Buried Truth (11 page)

Heather stumbled, fear strong in her stomach. Dr. Egan helped Margot quickly gather up her supplies and held her elbow as she made her way to Crow’s vehicle. Heather risked a look around as Bill opened the door and propelled her inside. No sign of anything amiss that she could detect, but Tank was barking now, body taut.

“Stay here,” Bill directed as he closed the door. He dialed his cell phone and waited before he snapped it shut. “Crow’s not answering. I’m going to find him.” He handed her the
keys. “Start the engine and if there’s any trouble, drive out of here as fast as you can.”

Before she could answer, he jogged to the other car and gave them the same instructions. Dr. Egan sat in the driver’s seat, face pale, hands clutching the steering wheel. Crouching low, Bill spoke to Tank and they both headed around the back of the house.

Tiny beads of sweat prickled Heather’s forehead, in spite of the ice-cold sensation in the pit of her stomach. Oscar was waiting, hiding behind some rock or tree. She’d allowed the whole thing to happen because of her need to get the story, to humor Dr. Egan.

She swallowed.

To be something in the eyes of her mother. They should be safe at home, but once again her bad choices overrode good sense.

Teeth clenched, she pounded the steering wheel.

Why should she put all of them at risk to impress her runaway mother? A swell of anger rushed up inside her so strongly it took her breath away. Before the sensation became strong enough to overwhelm her, she closed her eyes.

“Lord, help me be strong against the hurt,” she murmured. She would not give in to the darkness and let go of her hard-earned wisdom, the blessing of a sober life. When she opened her eyes, she saw Bill running to the truck, phone to his ear, Tank’s barking now audible from behind the house.

“G
o back to town,” Bill said, keeping his voice low. “Something’s wrong. Saw through the window there’s a bottle of whiskey on the kitchen table.” He saw her raised eyebrow. “Brown doesn’t drink. His wife was killed by a drunk driver and he doesn’t touch a drop.”

Heather blinked, then called past Bill to her mother. “Go back, Dr. Egan. I’m going to stay.”

Bill reached through the window and gripped her wrist. “No, you’re not. Get out of here right now.”

“I can help.”

“No, you can’t.”

She covered his fingers where his hand touched her forearm. “Bill, I … I ran away last time. I left you. I’m not going to do it again.”

A surge of pain and pleasure rippled through him. Those eyes, those amazing eyes still held the embers of love he’d seen in them a year before, but now it was pure and unpolluted by alcohol. There was still love there, or the potential for it anyway, and he’d only have to reach out for it. Being so close to that possibility made him dizzy.

At the same time, the evil was mounting with every minute. The trap that he knew Oscar was setting for him would catch her, too, as it had caught Johnny. He could not watch her be
destroyed. He could not watch her life snuffed out and stand by her grave to say the final goodbye. He withdrew his hand and stripped all the emotion from his face.

“Heather, the one thing you will accomplish by staying is make it harder for me to catch Oscar. That’s the only thing I want, the only thing that’s left for me. I want you to drive back to Rockvale and keep going.”

The true meaning of what he’d said crept over her face, along with a flush. She kept her eyes on his for a moment, and then her gaze dropped to her lap.

He forced himself to wait, to breathe, to stop up the words that wanted to flood out and ease the pain on her face. He waited in silence.

She looked up, a sheen of moisture in her eyes, her chin high and strong. “I understand.” She turned the key and pulled out of the long drive. Bill nodded to Egan, who followed a few yards behind.

Ignoring the tearing sensation in his chest, he turned back to the house. No response to the second call to Crow’s phone. The back door of the house was secure, so where was Crow? Searching the shed? Checking the dense thicket of shrubs and dry grass that edged this part of the property?

Gun drawn, Bill was headed for the shed when the sound of movement stopped him. Tank tensed, ears pricked.

He cautioned the dog to stay. With a quiet whine, Tank obeyed until booted feet edged around the corner. Tank went wild and charged, Bill behind him shouting orders, until he realized the figure was Crow, one hand clutching his gun, the other over his heart.

“Off, Tank, you crazy dog. You scared the life out of me,” Crow gasped.

Bill lowered his weapon, his face suddenly bathed in sweat. “Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

“Had it on silent.” Crow shook his head. “It’s a pity. I found Mr. Brown.”

Bill followed Crow into the shed. Mr. Brown’s body was folded into a crate and he appeared to have been dead for several days. Bill had seen many bodies in his years on duty, but the sight never failed to remind him how primitive man could be. To end a life, to snuff out all that possibility in a moment of rage or selfishness. He sighed and turned away.

Bill and Crow exited the shed while Bill called the police for the second time and updated them. His eyes searched the distance, noting with relief that his truck was almost across the bridge, Egan’s vehicle following.

Crow followed his glance. “Sent ‘em back?”

Bill nodded. “I told Heather she and her mother should leave this town.”

Crow folded his arms with a sigh. “It’s the right thing.”

“I know.” He wondered when the raw feeling in his chest would go away. He cleared his throat. “Oscar must have been holing up here. He no doubt sent the note to the
Desert Blaze
arranging the meeting to get her here.”

He stared at Crow, who reflected his unease back at him.

Crow gave voice to the thoughts. “Then where is he now? No sign of anyone. Tank’s not picking up on anything.”

“Maybe we arrived too early.” Bill scanned the tree line, the cliffs above them, the rusty gorge, which the cars were now crossing. The timbers glimmered in the sunlight, pale against the endless sky.

His heart pounded to a stop. “The bridge …” he started, ripping out his cell phone. “Heather, get off that bridge,” he shouted when she picked up.

“What?” Her voice was high, tense.

“I think he’s wired the bridge. You’ve got to—”

An explosion ripped through the air. As he and Crow ran, he could see nothing but a mushrooming cloud of dust that
obscured the view. Falling debris rained down on them, bits of wood and gravel plunging to the ground all around.

Fear thickened Bill’s throat and he didn’t feel the sting of falling rock. The haze of red-and-gold dirt cleared slightly as they pounded toward the gorge, feet slipping on the grit-coated ground.

He slowed as they approached the bridge, fears becoming tangible images in his mind.

A gaping hole.

The cars crushed and unrecognizable.

Heather’s body broken and lifeless.

Like Johnny.

Like Leanne.

The fear seemed to pull at his legs, slowing him, fighting him like the grip of some inescapable nightmare.

As he reached the edge of the gorge, the sight struck him like a fist.

The center of the bridge was gone, a gaping and blackened wound. Gone, too, were both cars.

Heather’s body was rocked by the explosion. Only her frantic stomp on the gas pedal had propelled the truck forward in time to clear the bridge before it exploded. Bill’s truck shimmied and bucked from the blast, sliding into the tall grass on the narrow shoulder of the road. She sat for a moment, gripping the wheel, unable to move.

Mother.

The thought galvanized her into action. She slammed open the truck door and scrambled out.

Dr. Egan had just been starting across the bridge when she’d cleared it. Had he been able to back up? Pushing through the tall grass, she made it back to the road, the dust still rolling through the air in undulating waves.

She coughed at the choking debris, and was trying to
cover her mouth against the dirt when a hand reached out and grabbed her, twisting her arm behind her back.

She found herself slammed up against the rock wall, a soft voice hissing in her ear. “You should have flown home, girl.”

Oscar turned her around roughly, took her phone out of her pocket, then let her go, stepping back quickly as though she was some sort of odious insect.

Heather fought for speech, but the terror racing through her body left her dumb.

He cocked his bald head and folded his arms. “I didn’t think you would make it.”

She forced the words out through the terror that paralyzed her. “I’m tough.”

He blinked. “Yes, I believe you are.” He turned his head to look out over the canyon. “The lady in the other car with Egan. Who is she?”

Heather didn’t answer, so Oscar stepped closer. “You will answer when I speak to you,” he said, taking her face in his hands, his fingers digging into her cheeks.

She tried to yank away, pulling at his arms, but his grip was too tight. For a moment she was forced to stare into his eyes and the madness she saw there horrified her. He stepped away suddenly and released her before she could kick out at him.

“Never mind,” he said. “You would probably lie anyway.” Her phone rang and Oscar looked at the screen. “Why, I believe it is your boyfriend. Shall I tell him you are occupied?” He dropped the phone to the ground and smashed it underneath his heel with such force that bits of plastic and metal shot through the air.

Heather’s mind whirled. She could not get past him to run up the road. He would catch her, she had no doubt. The only other escape was back toward the ruined bridge in the hope
that Bill was there, that she could shout for help. She eased a step away from Oscar, who seemed lost in thought.

When he looked at her again, he appeared to be weighing something in his mind. “Tell Bill I’ll see him soon. We have an appointment that I intend to keep.”

On the day he killed Bill.

The smug look on Oscar’s face, the absolute certainty in his tone awakened a fury in her. “You are crazy. Why don’t you be a man and take responsibility for what you did?”

He blinked. “For what I did? All of it, my wife, the woman, this …” He waved a hand vaguely at the bridge. “It’s all because of Cloudman.” The expression on his face was incredulous, as if he couldn’t understand how she could be so dense.

“All Bill did was try to arrest you and your son for murdering people.”

Oscar’s face darkened and he strode forward, hand raised.

She drew back, scrabbling behind her for a rock or branch that she could use to defend herself.

There was a shout from the other side of the gorge. The sound made Oscar pause, eyes narrowed. “Tell him, or maybe I’ll tell him myself right now,” he said, and then he strode away from the gorge, following the road until he was out of sight.

Heather took off in the other direction, running, falling, stumbling over the rough ground. The shouting was louder now until she reached the edge. Forcing herself to look across the bridge, she saw Crow’s vehicle dangling over the precipice. The bottom dropped out of her stomach until she saw the figures outlined in tight shadow on the other side. Her mother stood next to Dr. Egan, a few feet away from the car. They hadn’t gone over the side. They were alive.

Her legs started to shake. “Thank You, God,” she murmured,
wondering where the deep flood of emotion sprang from. She heard the sound of an engine behind her.

Oscar? She looked across the span of wooden planks, at the burned-out hole in the middle, a narrow margin of wood intact on either side, barely holding the structure in place.

Bill stepped to the edge, shouting something she couldn’t hear.

All she could feel was the terror of Oscar’s fingers on her face, the cold detachment in his eyes as he justified the people he had killed. She looked again at the broken bridge, and back at the bend in the road where she knew Oscar would emerge at any moment.

A worse thought occurred to her. Oscar might be driving along the far side of the property, coming up from behind to slaughter Bill, Dr. Egan and her mother. She could try to catch him, but she knew there was no way she could overpower Oscar Birch. The fastest way to warn them was right in front of her.

After a deep breath, she stepped out onto the planks.

She heard Bill’s voice clearly now.

“No, Heather,” he shouted. “Go back.”

She looked at her feet, carefully placing one after the other as she eased out onto the bridge.

Bill roared, “Stop!”

She ignored him. She would get back to her mother, to Bill and Dr. Egan, and Oscar would not win. He could not win.

Creeping toward the blackened beams, Heather heard the wood creaking and groaning under her weight. She kept as close to the unscorched outer edge as possible. She could hear the tense words from the other side.

“Don’t,” Dr. Egan said, calling to Bill. “Your weight will add too much stress.”

Out of the corner of her eye she could see Bill pacing back and forth, his body tense as wire.

She blocked it all out and inched along. “Help me get across, Lord,” she whispered as she moved along. Without warning a board broke, her foot plunging through. She screamed, clinging to the nearest beam to keep from falling, realizing with horror that her foot was imprisoned in the gap. Afraid to yank too hard, she tried to wriggle her ankle back and forth, but the wood refused to release her.

She eased down onto the planks and pulled, with no result. Her head throbbed as she tried to decide what to do. A vibration rippled through the wood. She jerked her head up, looking for Oscar.

It was Bill, easing along as if he was walking on eggshells.

She could not read the expression on his face. Behind him on the far side, her mother pressed a hand to her mouth. Dr. Egan leaned forward. Crow talked rapidly into his phone. All of them stared at the two on the bridge, eyes riveted to Bill’s slow progress.

Bill’s dark eyes found hers, glittering like obsidian as he came closer. She wanted to call out to him, to tell him to get her mother and the others away to safety, but she could only stare at him, willing him to come closer, to reach out to her.

A slight breeze pulled at her hair.

The sun beat down mercilessly.

He was close enough now that she could see the dark flash of his eyes, his clenched jaw.

Help me, Bill.

Finally his hand grabbed hers.

“I’m going to loosen your foot.”

“Oscar …” she panted.

“Police are on their way.” He eased closer to where her foot was imprisoned and the boards crackled ominously. He froze, sweat running down his forehead.

Her whole body trembled as he pulled away some of the splintered wood.

“Try now,” he said.

She pulled her leg free, sending bits of wood tumbling into the chasm below.

“Follow me,” he said, turning and crawling a few paces before gingerly getting to his feet.

It was a torturous journey.

They edged along, Bill’s strong hand steadying her trembling one.

The bridge shuddered and crackled under them, bits of wood splintering to fall away as they passed.

After an eternity, they made it to the edge and stepped off. Heather’s legs gave out and Bill lowered her to the ground, his arms around her, squeezing her breathless against his chest. She felt his heartbeat hammering against her face, the warmth of his tight embrace.

He pressed his face against her hair. “Heather …” His voice was ragged.

She didn’t want to move, to rise. All she desired was to stay there safe in Bill’s arms, the warmth of him wrapping around her like the kiss of sunshine.

Her mother came close, Crow and Dr. Egan following.

“Why would you do something like that?” Margot’s stunned voice came from far away.

Oscar,
she wanted to scream.