Dead End (30 page)

“Bleeding?”

“Nah.”

Once more the sidelights drew nearer. “I’m going to give you the number and have you call Peggy’s place. Ask what’s happening now. Ask for specifics.”

Marc followed her instructions, then turned off the intercom at his end. He came back on as Reb, drawing her first full breath in minutes, made the turn onto the shallow hill down to the Lalondes’.

“We’re going to be fine,” he said. “But we’ve got trouble. Peggy’s out playing bingo.”

“Someone called from…” Why
wouldn
’
t
she have believed the caller? “Are you sure you got the right number?”

“I’m sure.” He didn’t say that the van had followed them onto the slope, but Reb had seen it.

“This is a setup,” she said.

Marc rubbed the middle of her back. “We’re going to beat it by going where he can’t.”

The other vehicle bore down on them. “You’ve got it,” Reb said. “Hold on tight.”

She left the road for rutted land she remembered only for its lack of trees. The bike bounced, one wheel at a time, over dirt bars as big as man-eating speed bumps. Reb’s teeth jarred together, and she heard Marc swear.

“He’s coming after us. Get farther away from the road and pray he gets stuck.”

Ahead, the earth was darker than the sky and separated from it by a fuzzy ridge. Reb recalled a razorback of land crowned with a Mohawk of scrubby vegetation. On one side there was standing water. Which side? Her low beam rocked madly, up, down, one side, then the other. It jiggled, and her bones felt like ice cubes being shaken in a mixer.

“Keep your eyes ahead,” Marc said, his voice steady. “I’m right with you. He’s still coming, Reb.”

Without warning, the bike slid sideways. She wasn’t wearing boots. If she slammed her foot down—

“Just keep us as stable as you can,” Marc shouted. “I’ll steady us.” And Reb felt the instant when his shoe made contact with the mud. They kept on sliding, but gradually the wheels found traction.

“You’ve got it,” Marc said, leaning forward over her. “He won’t make it on this.”

They shot ahead, and she grinned. Tears burned her eyes, and she laughed, and sniffed. She had ridden into a gully that grew a little deeper the farther they went.

“You knew this was here all along, didn’t you?” Marc said. “You didn’t want me to relax a muscle is all.”

“How did you guess? I’m going to slow down a bit.”

“Slower would be good now. Keep heading toward the bayou. I don’t think we can be seen from the road at all.”

The bike rattled less, and the engine settled into a quieter rhythm. “Maybe we should stop,” Marc said. “Let’s see if he’s still chasing us.

Reb wanted to keep moving. She wanted to be somewhere safe, inside with doors and windows locked. But she did as Marc suggested, came to a halt and switched off.

Breeze riffled grasses.

Beyond the rustling sounds, there was no sound. Reb closed her eyes and listened, and gradually heard crickets and frogs, the skitter of small animals. She concentrated harder, and felt Marc doing the same.

“Gone,” Reb said, and all but collapsed over the handlebars.

Marc settled a hand on the back of her neck, and she knew he remained vigilant. “You were right,” he said quietly. “Whether or not you know why, you spell a lot of trouble to someone, or more than one.

“I don’t know anything,” she said. “They may think I do, but I don’t. I feel helpless—and dangerous to anyone who’s near me. I’m worried about you—”

“Thanks.” He interrupted her and didn’t sound happy. “Let’s get out of here. Time enough for postmortems later. Keep your feet up, I’ll scoot us along until we come out of this valley or whatever it is. We’re probably in the clear, but we’re going to have a Chinese fire drill when we get to the road, and I’ll be driving back just in case.”

“Because…” Reb closed her mouth and stopped herself from telling him he was no better at this than she was. “Okay, thanks. I could use the break.”

Marc wheeled them through the soft earth. A lazy moon caught the suck and swell on the surface of the bayou. The air on her face felt cooler.

“A couple of hundred yards and we’ll go back on the road and get the hell out of here.”

“Sounds great.”

Reb saw headlight beams before engine noise registered. Marc was right, they were close to a place where they could have returned to the road. Only their way was blocked by an oncoming vehicle, bearing down, gathering as much speed as the terrain would allow.

“He coasted so we couldn’t hear him.” Marc tried to jerk her from the bike but she hung on. “Get off and run.
Do
it, Reb.”

“You get off first. It’s coming straight for us. Marc!”

He tore her free and tossed her off. “Now run,” he yelled. “I’ll do fine.”

She hovered between running away and running toward the bike. And the headlights bounced closer. Marc was on his feet, working his left leg over the seat.

“Marc,” she screamed. He was injured. The hit that had been “nothing” had hurt him. Reb didn’t have any decisions to make, she threw herself toward him and grabbed his shirt as his second foot slid free of the saddle—and the bike started to topple. “Run with me,” she begged, dragging on him. “Don’t think about the pain.”

Glancing up, she was blinded by huge, glaring lights.

“Damn it,” Marc shouted at her.

The front left wheel of the van hit the motorbike and Reb fell; she hit the ground with a force that drove out her breath.

Marc’s body covered her. He plucked at her, lifted her head.

All around them the night screamed, metal on rock, brakes grabbing and sliding. Rubber burned.

“Be still,” Marc murmured above her and she could have cried out with relief at the sound of his voice. “Don’t move at all. Don’t speak.” He grew heavy on top of her.

The noise of the van changed, and Reb swallowed rather than throw up. An engine in reverse, whining, backing up fast. The headlights settled on them and stayed there.

“We are dead,” Marc whispered. “If he doesn’t think we are, we soon will be.”

Smoothly, rapidly, the would-be killer continued backward, then the sound changed again, and in a roar, with scree flying, the van shot away.

“I’ll call the doctor,” Oribel Scully said. She hovered, her shaking hands outstretched, while Spike carried Reb into the rectory kitchen and Marc shambled in on Cyrus’s arm. “You need taking care of.”

“The doctor’s already here,” Reb said. “I don’t need another one. Put me down please, Spike, I’m feeling better.” That was a lie. Her nervous system might never recover, “I want you in Oribel’s chair, Marc. Let’s see if we can get your pants off without cutting them.”

Oribel slapped a hand over her mouth, but everyone heard her squeal.

“The pants are shot,” Marc said. “Do what you want to them. Like you said, it’s just a flesh wound. If there was anything else, I wouldn’t walk so well, would I?”

Reb had examined Marc perfunctorily while they’d waited for Spike, and what he said was correct. “You’re right,” Reb said and sat down hard on a wooden chair. “We lead charmed lives. We should be dead. We’re going to be bruised all over, and I may have to suture that leg for you, but…gimme a minute, please. The pace of life has gotten too fast for me.”

“You shouldn’t forget you’re a girl and not a man,” Oribel said, with moisture in her eyes. “A motherless child. An orphan. Your father must be turnin’ in his grave.” She exuded pent-up agitation.

“Calm yourself,” Cyrus said. “This is it, folks. Not another move gets made without making sure we’ve got backups. Nobody acts alone.”

Spike tossed his hat on the table and pulled a chair between Marc and Reb. “Painful and dangerous as this was, I reckon we’re going to get some breaks because it happened. The sheriff has put up roadblocks. Getting out of the area in a flashy van won’t be easy.”

“I should think so,” Oribel said, and her voice broke. She tipped her head in the direction of William, who came into the kitchen from the garden. “Soon as I heard what happened, I called William in. We could need protection around here.”

Cyrus nodded at William. “Good choice, Oribel. I don’t think anyone’s coming through you, William.”

The man frowned and stood braced as if for an attack. “Things am goin’ bad—more bad,” he said. “There’s evil in the town, and I ain’t just talkin’ rubber killers, me.”

“Don’t, William,” Oribel begged, the color draining from her face. “You make it all worse.”

As Reb knew well from an infamous altercation between Oribel and one of the instructors at the gym, Oribel was well able to take care of herself, but around men she became helpless. Reb wasn’t sure if this annoyed or amused her.

The front doorbell chimed in the distance, and when Oribel moved to answer it, William waved her aside and went instead.

“You have a champion,” Cyrus said to Oribel.

“Nothing said in this room is to go farther, understood?” Spike’s tone made it known there would be no lighthearted diversions where he was concerned. “Understood?”

“Yes sir,” Marc said, and Reb mumbled with Oribel.

Cyrus raised a well-defined black brow. “I shouldn’t think that needs to be pointed out,” he told Spike.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Father Cyrus. But very few people are as good at keeping their mouths shut as you are.”

Unbelievably, all Marc did was shake his head while he tore a bigger hole in a blood-soaked pants leg. Reb asked Spike to get her bag, which had been removed from her mangled bike and put in the cruiser. “Oribel? Do you have a first-aid kit? I need some sterile swabs to start cleaning this up with.”

“I’ll clean it up myself,” Marc said, sounding wary. “Hold up, Spike…I’ve tried not to push you on this, but my sister’s body is missing. What are you people doing about it?”

Coming from the hall, Wally slid just inside the kitchen and stood with his back to the wall.

“Later,” Spike told Marc. “We’re working on it. I’ll go for that bag.”

“Oh, Wally,” Reb said while she took the kit Oribel gave her. “You should be at home in bed. We’d better call your folks right away.”

“Don’t. They’ll get mad at me again. I’ve got to talk to you, Father Cyrus.”

“In the morning will be soon enough.” Cyrus approached the boy. “Let’s get you home right now.”

“I want to confess,” Wally said in a rush. The incongruously long raincoat he wore was sizes too large, and his bare ankles showed beneath. His brown paper sack was beneath one arm.

Spike came in with Reb’s bag in one hand and a phone clamped to his ear with the other. “Got it,” he said, and hung up. He put the bag down beside Reb and stood with his hands on his hips. Reb had the thought that she couldn’t imagine why his wife would find a bodybuilder more attractive. Unless Spike had some pretty terrible hidden faults, he ought to be a keeper.

“Wazoo’s been lookin’ for me,” he said. “Mad as a wet hen, the dispatcher says. Pretty funny analogy.”

Reb turned to Marc, whose expression was as blank as she felt.

“Wazoo?” Cyrus said.

“The bird lady. Mad as a wet hen. Get it?”

Marc and Cyrus chuckled, but Reb didn’t see the big joke. “That’s gotta be a guy thing. You mean Oiseau, or whatever she calls herself?”

“Yeah,” Spike said, “Wazoo. Her vehicle’s been stolen. Guess what it is?”

“A van with a cute paint job,” Marc said promptly.

Reb couldn’t keep from watching Wally, who looked more pained by the second. “Flying pigs,” she said. “Stars and moons and one or two peace symbols—and a lot of stuff I didn’t recognize.”

“Why would someone use that to commit a crime?” Marc said. “Unless they wanted the vehicle to be easily traced…Don’t answer that. They wanted the vehicle traced. We’re not dealing with rocket scientists here.”

With access to her own supplies, Reb rapidly cleaned the wound on Marc’s thigh. He didn’t utter a single “ouch,” and she figured she had Wally’s presence to thank for that. She set out suture material and a syringe, and discarded one set of gloves for a fresh pair.

“What’s the needle for?” he asked.

“Just a little stick and you won’t feel a thing when I sew you up.”

He held up a hand. “No sticks, no stitches. It’s just a scratch. I’ll take a Band-Aid.”

He tried to pull his torn pants leg over the wound. Reb slapped his hands away. “Don’t get in my way again. Look at that dirt, and I just cleaned the wound.” Once more she snapped off her gloves and put on a fresh pair. “First I deal with this, then you can shower and we’ll check you over. You’re such a mess of mud—and blood. I need to be sure the only bleeding is from the leg.”

“My body is in your hands, doctor,” Marc said, smiling up at her. “Handle it with care.”

Spike’s eyes were blank. Cyrus didn’t even try to hide his smile. “Excuse me,” he said. “Wally and I have things to discuss.”

Oribel stuck her head out like a turtle, and waited. When they all heard the sound of the door to Cyrus’s study closing, she planted herself in front of Spike and said, “I have never, ever, been so worried. Not in my entire life. I’ve been wringin’ my hands for so long, they feel raw. There is big trouble going on.”

“We’d noticed,” Spike said. He gave Oribel a reassuring smile. “Is there something else, something new we aren’t already dealing with?”

“I’m just glad Cyrus was in the church and didn’t notice.” Oribel’s eyes darted toward the hall frequently. “And there’s so much goin’ on he still hasn’t caught on to. You called Madge, Mr. Girard. You asked her to go feed Gaston, bless his innocent heart.”

Reb had given Marc a shot of Novocain and had already used forceps to thread the suture material and start pulling his wound shut. She couldn’t do anything but carry on, and listen to Oribel.

“Ow,” Marc said, although Reb knew he couldn’t feel a thing.

“That was a couple of hours ago,” Oribel said. “She never came back. I tried to telephone her. She doesn’t answer.”

Cyrus waited for Wally to say something. He sat on the window seat, hunched over, his raincoat wrapped tightly about him. Nolan had been set aside.

“Confession became Reconciliation before you were born,” Cyrus said. “Forgiveness. That’s what we all want when we stray, and you can’t have strayed so badly, Wally.”