Dangerous Refuge (25 page)
A
gate?” Kimberli asked in a rising voice. “You want me to drive through a closed gate?”
Ace grabbed a handful of her hair and twisted hard enough to get her attention. “Yes. Just aim and don’t let up on the gas.”
The gate loomed just at the edge of the headlights.
Shaye hoped they would crash or roll. Ace was more vulnerable in the backseat than they were in the front.
“But it’s closed!” Kimberli squeaked.
“Do it.”
From the corner of her eye, Shaye caught all the hard edges of Ace’s determination. Kimberli took one look in the rearview mirror and gunned the engine.
The fence flew apart with a rending crunch. Chunks bounced over the windshield and side panels. Something caught in the grille, rattled, then fell off and spun out of sight. A plank caught in the undercarriage scraped along like a reluctant child. The sound made Shaye want to scream.
But then, she felt like screaming anyway. Her wrist was bruised and blood-slippery from pulling against the cuffs. The links didn’t feel as solid as they had—and yet they kept on holding.
“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Ace said over the grinding noise of wood on rocky dirt. “Nothing to worry about. You’ve got to learn to trust me, baby.”
Whether through fear or silent mutiny, Kimberli lost control of the wheel. Metal gnashed against a boulder with a chilling cry. Sparks exploded.
So did Ace. He cursed Kimberli in words that matched the shriek of metal on stone.
Grabbing the diversion, Shaye set her teeth and yanked. The noise of fender and rock covered the small sounds of her struggle—and of metal links giving way.
I’m free!
Okay, not really free, but not chained like a goat waiting for a tiger, either.
Though she ached to move her left arm, she didn’t, not wanting anyone to notice that the cuffs had failed. With her right hand she eased the bear-spray nozzle until it was in position for a left-handed grab and a right-handed pull on the safety ring.
Slowly Ace ran out of curses.
Kimberli was as tight-lipped as only a poster for Botox could be.
“I think you got the oil pan,” Shaye said, her tone matter-of-fact.
“Shut up,” he snarled. But he leaned forward to watch the dashboard.
Shaye was watching the dials, too.
Nothing changed.
Damn.
“Almost there, baby,” he said to Kimberli. “Just go up that rise and over the top. There’s a shack on the right. And relax. You know I never can stay mad at you.”
Shaye felt her opportunity to escape—to live—racing past her far faster than night had overtaken day.
“What would you have done if Lorne hadn’t so conveniently died?” she asked Ace.
“We’d have gone the eminent-domain route,” he said. “We’d have won, too, after spending a lot of time and money on attorneys.”
“That would have raised a stink that’d make a skunk smell like roses,” she said, watching Kimberli from the corner of her eye. “Nobody likes that kind of publicity, particularly Hill and Campbell. Conservancy would look like dirt, too.”
Other than what might have been a flicker of discomfort trying to register on her unnaturally still face, Kimberli showed no response.
“Everyone would have survived it,” Ace said. “At the end of the day, money makes everything sweet.”
“Then why take Lorne out of the equation?” Shaye asked.
Kimberli opened her mouth. Nothing came out.
“Who says I did?” Ace asked with a complete lack of interest. “I was at the Carson casino when he died. Ask anyone.”
“We tried to ask Rua,” Shaye said, “but somebody had murdered him.”
“Everyone dies. Fact of life. Some people die sooner than others. Boo fucking hoo.”
Kimberli’s eyes narrowed and she sort of hunched over the wheel. The farther down the road they went, the meaner and colder Ace became. Whether he realized it or not, his attitude was helping Shaye chip away at the other woman’s certainty that Ace would never hurt her.
Shaye saw what Ace couldn’t—Kimberli was looking more and more scared. Maybe she finally understood what waited for her at the end of the road. She certainly had stopped whining about how much farther she’d have to drive, as if she no longer believed she’d be with Ace on the long trip home. She was also going so slow it would have been faster to walk, which was why the Bronco kept lurching and stalling.
Or maybe, just maybe, the gas tank was nearly empty, working only when it sloshed over the feed.
“We’re far enough out here that nobody can overhear, no reporter is going to pop out from behind a boulder, nothing but nothing around us,” Shaye said. “So why aren’t you trying to talk me into coming over to the dark side and having a nice cup of Kool-Aid?”
“Impatient?” Ace asked, his tone baiting. “Don’t worry, all the hassle and waiting soon will be over for you.”
“I’m in no hurry to die.”
“Like I said, fact of life.”
The Bronco stalled out, bucked, stalled, and finally lurched over the ridgeline. Ace was too busy keeping his head from banging against the hardtop or the window to swear at Kimberli’s driving.
With both hands, Shaye gripped the bear-spray canister. The next time Kimberli stalled out the Bronco—or if Ace noticed the handcuff was broken—Shaye was going to turn and give him a face shot and to hell with being in a closed car.
Kimberli made a whimpering sound that he couldn’t hear, but Shaye could. The other woman was a ghost wearing rouge and mascara, a clown face driving a death car. Shaye didn’t know whether to keep tearing away at the older woman’s confidence or to get ready for the emotional train wreck that was coming.
Trees raked black fingers through the headlights. Off to the right, at the farthest edge of the high beams, the tilted hull of an old miner’s shack loomed like news from a deadly future.
The Bronco coughed and died.
Kimberli ground on the starter. The battery did its part, but the engine didn’t fire.
Shaye got ready to pitch herself out into the darkness.
Without warning, Kimberli broke. Suddenly she clawed at the driver’s door and scrambled into the darkness.
“You stupid bitch!” Ace yelled, lunging forward and grabbing at her glittery shirt before it fled beyond his reach.
Kimberli jerked, then fell forward, ripping her shirt from his grasping fingers. While she scrambled to her feet, his gun flashed in the overhead light as he took aim through the open driver’s door.
Shaye whipped the can of bear spray around, pointed the nozzle at his face, and pressed. The can hissed, gurgled, hiccuped, and stuttered.
The .22 went off with a sound like a very big whip cracking. Once, twice.
Kimberli ran faster.
Ace realized that the muted hiss and mutter he was hearing came from more than the engine. He glanced toward Shaye as she shouldered her door open while trying to get the bear spray to fire. He stared at her in disbelief and then pure rage, torn between aiming the gun at her and trying to protect himself by diving behind the front seat.
The bear spray finally kicked in with a huge hiss. An instant later came the whip-crack of the .22 firing and Ace’s harsh curses. The smell of capsicum burned inside the Bronco, sticking to everything it touched like napalm.
Shooting wildly, Ace bellowed in shock and sudden pain, throwing himself behind the seat’s protection.
Shaye hit the ground on her hands and knees, still holding her breath, eyes tightly closed against the blowback of the spray. She rolled and scrambled to her feet. The clank of metal on rock told her that she had instinctively held on to the flashlight. For an instant she considered making a grab for Ace’s gun. Then common sense took over and she started running for the biggest patch of darkness she could see.
As she took her second stride she felt a numbing pain along the outside of her left calf that was so intense, she barely kept her balance.
Did I twist my knee? My ankle?
Doesn’t matter.
Run!
She had to get to cover before Ace threw off the glancing encounter with the bear spray. From the corner of her eye, she could see the wink and flash of Kimberli’s silver tennis shoes as she sprinted up the rough dirt track.
When his head clears, Ace will be on her like a wolf on a rabbit,
Shaye thought.
Wind called hollowly through the sparse forest, making branches tremble and sway. Gently she tested her leg, which was feeling weird, almost numb, yet she knew pain was there. The leg wasn’t out of commission, yet it wasn’t quite reliable, like it was slow in receiving messages from her brain.
She could follow Kimberli but that would only make Ace’s job easier. The best way to help the other woman was to take off in a different direction, forcing him to choose which target he followed first. No direction looked particularly welcoming, but if Shaye’s orientation was correct, the arm of forest off the left bumper was between her and the twisty road back to civilization.
Making no effort at silence, much less stealth, she ran into the trees with a dogged, uneven gait. She had gone barely a hundred feet before she heard the Bronco’s door slam open behind her.
Cursing, coughing, Ace started firing the .22. Bullets whined, ricocheting off rocks to the right of Shaye.
He had chosen his target and it wasn’t Kimberli.
Shaye forced herself to run faster. Her leg was going from mostly numb to throbbing life. It hurt like hell burning, but it was more reliable despite the pain.
From a distance, back in the direction where Kimberli had run in a full-out panic, came a shrill scream. It was cut off sharply.
Did Kimberli fall?
No more screams came and there was nothing Shaye could do about it right now. Ace was closing in on her.
Get away from Ace. That’s all that matters.
Run.
Shaye ran.
T
he truck bucked and jolted over the road, going too fast and not nearly fast enough. All that kept Tanner from a saner pace was the tantalizing come-on of the tire tracks ahead. As long as they continued, he would follow at breakneck speed. He bounced over another rocky rise, hoping to see the Bronco ahead.
Nothing but tracks slowly being sanded away by the increasing wind.
Can’t lose them.
Faster.
He knew that he was covering ground quicker than the Bronco had, for its tracks showed none of the slipping and sliding that came from speeding over a bad surface.
Soon.
I’ll overtake them soon.
Then he would be able to use the gun that was poking a hole in his back with every bounce.
And he knew just who he was going to shoot.
The engine made laboring noises. The stink of hot oil and metal filled the cab. He didn’t bother to look down at the gauges. He knew the temperature needle was edging into the red zone. He’d break down soon—whether by blowing the radiator or breaking an axle. But right now he was going a whole lot faster than he could run, and that was all that mattered.
The only signs that the track had been used in years were the tread marks left by Shaye’s Bronco.
Then his headlight picked out a bit of orange. In the instant that his heart leaped, he realized that he was seeing a ragged line of paint scraped off by a boulder that poked out into the road. The tree line was just beyond his headlights.
According to August’s last text, he had less than a quarter of a mile before he caught up with Shaye’s vehicle. Of course, that was a crow’s-flight measurement. Out here, with the road twisting back on itself and snaking around obstacles as it climbed and dipped, it could be a lot more.
Briefly Tanner thought about going cross-country on foot, then decided against it. As long as the truck held together, it was the quickest way to Shaye.
The phone chirped as another text arrived. He glanced down, seeing the message in one quick sweep.
MINES AROUND U.
STAY ON ROAD.
Tanner gripped the wheel hard.
What is August, a mind reader?
The truck gnashed and hissed but kept going, spitting dirt, grit, and small stones every inch of the way. Tanner knew he owed the engine’s continued life to the coolness of the air. If the temperature had been ten degrees hotter, the engine would have seized.
It would anyway.
The only question was when.
Under the driver’s relentless will, the truck bounced down the track, wallowed in the trough in the middle, and climbed up the rise like a swimmer gasping and plowing through heavy waves.
Suddenly he saw a light glowing between trees ahead and above him, off to the right. The light wasn’t moving.
The Bronco had stopped.
Tanner didn’t know if a trap waited ahead and didn’t particularly care. The truck’s temperature had gone into the red. Spectral wraiths of steam escaped from the hood and flattened across the dusty windshield, creating muddy tears. He kept the accelerator down on the floor, screaming toward the Bronco and Shaye.
Abruptly something cut into the path of the headlights.
A woman, running toward him on the road.
Shaye.
Or Kimberli.
Even on the uphill, he was going too fast to stop. He would hit her unless—
He wrenched the wheel hard to the left, away from the female shape and the miserable excuse for a road.
Between one second and the next, the going went from rough to deadly. The truck’s wheels bounced over rocks as big as dogs. The steering wheel whipped back and forth, trying to break his grip. He fought it, but didn’t win. The truck’s center of gravity pitched up. What had started as a hard turn became a four-wheel skid. The world twisted around him like a freak show at a carnival. He braked and steered into the skid, fighting the heavy truck for control.
Headlights, tires, and metal frame did a slam-dance over the rocks and saplings at the edge of the road. He saw a boulder bigger than the truck on a collision course and knew the end of the ride was seconds away. He cramped the wheel to avoid a head-on and told himself to go loose and let the seat belt do its work.
He hoped his body listened.
The battle of metal and stone lasted only seconds that screamed like slow-motion minutes. Or maybe it was him. He was dimly aware of his head and right wrist whacking the steering wheel as the truck’s front end tried to rear like a horse. His vision tunneled, then started to go black from the outside in.
At least I missed her.
Didn’t I?
There was no way to answer the question right now. The truck slid sideways down the boulder and came to a wrenching stop. The diagonal ache that cut across Tanner’s body from the seat belt told him that he was alive. He shook off the darkness and tried to release the belt with his right hand. It fumbled and sent back messages of pain, the kind that was in sync with his racing heart, telling him his right hand was pretty much useless right now.
Part of him noticed the steam shooting from beneath the truck’s crumpled hood. The truck was finished, but he wasn’t. Automatically he freed himself with his left hand and then opened the door with a well-placed shove of his shoulder. Before he got out, he made a grab for his pistol, automatically using his right hand.
With a searing curse, he switched to his left hand and awkwardly got the pistol free of its holster. The ache in his back told him he’d have a Glock-size bruise, but what really pissed him off was that as a left-handed shooter, he made a great dancer in a titty bar. But his right hand wasn’t taking directions right now.
Tough shit, mook. Get going and find Shaye.
Holding the Glock in his left hand, he heaved out through the slanting cab door. He swept his glance around, saw nothing but the dim radiance of the Bronco’s headlights through the tatters of steam that swirled around his own ruined truck.
If they’re anywhere near, they already know someone has crashed the party.
“Shaye!” he yelled. “Are you all right?”
The
yap-yap
of a .22 firing came simultaneously with the whine of two small-caliber rounds hitting the truck. With steam blowing and hissing around him, Tanner couldn’t even see a target to fire back at.
But somebody sure could see him.
No wonder Shaye didn’t answer. She’s hiding.
He refused to think about any other possibility for her silence.
Crouching, he kept under cover of the truck as long as he could. Whether it was Ace or Kimberli, the shooter would close in on the wreck, hoping to finish the job. At a distance, .22s were only a step up from throwing rocks.
Still bent over, he ran away with as much speed and stealth as he could manage. Keeping something between him and the shooter—trees, a boulder, a big cluster of scrub—slowed him down, but not enough to matter. Pain was there, keeping pace with his heart. That didn’t matter, either.
A pure rage fueled him. It was the flip side of the fear that had iced his gut ever since he’d seen that the SIM had been removed from Shaye’s cell phone.
Ahead, the pale shapes of boulders huddled together between dark trees.
Good cover.
He scrambled among the boulders. Then he crouched and forced himself to breathe slowly, carefully, while he listened for any sound from his back trail.
Several hundred feet away, the truck’s engine hissed and gurgled in its death throes. Somewhere beyond the truck, someone coughed wrenchingly. He hadn’t heard anything like it since he’d gone through pepper-spray training. He hoped it was Ace puking his guts out.
The coughs faded into a tense kind of silence. A waiting silence. All breaths held.
No sound of oncoming footsteps.
No sense of pursuit.
Nothing but the ringing in Tanner’s ears from a head-butting encounter with the steering wheel.
Gradually the night brightened, a combination of his eyes adjusting and the partial moon shining through the ragged forest.
I can stay here and wonder about Shaye or I can get off my ass and go in the direction I saw the woman. If it was Shaye . . .
It can’t have been Kimberli. No glitter anywhere.
And he was almost certain the figure had been wearing the kind of sensible trail shoes Shaye preferred.
Pushing aside any worries about wishful thinking, he began working his way back toward the place where he’d swerved to avoid hitting a woman.
Shaye.
It has to be her.
She has to be alive.
