Tales of Chills and Thrills: The Mystery Thriller Horror Box Set (7 Mystery Thriller Horror Novels) (98 page)

“You want the nearest hospital, once we lose this guy?”

“No.”

“Sheriff’s station?”

A more definitive, “No!”

He swore softly to himself, then shook his head. He had a
real live one here. He turned up the 207 toward Daggett Pass and headed for his
uncle’s place high above Lake Tahoe.

“That an ex who shot up you and my car?”

“No. I don’t date short, fat guys,” she said. “He can’t
shoot worth a shit. I think he’s high or drunk. Maybe he’ll drive off the road
and kill himself.”

On the border, the men he’d worked with before all his
troubles called good-looking, kick-ass female agents
cool heat
. He
figured he had one sitting next to him and, at this stage of his life, getting
caught up in some chick’s mess was the last thing he needed.

Why couldn’t she at least be ugly, toothless, and fat?

He wondered if, in some past life, he’d really pissed off
the gods.

3

Sydney Jesup struggled to regroup. Moments ago, she’d been
facing death and now found herself sitting in a very fast Shelby convertible
driven by a wild-haired guy blowing through the Sierras.

“Thanks for picking me up,” she said.

“My pleasure. You don’t like hospitals or cops, and somebody
wants you dead. I can’t wait to hear what’s going on.”

“Sorry about that.”

Sydney Jesup figured her good fortune was not merely being
picked up by this guy, rather than being run over or shot by him. It was a
certainly a bonus that he had a very fast car and knew how to drive—all nice
qualities, for sure—but she suspected he was more than just a guy on a nice
Sunday drive. She watched him as he kept tracking their pursuer in the car’s
mirrors without missing a beat on the squirrely road, yet could carry on
conversation.
He’s used to bad situations,
she thought. It didn’t hurt he
was nice looking in a rugged, unfinished sort of way.

How lucky can a should-be-dead girl get?

“You don’t date short, fat guys?”

“No.”

He grinned with a head shake. “Maybe that’s why he wants to
kill you.”

“Maybe. Fortunately, he was a lousy shot.”

“Good enough to get my car. And you look like he wasn’t
totally off the mark with you.”

“You shoot a whole clip at thirty feet and you don’t get a
kill, you’re in the wrong profession.”

“You have any idea who he is?”

“No. I have plenty of enemies. I’d have to check my
Rolodex.”

Sydney tried to look behind them, holding her side, but it
hurt too much and she turned back to using the side mirror…no sign of their
pursuer.

“You don’t by any chance have a gun?” she asked.

“No.” He gave her a raised-eyebrow glance. “Not at the
moment. Don’t worry—he won’t catch up. Who are you that somebody is trying so
hard to take you out? I kinda need to know that while were together, even if
it’s a short time. He knows my car. Red Shelby convertibles aren’t all that
common.”

“Slow down a little,” she said. “Getting stopped by a
sheriff or CHP won’t be a good scenario, and this area is something of a speed
trap.”

“You have a background in law, the military, or crime?” he
asked as he backed off the accelerator.

“Sheriff and DA’s office in South Lake,” she said. “Past
tense. You from around the Tahoe area?”

“Reno. I have relatives up here. I haven’t been back in
about seven years or so.”

“Military?”

“That and border, but now I’m a free multimillionaire in the
making.”

“Unemployed.”

“Temporarily,” he said. “Actually, I was on my way”—he took
a sharp turn with race-car finesse—”to a job interview. You’re an unexpected
diversion.”

“Sorry ‘bout that. It’s a risk when you pick up random
chicks on the road.”

“I’ll try and remember that.”

They sailed up through the curves that led to the top of the
mountain.

“I’m Marco Cruz,” he said, breaking the silence.

“Sydney Jesup. Thanks again. Listen, I know a place on the
other side of the lake where you can drop me.”

“I’ll make a stop first,” he said. “I have a safe place
where you can get your wounds cleaned and secured.”

“I really need to get across the lake. I have a doc friend
who’ll deal with them.”

“Sorry,” he continued, “but I’m not running around the lake
in daylight in this car with a shooter tracking me. Maybe he’s in contact with
friends who are waiting on the lake side.”

She thought of arguing, but he was right to worry about
that. If the source of the botched hit was coming from Incline Village, there
could be five guys out there looking for them. This guy had all the qualities of
the macho alpha-male types she usually bumped heads with, but in this case it
was exactly what she needed.

Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,
as her father
liked to say. She put her head back. She knew Thorp wanted her dead, but he was
too smart to pull a dumb stunt like this. She had the feeling she knew who the
shooter was but just couldn’t place him.

“You have water? I’m really thirsty.”

“No. I finished the bottle I had. I’ll get more in a minute.
When I get to my uncle’s, we’ll get you rehydrated. Runnin’ around in that dry
heat will take down anything short of a two-hump camel.”

Just over Daggett Pass, he turned off on a side road, then
again on another feeder dirt road back along the mountain. He slowed to a crawl
and put the top up.

“Where is this place?” she asked, not feeling very
comfortable getting bumped around on a dirt road, Mustangs not being off-road
vehicles.

“The last place your shooter wants to show up. And it’s hard
to find. End of this old logging road. Not far. Close to the top of the mountain
above Kingsbury Village. I haven’t been there in nearly a decade but spent a lot
of time there as a kid. It’s a great place. View of the whole valley.”

“I’m sure it’s nice,” she said. Small talk at this point
wasn’t appealing to her. But the man had saved her life, and she needed him to
get her to a place that would work as a safe house, so she indulged him.

“You didn’t like border work?” she asked.

“I did. For awhile.” He didn’t elaborate.

“I’ll get out of your curly locks quick as I can,” she
assured him. “Who owns this house?”

Before he could answer that, his cell phone rang. He touched
the synced phone button on the steering wheel. “Hey.”

“Marco, when you getting here?”

“Be there in about two minutes.”

“Great. Can’t wait to see you.”

Marco hung up. “You’ll love my uncle. He’s like an
old-fashioned mountain man. I loved coming up here.”

She was quickly losing any desire to further engage in
conversation, and she wondered just how much bleed-out there was. She put a hand
under her belt, and it didn’t feel very good.

He must have noticed her movement, because he tried to ease
along, but now she was too miserable to appreciate it. She had her eyes closed,
felt her face muscles tighten. No hiding the pain any longer. Sometimes the pain
of a wound didn’t show up until the adrenalin subsided. She was feeling the burn
now, especially in her side.

She had to call her cousin to get over the hatchery, but she
didn’t want him going over there right now. She opened her eyes again and stared
out the windshield as they turned toward the lake. It appeared like a mirage
through the big lodgepole pines and outcrops of boulders.

Ahead, perched high above Kingsbury Village and Zephyr Cove,
the approaching stone and wood house indeed had a world-class view. The sun was
suspended on the mountains across the lake. It would be down in half an hour.
Already, shadows were sliding off the western slopes toward Tahoe City and Meeks
Bay.

She said, “Your uncle’s?”

“Yes. Eagle’s view of nearly the entire twenty-two miles of
Lake Tahoe, the ‘big water.’ He and I once walked around the entire shoreline,
the
Da’aw ‘a:go’a
, as the Washo Indians called it. Did it in one day.”

He eased to a crawl to avoid jolting her along the last
stretch of rutted dirt road.

“He’s got this
temescal
sweat hut and rock pool. Do
you a world of good once you get those wounds dealt with. We used to sit out
there at night. Nothing like it. The sky and the lake are—”

“Sounds nice, but I don’t think I’ll have time,” she said,
cutting him off.

They lost sight of the house for a moment, then passed some
trees, and it came back into view. And with it, a dozen or more cars parked near
the house. Looked like a lot of people up on the deck.

“You couldn’t be safer,” Marco said, as though anticipating
her next comment. “Nobody in their right mind would mess with my uncle and his
friends, even if they could find this place.”

“Exactly who is your uncle?” she asked.

He parked behind a white Lexus. “That man coming to meet us.
I’ll be right back.”

No way. Not happening. “Your uncle is Tony Cillo?”

“Yes. Why?”

“I think you should get me the hell out of here, if you
don’t mind.”

“Marco! Welcome home, boy!” the big voice of Tony Cillo
boomed as he bounded down the steps of the porch.

Marco, half out of the car, glanced at her and then turned
to his uncle. “Let me talk to him and tell him I’ll be back.”

Sydney tried to protest, but he was already walking toward
Cillo. Up on the porch stood half the illegal bookies and crooks in Lake Tahoe.

Had she the capacity at the moment to laugh, she would have.
Her hero, her savior, was the nephew of Tony “Macaroni” Cillo!

Are you fucking kidding me?

Then, seeing the key still in the ignition, Sydney figured
she could very easily slide over behind the wheel, steal the guy’s Shelby, and
get the hell out of there. It was manual, and she was right at home with a
stick…

4

Marco’s uncle bounded down the steps, looking all thrilled
to see Marco. There were at least a dozen people behind him up on the deck and a
WELCOME HOME
sign on the porch railing. He came up toward the car with a big
smile, saying, “I didn’t believe it when you said you were coming back here.”

“Yeah.” Marco got out, glancing at his passenger.

Marco’s uncle gave him a bear hug, a slap on his arm, then
stepped back. “Good to see you, boy. Been a long time.”

“You didn’t need to throw a party for me,” Marco said.

“Hell, yes, I did.”

“You’re looking good,” Marco said, thinking his uncle looked
like he’d put on about thirty pounds. Fat and happy.

“For an old, flea-bitten dog,” Cillo said with a wide grin.
“Damn, it’s been way too long.”

Cillo, now seeing Marco had a passenger, lowered his voice.
“Heard some about all your troubles south of the border from your mom, but you
don’t look any worse for wear. Gonna get you fixed up. Big things happening.”
His eyes shifted to the car. “You got yourself a real serious ride. Damn fine
car. You’re gonna have to give me a tour in that, but first an intro to your
lady.”

“She’s not exactly my lady,” Marco said. “Look, it’s great
to be back, but I have something I need to deal with.” Marco glanced up on the
crowded porch, where the party had slowed and attention was on him.

Under the porch, Cillo’s old wolf-dog, Cujo, watched with
yellow-eyed suspicion. That the dog was still alive was amazing. Had to be
twenty years old, he thought. A real survivor. Like his master.

On the deck, and no doubt up the hill behind the house at
the sweat hut and pool, he heard the shrill giggles of liquored-up females.

“Sure, sure. Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it.” Cillo
waved his arm to embrace the Tahoe basin. “Things have changed. Something I want
to get you involved in on the ground floor…if you’re of a mind to get rich, and
I’m sure you are.”

Marco grabbed his uncle’s arm and said, “I got a little
problem here.” Marco realized his uncle was a little high. “Something I need to
deal with now. I didn’t think there would be so many people.”

“Hell, those are friends and associates of mine and soon to
be of yours,” Cillo said. He stooped to get a better look at the female in the
passenger seat of the Mustang.

“There’s a problem,” Marco said again.

“With women, there always is. Nothin’ can’t be fixed,” Cillo
said. “What’s the deal? She angry at you?”

“No. She’s been shot.”

Cillo’s expression darkened after he took another look. Then
his expression changed. Did he recognize her? Now Marco had his full attention.

“Shot!” Cillo moved forward and peered again into the
Mustang. “What the hell’s going on? Christ, you know who—?”

“Somebody tried to kill her…at the hatchery. I picked her up
running down the road in her bare feet. She needs somewhere—”

“Hell, no,” Cillo said. “No-no-no. Can’t be. Damn, boy, why
would you bring that woman, of all people, here? You shoulda dropped her off at
the Carson Valley medical half a mile up the road from the hatchery.”

“We had a bit of a chase. And she’s not interested in
hospitals or cops right now. She didn’t explain. She needs her wounds cleaned.”

His uncle gave him a cold, hard look. “This isn’t good,
Marco. That woman ain’t welcome up here under any circumstances. She’s a goddamn
pariah around the lake.”

Behind them, the party seemed to slow as if sensing
collectively something was wrong.

“I don’t know anything about that,” Marco said. “All I know
is I found her running from the hatchery over in Gardnerville. Some guy chased
us in a pickup but I lost him. Bastard put a couple bullets in her and in my
car. She needs help.”

Cillo turned as a couple men came down the steps from the
porch, drinks in hand, celebrating, calling to Marco.

“I’m dealing with something here, boys,” Cillo said. “We’ll
be up in a minute. Go on back to the party.”