In the Belly of Jonah (39 page)

In the gentlest voice I’d ever heard from him, he said, “Liv, will you please lie down right here. Feet toward the cliff, please.”

I did as I was told.

I had stalled long enough, put off the inevitable. I dropped to the ground, realizing too late that the keys were still balled in my right fist. He had already moved away, toward the highwall. He was holding up his hands, using the first finger and thumb of each hand to make a picture frame. He was really going through with this idiotic photo shoot, I realized.

I lay panting, heaving, trying to regain my breath and composure, sweating profusely in the hot sun. I saw him smile at me through the finger frame.

“You know you did me a favor, Liv,” he said.

I lay there, still, choosing not to talk with him anymore.

“I needed to get rid of that pickup. I’m leaving town, you see, and I needed to find a place for it.” He walked toward me once again. “So, thank you.”

I squinted up at him. His body was not quite blocking the sun.

“I saw the handful of vehicles by the plant when we drove in. I’ll just borrow one of those. And if your workers would rather I didn’t, I’ll just pop their heads off. See what you’ve done, Liv? To Liv, or not to Liv. Isn’t that clever?”

I squeezed my eyes closed, cursing myself for putting my guys in danger. The swift kick Dr. Jay delivered to my ribs wasn’t nearly as painful as the thought that I’d endangered one of my employees. Tears burned in my eyes, my throat welling with sorrow.

I felt his hands on my arm. My eyes snapped open. He was crouching beside me, injecting me with something.

It was now or never.

I slammed my right fist into his face, hoping to gouge the key deep into some part of his pretty features. I felt my knuckles connect with bone, the key getting lodged in something fleshy. My hand dropped to my side, a heavy thumping noise against the rock. But I didn’t feel a thing. My arm didn’t hurt. My nose didn’t hurt. My knees stopped stinging from my having landed hard on the limestone after diving through the cab. My lips stopped aching.

“You stupid cow,” the words came slow and slurred, distorted by some thickness in my ears.

I could hear him, but I couldn’t see him.

My vision was failing me, and my world was slowly spinning to a stop.

STREETER SCRAMBLED TO HIS
feet and bolted down the hill toward both of them, clutching the gun in his hand. The pickup rolled down the hill, off the rock ledge, and launched itself into the quarry pit below. Streeter saw both Liv and Jonah dive from the pickup just as it was tipping over the edge, and he scrambled behind a boulder so as not to be seen. He had closed the gap to twenty yards, still farther than he’d like for a good shot at Jonah Bravo’s kill zone.

He panted as he whispered, “I’m within twenty yards. I need to get closer and will need backup. Doughty?”

A crackle sounded on Streeter’s radio. Streeter jerked his head around to make sure Jonah Bravo didn’t hear Andy Doughty’s frightened voice sound across his radio. “Did you see that? Oh my Lord!”

Streeter squeezed his eyes closed briefly, willing himself calm, and pressed the radio to his lips, whispering, “Get as close as you can without being seen or heard. Turn your radio off. I’m going to do the same. If anyone hears gunfire, close in. Fast.”

Streeter turned off the switch and peeked around the rock. Jonah was leading Liv back to where they’d been standing. He was making her lie down on the ground. Streeter crept around the rock and sprinted behind a closer one, then another. He caught his breath again and heard Jonah talking. He was too close to peek around now, close enough to get a shot off. He heard Jonah telling Liv how she had screwed up and that he was going to kill one of her employees or all of them and steal a car.

Just as he was about to peer around the rock, Streeter heard Jonah scream, “You stupid cow!”

Streeter jumped from behind the rock and fired twice into Jonah’s chest, the holes blossoming into red. Jonah Bravo just stood there, stunned. Streeter was stunned too. Not because of the bullet holes he’d made in the man’s chest or because the man still hadn’t dropped like a rock from the hole that pierced where his heart should be, but because of the keys dangling from Jonah’s left eye socket.

Jonah staggered backward two steps, then plunged over the edge of the rock ledge.

Streeter ran to Liv, a needle still protruding from her left arm. Dust from Kelleher’s tires sprayed a wake as he screeched to a stop nearby. Doughty crouched beside Streeter, panting, just as the ambulance rounded the north cut heading for the group.

Streeter felt for a pulse.

He couldn’t find one.

The paramedics pushed him aside and injected a shot of Narcan into Liv’s right arm. Her eyes fluttered open. The paramedics quickly rolled her onto a gurney and into the back of the ambulance, strapping the oxygen over her nose and mouth. Spent as the adrenaline rush subsided, Streeter plopped onto the ground as the ambulance sped away.

Kelleher reached out his hand and helped him up. All three walked to the edge of the rock ledge and stared down at the twisted mass below. Next to the crumpled pickup lay Jonah Bravo’s shattered body, his eyes wide open, the crimson blossoms on his chest, the keys still protruding from his left eye.

Doug Brandt at the base of the highwall walked up to the body and stomped the heel of his boot hard on Jonah Bravo’s belly, once for Jill Brannigan and once for Lisa Henry.

MY PRAYER OF THANKS
for being alive was long and rambling, interrupted often by the fuzz in my head and frequent drifts in and out of sleep. Crazy nightmarish dreams come along with being doped up, and I don’t understand why anyone would want to volunteer to be in that audience.

I never did meet Agent Streeter Pierce. But I understand from Agent Kelleher that he’s the reason I’m still alive.

I’m getting released from Poudre Hospital today, four weeks after I was nearly killed by the infamous Venus de Milo murderer. The Narcan wore off way faster than the heroin did, so I lapsed into unconsciousness a few hours after I arrived at the hospital. I was out of it for three weeks, my body protesting the pollution of that nasty drug. I don’t know what the long-term effect of that scary little episode will cost me, but I’m glad I’m still here to find out.

During the past week in particular, I’ve had a lot of time to think. And pray. I’ve decided that as much as I love working in the family business and want to help any way I can, life is too short to spend every waking minute working, and I want to spend more time with the people I love. Of course, Mom is thrilled, as we’ve had hours and hours to talk through how I could make that happen, starting with coming home for a couple of weeks to do my required rehab.

She’s been keeping vigil by my bedside every one of the last twenty-eight days. In fact, she said that every one of my family members has been by to see me. Dad spent the first three days sleeping in my room in that tiny little chair by the window. It’s hard for me to imagine since my dad is larger than life—and busy as hell!

Elizabeth’s been by several times. Once, she lifted the sheet to check if I was wearing my steel-toed boots with my hospital gown, making me laugh, which hurt. And Michael had been by too. So have Frances and her husband, John. I appreciate each one’s effort even though I don’t remember a thing. One thing that’s crystal clear, though, is that I missed helping Elizabeth with the fireworks on Mt. Rushmore this year—apparently I was unconscious for that entire Fourth of July week—and I don’t want to miss that ever again.

Even Special Agent Streeter Pierce came by to see me a couple of times when I was in a coma. Mom said he’s a nice man. That’s a bonus. Maybe my path will cross with Special Agent Streeter Pierce’s again someday. I hope it’s not when I’m naked, draped in a sheet, doped up on heroin, and lying on the edge of a highwall. A girl can hope.

I will miss Lisa Henry. She was a good friend, a great agent, and an awesome human being. What a beautiful soul! I just lived through what she must have experienced, so I’m comforted a little knowing that she didn’t die in pain. But she didn’t deserve to have her life taken from her.

When Lisa told me for the third time that I should consider a career with the FBI, my last words to her were, “Maybe in my next life.” I wish my last words to her had been something more profound, more heartfelt. I would have gone for even a simple “thank you.”

My eyelids are growing heavy again, and my mind’s eye has flashed on Lisa’s stunning face that last morning. As if in a dream, I am standing shoulder to shoulder with her and Streeter, fighting off all the bad guys in the world.

And in between the barrage of gunfire, I am screaming the words, “Thank you, Lisa. Thank you!”

AS A MINER FROM
the Black Hills of South Dakota, I am a neophyte when it comes to knowing what it takes to get a book into a reader’s hands. I am amazed at the intricacies involved and the talents required of the publishing world. To acknowledge everyone who contributed is nearly impossible since the team that has helped me with my breakout novel is quite large. For my peers out there, I’ll use mining terms to shed some light on those who have helped me in my journey.

Auburn Rutledge was the prospector looking for that diamond in the rough amid the rubble of submissions. She was the person who first saw a glitter of hope in this story.

Jay Hodges, the assay expert, confirmed Auburn's find, and his enthusiasm and kind words of encouragement helped me step through the mine portal. Without these two, you wouldn’t be reading this book.

Hobbs Allison Jr. wore the miner’s hard hat with the light, shining the way for me as I traveled down into the belly of the mine. Because of him, I merely stubbed my toe on occasion rather than falling flat on my face.

Bryan Carroll’s was the face of every miner we meet, hard at work in production so that everything runs smoothly. Underground—but not unnoticed, and very much appreciated—he is the workhorse behind the book in your hands.

Lisa Woods was the blast, the most fun part of mining. I have her to thank for this explosive book cover and interior design.

Carrie Winsett was the mine engineer, her keen eye trained to find the best method, approach, and presentation of any gems mined. Her marketing genius created a sturdy, precise, and effective platform for launching this book.

Kristen Sears, the railroad engineer, carried this gem out of the mine to the market, to all the stores that are willing to showcase them. Without her efforts and the book buyers’ discerning eye, this book would have never made it to the shelves.