Killjoy (23 page)

Chapter 18

W
E GO THROUGH THE WALL.
” A
NNE 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

J
OHN
P
AUL 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

C
OULD SHE SWIM?
H
E 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.

The river zigged and zagged, but they were getting closer to the bank. She started kicking with all her might. John Paul hooked one arm over the branch and steered their lifeline in the same direction. When they finally reached shallow water, he stood and pulled her to the bank.

Sprawled out side by side on the grassy slope, they were both too exhausted to move. Avery was gulping in air and shivering so much her teeth were chattering.

“You okay, sugar?” he panted.

She suddenly bolted upright and gagged. She thought she might have swallowed half the river.

“Can you swim?” she said between gasps. “Is that what you asked me after you shoved me off that ledge?”

“So you heard me, huh?” He reached over and gently pushed her dripping hair out of her eyes.

She looked back at the raging river. God surely had a hand in their survival, she thought. There simply wasn’t any other explanation possible.

“Okay, so now we know what a fiver is,” she said.

He sat up. “Yeah?”

She smiled. “They obviously rate the rapids,” she explained. “This one was the big mother. A fiver.”

He shook his head. They had just been through hell together, and all she wanted to do was tell him how they rate rapids?

“Did you hit your head or something?”

“No, I just figured out the rating system. That’s all.”

“Want to go again?”

“Been there, done that,” she said. Squinting up at the cliffs above them, she said, “I think we lost him.”

“I’m not sure,” he said. Reluctant as he was to move, he forced himself to get up. He shook himself like a dog who’d just had a bath, then offered her his hand.

She made the mistake of clasping hold. He yanked her to her feet, pulling on her socket again. The man didn’t know his own strength. Now what was he doing? He’d turned and was surveying the area they’d just vacated.

“What?”

“Grab some brush and throw it over our imprints. No, never mind. You’ll only make it worse. I’ll do it.”

She walked into the protection of the trees and watched him pull several small branches over the soft earth. “Why is it that you automatically assume I’m incompetent? Is it just me you have a problem with, or are you that way with every woman?”

“Just you.”

She saw him grin before he turned away. He got a kick out of irritating her, she decided, but she was too weary from near heart failure in the rapids to rise to his bait.

“Do you have any idea where we are?” she asked. Her words sounded slurred, and she was shaking almost violently now.

“No.”

It wasn’t the answer she was hoping for. “So I guess you weren’t a Boy Scout?”

“I can get us where we need to go.”

“Back to the car?”

“No. It would take too long trying to find a place to cross over the water.”

“We need to get to a phone.” And a hot shower and dry clothes, she silently added.

He finished covering their footprints, stepped back to survey his handiwork, and nodded with satisfaction.

“A phone’s a given,” he said as he walked closer to her. “Damn, babe, you’re freezing, aren’t you?”

“You’re not?” she asked as he took her into his embrace and began to vigorously rub her arms.

“I’m okay,” he answered. “I’ve got ice water in my veins, or so I’ve been told.”

“Who would say such a thing?” she asked.

“My sister.”

“Oh.” Then, “She ought to know.”

“Do you have any strength left?” He was unzipping her windbreaker so he could get to his gun. His weapon was just a little damp. He shoved it into the back of his jeans and zipped her pocket closed again.

“I have as much strength as you do.”

“Then start jogging. You’ll get warm in no time.”

“Which way?”

“We have to go up before we can go down.”

She looked at the mountains surrounding them. “It would be easier to follow the river, but Monk would anticipate.”

She turned around and started jogging at a fast clip through the woods. Water sloshed between her toes as she ran. The sensation of ice cubes melting around her feet wasn’t pleasant.

John Paul kept pace with her for over an hour. They neither stopped nor spoke to each other.

He was impressed with her stamina. Once she had established the rhythm, she didn’t slow down. She didn’t complain either, and she wasn’t clutching her side. He already knew she was in shape. One look at her body and he could tell she worked out. Still, the way she kept moving, so steady and sure, was proof that she did more than take a one-hour aerobics class once a week at some little spa back home.

He spotted the clear-water creek ahead and thought they should stop to catch their breath.

“Let’s stop for a minute.”

Thank God, thank God. “Are you sure you don’t want to keep going?”

If he had said yes, she thought she would either burst into tears or keel over from exhaustion. The stitch in her side felt like someone was holding a hot coal against her ribs, and it had taken all she had not to grab hold and double over.

She noticed he didn’t appear to be the least winded. Avery stretched her legs so they wouldn’t cramp on her before she collapsed to the ground. Scooping up water with cupped hands, she greedily drank.

“Do you think he’s tracking us?” she asked a minute later.

“Probably,” he answered. “But he’ll have to find a place to cross over those rapids, so we have some time. Tell me what happened at the car.” He had been silently cursing himself for leaving her.

She sat down in the grass and leaned back against the tree. “I woke up and you were gone,” she said. “So I decided to follow you.”

His shoulder rubbed against hers as he sat beside her.

“I didn’t get far,” she admitted. “I had just started up the hill when I saw the headlights through the mist. Honest to Pete, I almost ran out to flag it down, but thankfully, I came to my senses and decided to wait until the car came closer.”

“Ah, man,” he whispered. “You could have walked right up to him before you . . .” He couldn’t go on. The thought of what could have happened to her made him sick.

“He parked his car down below, then got out. He had a flashlight and a rifle tucked under his arm as he climbed the hill to where your car was hidden. He must have pinpointed the location before you moved the watch. I knew it was Monk, of course, so I stayed hidden.”

“Then what happened?”

“He checked out the car.”

“Did you see his face?”

“No. I could have if I’d moved, but I was afraid I’d make a noise, and he’d know I was there, watching. He opened the hood of your car, pulled something out, and threw it into that gully on the side of the hill. I could find it if we go back. He had the hood of his windbreaker up, so I couldn’t see his face or the color of his hair, but he was at least six feet. He wasn’t thin, though. He was quite muscular, not heavyset. He reminded me of a bodybuilder.”

“He’s good with disguises,” he said. “Noah’s description is what the FBI is using, but he didn’t get a clear look at him either. From what I’ve heard about Monk, he could be in the same room with Noah today, and I doubt he would be recognized.”

“I don’t know if he was alone or not. He was driving a Land Rover, but when he opened the door and got out, the light didn’t go on, and he parked it a good distance away. I couldn’t see inside. Do you think the woman was with him?”

“I don’t know.”

“He’s very good at what he does, isn’t he?” She sounded disheartened.

“Yes, he is,” he said.

“He stood there a long time, maybe five minutes,” she said. “He didn’t move a muscle. It was creepy.”

“He was probably listening to the sound of the forest, hoping to hear something.”

“Like me.”

“Yes.” He put his arm around her and pulled her close. “Thank God you didn’t try to run.”

“I thought about trying to get my gun out of my pocket, but I was so close to him I worried he’d hear the sound of the zipper.”

“If you had been asleep, Monk . . .”

Before he could finish his bleak thought, she interrupted. “He’d shoot me? I’ll tell you what, John Paul. If you ever leave me behind again, that’s exactly what I’m going to do to you.”

Since she was all but clinging to him so that she could borrow some of his warmth, the threat didn’t carry much weight.

“I won’t leave you again,” he promised in a gruff whisper. “I never should have left you. Hell, I guess I’ve been away from it too long. My instincts are all screwed up.”

She homed in on what he’d just said. “You’ve been away from it too long? What exactly is
it,
John Paul?”

“Come on, sugar. We should get moving. Time’s a-wasting.”

In other words, leave it alone. She decided to accommodate him now and try again later. She was stiff and sore when she stood. Groaning, she rubbed her backside, not caring that she appeared less than ladylike.

“You know what I need?”

“Food, dry clothes . . .”

“Yes, that too,” she said. “But what I also need is to get into my yoga position, relax, and do my free-association exercises.”

“Your what?” He was sure he hadn’t heard correctly.

She repeated. “You let the fragments drift in your mind; then when you’re completely relaxed, you take hold of one at a time and you analyze it. You can’t do it, though, until you reach total relaxation.”

John Paul watched her stretch her long legs. “So how do you reach total relaxation?” he asked.

“Visualization,” she said. “I go to a place where I feel completely safe and free, like a real home. You know, I go to my . . . happy place.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No.”

He laughed. “You do know you sound insane, don’t you?”

She wasn’t joking when she answered. “It runs in the family.”

She clasped her hands behind her back and twisted her torso, then shook her arms and legs to loosen them and started running again, her pace slower this time, but just as determined. Once again, he fell in right behind her and stayed there until she was panting for breath. They’d been climbing steadily since they’d left the river, and so far they hadn’t seen a single sign of civilization. Where in thunder were they? Were they even still in Colorado?

She suddenly stopped, doubled over, and took a couple of deep, gulping breaths. Then she put her hands on her hips and slowly straightened.

“You okay?” he asked.

Why wasn’t he winded? He was human, wasn’t he? She made up her mind that, no matter what, she wouldn’t utter one word of complaint. Not one frickin’ word.

“Can’t see the forest for the trees.” She tried to sound flip. Cheerful was simply too much to ask for.

John Paul was sympathetic. “Do you want to rest?”

Is the Pope Catholic? Does it always rain on picnics? Hell, yes, she wanted to rest.

“No,” she said weakly. Then, more forcefully, “I’m good to go . . . unless you want to . . .”

“No,” he said. “Let’s keep moving.”

“Are we still heading north?” she asked, stalling for another minute to catch her breath. The air was so thin, she felt light-headed. “I can’t seem to get my bearings. If the sun were out . . .”

“We’re going northeast.”

One foot in front of the other, she told herself. Steady as you go. Come on, Delaney, pick up the pace. Time’s a-wasting. Suck it up.

She kept up the steady barrage of psychological nagging as she ran through the forest. She tried not to think about her soggy underwear sticking to her skin or the fact that she was lugging around at least a pound of mud on each of her hiking boots.

She didn’t quite clear the dead branch she tried to jump over, tripped, and would have gone headfirst into a tree trunk if John Paul hadn’t grabbed her. The terrain was getting steeper, more treacherous. As she raced along, the muscles of her calves began to burn, and she was finally forced to slow down when they broke through the trees.

She suddenly stopped. They had reached a shelf of rock that hung out over the side of the mountain. Spread out before them was a panoramic view of the lower hills. Lush green meadows were tucked in between towering peaks with hundreds and hundreds of trees, their branches stretching toward heaven. Everything was so green, so alive. And not a soul was around. People surely flocked to this paradise, didn’t they? So where were they all hiding?

“Isn’t it picturesque?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s picturesque,” he mumbled.

Desperately trying to stay positive, she said, “Is your cup always half empty? Can’t you appreciate—”