Oh, brother. “Look . . . I’m sorry, okay? I was just startled, and I . . . Wait a minute. Why am I apologizing?”
He flashed a devilish grin. Her heartbeat immediately quickened. “’Cause you should,” he drawled in his seductive southern accent.
The big jerk was so aloof and impassive, so why were her senses going berserk now? With the bursts of lightning, she could see his face clearly. The day’s growth of whiskers should have made him look scruffy, but it didn’t. She had to resist the urge to touch his cheek. His wonderful scent was driving her to distraction too. He smelled like wintergreen and musk and fresh wood shavings. And when he had held her in his arms to warm her, his body had felt like a smooth block of sculptor’s marble. Everything about him was sexy, damn it. He was so masculine, so . . . Get a grip, she told herself. Remember, you’re in charge.
Yeah, right. She put her forefinger and her thumb up in front of his eyes about a half-inch apart and said, “I’m this close to really hating you.”
She’d used just the right amount of anger in her voice. She nodded too, just to let him know she meant every word.
He wasn’t impressed or intimidated. He simply closed his eyes and lazily said, “I can live with that.”
Chapter 18
WE GO THROUGH THE WALL.” ANNE MADE THE announcement and then waited for the women’s reaction to her suggestion. Sara looked incredulous; Carrie looked irritated.
“Yeah, right,” Carrie muttered. “I’ll use my superhuman karate kicks and my X-ray vision . . .”
“Now, Carrie, let’s hear what Anne has to say,” Sara chided.
“I’m telling you, it could work. When I got out of the car, I walked over to the stone wall and looked down. The mountain slopes on this side of the house. It’s not a sheer drop like it is outside the living room windows.”
“Go on,” Sara urged.
“I also noticed the sides of the house are cedar boards, not stone like the front,” she said. “There’s an outside wall in the pantry that’s just on the other side of the stone wall. I suggest we punch a big hole in the Sheetrock near the floor, so that when we do kick the cedar boards out, we won’t be seen from the front.”
“But Anne, there’s more than just Sheetrock and cedar boards,” Sara said.
“I know exactly what’s between those walls,” she boasted. “There’s insulation, but that won’t be difficult to tear out, and maybe wiring too, which we could work around, and a layer of sheathing . . .”
“And what else?” Sara asked. She leaned forward while she considered Anne’s idea.
“Two-by-fours,” Anne said. “Studs are usually about sixteen inches apart. We should all be able to squeeze through.”
“How do we make a hole in the Sheetrock? With our fists?”
“We use the poker from the fireplace,” Anne said. “And knives to widen the hole. I took inventory, and the kitchen knives are still in the drawers. If we started now, who knows? We might be out of here by morning.”
“Time’s running out,” Carrie said. “I say we try to break a window and hope we don’t . . .” She stopped when Sara shook her head.
“Too risky,” Sara said. “I say we go with Anne’s plan.”
“What about the cedar boards?”
“It won’t be as difficult as you think,” Anne said. “They’re nailed in, but if we hit them hard enough or kick them, they’ll eventually pop right out.”
“My goodness, we’ve got a plan,” Sara said. She slapped her hand on the table and smiled. “I’m sure we won’t be able to find any rope to use to climb down, but wouldn’t sheets work?”
“In the movies, they always use sheets to get out,” Carrie said.
“Really?” Anne asked.
Carrie nodded. “You honestly don’t watch television, do you?”
Anne shook her head. “I could work on the sheets. Maybe instead of tying knots, I could figure out a way to braid them together . . . or something.”
“That’s good,” Sara said. “While you’re doing that, Carrie and I will work on the wall. Anne, you’re brilliant. I never would have thought to go out through a wall. I think this is doable.”
“We have to leave during the night,” Carrie said. “I don’t relish the idea of tromping through the wilderness in the dark, but if we make our way downhill until we estimate we’re past the fence, then we could get to the road and follow it back to town.”
She’d made it all sound easy. Was she being naive, or could it be that simple?
“We should probably take a couple of sharp knives with us,” Sara suggested. “Just in case we run into any wild animals.”
“Or Monk,” Carrie said. She shivered then. “I think I’d prefer fighting off a wild animal than running into him. Do you know . . .” She suddenly stopped, embarrassed at what she had almost confessed.
“What?” Sara asked.
“You’ll think I’m gross, but I thought he was handsome.”
Sara snorted with laughter. “I did too. I loved his accent. Do you think it was real?”
“I thought so,” Carrie said. “I thought he was sexy.”
Anne had been listening quietly to the conversation until Carrie made that comment. She couldn’t keep silent any longer; her disapproval was evident. “Shame on you, Carrie. You’re a married woman.”
Carrie defended herself. “I’m married, yes, but I’m not blind, and there isn’t anything wrong with appreciating a great-looking man. Surely you’ve—”
Anne cut her off. “Absolutely not,” she insisted. “I would never insult my Eric by lusting after another man.”
“Did I say I lusted after him?”
“Will you stop bickering,” Sara begged. “You make me want to open a door.”
Chapter 19
JOHN PAUL RETRIEVED THE WATCH THEN HIKED OVER TWELVE miles. He made a wide circle around the perimeter of the location marked on the map looking for signs—anything out of the ordinary, like a sniper hunkered down in the scrub. When he was satisfied he was alone, he planted the watch and backtracked four miles to Coward’s Crossing.
There wasn’t any doubt about being in the right place. There was a crude hand-painted sign nailed to a stake that had recently been pounded into the ground. The white paint with the words “Coward’s Crossing” wasn’t weathered and, therefore, couldn’t have been more than a couple of days old. The arrow on top of the sign pointed to a boarded-up, abandoned mine shaft. There was a woman’s bright red silk scarf nailed to another board above the entrance.
Dawn had arrived, and the mist was being burned by the rising sun. John Paul was safely concealed by the trees and bushes. From where he was positioned, he could see the entrance to the shaft. He didn’t relish the idea of climbing down inside. Were the women there? Doubtful, he thought. Monk wouldn’t have kidnapped them and then given Avery a map showing their location. No, Monk was isolating his prey. No doubt about that.
When would he take his shot? Maybe he thought they would want to go into the shaft. How had Monk planned to kill them? Explosives, he guessed. Yeah, that’s what Monk would do. Clean and neat, an underground explosion no one would hear, and he wouldn’t have to worry about burying what was left of their bodies.
Come on, John Paul urged. Show yourself. There was a good thirty yards of open space between the cover of the trees and the shaft. Check it out, Monk. Let me get one clear shot. He would try to immobilize him so he could question him and, hopefully, find out where the women were.
Someone was out there. The silence in the woods confirmed it. No birds singing, no squirrels scurrying about as they foraged for food. Nothing but the wind whistling a forlorn melody through the branches and an occasional rumble of thunder in the distance.
John Paul was patient. He could wait it out for as long as he needed. But what about Avery? How long would she sleep? And when she woke up and found him gone, would she try to come after him? The possibility sent chills down his back. He pictured her walking into a trap and had to force himself to block the image of her being gunned down.
He thought he heard something and tilted his head, straining to listen. The sound didn’t come again.
What was Avery doing now? Was she still asleep? He’d left her snug as a bug in his sleeping bag with the gun next to her.
Damn, he’d hated leaving her. Knock it off, he told himself. She’s fine. The car’s well hidden and over ten miles away. Yeah, she was okay. Ah, hell, try as he did, he couldn’t convince himself.
How in God’s name had she worked her way under his skin so quickly? And what the hell was the matter with him to be attracted to her? She was a damn liberal, he reminded himself, one of those “Let’s save the world” types. Worse, she was a team player, and the team she obviously loved playing for was the Bureau.
They were completely, thoroughly, absolutely unsuitable for each other. And yet here he was, worrying himself sick about her.
Monk could have tracked them . . . a twig snapped behind him. Without making a sound, he turned, trying to pinpoint the location. He thought it was maybe thirty or forty feet away, but with the rising wind it was impossible to be accurate.
For over five minutes he didn’t move a muscle. Then he heard another sound, a faint rustling of leaves. Ever so slowly, he eased back on his haunches, zeroed in on the exact spot where the noise had come from, and took aim.
Then he saw those blue eyes staring at him between two little branches she had so painstakingly parted.
He was suddenly livid. He had damn near killed the woman. What could she have been thinking to sneak up on him like that? If she hadn’t stayed perfectly still and let him see her face, if she had made one more little sound, he might have blown her away. Son of a bitch, he silently cursed as he eased up on the trigger. Son of a bitch.
Thank God he hadn’t hurt her. An odd thought, given the fact that he was now contemplating wringing her neck.
He strained from the effort he exerted not to shout at her. He held up one hand, motioning for her to stay put. She slowly shook her head and held up one finger. Then she pointed behind her.
He moved through the brush toward her.
Avery knew he was furious. His jaw was clenched so tight she thought it might shatter. She slowly got up on her knees, leaned into him until her mouth was touching his ear. Then she whispered, “He found the car.”
John Paul heard movement and saw the glint of steel through the trees about fifty feet away. Like a lion, he sprang.
Avery didn’t have time to react. One second she was whispering into his ear, and the next she was flat on her stomach on the ground, her face smashed into dead leaves with John Paul covering her as he fired. The dirt around her head was spitting up into her hair.
He rolled, fired again and again as he jerked her to her knees. “Move it,” he ordered.
After the first shot, he knew Monk had a high-powered rifle. Probably with one of those fancy nightscopes too. All the bastard needed was one clear shot. No, make that two.
He figured Monk was trying to get them to run into the clearing by shooting at their only other way out.
Avery inadvertently cooperated. She veered to the right, away from the hail of bullets, but John Paul threw his arm around her and lifted her off the ground as he pushed her in front of him, using his body as a shield against the bullets flying around them.
“Go, go, go,” he whispered, urging her on.
A branch came flying at her face. He blocked it like a football player with his forearm and shoved her ahead. She stumbled back against him, righted herself before he could try to jerk her arm out of its socket again, and kept going. They were running uphill now through a maze of trees. She heard a roaring in her ears, thought it was her heart pounding.
She was wrong about that. She reached a boulder. The surface was wet and slick. She scrambled up on her hands and knees, and then came to a hard stop. Good God, there was a sheer drop of at least fifty feet, and at the bottom was white, foaming water.
The hell with that. In her mind, they were out of options. The rapids were below them, but the killer was behind them and rushing toward them. As Avery peered over at the white water, she thought they had a better chance of surviving if they faced Monk head-on.
She unzipped her windbreaker pocket and pulled out the gun. John Paul emptied his gun, released the clip, and snapped another in. Then he flipped the safety on, glanced over the boulder to see what was below, and shoved his gun into Avery’s pocket. After he zipped it up, he took her gun, put it in her other pocket, and zipped it closed.
She didn’t like where this was leading. “We stay and fight,” she said.
He shook his head. She frantically nodded. They could both hear Monk crashing through the brush. He was firing wild now, but nonstop. John Paul wrapped his arms around Avery’s waist, holding her tightly in a bear hug. As he leapt from the rock ledge, he asked, “Can you swim?”
Chapter 20
COULD SHE SWIM? HE HAD THE GALL TO ASK HER THAT question after he’d lunged off the ledge with her locked in his arms. Avery didn’t scream. Her life didn’t pass before her eyes either on that endless flight down into the water below. She was too busy trying to punch him so he’d let go of her. And too scared to make a sound. Oh, Lord, don’t let us drown.
They hit hard, plunging feetfirst into the icy water. It felt as if a thousand needles sliced through her feet and traveled at the speed of light all the way up into her brain. The impact was paralyzing.
He never let go of her. Not when they were sucked under by the raging water, and not during their frantic search for the surface as they were plummeting down the roaring rapids. Just when she was certain her lungs were going to burst, they finally clawed their way to air, but they had only enough time to fill their lungs before they were pulled under by the current.
She saw a brown bear watching them from the bank. She could have sworn he was grinning at them and didn’t want that image to be her last before she died. She wanted to survive so she could give John Paul hell for trying to drown her. As if something had hold of her ankles and was tugging her down, she sank again. She would damn well have to fight harder to make it. She’d grown up swimming in the ocean, first in Florida and then in California, and was a stronger swimmer than most, but this wasn’t swimming. They were bobbing like corks.
They reached the surface again. Gasping to take in as much air as possible, she spotted a big old gnarled tree branch bouncing from one white-water crest to another. With both hands, she grabbed hold when it came roaring past.
