I Shall Not Want (49 page)

Unless he was going to rape her. Or kill her.

He waited for a scream. A shot. He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until the gunman reappeared, taking up his guard position. He exhaled. She was in the barn, then.

“Hey!” The man yelled in Spanish. “Victor!”

“Yeah?” Victor was the downslope guard.

“You ready?”

“Hell, no. How are we going to do it, anyway? It’s a stupid idea. We should just wait until Alejandro gets back.”

“I’m not risking him getting mad. I have an idea.”

“What, wave your lighter under the barn? You’re full of shit, Ferdo.”

“Set the hay bales on fire.”

Victor paused. “That might work.” He sounded surprised.

Amado waited for a protest, a plea, some movement from the barn. Nothing. Then he shook his head.
Idiot
. The Christies couldn’t understand a word. They had no warning. What should he do? How could he save Isobel when there was an open field and two men with guns between them?

Ferdo snagged one bale by its cord and set it on end. He picked up a second and a third, balancing each on its square end. He dug into his pants pocket. “If you see anybody moving in there, shoot them, okay?” A small flame sprang from his fingers. Amado knew it was a lighter, but from this distance, Ferdo looked like a devil summoning fire to torment the damned.

“I’ve got a better idea.” Victor swung his arm up and shot into the wide shadowed rectangle of the second-floor door. Amado heard yells and shouts from the interior. Victor squeezed off another shot.

On the other side of the barn, the tops of all three hay bales were smoking. Small pennants of flame fluttered, danced, then unfurled into sheets of red and orange. Ferdo grabbed one by its lower half and pitched it into the barn. Yells and screams were cut off as Victor put another bullet through the door. Ferdo tossed the second bale in. Then the third.

Victor’s gun blasted one more time. “I think that’ll do it.”

“Should I get my cell phone? To take pictures? Out here in the boonies, who’s going to know what they got?”

“Don’t worry. Word will get around.” Smoke roiled away from the side of the barn where Ferdo had thrown the hay in.

“Should we let the girl out?” Ferdo asked. “We could bang her.”

“That cold-blooded bitch? Forget it. I could find a hotter lay in a convent.”

“At the end of your right arm, you mean.”

“Better than some of the dogs you do.”

Over the increasing roar of the fire, Amado heard a distant metallic scrunch, wrench, smash, repeated over and over. He whirled around. Birds twittered and cawed. Nothing moved along the road or among the trees.

“What the hell?” one of the men said.

Amado spun back. This was his chance. He sprinted from the rhododendron bush to the roadway, staying out of sight of the meadow. He cupped his hands around his mouth.
God, make me a mimic
. “Victor! Ferdo!”

“Alejandro? Is that you?”

“Get over here and help me, you stupid sons of whores! She’s getting away!” He jogged a few feet down the road and shouted, “She’s running toward the farm! She’ll call the police! Follow me!” He ran another five yards. “Hurry, you fools! Help me catch her!” He spotted the huge granite stone and dove behind it. Seconds later, Victor and Ferdo thundered past, already panting as if they’d run a mile. For a moment he was tempted to run after them, to smash into their backs and roll them into the dirt, to batter their faces until there was nothing left but blood and bone.
Octavio
.
Oh, my brother
.

But Octavio was dead. He had to help the living. He rose and ran for the field, for the barn, for Isobel.

She opened her eyes. The windshield had cracked into a hundred pieces, diffusing blue and green and white over the airbags, deflating like emptied bladders. She hung upside down from her shoulder strap and seat belt. The roof, the doors, the floor looked like the inside of a tube of toothpaste after a series of good squeezes.

She looked to her right. The gunman was crumpled between the dashboard and the passenger seat. Parts of him were at odd angles, and blood from a gash on his head sheeted over his face. She swallowed. Tried to feel some stirring of compassion, but all she could see was Octavio sitting in that now-empty seat as she told him,
You’re safe. Everything’s going to be okay
. Another failing to add to her many failures as a priest.

Her door wouldn’t unlatch and her window wouldn’t roll down. She braced her back against the seat and planted her feet on either side of the steering wheel. She reached down with one hand to support herself against the roof. It took her three tries to unbuckle her belt. When it clicked open, she jammed herself in place, muscles screaming, and hand by foot by foot let herself down.

She inched forward along the inside of the roof and, twisting sideways, kicked out the remains of the windshield. She crawled past the steering wheel, beneath the slab of the car’s buckled, battered hood, chunks of safety glass embedding in her palms and catching in her dress. She squirmed through the narrow space between grass and steel and then she was free, rolling onto her back, breathing deep, looking at the dazzling sky arching over her.

Finally she said, “Thank you, God,” and staggered to her feet. It felt like she’d been worked over with a lead pipe. Her poor car was totaled. Another one. She lifted her eyes to the hills.
From whence my help cometh
. USAA was going to cancel her. Her parishioners would start calling her the Reverend Stephanie Plum.

She had been staring at a column of smoke for a while before she snapped to and realized it marked the location of the barn. She shuddered.
Call the fire department
. She glanced at the wreckage of her little red Subaru. Her phone was in there, somewhere. Walk down to the house and call? Hike up and tackle the next two bad guys? Lie down and wait for help? That last was appealing. They could send an ambulance for her. Maybe she could get a bed next to Russ.

Damn, I’d like a happy ending for a change
.

She smiled a little.

Now let’s go deal with the unhappy ending
.

“Sure. You’re flat on your back in the hospital. Easy for you to say.” She started back up the slope toward the forest, stepping over the deep gouges her car had scraped into the soil. She was almost to the tree line when a rumble and whine made her turn around. A yellow Aztek was jouncing across the field. It skidded to a stop next to the wreckage of her car. Hadley Knox leaped out.

“Hey!” Clare shouted. “Leave him! Up here! Up here!”

Hadley said something to the driver, then jumped back in. The SUV roared upslope and braked next to Clare. She grabbed the back door handle and hauled herself inside. Kevin Flynn and Hadley were twisted in their seats, staring at her. “Up this road,” she said. “Two more of the gang. And something’s on fire.”

“Shouldn’t you wait for the EMTs?” Kevin said. “You look like hell.”

“Go,” Clare snapped.

“Yes, ma’am,” Kevin said, and the Aztek surged forward.

Hadley unhooked the mic from the radio and switched it on. “Harlene, this is Knox, do you copy?”

“I copy you, Hadley.”

“Our eighty is a road behind the Christie pasture, heading up the mountain. We have two injured, two reported suspects at large, and a remote fire. Please send Fire and Rescue.”

“Copy that. Fire and Rescue on their way.”

Kevin motioned for the mic. Hadley handed it over. “Be advised non-four-wheel-drive vehicles will have very slow going.” They hit a root and bounced in their seats, emphasizing Kevin’s point.

“Will advise.”

Kevin handed the mic back to Hadley. “Knox out—holy shit, Flynn, watch out!” As they came around a bend, the two remaining gang members appeared, stumbling down the rutted road.

Kevin stood on the brakes. Hadley’s door was open before they skidded to a stop inches from the wide-eyed pair. She leaped from the vehicle, gun drawn. “Police!” she yelled. “Get down on the ground!”

The men looked as if they wanted to resist but were too winded. They flopped their arms toward their waists, bending over, sucking in air. Kevin jumped out of the Aztek. He and Hadley advanced on the gangbangers, weapons ready. “Down… on… the… ground!” Hadley shouted. The two men fell onto the dirt. Hadley trained her gun on them while Kevin cuffed them and removed their weapons. He twisted one man’s hand up, showing cryptic symbols tattooed on his fingers.

Clare got out. Through the screen of leaves and pine boughs, she could see the black smoke rising. “We need to hurry. Amado and Isabel Christie are up there with her brothers.”

Hadley and Kevin looked at each other. “Plastic strap their ankles,” Kevin said. “Leave ‘em at the side of the road to be picked up later.”

Hadley nodded. Removed a narrow white plastic loop from her belt. In less than a minute, both men were trussed like turkeys and safely out of the path of traffic. Hadley and Kevin climbed back into his truck. “Who’s The Man?” Kevin said, starting up the engine. “Who’s The Man?”

Hadley made a noncommittal noise.

They ascended the mountain much faster than Clare had in her Subaru. Kevin jounced through gullies and roared over washboard ridges that sent the Aztek airborne, evidently much less worried about his suspension than Clare had been.

They blasted through the forest fringe into an upper meadow obscured by a heavy haze of white smoke. Clare could see fire and a trace of the outline of the barn, but nothing else.

“Careful,” she said. “There’s a Humvee and a white van around here somewhere.”

Kevin inched toward the barn. A noise split the air like the clap of doom, a twisted mix of snapping wood and screaming metal.

“What in God’s name was that?” Hadley pulled her gun again.

The barn appeared out of the smoke as they rolled closer: first the outline, still holding against the sheets of flame roaring out the two doorways, then the texture, paint bubbling, wood charring, and finally—

“What the hell?” Kevin hit the brakes. The Humvee Clare had warned them about was backing away from the lower edge of the barn. Its grill was crumpled. One light hung from its socket like an eyeball in a horror comic. As they watched, the Humvee sped forward and rammed into the side of the barn. Burning clapboards toppled onto the hood. “Holy crow. That idiot’s going to blow that car up.” Kevin backed the Aztek away and turned off the engine. “Come on,” he said. “Reverend Clare, stay here.”

“You know, everyone always says that to me.” She tumbled out of the SUV. The smoke stung her eyes and burned in her throat. She tried to take shallow breaths. “I’m going to find Amado and Isabel.”

She didn’t wait for a reply. “Amado,” she shouted. “Isabel!” She struck out toward the uphill side, coughing, eyes watering. The smoke was everywhere, thick, sweet-smelling, not sooty like a wood fire, not green-scented like hay. Her head spun.

It’s pot, you idiot
. The barn wasn’t for storing hay. Holy God. Her freshman roommate, who had arrived at UVA with twenty ounces of Acapulco Gold, would have been in heaven. She was stumbling around the world’s biggest joint. “Isabel! Amado!” She tottered up the gentle rise, keeping well away from the barn. Chunks of timber were crashing down into the interior. Clapboards peeled away and tumbled to the grass. Sparks showered through the air like dandelion seeds. They had to get out of here. The forest was dry. If the wind picked up, they could be trapped like animals in one of those Discovery Channel specials.

Where the animals were trapped by fire. Not one where they mated. She giggled. Thought of Russ. Thought of Hadley repeating,
All normal physical functions
. Giggled again. She was laughing when she stumbled up to the edge of an oval fire pond, and there were Amado and Isabel, chest deep in water, cradling an unconscious, bloody man between them while streams of marijuana smoke curled around them.

“Reverend Clare!” Isabel waved. Amado smiled a huge smile. They both looked very, very happy. “He is alive! He really is!”

“Oh, my gracious Lord,” Clare said. “It’s a big bong.”

You are stoned out of your gourd. Shake it off and think straight or you’re all going to die out here
.

“What are you two doing in there?”

“My brother Bruce got shot. He’s knocked out. When we couldn’t get him away, Amado thought of getting into the water.” She looked at him with adoring, dilated eyes. “He’s my hero.” She turned back to Clare. “I wanted to leave Bruce to roast, but Amado wouldn’t.” She turned to him again. “You’re the best person I ever met. Did I tell you that?”

“Oh. That’s beautiful.” Clare waded into the water. “And it’s good, because you’re not supposed to leave people to die. You two are beautiful. You wanna get married? ‘Cause I can marry you. Legal and all.”

There was another boom. The Humvee trying to batter its way into the barn. The sound sobered Clare for a moment. “What’s going on over there?”

“Donald. And Neil. They figgured if they could get to the stuff underneath that hadn’t burned yet, they could save some. They been hiding it ever since they stole it. ‘Sworth a lot of money. There’s a lot in there.”

Clare filled her lungs. “I can tell.” She laughed. “Okay, this is serious. We brought a four-wheel-drive up here. Come with me. Let’s all get in and get the hell away from here.”

“You said hell.” Isabel tugged at Amado’s sleeve. He smiled amiably and followed her, dragging Bruce Christie’s limp form behind him.

“Yeah. I used to swear a lot. I had to give it up when I became a priest.” Clare ducked beneath the water, drenching herself, then led the happy pair toward where she thought the Aztek was parked.

She found it, after several more deep breaths of smoke. She helped Amado wrestle Bruce inside. Isabel clambered over the two men.

Clare looked around the interior. It was a lot smaller with three people in the back. “I dunno how we’re going to fit your other brothers in here.”

“Oh, let ‘em burn and die,” Isabel said cheerfully. “Burn and die, burn and die.”