Courage Dares (8 page)

Mary looked at the small sign marking the feeder road. It had a number, not a name.

“Memorize it,” Connor told her. “We’ll need to tell the police where we were.”

A car appeared, traveling downhill, and he motioned toward it. "Flap your flippers, Mary."

She waved, but the white coupe merely sped up and drove past, its two occupants staring suspiciously at them. A half-minute later another car appeared, followed by a pickup truck from the opposite direction. They went by also.

"We look funny,” Mary said, worried. “The drivers are unwilling to stop. Should we take off our hats?"

“No. Let’s walk.”

“Downhill, then. Toward Puget Sound and people.”

"How’re you feeling?”

“Cold. Walking helps.” They started out. Mary felt so cold, she hoped they didn’t have far to go.

Another car appeared, a four-door sedan, coming up behind them. This one pulled over on their side of the road and stopped on the shoulder.

As it rocked back on its wheels, Mary shuffled forward. "Could you help us? We've got to get dry and to a phone."

The reflections on the tinted windows had kept her from seeing the driver clearly until he stepped out.

Ramone.

Connor saw Ramone step out of the sedan, gun drawn. The thug fired at him past Mary.

Connor zigzagged into the thick stand of alders, expecting to feel the impact of a bullet. Several whined by, but none connected.

Mary screamed, calling his name.

He stopped with the trunks of the trees between him and Ramone's gun and looked back.

Ramone was trying to shove Mary into the back of the car. She fought like one berserk so that he had to use both hands— one to hold her and the other to open the car door.

Where was Ira and his deadly knives? Here, or looking elsewhere?

Sick with despair, Connor peered through the tangled growth. He should stay hidden, then go to the police and lead them to the crooks— and Mary.

That was the wise choice. But would it be best for Mary? He didn’t know if he could find the farm house again.

They’d probably move immediately. Then she’d be alone— with Ramone.

He couldn’t leave Mary. It’d destroy her. He’d never be able to face himself again.

She needed him. He had seen it in her eyes at her apartment, felt it as she burrowed into his arms at the farm house. He couldn’t leave her now even if Ira was nearby.

He glanced around. The passenger door remained closed. Ira could be in there, waiting, or Ramone could be alone— in which case Connor was rapidly losing his window of opportunity. He could handle one man, gun or no gun.

Running swiftly forward, he kept the tree trunks between them until he broke free to charge the last ten yards at Ramone, yelling like a wounded bear.

Ramone dropped Mary, her figure lying inert upon the pavement, and swung his gun upward, shooting at Connor. His hasty shots flew by. Connor was almost upon him.

Then Ira spoke, his voice raised in warning. “Enough!”

He had opened the passenger door and stepped free, knife in hand, ready to throw. “Everyone freeze,” he commanded.

Connor stopped as Ramone lowered his gun. Ira had kept him from being killed in the apartment, but that didn’t mean the killer wouldn’t take his life now.

Then Connor’s focus shifted to Mary, who lay sprawled on the pavement, pale and still.

“Mary!” he shouted. “Mary.” He walked slowly up to her as Ramone backed away.

He turned and glared at the thug. “What’d you do to her?”

“Nothing.”

“If you hurt her—”

“She passed out.”

Not knowing what to think, Connor felt for her pulse and found it beating steadily. He lifted her carefully and looked at her face. The right side of her face had a small abrasion from the pavement, with tiny bits of gravel clinging to the scratches. He lifted one eyelash. Her eyes stared straight ahead, as if unconscious— or in a coma.

A sports car pulled up and the driver shouted over its muted roar as he rolled down the window. “You all right?”

“No,” Connor yelled. “We’re being kidnapped.”

Ramone raised his gun and shot into the car. The driver floor boarded it, making it squeal and fishtail as he accelerated away.

Ramone pointed his gun at Connor. “We should kill him.”

“I think not,” Ira replied. “We’ll be lucky if she wakes up. If she doesn’t, then you kill him. I’ll help you.

“Put her in the back seat, McLarren. We need to leave— unless you want Ramone to shoot the next nosy driver.”

Connor lifted Mary's inert figure carefully into the back seat of the car and climbed in beside her.

"Don't be funny," Ramone said. "You drive. That way." He pointed back the way he had come.

Settling Mary more comfortably on the cushions, Connor crawled out, a bitter taste in his mouth. Defeat laid a solid weight upon his shoulders. He had to force himself to move.

Ira climbed back into the front passenger seat and Ramone backed off ten feet, effectively preventing Connor from going into a long dive and tackling him.

He considered it, hesitating before opening the front door. Ira would probably just drive off with Mary. And Ramone grinned, anxious for him to make the move.

Connor took the driver's seat and Ramone got in beside Mary. Putting the car in gear, Connor spun it around, barely missing an oncoming vehicle. He felt furious with himself. He should’ve considered that the killers might own a second vehicle.

He drove for two miles before Ira directed him to turn off on another side road. At that time Mary moaned and sat up, shuddering when she saw Ramone. Her gaze met Connor's in the rear view mirror and a shine of thankfulness entered her eyes.

He nodded. At least he hadn't made the mistake of leaving her.

“Mary awake?” Ira asked Ramone.

“Yep.”

"Just making sure. You handled her pretty rough."

"So what? She didn’t break.”

“No thanks to you.”

“I don't need your help, mother," Ramone sneered. "You're the one who let 'em escape. I figured out where they’d surface. I'll make sure Judd knows."

"Naturally. At least you didn't kill McLarren."

"No." Ramone paused, then added reluctantly, "You were right. We need the one to control the other."

As he drove, Connor considered crashing the car. Mary would be somewhat safe in the back seat. But so would Ramone. Ira was belted, so a crash wouldn't affect him. It’d cause a ruckus though, and Connor decided to do it. A small crash only.

He decided to pick a spot with a car close enough behind that the people’d stop. There was one behind him now, a family group of some sort.

But if Ramone and Ira weren't hurt, they’d kill the people in the other car, just as Ira had killed Mary's neighbor. He needed to crash without anyone around. Enough to put the car out of commission and make them walk.

Connor slowed down, willing the other vehicle to pass, but it slowed too. He slowed even more.

"Take the next right," Ira said, and Connor did so, rejoicing when the other car continued on.

Now for a spot to crash. The ditch looked too deep here, but just a little further on it became more shallow. There. Right past that driveway. He slowed.

"Turn in here." Ira pointed down the driveway, forcing Connor to make a split second decision. To crash or not?

If he went past the drive, they'd brace themselves, suspicious. His chance evaporated. He turned in, his grip on the wheel so hard his hands cramped, loathing himself for letting the thugs get the upper hand again.

Mary. What have I done?

Sick at heart, he turned to look at her as they got out of the car. Her head hung, shoulders sagged, and her body shook uncontrollably.

He had to say something to give her hope, but nothing came to mind. He followed her wordlessly into the house, where Ira confiscated the scout knife.

They were allowed to change out of their soaked clothes— first Mary, then himself. He put on her father's trail gear.

Tied up again, they took their place against the wall. Mary still shook with cold, so Ira unzipped her sleeping bag and let her crawl in. Connor looked at her exhausted face as she tried to sit upright beside him.

"Get some rest," he urged. "You need it. You can use my shoulder as a pillow."

She took him up on it, but soon lay down with her head in his lap and went to sleep.

Outside Ira paced off a distance to a small tree, cut away some bark to make a target, and began to throw.

He carried two knives and threw first one and then the other. He drew them from their sheaves at his waist and ankle with the speed of a western gunfighter, hitting the target with the precision of a sharpshooter.

Throw, throw, retrieve. Throw, throw, retrieve. Different distances, different angles. Deadly accurate.

Ramone watched from where he sat, his lips drawn into a fierce scowl. A cigarette smoldered unheeded between his fingers, and he tapped his foot to the beat of the music that blared through his headphones. Connor wondered what kept the two working together— Judd's authority, or the value of the chest.

His shoulder ached where he had fended off the boulder, and he shifted his position to ease it. He located the nail in the wall and started rubbing the rope against it.

He felt tired, weak from fighting the river and the cold, but mostly tired from the debilitating effect of defeat. His mind circled back to their aborted attempt.

He had been so positive they’d make it, he hadn't planned for failure. Defeat left him depressed, wallowing in a mire of self-recrimination. He had never felt this way before, having never failed. It was a new experience for him.

All his life he had had a smooth path. Things that challenged other men hadn’t challenged him. He had been a straight A student, gone to Annapolis, been first in everything.

As a star athlete, he had been lauded and feted. Victory came easily. Under his leadership, his teams always won the championships. His playing always was the best. Whatever he attempted, he succeeded in doing.

Except this.

This time counted more than all the rest put together. This time the stakes were deadly. Yet this time, he had failed.

Mary stirred, mumbling in her sleep, and he stiffened lest he wake her. He had to snap out of his depression. He must plan another escape.

He wasn't giving up. He’d outwit these men, stay alive, and rescue Mary. But he must be more careful. He could’ve killed her in the river.

Thank you Lord, for keeping Mary alive.

Connor shrugged his shoulders, trying to keep his bruised muscles from tightening up. He found it hard to be inactive. Working on the rope helped a little. Sitting still for several hours made him restless, but he wasn’t going to wake up Mary.

When she lifted her head three hours later, she looked at him with such despair, it threatened to pull him down, too. He couldn’t allow that to happen. He had to fight against the mentality of defeat.

"Did Ramone hurt you, back on the road?" he asked, voicing the concern he had felt ever since he had seen her unconscious. "Did he knock you out?"

"No. We struggled, but he didn't hit me. I remember being terrified, of feeling so lost... you had gotten free and I hadn't. Then things went black— I must have passed out."

Connor nodded. It explained why Ramone hadn't shot him. To have Mary black out scared him.

"We must stay ready."

"What makes you think we'll get another chance?"

"There's always—"

"It's no use." She slumped lower against him. "You have to face it— sometimes the dragon wins."

"What does that mean?"

"The dragon wins, instead of the knight. Haven't you see the cartoon, where the dragon is picking his teeth with the knight's lance? All that remains of the knight is his helmet and a shoe. And a horseshoe, if I remember right."

"The knight is dead?"

"Of course. The dragon ate him."

"We aren't."

"We might as well be."

"Where there's life, there's hope. You know that."

"Once Judd gets back, what’re we to do?"

"Hum. What else do you have in your pack? It might still be a source of escape.”

"I have another knife. I always carry two, but it's small and buried in with my kitchen items. I’d have a hard time retrieving it, I'm afraid."

"You have to tr—"

"Wait. I have a PLB, a personal location beacon."

Connor caught his breath. She was unbelievable. "A locator?"

"Yes. There's also one in my dad's things, but I removed the batteries after he died." She sighed. "I keep everything packed, ready to go, so I can leave at a moment's notice. I always take along new batteries. I don't know how much power my used ones have left in them."

"If you can turn your locator on, someone’ll have to come here to check it out. The police, or state patrol."

He could see her spirits rise at the thought. "Right. It'll bring them here."

"The police will be looking for us by now. Someone may have noticed the van and given them a description of it."

"I hope so."

Her voice was sweetly agreeable. Too bad she couldn't have been this way when he first met her.

Mary’s heart-shaped face was streaked with dirt, her hair— still damp from the river— a tangled mass. Her grin was a little crooked and a sprinkling of freckles lay across her nose. But the life was back in her eyes, making her beautiful. Connor rejoiced when he saw it.

"How's your eye?" she asked, turning to give his face a closer examination, making him conscious of his unshaven appearance.

"Much better. I should see clearly by tomorrow. The swelling's going down."

"It's purple and yellow," she said, wrinkling her nose.

Connor had to grin. She didn't appreciate his shade of eye color, he could tell. He wished he could shave and wash off the dirty river water. He liked being clean, showered, and freshly dressed— at his best. His present rumpled condition made him uncomfortable.

“Ask for a towel to wrap your hair. Then you can turn on the locator.”

“Good idea.”

“Ira,” she called. “Can I speak to you a minute?”