was going, they would be here by now. And they weren’t. She and Dillon would have to fight their way out of this themselves.
Bliss nodded to one of the guards, who stepped forward and nudged her in the ribs with the tip of his rifle. She groaned.
“Get up,” said Bliss. “I didn’t hit you that hard.”
She struggled to sit up, making it look harder than it actually was. All the while, her mind was registering details. Four men, four rifles. It was pretty nasty odds. She glanced at Dillon. If she only knew how badly he was hurt. How much she could depend on him. But she’d better not count on that.
And was this all of the bad guys? If the whole security team was out there, they were up the creek. As it was now, they were in plenty deep shit.
“Get her up,” said Bliss impatiently. One of the security guards leaned over. His rifle tipped away, and Andy saw the only chance she might have. Praying that Dillon could respond, she lunged up, grabbed the guard’s head in both hands, and head butted him.
He fell over with an “oof.” Andy just managed to roll out of the way before he hit the ground. Dillon threw himself at Bliss’s legs. Bliss stumbled backward. The rifle bucked up and discharged into the air, before falling to the ground. The report was deafening.
Ears ringing, Andy managed to feint to the right as the two remaining guards aimed their rifles at her. She got off a back kick to the neck of one of them. He fell into the second guard, and they both went down.
For a second all four men were sprawled on the ground.
“Run!” yelled Andy.
Dillon scrambled to his feet and snatched up Bliss’s rifle. Andy grabbed his other arm and pulled him into the trees. His breathing was jagged as he hobbled along beside her. She could hear Bliss giving orders for the guards to spread out. She crashed through the trees, dragging Dillon along. Deeper and deeper into the woods.
The incline grew steeper, the trees denser. Dillon was slowing down, growing heavier, and she knew he must be in serious pain. Andy kept pulling him along, hardly aware of where they were going, just away from their pursuers.
The ground became rockier and steeper, until without warning, she ran into a palisade of rock. It completely blocked their way. She frantically scanned it for an opening, anywhere they might be able to fend off their attackers. For a while, anyway. Hopefully, Talbot’s men had heard the shots and would come to investigate.
Dillon tripped, fell to his knees. Let out a grunt of pain. She whirled around. He was braced on one hand; the rifle lay on the ground beside him. She leaned down and snatched it up. Then she reached for Dillon.
He tried to push to his feet, but fell back with a groan. “Go on without me,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Are you nuts? Get up!” Andy tugged at him, but he shook his head.
“Go on, get out of here.”
She scowled down at him. “From Here to Eternity. Very altruistic, but this isn’t a fucking movie, and I’m not leaving you. Get up. Now.”
Out of pure exasperation, she pointed the rifle at him. He muttered something that she was sure would be censored on the big screen, but pushed to one foot. She pulled him the rest of the way up. He had to hop to keep his balance. When he shifted his weight to his bad leg, the knee gave.
“Come on, baby,” Andy said. “You just have to make it to that outcropping of rock.”
There was an opening, a slight fissure between two massive shards of granite. They squeezed through and found themselves in a narrow, wooded crevice. Walls of stone and trees rose sharply to each side and ended at a point behind them. The fissure had been a portal, not into open woods, but into a blind valley. The woods were thirty feet above them. They were trapped.
Andy pushed Dillon against the side of the rock, and he slid to the ground. She took a minute to check out the weapon. She’d used real weapons on the firing range, but was more comfortable with the dummies that were used on the set. Just pretend. Aim and squeeze. She braced herself and waited for the first attacker to come through the opening.
Nothing happened for what seemed like ages; then she heard the crackling of leaves and twigs. She aimed the rifle at the opening.
“This way,” hissed Dillon, who’d eased himself behind her. “I think I may have found a way out.”
She shook her head. She’d have a better chance taking them one by one as they came through the narrow opening.
There was a rustle in the trees to her right. A bevy of birds rose into the air. Someone was up there. And she and Dillon were goldfish in a bowl.
“Let’s go,” she said and pushed Dillon ahead of her. The narrow passage was filled with detritus, and the trees were so thick above them it seemed like night. Andy tried to look everywhere at once, ready to drill the first person she saw.
Dillon was moving slow, but he didn’t tell her to leave him behind again. She could hear him panting. An occasional grunt escaped him as he tripped, stumbled, or slid, but all the time leading her into deeper cover.
She didn’t know how he was doing it. Her legs were burning, despite the wet, clammy clothes that clung to her, weighing her down and sending waves of shivering through her body. Branches smacked her in the face; rocks tore at her bare feet. She skid in rotten leaves, tripped over roots that jutted out of the ground. She was breathing hard when they reached a small glade of level forest. They fell into each other, leaned against a tree while they gasped for breath.
They were breathing so hard that neither of them heard the crack of twigs, the rustle of leaves, until they were surrounded by Bliss’s henchmen. How? Where? The rifle still hung from Andy’s hand, but she didn’t have the strength to lift it. They were caught. And unless she was wrong, they were going to die.
The last to appear was Bernard Bliss, empty-handed, out of breath, beads of sweat lacing his forehead. And Andy flashed on the first night she’d seen him—up on the dais, his forehead glistening with perspiration—and she wondered how someone who seemed so inconsequential could turn into someone so deadly.
Dillon shifted beside her. She willed him not to do anything stupid. Like grab her gun and try to shoot their way out of this. Even she wasn’t dumb enough to try that one. She spent most of her life in fantasy land, but she knew the difference. She wondered if Dillon did.
Bliss shook his head at them, his eyes little black beads of disgust. “Nowhere to run,” he said, his placid voice sounding sinister in the hushed stillness of the forest. He held out his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, the guard to his right handed him his automatic. Then reached over and eased the rifle out of Andy’s limp fingers.
He seemed almost sympathetic, and for a second, hope flared. “He’s going to kill us,” Andy said, flashing on all the great “oaters” that inevitably ended up with the hero surrounded. Sow the seeds of distrust. “Because we know he murdered Imogene Southwaite.”
“Shut up,” said Bliss. And Andy felt a thrill of excitement. It might work. Two of the guards looked at each other. They hadn’t known about Imogene Southwaite.
“Why do you think we’re out here, being held at gunpoint?” That was Dillon, and Andy had to catch herself before she looked at him in astonishment. “What lie did he tell you?”
One of the guards shifted on his feet.
“They know why they’re here,” said Bliss. “Apprehending two murderers. Oh, yes. We’ve been watching you. We’re taking you back to camp where you’ll be turned over to the authorities.”
Okay. Maybe she’d spoken too soon. She turned to the guards. “We won’t make it back to camp. He’ll shoot us, say that you panicked and opened fire. Want to go to jail?”
“For a lifetime?” added Dillon.
Damn, she could swear he was beginning to enjoy this.
Except that it wasn’t working. There was another rustle in the trees behind them. Goddammit, thought Andy. There were more of them. Well, at least maybe, with all these witnesses, they might actually make it back to the compound alive.
“Take them,” said Bliss. Two of the guards moved forward.
The trees rustled again, followed by a bloodcurdling scream. Everyone looked up as a figure cannonballed from the trees. It soared over Andy’s head, tucked in a tight ball as it flew toward the stunned guards. Then simultaneously, both legs shot out to the side in a Chinese split. Each foot connected to a head, and the two armed guards went down. Andy threw herself against the unarmed guard.
Bliss’s rifle went flying, and then Bliss, as the camouflaged attacker landed a roundhouse kick to the ribs.
He screamed and dropped to the ground, just as one guard rose to his feet. He was stopped by a double kick to shin and groin.
Andy kneed the second guard in the chin as he tried to get up. Dillon had the other one in a headlock. He let go, and both guards stumbled away and fled into the woods with the third guard limping after them. Bernard Bliss had already disappeared.
Dillon was standing with his weight on one foot, looking stunned at the person who stood astride, hands planted on her hips, a look of satisfaction on her face.
Andy grinned. “Aunt Mac! You’re alive!”
Chapter 26
“Of course I’m alive,” said Mac, pushing a wild mass of auburn curls away from her face. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“We were afraid they’d killed you. I’m so relieved.” Andy hurled herself at her aunt and threw her arms around her. Mac patted Andy’s back, then extricated herself from Andy’s grip. “Why were those baboons after you? And what was Bernard Bliss doing with them?”
“Isn’t that why you ran? You found out about what they were doing and had to flee for your life? Where have you been? How did you know I was here?”
“Hold on,” said Mac. “One thing at a time.” She turned to Dillon and stuck out her hand. “Mac Houston. Andy’s aunt.”
Dillon looked at the hand, looked at Mac. Slowly he stretched out his hand, and Mac pumped it. “You’ve had a rough time of it from the look of you. We’ll have you fixed up in no time, but we’d better get out of here before they decide to come back with reinforcements.”
“Dillon
Cross,” he said belatedly. “Nice to meet you.” Mac was already helping him back the way they’d come.
Andy smiled at him as they passed, but he didn’t look at her. His face was colorless down to the lips. He was obviously struggling with pain, not to mention surprise at being rescued by a tactic straight out of a Tarzan movie. Andy hurried after them.
They were already approaching the wooded crevice. Andy couldn’t believe they hadn’t managed to run farther than that. It had felt like miles. “Wait,” she said. “What if they’re waiting on the other side?”
Mac shrugged. “Hank’ll take care of it.” She guided Dillon through the opening, supporting him with one muscled arm as he slowly made his way over the broken ground.
“Hank?” asked Andy, following close on her heels. “Who’s Hank?”
“Watch out for this loose shale,” she told Dillon. “You’ll see in a minute,” she said over her shoulder.
As soon as they were through the fissure, Mac stopped and leaned Dillon against one of the boulders. “Take a breather. It’s only a little bit until we reach the road. Then you’ll get a ride.”
“But,” said Andy, then stopped as a massive shadow rose out of the forest. A high-pitched, “eek” escaped her throat.
Mac snorted. “There you are. Did you see where they went?”
“Jumped in a Land Rover and beat it down the mountain,” said the deepest voice Andy had heard since Lurch in The Addam’s Family.
“Good,” said Mac. “Andy, meet Hank. And this is Dillon Cross. Beat to shit.” She grinned at Dillon. “Hanging around Andy can be dangerous work.”
“Glad to meet you both,” said Hank. “Let me give you a hand, Dillon. It isn’t far.”
Andy stared as he lifted Dillon away from the rock. He was at least six feet four, with golden blond hair that flowed to his shoulders. An unkempt beard framed his jaw. He was wearing a plaid shirt and jeans and had two cameras hanging around his neck.
