Hatfield and McCoy (6 page)

She closed her eyes. The phone should be ringing soon.

She gasped suddenly. Tracy.

She could see the little girl. And see what Tracy was seeing …

Darkness. Tracy was crying. It was hard to breathe. And hard to move, because she was boxed in. The smell around her was a rich one. Dirt.

“Oh, God!” she breathed.

“What, what?” McCoy demanded. His arm was around her shoulders. Tightly. Supportingly. Maybe he didn't believe—

Maybe he just felt the loneliness and the fear of the night.

She had to draw in a very deep breath. “He—he's got her buried,” she said.

And just then, the phone rang.

McCoy leaped up, leaving the briefcase containing the money Martin Nicholson had obtained by Julie's feet. “Where?” he snapped into the receiver. McCoy was wired, so that the others would know where they were going next. He repeated the instructions given to him by the kidnapper.

When he hung up, Julie was already on her feet. “He hasn't left her enough air!” she said anxiously. “Where does he want us to go now?”

“Maryland side of the border,” he said briefly. “Let's go.”

Both of them were deadly silent as they moved on to the next phone booth. They barely reached it before the phone started ringing.

This time, McCoy came back to Julie looking perplexed. “He knows that I'm wired. And he knows exactly how many other cars are out.”

“We have to do whatever he says!” Julie whispered softly. “She's running out of air. Tracy is running out of air.”

He hesitated, gritting his teeth. Then he spoke loudly. “Petty, I'm getting rid of the wiring. He's on to us. And Julie says I don't dare take any more time.”

Somewhere, Julie knew, Petty was cursing away. He didn't like the idea of putting her or Robert McCoy at risk.

But he liked the idea of what could happen to Tracy Nicholson even less.

“Come on,” McCoy told Julie.

“Where now?”

“Virginia,” he said curtly.

They drove to another phone booth, both hoping that the task force might still be around them. “How the hell does he know so damned much?” McCoy exploded. Then he mused softly. “Unless he's bluffing. Maybe he doesn't know. Maybe he's just guessing, and making darned good guesses.”

“He's not bluffing about Tracy,” Julie said.

They came to the next phone booth. The kidnapper had planned well. The phone booth was off the beaten track, away from any convenience stores or gas stations.

No one could have easily followed them to it.

And once again, just as McCoy stopped the car, it was ringing.

When he hung up that time, he came back to the car for the briefcase. “I'm walking it up the mountain,” he told her.

“I'm coming with you.”

“You're staying here—”

“Oh, no, I'm not! Don't you ever watch movies? The man always thinks he's being the hero by walking off alone into the night. And while he's gone, the monster comes back and gets the woman. I am not staying here alone.”

He smiled. It was that same crooked smile that had so captivated Holly.

“You think there are monsters in these here hills, Miss Hatfield?”

“Yes, and more than just McCoys!” she answered sweetly. “Please! We're almost out of time.”

He didn't argue with her any longer, but keeping up with him proved to be a trial for Julie.

She was mountain born and bred, and she could scamper up heights and over rocks with a fair amount of agility and ease.

But he had such long, long legs.

And it was apparent that he was mountain born and bred, too. He climbed without his breathing even deepening, and he seemed to have the agility of a mountain goat. He only turned back once or twice, however, reaching to drag Julie along with him.

Then they came to a plateau with a sparse clearing. “This is it,” McCoy said.

“It's what?”

“It's where I'm supposed to leave the case.”

Julie nodded. McCoy set the case down.

“Now what?” Julie asked.

He swore softly. “Now we go back to the phone.”

“No!” Julie exclaimed suddenly.

“No? What do you mean, no?”

She shook her head fervently. “Tracy isn't here. She's—” Julie paused. “She's near the river. She can't hear the water rushing now because he's buried her. She couldn't even hear it once he had dragged her up. But she could see it. She could see it from the rock. And he thought it was funny. Really funny when he buried her. He kept laughing. He was careful, he didn't talk. But he laughed. There was something funny about it. Something really funny. He was so proud of himself. For being so bold. And he has no intention of letting her out.”

“Where is she?” McCoy demanded harshly. He dropped the briefcase at his feet and grabbed Julie's shoulders. Roughly, he swung her around, studying her intensely. “Damn you, where is she? And if you're wrong, Julie Hatfield, I'll wring you out and hang you up to dry myself!”

“I'm not wrong!” she gasped. “I'm not wrong!” Julie shook her head. “She's not here, not here, not here …”

She paused, feeling the sensations as they began to steal over her. Tracy …

Tracy, where are you?

It came to her, slowly, then more quickly. Then frantically.

Can't breathe, can't breathe, can't breathe …

What happened, where are you?

Can't breathe, can't breathe, Mommy, where are you, please, I'm so scared …

Tracy …

And then Julie was with Tracy. She was with her as it had happened.

He was there. The kidnapper. And she was Tracy.

She was over his shoulder. He was panting, and they were climbing. Higher and higher. There were people around. No one could see Tracy, though. She was packed up like painting equipment. Lots of people sketched or painted here. They stopped, they milled around. They chatted, they saw things. Saw the rock, saw the water. Saw …

Tracy couldn't see, though. There was canvas over her head. She was still so dopey. She knew she needed to cry out. She couldn't. She felt him climbing. She'd been here before. It was so obvious.

And it was getting dark. Nearly dark. The people were gone, there were no lights. It was perfect. Such a perfect place to bury someone. And he had planned it all out. The hole was there, the box was there …

“Damnation!” McCoy shouted suddenly.

Julie's eyes flew open. She had been talking out loud, she realized. Describing what she had seen—and what she hadn't seen.

“What?” she cried.

“Come on, hurry up, I know the place you're talking about.”

He had the briefcase in his left hand, her fingers in his right. With her in tow, he began to plunge down the mountainside, running, balancing, running harder.

She stumbled. He paused to pick her up. He halfway carried her all the way to the car.

Then he was on his radio, calling Petty. Demanding that he get the cars to the cemetery, telling him to get people up there right away.

It took them at least ten minutes to drive into town and park the car among all the official cars already there.

Then there was the climb up the pathway to the old cemetery.

When they reached it, Petty already had search lights going. He saw them across the broken and angled tombstones as they arrived. “Robert, are you sure?”

McCoy said something. Julie stopped in her tracks. Yes, yes, this was it!

Tracy, where are you?

Can't … breathe. Mommy, want Mommy, can't
…

She could hear it. Julie could hear the awful, ragged, desperate sound as Tracy Nicholson struggled for the last of her air.

Julie spun around. She could hear it …

“There, over there!” she cried.

McCoy was ahead of her. “There's dirt plowed up here!” he shouted. There was a man nearby with a shovel. Without a word McCoy snatched it up and began to dig. Julie was quickly by his side. “Hurry, oh, hurry.”

Mommy, Mommy, Mommy … can't breathe …

“Please, dear God, hurry!” Julie cried frantically. A pick lay nearby. Men were running toward them, but she was so desperate. She grabbed the pick and slammed into the ground.

Someone else was there. She looked up. It was one of Petty's regular men. Joe Silver. He smiled at her. “Julie, I'm stronger. Hand it over.”

She did.

Joe swung the pick while McCoy shoveled.

“Easy!” she cried suddenly to Joe. The shovel struck something hard. She was afraid that the pick might crash through wood and enter into delicate flesh.

“It's some kind of a coffin, I think,” McCoy said.

“It's a cemetery! There's probably hundreds of coffins up here!” Petty roared.

But not like this coffin, Julie knew. Her chest hurt. She couldn't speak because she couldn't breathe.

Tracy Nicholson was in that coffin, in the square box deep down in the hole. This time, the kidnapper had employed a truly bizarre sense of the macabre. Had his victim died, there would be no need to move her. Had she never been found, hundreds of years from now she might have been dug up just like any other corpse in the graveyard.

“Julie—” Petty began.

“Hurry!” She felt as if her chest were caving in on her. She gasped, deeply, desperately, drawing in air. “It's Tracy. She only has minutes left. He never intended to return her. Never.”

Maybe Robert McCoy didn't believe in her, but he answered the desperation in her voice. He was down in the hole, having discarded the thought of attempting to drag up the box. Heedless of the dirt, he slammed the spade against the latch on the side of the coffinlike wooden box. There was an awful, wrenching sound. His hands on the rim, he tore at it. Julie heard the groaning of wood, then the lid gave at last to the power in his arms. There was a splintering sound, and the lid popped open.

And there was Tracy Nicholson.

She was just as Julie had seen her, dressed in her jeans and her pretty white shirt and her navy sweater. Her red hair was all tangled and askew.

Her freckled face was pale. Her eyes were closed. Her lips were silent.

“Dear God—” McCoy breathed.

She couldn't be dead, Julie thought. No, she just couldn't be dead. She would know; she would feel the loss.

McCoy had the silent girl in his arms and quickly stretched out on the ground. His fingers closed her nostrils as his lips descended over the girl's mouth, forcing air into her lungs.

Once, twice, three times …

Suddenly the little girl gasped, choked, coughed and choked again. Her little chest rose and fell on its own. “Oh, thank God!” Julie shrieked. McCoy moved aside. Tracy's eyes were opening. She looked right at Julie.

“Thanks,” she mouthed softly.

Her eyes closed again, but she was still breathing. Evenly.

A cheer went up in the cemetery. Almost loud enough to wake the dead, Julie thought. And that was almost what they had done. A few more minutes, and there wouldn't have been a prayer for Tracy. Julie was shaking. She had seen. Yes, she had seen Tracy. But she hadn't seen the cemetery. She would have never made it on her own.

McCoy …

He had known what she was saying. He hadn't believed, but he had taken a chance.

He was looking at her now. She was on her knees in the middle of all the dirt that he had dug up. She was covered in it.

So was he.

“Make way for the medics!” someone called.

“Her parents are here, down on the street,” someone else said.

“Here's the doctor!”

“And her folks!”

The Nicholsons didn't notice either McCoy or Julie as they rushed for Tracy. “My baby!” Louisa shrieked. Tracy's eyes opened at the sound of her mother's voice. She didn't seem to have any strength, but she could talk.

“Mommy! I called you. I called you and called you.”

“And I'm here, my dearest, I'm here, I'm here.”

Tracy was quickly wrapped in her mother's arms. Martin Nicholson supported his wife as she stood with their child. The two of them turned away, stunned with the wonder of their daughter's return.

People were following behind them, Petty and Joe Silver and some of the other officers. The hole in the earth still lay gaping open. There would be investigative work on it. Fingerprints would be taken, the area would be searched for the minute clues.

But for the moment, it was just a hole. This time, the grave had been cheated.

They were nearly alone. And McCoy was still staring at Julie. Then suddenly his arms were on her and he was lifting her, nearly throwing her into the air.

“Damn it, we did it! We made this one, we made it!”

And as he dropped her, she came sliding down against his chest. She felt the tight, hot ripple of muscle in his arms, in his torso. She felt the silver fever of his eyes, blazing into hers.

Then she felt the rough, searing enthusiasm of his kiss as his lips suddenly and passionately covered hers.

Lightning seemed to strike. Julie might have heard thunder crashing across the heavens.

Heat, startling, sweet, astounding, swept in her and throughout her.

He started to raise his lips, started to pull away.

But he did not …

His mouth settled more firmly on hers, and his arms wound around her. A searing pressure forced her lips to part for his. The amazing fever held her still in his grip, responding almost savagely to his touch, tasting his mouth, savoring the feel …

Oh, no! This just couldn't be right. She wanted to go on and on.

She barely knew him.

No, she had met him in a dream.

Demon or lover?

She didn't know. All she did know was that the electricity was nearly more than she could bear, that she had never felt like this about any man, anywhere, be it real or in a dream. And it was wrong. He didn't even believe in her …

But she didn't pull away. He was the one to do so, his arms still around her, his eyes a silver fire as they stared into hers.