Hidden Fire, Kobo (41 page)

"We'd better find a place to spend
the night before it's too dark," he said. "Off the trail, in case
Wallace comes back."

"Wait here." She jogged off,
stopped, turned around and jogged back. "I think we can stay over there."
She took his hand.

He hobbled along and decided it was as
good as anything they could expect. Close to the stream, sheltered by tall
trees, there was a clear spot about the size of a double bed. A small double
bed. Sarah was already moving rocks out of the way.

"Were you a Girl Scout?" he
asked. "Looks like you know what you're doing."

"Discovery Channel," she said. "Maybe
I should have watched
Survivor
instead."

"I'm going to avail myself of the
facilities," he said, gesturing toward a large tree. He stopped her before
she could say anything. "I don't need your help."

"I'll be right here," she said.
As he relieved himself, he tried not to think that she was probably listening in
case he collapsed in the process.

He managed to finish the job without
mishap and made his way the short distance to their accommodations for the
night, where Sarah waited. "Told you I could handle it," he said. "Years
of practice."

His remarks didn't erase the worry from
her face. She bent over his leg. "Let me wet this again," she said.
He let her untie it, then lowered himself to the ground. Blood still oozed from
the wound. He was tempted to slide his jeans down for a better look, then decided
against it. Leaning against a tree, he closed his eyes. Vaguely aware of Sarah's
return, replacing the makeshift bandage on his leg and settling in beside him,
he allowed himself to drift off.

A cry ripped Randy from the edge of
unconsciousness. He raised his head and saw a man holding Sarah. Trent Wallace.
He tried to rise, but his leg refused to respond. Then, in a blur, Sarah's
hands spun down and around. Trent Wallace's arms flew apart. A stomp, a whoosh
of expelled air and Wallace lay doubled over on the ground.

Sarah rushed to his side and snatched the
gun from Wallace's waist. She hurried back. "I think we'd better leave.
Can you walk at all?"

"What happened?" he asked.
Using Sarah's supporting hand and the tree for leverage, he struggled to a standing
position.

"You showed me the first move,
remember? How to break out of a wrist hold? The other part was from the classes
at the Women's Center. Step on his instep, then a knee to the groin." She
grinned. "I never thought I'd use it, but it did seem to work, didn't it?"

On the ground, Wallace clutched his
crotch and moaned.

"That it did," Randy said. "Gun?"
He held out his hand. Sarah handed him his gun. Its weight in his palm sent
renewed strength through him. Bracing himself against the tree, he dropped the
magazine. Two shots plus one in the chamber. So, Wallace had been shooting
something else before. He replaced the magazine and pointed the gun at the
fallen man. "Don't move, Wallace."

He got a muffled groan in response.

"Sarah, check him for another
weapon. Empty his pockets." His vision blurred and he sucked air.

She was at his side. "Sit, damn it.
You can shoot that thing sitting down, can't you?"

He pushed her away. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Line of fire," he muttered,
fighting to stay conscious. Then he was on his ass on the ground with every bit
of his strength focused on holding the gun steady and making sure Sarah wasn't
in the way if Wallace tried anything.

Sarah hovered over the body, tentative at
first, but her moves became more confident as she searched Wallace. "I can't
find another gun, but he has a phone," she said.

"Toss it to me," Randy said.
She did and he only missed it by half a mile. He picked it up from where it had
landed. No signal. Of course not. That would be too easy.

"Come back here, Sarah," Randy
said. His world was drifting again and he didn't want to worry about her being
so close to Wallace, even if the man was incapacitated.

She looked his way. He motioned to his
side. From the worried look on her face, she probably thought he needed help.
Before she got there, his world faded out, taking Sarah with it.

Something cold pressed against his neck.
Pain shot through from his leg to his head and everywhere in between. Everything
was dark. After a second or two of panic, he forced his eyelids open and the
world came back. Sarah knelt at his side, tying something around his leg.

"Ouch!" He pulled his leg back,
but she held it down.

"Welcome back, mister," she
said. "I'm almost done."

"How long was I out?" he asked.

"A few minutes." She sat back. "There."

He looked at his leg, which now sported a
black wrapping. Moving his gaze over the area, he noted a bare-chested Wallace
lying curled up on the ground. His arms and legs were bound in strips of black
nylon.

He reached to his neck, now wrapped in a
wet cloth. "Instant replay," he said.

She sat beside him and held his hand. "He
had a Swiss Army knife. I cut his windbreaker apart to tie him up and used his
t-shirt for a compress." She took the cloth from his neck and wiped his
face. "How do you feel?"

"Better." No need to go into
all the other feelings fighting for dominance. Helplessness. Gratitude.
Embarrassment. Admiration. Guilt. And the biggie. Sarah had made it clear
enough she had problems with his job. What was she going to think now that she'd
seen the worst of it? Probably want no part of him anymore. She said she
worried about the danger and he'd not only dragged her into the middle of more
danger than he'd seen in all his years on the Pine Hills force, but she'd been
the one to come to
his
rescue.

Wallace hadn't moved. "You must have
kicked him one good one if he's still out."

She ducked her head and scraped the toe
of her sneaker in the dirt. "I kind of conked him on the head with a
branch. He wasn't being nice." She looked up at him. "I didn't hit
him all that hard."

"He'll be fine." He shivered.

"You're cold," she said. She
grabbed the cell phone. "No signal. And it'll be dark soon."

"Don't suppose Wallace had a lighter
in his pocket?"

"Nope. Wallet, the knife and some
change. Think you can rub two quarters together and make a fire?"

"Sorry. Too bad we didn't carry some
burning embers or whatever they did before they invented matches."

"You're not a Neanderthal, remember?"
She patted his hand.

Wallace groaned. Sarah got up and ran
toward him. "Don't move, you scumbag. Or should I kick you again?"

Despite his misery, Randy held back a
laugh at Sarah's attempts to appear tough. Then again, Wallace had an entirely
different impression of her than he did. He'd seen a woman who'd escaped his
grasp and kicked him in the balls. And tied him up.

Something howled in the distance. Sarah
jerked back. "Are there wild animals out here?" The sound grew
closer. The last glimmers of daylight reflected fear in her wide-open eyes.

* * * * *

Sarah ignored the man moaning at her feet
and went to Randy's side. If there was a wild animal out here, Randy was the
one with the gun. She had Wallace's Swiss Army knife but didn't want to deal
with anything up close and personal enough to use it.

What did she remember from all those
television shows she'd watched? Or half-watched, more for background noise than
anything else. Wild animals didn't want to mess with you. The danger came from
surprising one. Let them know you were there.

All right. She drew the line at stomping
around in the near-dark, but there was no need to cower, either.

"So, Mr. Wallace," she said in
a loud voice. "Why were you pretending to be Walter Young?"

Silence.

"Answer the woman, scum," Randy
said. "She's got kicking power and I've got firepower." He raised his
pistol. "Either way, it's going to hurt."

"All right, all right. But can I sit
up? I'm sick of breathing dirt."

"If you can manage, fine,"
Randy said. "But you shot me, so I'm not going to help you."

Sarah watched Wallace squirm and
eventually, with some contortionist moves, work his way into a seated position.

"You didn't answer my question,"
she said.

"Better yet," Randy said. "Start
at the beginning. You're a teaching assistant at the University. Walter Young
is a janitor. How did you two get connected with diamond smuggling? Through
Gloria Osgood?"

Sarah's mouth dropped open. She grabbed
Randy's leg. He hissed.

"Sorry. I forgot." She got up
and moved to his other side where she was less likely to hurt him accidentally.
"How do you know that?"

"There have been a lot of cops
working on this one," he said, staring at Wallace. "We
do
talk
to each other, you know."

But not to her, apparently. She backed
down before she said anything. It wasn't like there'd been a lot of time for
Randy to bring her up to speed. "Well, I want to know where Hugh Garrigue
is," she said. His pottery had dumped her into this mess.

"Dead," Wallace muttered. "This
whole thing is his fault." He struggled against his bonds and Sarah
tensed, afraid she hadn't tied him tightly enough.

"Dead? But how? When? Where?"

"Probably a heart attack. He didn't
show up for work. I went to his private studio to look for him."

"So why didn't you report it?"
Sarah asked. "Call a doctor? Do
something
?"

"Because I was sick of all the
hoopla over his pottery. I'm a good potter, but it's always Garrigue this,
Garrigue that. With his glazes, I could be just as rich and famous."

"The body?" Randy said.

Wallace gave a humorless laugh. "Let's
say it wasn't a problem."

Sarah's stomach churned. "A kiln,"
she whispered. "You cremated him."

"Seemed fitting. His remains are in
one of his vases."

"Walter Young?" Randy's voice
was hoarse. "You killed him?"

"No, no way. I didn't kill anybody.
That was Sebastian. Young found out about the diamonds and thought he could cut
himself in."

"Wait. Who's Sebastian?" Sarah
asked.

"Someone else who's too big for his
britches," Wallace said. "He had to go and kill Young and try to make
it look like a serial killer did it. Fool. All he did was bring in the media
and a shitload of cops. Gloria should never have recruited him or any of his
buddies."

Okay, this was going too fast for her.
She turned to Randy to see if he was following what Wallace was saying.

His gun rested in his lap. She ran her
fingers along his face. His stubble-covered jaw felt clammy to the touch.

"Are you all right?" she
whispered. "You can lie down. He's not going anywhere." He slumped to
the side.

"Randy?" She leaned her head
against his chest. Relief coursed through her when she heard his heart thumping
in her ear. She checked his leg. The shirt had soaked through. Her fingers came
away sticky with fresh blood.

In the distance, lights bounced through
the forest. Someone, or some thing, crashed through the brush. Voices shouted.
She grabbed Randy's gun. Her hands trembled, but she clutched the grip in both
hands and pointed the barrel in the direction of the noise, trying to remember
what few pointers Randy had given her.

Don't put your finger on the trigger
until you're ready to shoot. And don't shoot unless you're ready to kill.

Could she kill someone?

Seconds later, she heard a growl and a
blurred form leaped on top of Wallace, followed by furious barking sounds. And
screaming. She recognized the barking as being definitely dog. The screaming,
she realized, was hers.

Hands wrapped around the gun and pried it
from her hands. "Don't move," a male voice said. A bright light in
her eyes blinded her.

"We got 'em," a man said.

She raised her hands. It took three
tries, but she finally managed to squeak, "Don't shoot."

The light left her eyes. She blinked,
trying to see past the rainbow of afterimages. A crowd gathered around Wallace,
along with three huge dogs that seemed intent on pulling him apart.

The people wore uniforms. Jackets with reflective
lettering. Police. A woman knelt at Randy's side. Her jacket said EMS. A
paramedic. Sarah almost collapsed with relief.

"Help him," Sarah said. "He
was shot."

"How long has he been unconscious?"
the woman said.

"A few minutes. But he needs a doctor.
He was shot. In the leg."

The woman nodded, her attention focused
on Randy. She shrugged a backpack off her shoulders. "Light," she
called.

A man came over, also in uniform. He set
a battery-operated lantern beside Randy. "Do you need medical attention,
ma'am?"