Every Breath She Takes (37 page)

“The telephone calls! The police will surely check the phone records, won’t they?”

“I certainly hope so. You see, I took the liberty of lifting the cell phone from Cal’s truck. Terrible habit, that, leaving your vehicle unlocked.”

Lauren’s heart sank still further.

“You know, I thought about doing you in the first place, since you and Cal are going so hot and heavy, but I couldn’t figure how to lure you out. That slut Marlena was so much easier.”

“You won’t get away with this.”

“I will,” he said calmly. Tightening his grip on her shirt, he dropped the pistol and shook off the bloody glove, leaving his right hand sheathed in latex.

Knowing what was coming, Lauren swung at him, striking him in the face.

He swore, then clamped both hands viciously on her throat.

His dark face swam in her vision as he continued to squeeze. She pulled at his hands, frantically trying to loosen his grip, but her arms felt like lead. Was she going to die here?

His injury! She needed to go for his most vulnerable spot. Dropping her left hand from his, she drove her fist into his side as hard as she could.

Screaming, he let go, reeled backward, fell to his knees.

Dragging in great, searing breaths, she staggered toward Buck, who reared his head back nervously, ears folded. If she could just get to him, she could get away. She’d run Harvey’s palomino off so he couldn’t overtake her on the exhausted Buck.

Wham!
He tackled her from behind. She went down, but quickly rolled free. Then she was scrambling on hands and knees, blood pounding in her ears. If she could just reach Buck…

A hand closed on her ankle, dragging her backward. She screamed again, kicking wildly. A blow landed, and he cursed but didn’t let go. Then he was on his feet. The next instant he grabbed a handful of her hair and dragged her up to her knees.

“Bitch!”

Once more he closed his hands on her throat. Again she clutched at them to try to dislodge his grip, but to no avail. In what seemed like an impossibly short time, she felt the blackness closing in.

No!
If she was going to die, there was no way she was going to let Cal be framed for it. She had to do something. Obviously that knife stick Marlena had given him was superficial, or he’d be a lot weaker by now. And it would be easy to hide. She needed to mark him in a way that couldn’t be so easily hidden.

She lifted her hands from his, and this time he angled his vulnerable side away. But instead of going for his wound, she raked her nails down his exposed face as hard as she could.

He howled with rage, lifting one hand to his face. It came away bloody.

“Explain that,” she croaked.

Searing pain exploded in her head and she fell sideways.
He hit me. He actually punched me.
Then he was on top of her, straddling her.

Before his hands could throttle her throat again, she said, “Bleeding on me.” She dragged in another breath. “Got your skin…under my nails. DNA…could be…hard to explain.”

A roar, followed by another smash. Hot pain exploded anew.

That’s it!
she thought, her ears ringing. He could choke her to death in minutes, but if she could keep him angry, keep him hitting her, it would take longer. Maybe much longer. Maybe long enough for Marlena to wake the hell up, climb on her horse, and race away. Harvey’s plan to frame Cal would fall apart if Marlena could get away.

And if she didn’t wake up? If Harvey got Marlena too? What then?

Maybe the forensic evidence would implicate Harvey, if it got messy enough. Which came back to keeping him angry.

“What’s the matter?” She tried to laugh, but it came out more like a spluttering cough. “Is that the best you can do?”

“Shut up!” Another smash, this time to the right side of her head.

Oh God, it hurt. She closed her eyes, desperately wanting to curl in on herself, escape into some dark closet in her mind. She couldn’t let him hit her again. She couldn’t.

But she had to make him.

Remembering the line Zane Taggart had used after getting roughed up by the bull, she forced her eyes open. “Hell, Harvey, I’ve had worse knocks than that on the dance floor.”

Crack!

Harvey still straddled her, his chest heaving.
Don’t hit me. Don’t hurt me. Please, I don’t want to die,
is what she wanted to
say. Instead she touched her broken lip with her tongue and said, “Better, but no points for style.”

Another roar. She closed her eyes, bracing for the blow, but it never fell. Suddenly, miraculously, Harvey’s weight was gone. She rolled over, ears ringing.

Then the noises of combat—scuffling, grunting, the sickening sound of fists hitting flesh—penetrated the ringing in her ears. She pushed herself up and squinted toward the commotion.

Cal!
He’d come. And he was wrestling on the ground with Harvey. As she watched through eyes that still refused to focus, it seemed to her that Cal landed blow after blow. But Harvey was so much bigger. Cal needed her help.

Shakily she got to her feet and stumbled toward Cal’s mount. He always carried a rope. Maybe she could help restrain Harvey with it.
Or maybe she’d just garrote him.

Sienna shied away from her but Lauren managed to catch the coil of rope and pull it free. When she turned back to the men, however, they’d sprung apart and were circling each other warily. Even in the fading light, she had no trouble discerning the dull gleam in Harvey’s hand. A knife! Oh God, the same Swiss Army knife she had given Marlena. Harvey must have located it as they rolled in the grass.

“Damn, I guess it’ll have to be a murder-suicide.” Harvey wiped his bloody mouth on his sleeve. “This is turning out to be damned hard work, but I’ve come too far to turn back now.”

“Cal!” It was a cry of fear, anguish.

Cal didn’t take his eyes off the knife. “Lauren, get on that horse and ride. Don’t stop until you’re home.”

“Cal…”

“Just do it,” Cal commanded.

Harvey spat what appeared to be a tooth into his hand and swore. “Fine with me. Let her make a run for it. I’ll catch her before she gets far. Right after I stick you.”

In a blur of motion, he lashed out at Cal, who ducked and rolled. Harvey dove after him. Then the two of them were rolling on the ground, grappling for possession of the knife, their struggles bringing them closer to the brink of the cliff.

Lauren watched, frozen in horror, but the next lurch brought them back from the precipice. Harvey still had the knife. Cal fought like a berserker, but eventually Harvey, with his greater bulk, wound up on top, a heavy arm jammed across Cal’s windpipe.

“Say good-bye, Taggart,” Harvey panted. Lifting the knife high, he plunged it toward Cal’s heart in a deadly arc.

Only then did Lauren’s paralysis break. Sobbing, she staggered toward them.

In what seemed like slow motion, Lauren saw Cal twist violently, but the blade still bit into his chest. He grunted, but with a massive heave of his wiry body, he somehow dislodged Harvey, and the knife went flying.

Whimpering her relief, Lauren lurched toward the spot where the weapon had fallen. She dropped to her hands and knees and searched the grass frantically. If she could just find the knife, she’d happily bury it in Harvey McLeod’s back, and she’d aim for his black heart. At last, her fingers found the warm handle of the blade.

With a small cry of triumph, she turned back toward the fight only to see both men disappear over the cliff’s edge.

One second he was free-falling and the next he was getting whipped by branches. Out of sheer, dumb luck, Cal managed to close his hands around a branch. But the tree, a scrawny poplar clinging to the cliff, was too slender. It tore away under his weight.
This is it,
he thought.
I’m gonna die.

Then he slammed against the cliff face with a force that drove all the air from his lungs. Instinct alone kept his hands locked on the branch.

Jesus, don’t let me black out.

Fighting back pain and dizziness, he looked up.
Shit.
The tree now hung upside down, anchored by a few skinny roots that hadn’t sprung free. Just then another root snapped and the tree sagged a few more inches. Gravel rained on him as he scrabbled to find a toehold. With the pointed toe of his right boot, he found
a small outcropping that helped bear a little of his weight, easing the burden on his arms. Not to mention the tree.

Okay, Cal, buddy, you’re not going anywhere for a minute. Get this breathing thing under control,
he told himself. But his lungs wouldn’t cooperate. If anything, each breath came harder than the last one. Dammit, he musta ruptured a lung. He knew the sensation well from losing contests with bulls.

Vaguely he wondered if the damage had been done by Harvey’s knife or by the body slam against the cliff face. Didn’t much matter. He wouldn’t be able to hang here long.

He looked down to the canyon floor below. Harvey lay sprawled against some boulders, his neck turned at an impossible angle.
Sonofabitch
. He’d gotten off easy. Cal wanted to beat the life out of him personally for what he’d done to Lauren.

Lauren.
He closed his eyes. She must have taken Sienna. Just before Harvey pulled the knife, he’d caught a glimpse of her stumbling toward the mare, grappling for the saddle. Then he hadn’t dared take his eyes off the knife. How long would it take her to get help? With a fresh horse, maybe twenty minutes to reach the ranch. With a tired one?

Fresh or tired, it didn’t matter. It would take too long. Already he felt like he was beginning to drown. Even if his arm strength held out, he’d lose consciousness and let go his grip.

At least Lauren would be all right. A wave of profound relief washed over him, followed by remembered fear. To think he’d almost left her to face that madman alone…

“Cal!”

He looked up to see the dim outline of Lauren’s face in the twilight. She hadn’t left.

“Hang on, Cal, I’ve got a rope,” she called, then disappeared again.

Dear Lord, he was saved.

Well, maybe, he amended with a grimace. At least he wouldn’t join Harvey at the foot of the canyon.

A moment later Cal’s own rope came snaking down to him. It dangled a little too far to the left, but Lauren materialized again, shifting it for him. He watched the rope swing past his face a few times, then let go of the branch with one hand and grabbed for it.
Got it.

He wrapped the rope around his arm several times so he wouldn’t lose his grip.

“Are you secured?”

He looked up at Lauren. “I’m good.” It would have to be good. He didn’t have enough of a toehold to use both hands to tie the rope around him.

“Sienna is going to pull you up,” she called. “The face of the cliff looks pretty rough. I’ll try to take it slow so you don’t get banged around too badly.”

Her face swam impossibly far above him.

“Better make it fast.”

He had no idea if she’d heard him or not, but she disappeared again. Seconds later the rope tautened, then he was zipping up the cliff.
Guess she heard me.

The cliff face abraded his arms, and roots and branches whipped his face. Dirt and rocks showered down on him, forcing him to close his eyes. Then he was up and over the ledge, lying on sweet, blessed ground that still held the day’s warmth, the smell of crushed grass strong in his nostrils.

“Cal.” Lauren’s hands were on him, turning him over. “Are you all right?”

“Don’t know.”

She tore his shirt open, bending close to examine the knife wound. He flinched when her fingers probed it.

“Thank God! It didn’t go through the chest wall.”

Cal tried to drag in another breath. “You sure?”

For the first time she seemed to tune into his breathing difficulty. “Cal, what’s the matter?”

“Breath…gettin’ short.”

With a sob, she pressed her head to his chest. Cal’s head spun. Geez, was she mourning him already? He closed his arms around her. “S’okay,” he slurred. “Be okay.”

“Ssshhh,” she commanded. “Don’t talk.”

Ah, of course—she was administering first aid, not enfolding him in a loving embrace. Despite his injuries, he smiled wryly up at the reddening sky as she listened, her ear pressed to his chest, to his struggle for breath.

She pulled away abruptly. A chill skated over his skin. Then he felt her fingers tapping his chest sharply. One side, then the other. Finally she sat back and met his gaze.

Shit, I must be a goner.

“I think you’ve got air collecting in your chest cavity, but the knife didn’t do it, or air would be bubbling out. You must have had some blunt trauma to rupture the lung tissue.” She smiled bravely. “Of course, I could be wrong. The last patient I percussed was a Great Dane.”

Poor Lauren, trying so hard not to let her terror show. He tried to reward her attempt at humor with a laugh, but wound up making a coughing sound that only alarmed her more.

“We have to get you into a sitting position. It’ll be easier to breathe.”

“Closed pneumo,” he rasped.

Her eyes widened. “Of course. You’ve probably had pneumothorax lots of times from your rodeo days. Once you’ve had it, the tissue is more prone to rupture. It wouldn’t take much.”

Damn, her face looked awful. Both eyes would be black later, and her lower lip was split. Her beautiful lips. Again he wished passionately that he could resurrect Harvey McLeod and kill him all over again, this time with slow, deadly purpose.

And Lauren…she hadn’t ridden to safety as he’d instructed. His heart stuttered as he allowed himself to think about the implications of that. If Harvey had managed to plant that blade a few inches to the right, he’d be dead now. And so would she.

“Told you…to ride away…”

“Ssshhh, don’t talk.” Kneeling behind him, she drew him up into a semisitting position, using her own body to support him.

“He’d been better…with a knife…both be dead.”

“Please don’t talk.” Her voice rumbled against his back.