Hallowed Ground (44 page)

My startled gaze zeroed in on a man galloping toward me.

Reggie brandished a smoking two-by-four, and screamed, “I’m gonna kill you!”

Oh shit. I blindly reached inside my purse. But before my hand had closed around any type of weapon, Reggie was on me.

I’d barely had time to roll away when he jammed the stick into the ground, trying to shish kebab my leg.

“You are dead! You hear me? Dead!”

He’d gone absolutely stark raving mad.

Injured, I wasn’t in much of a position to fend him off.

The odds maker in my head started a tally.

We were both operating on pure adrenaline.

I could outrun him.

He outweighed me by 100 pounds.

I had limited hand-to-hand martial arts skills.

He was a former boxer.

He had a big stick.

I had a big gun.

The odds were slightly in my favor, but only if I could get to that gun.

I rolled to my knees.

He swung.

I ducked and hit the dirt again as Reggie charged me.

Ow. Fuck. I smacked my forehead into the rock and felt the stitches pull. Saw stars.

Get up get up get up
.

I got up.

Eerie silence was punctuated by the crackling and groaning of the burning building.

He’d stopped yelling.

I didn’t have a drop of adrenaline left in reserve.

Maybe he didn’t either.

Keep moving. Keep him talking.

“Reggie. Its over.”

He lunged at me with the stick.

As he forced me to retreat, we were getting farther away from my gun.

I expected him to feint right; he feinted left and whacked me in the arm where he’d cut me. I shrieked with pain and scrambled backward, managing to stay on my feet through the white haze of agony. I was tired of hurting. I just wanted to give up, curl up in a dark room, and lick my wounds.

You ain’t so tough
.

Quit being such a baby
.

Come on, you’re stronger than this
.

You’re a survivor
.

You gonna cowboy up, or are you gonna lay there and bleed?

My mind cleared away all the voices in my head. I’d do what I had to do.

Reggie reared back and charged.

I was ready for him. When he reached me, I dove at his feet and knocked him down. He bounced on his belly like a bowling pin after a strike.

The stick went flying from his hands.

Stunned, he didn’t move.

I did.

I jumped on him, and ground my knee into the middle of his back to immobilize him. Figured I had about a ten second window to make this work.

I slipped the nylon cord from around my ponytail holder, grabbed his right arm and jerked it behind him. Slid the restraint over his right wrist.

He bucked beneath me like a wild bronc.

I held on.

I spun sideways, grabbed his left arm, pulled it and slid the other loop over his left hand to his wrist. I wrenched his arms together as hard as I could. Yanked the small clear plastic block down and cinched the nylon cuffs tight.

Under eight seconds; better than a champion calf roper.

“What’d you do to me?” he yelled into the dirt as he flopped around. “I’m gonna kill you when I get loose!”

“You won’t get loose from a Tuff-Tie, asshole.”

I stood, and nearly crashed to the earth again. I had to stay alert until the cops arrived.

Wakey, wakey, Julie. Come on.

I took a step and my knees gave out.

Fuck.

Reggie glared at me. When he realized I was down for the count, his lips morphed into an evil grin that cut me to the quick.

I’d learn the meaning of torture if I didn’t get away.

He attempted to come to his knees by sawing up and down like a kid’s rocking horse.

Made my head reel.

With one last burst of energy, I crab crawled to the rock, glowing yellow in the reflection of the fire. Patted the ground until my fingers brushed the gun.

Through my increasingly wavering vision I crept forward, slow as a snail, every centimeter I moved sending a lance of pain to my knees, arms, head. But I didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.

Reggie was lying on his ugly face. Wiggling. Sweating. Panting. Helpless.

I fought for purchase in his oily hair. I twisted his head back.

The loathing in his eyes meant nothing to me except a challenge to remain focused.

Breathing hard, I leaned close so he wouldn’t miss a single word. “I fucking hate you. I hate what you’ve done. I hate what you are, an ignorant, condescending piece of shit. I should let the Carluccis have you, let them carve you up like a cheap fucking ham. That’s what you deserve.

But not this time. This time you will pay.”

I let his head flop to the ground. Placed the gun between his shoulder blades. Pressed the button on the stun gun and zapped him.

Twice.

When he stopped twitching, I crawled as far out of his reach as I could before I collapsed.

Flat on my back, I stared at Bear Butte silhouetted in the background, mocking me, before I went unconscious.

THE MAN WAS STATIONED BENEATH THE HALOGEN LAMP, whistling softly to himself. Twisting a section of chicken wire into a small cage. Planning. Dreaming. Scheming.

The barn door screeched open.

When would that danged woman quit pesterin’ him?

“I ain’t hungry. Told you that once. Just go on to your meeting.”

“She’s already gone.”

He looked up. Two men he didn’t recognize. One flanking him on each side. “This is private property. You can’t just—”

“Yes. We can.” The third man, the speaker, was hidden in the shadows of the horse corrals.

“What do you want?”

“You know.”

The man swallowed. Refused to give anxiety a foot-hold. “Now, hold on.”

“No. Hold still.”

He shook his head and backed up. Tripped over his own boots before he stumbled over a milking stool.

Two hulking shapes hauled him upright. Held him while the third man, the shadow man, inched forward, but not enough to reveal himself.

A whip cracked by his ear.

He flinched. Angry at his spineless response, he said. “I don’t have to—”

Rusty wire appeared at his throat.

“You will do what you’re told.”

He shook his head again.

That piece of wire was jabbed into the back of his neck.

“Try again. You will do what you’re told.”

When he didn’t reply fast enough, hands grabbed his balding head, pushed him forward. The wire was jammed deeper into that same wound, and twisted into the muscle like a corkscrew.

Intense, flaming hot pain got his attention. “Okay,” he screamed.

“Good choice.”

He slumped, breathless. Fearful. He could bide his time by pretending to go along with whatever they’d planned. But these cocksuckers had no idea who they were dealing with. “What do you want?”

A scrap of paper materialized.

“Write this down.”

“Why should I?”

Repeat of the wire entering his flesh. He was sweating, panting. Reluctant.

“Cooperate and it won’t hurt.”

He hesitated. Burned with fury. Who did they think they were, barging in and threatening him?

Poking him like he was a piece of meat? Telling him what to do?

“Again,” shadow man instructed.

Same wire, same hole. Deeper this time. Twice as painful.

Despite his hand turning into a paint shaker, and the blood trickling down his back, the man wrote. In his rage, the words he scrawled didn’t register.

After he finished, the bigger of the two guys wrapped a clothesline cord around his belly, holding his arms at his sides.

“Gag him.”

One of the men yanked his oily bandana from where it stuck out of pocket of his jeans.

“Wait.”

A different bandana sailed through the dust motes and landed at his feet, kicking up hay particles and the odor of manure.

“Recognize it?” shadow man asked.

It was the one he’d lost that day at the settlers cabin.

Before he could wrap his mind around the meaning, they wiped the liquid snaking down his neck and stuffed the blood-covered rag in his mouth. Lightly tied the other bandana around his face to hold it in place.

“On the stool.”

With the taste of death in his mouth and his desperation clouding the air, he began to struggle.

His head was jerked back. A piece of wire dug into the corner of his eye. He screamed as hot blood obscured his vision.

No one heard the muffled sound.

They hoisted him on the stool, then tied his legs together.

Shadow man yanked a rope from above the workbench.

He twirled it. Threw it over the rafters like an experienced roper.

Blinking away the blood, he saw the guy on his left tug the rope taut and fashion a loop. The noose was dropped over his head. Secured around his neck.

He wouldn’t give these lowlife thugs the satisfaction of seeing him crack. He was a soldier. He’d been through worse. He’d
done
worse.

Defiant, he opened the eye that wasn’t caked with blood.

They untied the rope around his arms. Made him unbutton his shirt until it draped around his waist. He complied with precisely measured movements so as not to topple off the stool. The rope wasn’t tight enough to offer a quick, painless snap of his neck. He’d choke to death. Slowly.

Puzzling why they’d demanded his flesh was exposed.

Then he remembered the whip.

Saw the rusty nails. A twisted chunk of barbed wire already discolored with his blood.

The men retied his arms using his shirt as a buffer so the rope wouldn’t leave burn marks.

Leave evidence this wasn’t a suicide.

The reality, the words he’d written finally hit him, and his wild eyes sought those of the shadow man.

He stepped into the light.

The man’s bladder released and he knew terror.

“Price must be paid,” shadow man said softly.

He could do nothing but stand helplessly, covered in his own piss and wait for a gruesome death.

“Pick up the cords and remove the gags before you hang him.”

His atonement day had come.

No one would mourn him. No one would seek vengeance for his death.

Everyone would believe he’d died a gutless coward.

Shadow man moved closer. “One more thing.”

Maurice forced himself to lock eyes with his judge, jury, and executioner.

“I lied.”

He gestured to his men to pick up the instruments of torture.

“Make it hurt,” he said, before he disappeared back into the shadows to watch.

I FLOATED IN THE ATMOSPHERE WATCHING THE SCENE unfold below me.

Martinez had handcuffed Reggie to the arm of a slot machine and chased him in circles.

With a black bandana tied around his head, gauzy black pants billowing into big black boots, Martinez was the grim reaper. On his bare chest the maze of tattoos morphed from a treasure map into a skull.

A long, curved silver sword sliced the air.

“I warned you what would happen if you touched her again.”

Martinez raised the gleaming blade. Brought it down hard and separated Reggie’s hand from his arm.

Reggie screamed.

My arm throbbed in response. I gasped and my eyes flew open.

“Easy, babe,” a soothing voice said. “You’re safe.” Warm, dry fingers stroked the top of my hand. “Just a bad dream.”

The room swam into focus. One white wall, a bland curtain hanging from the ceiling, a small steel sink. A scent of antiseptic lingered behind the plastic smell of adhesive and the cool rush of purified air.

I glanced down and saw my toes poking from beneath a tan wool blanket. A metal rail stuck up at the end of the hospital bed.

The hand holding mine squeezed.

I turned my head.

Kevin sat in the chair beside me.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” I said back.

He seemed at a loss to say anything else. He wrapped both hands around mine and kissed my knuckles. Pressed his stubbled cheek there, and stayed like that for several minutes.

“How long have I been here?”

“Thirty six hours or so.”

Hours? Again?

“They’ve kept you sedated.”

I warbled, “Thirty, thirty, thirty six hours a day ...”

“At least your quirky sense of humor didn’t get blown to hell.”

Beep beep beep
echoed behind the curtain. A nurse answered the call of the person in the other half of the room. Voices murmured.

“You
do
know you’re lucky to be alive.”

Tears swam up but I battled them back.

“Jesus. Can you tell me what happened?”

“Got a couple of days?” I took a deep breath. “I don’t want to talk about the explosion right now.”

“Okay.” His concerned gaze traveled to the bandage on my forehead. “You were in a car accident too?”

I nodded. Fidgeted a little. Didn’t want to talk about that either.

“I won’t ask you why you didn’t tell me, because I know why.” His sad, somber eyes sought mine. “I’m sorry. It’s a piss poor excuse when you’re lying in the hospital cut up, bruised, and hurting, but I am sorry that I wasn’t there.”

“You would have been there if you could have, Kev, I
know
that.”

“But—”

“You’ve been by my side for damn near every one of my life crises. Major and minor. So you missed one, big deal. If I get knocked down again, you’ll pick me up. You always have.”

He kissed my hand. “I always will.”

“I know.”

“I hate that I let you down.”

Silence stretched.

“I hate that you shut me out.” I slumped deeper into the pillows. “It hurt, okay? And I’m not used to you being the one that hurts me.”

“I’d rather cut off my own arm than hurt you, babe.”

I tensed, flashing back to the dream about Martinez.

He blew out a long, slow breath. “I never understood the finality of death before. Sounds stupid.

I’ve watched you grieve, for your mother, for Ben, and I thought I knew what to expect when it happened to me. I didn’t. Not even fucking close.

“It’d be easier if I knew what to do. But you could give me a detailed manual and it wouldn’t apply to me. Of all people I thought
you’d
understand.” He rested his cheekbone on our joined hands. “I have to muddle through losing Lilly in my own way, Julie. In my own time frame.”