Candace Carrabus - Dreamhorse 01 - On the Buckle (37 page)

I also stacked a couple of bales over the opening to the loft that led downstairs, then checked the time. Seven-thirty-four. I called Dex.
 

“Thank God.” I said when he answered. “Did you get my message?”

“Just turned the phone on. Not even off the plane.”

“I have Nicky.” He listened without comment as I explained.

“You’re still in danger,” he said. “When you call 911, you’ll be routed to a different county. Tell them you’re on a cell phone, and you’re being stalked by a murdering kidnapper.”

“You know he killed Malcolm’s father?”

“I’m getting you help as quickly as possible. Feds up here should already be involved. I don’t know where you are, but if you describe the route you took, the locals will find you. Malcolm will know, but I have to get to him first. Good work, Miss Parker.”

“Thanks,” I said. But like Penny says, it ain’t over till the fat lady sings. And I didn’t think the fat lady was ready for her solo quite yet.

“Sit tight,” Dex said. “I’ll call you back.”

Renee’s comment echoed in my ears. Sit tight. Easy for him to say. Whatever else Dex said got lost in static. I think it was something about the tape I’d given him, but the connection went dead.

- 41 -

Just as Dex said, my call to 911 went to the next county. They couldn’t connect me with the local sheriff, so spent a long time relaying messages and questions back and forth. They said they would call the phone company to find the tower I was transmitting from, but I could be anywhere in a twenty-mile radius, so searching for us that way might take more time than we had.
 

I gave them Winterlight’s address and told them we were somewhere southeast of there and across the river. No, I didn’t know what river. How many rivers could there be?

The wind came through the sides of the building and made the tin on the roof flap and creak. Downstairs, Gaston fidgeted and jangled the lead rope, probably tossing his head. He liked to play when he was bored. Swallows swooped along the ceiling, building their half-circle mud homes nestled against the rafters.

Nicky put her head on her jacket and fell asleep.
 

Ten minutes into the conversation with police dispatch, call waiting beeped, and I switched over. Dex said they were on their way and would be in the area in no more than an hour. He hung up without saying how they were going to do that.

I watched the sky. Clouds tore along the horizon, and sunlight shone down like a spotlight hop scotching over the flat terrain. A pair of vultures rode updrafts, never flapping their wings. I leaned against the bale behind me and answered more questions.
 

Ten more minutes of passing information along to the local guys, and they said a unit would be in the vicinity within the hour. The woman I’d been speaking to was very nice, but it was hard to tell by her professionally patient demeanor if she really believed we were in imminent danger. An hour? She said they’d sound their siren. When I heard it, I’d tell her. Then, she asked me to hold on. I did. They didn’t have innocuous on-hold Muzak. Just dead silence. If JJ found us, I’d be dead before they got there.

I probably shouldn’t have sat. I definitely shouldn’t have leaned back and rested my head. Despite thirteen hours of sleep, I felt as if I were melting into the bale and would leak through the floorboards. If I’d competed ten horses on the winter circuit in Florida, I couldn’t have felt more exhausted.
Knackered
, we would have said when I lived in England.

I took out the gun, chambered a round, and holstered it. Just in case.

Some time after that, I dozed off.

I’m not sure whether it was the kick in the behind that woke me, or rolling off the bale onto the wood floor. But I came out of sleep quickly, knowing this was not the time to hit someone.

“Wake up, Slick.”

The wrong end of a rifle barrel pressed against my chest.

My insides liquefied, so it’s lucky I hadn’t eaten dinner the night before and had no more for breakfast than a couple squirts of whipped cream.

I held up my hands. He wanted to kill me, but if there was anything I could do to save Nicky, I would. By some miracle, she was still asleep.

“Surprised?” he asked.

My throat constricted to the size of a thread. I could barely breathe, let alone speak, so I shook my head. Stay calm and think, a voice screamed inside, but all circuits were busy. All I could see was the dull length of metal leading from my chest to JJ’s arm.

“Did you really think you could lose me? That you’d win?”

I barely heard him, as if my ears were stuffed with cotton. He shoved the barrel against my throat. If he pulled the trigger, it would be quick. It would be loud, and messy, but I probably wouldn’t feel a thing. All I knew was, I had to distract him from Nicky.

I forced sound through my throat, didn’t recognize my own voice. “I— I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Why’d you have to come here, Slick? You almost ruined everything. But it’ll work out. You’ll see.”

He jerked the gun away and strode to the front opening so he could look out. I launched into a coughing fit and used it as an excuse to crawl away from where Nicky lay.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked.
 

His attitude bordered on indifferent. That didn’t seem right. I needed to stay cool and keep him talking until help arrived.
 

“That straw’s moldy,” I said, waving my hand in front of my nose. I leaned against the wall halfway between him and Nicky, at an angle that made it difficult for him to see both of us at the same time. I took a few deep breaths to settle my rattled nerves. “You waiting for someone?”

“Mac.”

“He went to Chicago.”

“He’ll be back. If that bitch…”

Had I been right? Had something gone wrong between the co-conspirators? “You mean, Brooke?”

“You’re all bitches. Useless for anything but fucking.”

Okay, so reasoning with him was out.

“Should’ve done you right when I had the chance,” he continued. “You would’ve liked it in the river. Why’d you run away?”

“Got scared. I don’t…you know…not on the first date.”

“Cock teaser. You’re all the same.”

How could I gain a bit of confidence from him? “I didn’t mean to. You were different. You made me want to.”

His eyes flitted from the window to my face. Good. I’d gotten his attention. Maybe if he thought there’d been a chance of a relationship between us, he’d soften, or at least get confused enough that…what? My elbow rested against the gun beneath the jacket. He didn’t know I had it, or the knife in my pocket. But would I use either if I got the chance?
 

“You’re a liar.” He turned to the window. “You’re all liars.”

So much for that idea. There was a hint of hurt little boy whine in his voice. Maybe he’d snapped, as I’d feared. If that were true, we were screwed.

I checked my watch and wondered what had happened to my phone. It’d probably slipped off my shoulder when I fell asleep and was stuck between the bales. It was nearly nine, which meant if Malcolm knew where we were, they might be here soon. Had the police tried to find us? Or given up when there’d been no response from me?
 

“Malcolm doesn’t know where we are,” I said. “Why don’t we go back to Winterlight?”

“Didn’t you call him?”

“No. I talked to Dex and the sheriff. They’re on their way.”
 

“They’ll never make it,” he said, his voice derisive. “But Mac, he’ll find us.”

He sounded very sure. They knew each other well, Malcolm and JJ. Had grown up together, probably hunted all over the area together.
 

“Why do you hate him?” I asked.

JJ turned from his lookout post. “Everything he has should be mine.”

“You mean the farm?”

“Before Daddy…” He choked up a moment, the little boy in him showing again. “Before he disappeared, he said it would all be mine. Said he’d fixed it so I would have everything we’d ever dreamed of. Then, he went away. And Helen—”

“Helen?”

“My
mother
,” he said, giving the word emphasis I didn’t understand. “She talked bad about him. Said it was good he’d left. Said he didn’t care about us. But she was wrong!
 
And then…”

He untied the little door covering the loft opening, shoved it open, pulled a bale over, and sat. He cocked his head, listening. I did, too, hoping for the sound of a siren, but all I heard was the high-pitched scree of a hawk.

I tried to take in every detail of his appearance. He wore camouflage pants with lots of pockets, lace-up boots, and a brown, knit muscle tee-shirt. It showed off his body and reminded me of how strong he was, how there was no way for me to best him. His black hair had been recently trimmed, and his beard, as usual, was neat. On the third finger of his right hand, I saw the bruising ring, a silver signet.

“You ever had a bad day, Slick? I mean, a really bad day?”

I was having one right then, thanks to him, but thought I wouldn’t antagonize him further by pointing that out. “A couple,” I said.

“Tell me about your worst day ever.”

I didn’t have to think about it. My worst day was a toss up between the time I realized my parents had never wanted me, and when Wastrel died. No matter what I said, though, his day would be worse, so it didn’t really matter.

“There was this horse—”

He snorted. “Figures.” He shook out a cigarette and lit it, tossing the match to the ground below. “I suppose you raised him from a baby,” JJ mocked. He took a long drag and turned away from the window. Smoke obscured his face for a moment.

“No. He wasn’t mine. I was paid to ride him, but I don’t think I could have loved him more even if I’d raised him.”
 

“You think people ever really love a baby that ain’t theirs?”

That startled me. “I…I don’t know.” The question had often been on my mind growing up. I knew my aunt and uncle loved me, but there was something different between them and Penny, something more, and I’d always felt left out of their circle.

He took a few more long drags, flicked the spent cigarette over his shoulder and out the window, and lit another. “You probably had a perfect childhood in a big house with real Christmas trees and mommy and daddy always there to take care of things.”

“Actually, no, it wasn’t like that. It was a small house, and we did have real Christmas trees, but I was raised by my aunt and uncle, not my parents.”

“Oh, yeah? They die or something?”

Only in my heart. “No, they just…went away.” How the hell had we gotten on this subject? I kept the old anger and hurt locked in a dark closet. I never let it out. But the door had opened; I felt the familiar pain begin to squeeze my chest.

“They left you?” he asked. “How do you know they’re not dead?”

“My aunt gets a letter every now and then.”

“They don’t write you?” He sounded truly surprised.

“No.” I shoved the ugly feelings back and slammed the door on them. “They don’t write me.”

“Dang.”

That was one way to react. “You got any more cigarettes?” I asked. I’d tried smoking when I was a teenager. Didn’t like it. But it might stop my hands from shaking.

“Thought you didn’t smoke in barns?” He smiled and tossed me the pack.

“Seems like a moot point right about now.” I lit up, inhaled, coughed.

JJ laughed, and I could see the dimples in his cheeks. He caught the pack one-handed when I pitched it back to him. “Sounds like maybe you have had some bad days, Slick.”

“Just a couple, like I said. How about you? What was your worst day ever?”

He shook his head, perused the landscape for a minute, and double-checked his rifle—a bolt-action Springfield thirty-aught-six. I didn’t like guns, but this was a weapon I was familiar with because one just like it was Uncle Vick’s prize possession. He kept it in a gun safe and took it out occasionally to stroke its smooth wooden stock. I’d shut myself in the bedroom when he did. He said the action was jammed, it wouldn’t shoot, but I didn’t trust it. JJ’s, in contrast, looked well used and lethal.

“Thought I’d had some bad days before, like when Daddy disappeared,” he said, “but last Friday…”

The night he’d attacked me, ransacked the apartment, and stolen my underwear. That day had turned out pretty rotten for me, too. But for once, I could clearly see this wasn’t about me. I stubbed out the butt against the floor, making sure there was no life left in it.
 

“What happened last Friday?”

“I found Daddy.”

“Wouldn’t that make it a good day?”

His look was answer enough. His face managed to convey grief and anger as well as his contempt for me.

“Found what was left of him, that is, in the woods north of our place. Old Mac ran him down with the hay mower that day we thought he’d run off.”

The bones—could it be?