Authors: Alicia Scott
C.J.'s expression clearly stated what he
thought of that idea. She ignored him and scurried forward impatiently.
"If he was going to shoot me," she
informed her distrusting brother sourly, "he would've done it
already."
"I don't like this," C.J. stated for
the record.
"Just keep moving, MacNamara," she
retorted defiantly and crept stealthily forward.
She could see the ravine now, as well. Her
footsteps quickened and she would have clambered up to run if not for C.J.'s
hissed warnings to keep her butt down. She kept her eyes on the ravine and
slithered forward as rapidly as possible.
"Hang in there, Cain," she murmured.
"I'm coming, I'm coming."
Had he passed out by now? Was he delirious from
blood loss and pain? Would he forgive her for taking so long to return?
She wanted so desperately to see his face again
so she'd know for herself that he was all right.
The ravine cracked open, its depths protected
by an inky blackness. She glanced back one last time. C.J. was on her heels,
Beretta in hand, but other than that the hillside was clear. They'd made it.
"Put the gun away," she commanded her
overactive brother.
"Like hell," he informed her.
"Locked, cocked and ready is the only way a Marine makes an
entrance."
"Rambo," she muttered.
He grinned charmingly. "Rambo was a wimp,
Maggie—an army man."
Maggie gave up on him and rolled her eyes.
"Cain?" she whispered instead. "Cain?"
She thought she heard the soft echo of her
voice bounce through the snaking ravine. Other than that, she heard nothing. She
took another step forward, then another. C.J. was pressed to her side, his ribs
against her shoulder. She could feel the tension radiate from him and see the
dark shadow of the gun held poised against his chest.
"You're making me nervous," she
whispered, and true to her words, her voice held an unsteady warble.
"Call his name again," C.J. ordered.
Compared to her he sounded like steel.
She did. She called Cain's name again and
again. She walked deeper into the ravine. She searched the shadows. She reached
out her hands as if that would make him materialize once more in her arms.
But he was nowhere to be found. Nowhere at all.
"I don't understand!" she cried at
last, and C.J. finally lowered his gun, wrapping his arms around her trembling
shoulders instead.
"You only knew him twenty-four
hours," he said softly.
She beat her fists against his hard belly.
"It's not like that!" she insisted. "It's not like that at all!
You don't understand. He's a good man. He's not like…"
"He's not like Max," C.J. said quietly.
"At least you hoped not."
He cradled her head and she began to cry. She
couldn't believe he'd left her. She'd been so sure he wouldn't do something
like that. He was supposed to trust her as she trusted him.
At last, she forced herself to stand away, stubbornly
wiping the tears from her cheek. "He had a good reason," she insisted
tremulously. "Maybe the dogs were on his tail, or the helicopters got too
close…" She looked at C.J. for confirmation. "Do you think?"
"We should go back to town, now,"
C.J. said quietly. "How long has it been since you've slept, Maggie?"
"I'm not leaving the area."
"Maggie—"
"I'm not leaving."
C.J. took a deep breath. "Listen, the town
is just at the bottom of the hillside. We'll check into the hotel, you can get some
rest, Brandon and I will continue looking for Cain." C.J. held up a hand
against her automatic protest. "I swear to you Brandon and I will behave
ourselves. No rampant death and destruction. We'll be perfectly nice vengeful
relatives. I promise."
Maggie thought she should argue more, but
suddenly the trauma and exhaustion caught up to her and she would have fallen
if not for C.J.'s arm suddenly gripping her shoulder. He looked at her with so
much compassion, she almost burst into tears again.
"We'll help you," he whispered and
his fingers rubbed her neck lightly. "You know we'd give our eyeteeth to
make you happy."
"I want to fight," she whispered
soggily.
"In a few hours," he assured her.
"Even G.I. Joe requires rest."
He took her hand and led her out of the ravine.
The wind slapped them immediately, ripping through the stubby brush and howling
its growing rage. Night seemed to have descended in just five minutes, the
storm clouds reaching full boil.
C.J. shook his head once more, and when he
looked at her his eyes were knowing. "Ugly night, Maggie," he
murmured. "Ugly night."
Joel paced the tiny room three more times, then gave up. He scowled at
Detective McDougal, but the older man could only shrug. Maggie had said she'd
ring them when she woke up, but that had been two hours ago. Of course, the
poor woman was exhausted so who knew how long she'd sleep.
Joel felt more frustrated than ever before.
"I'm going to Bend," he snapped at last.
Once again, McDougal shrugged. Joel was on
personal time; he could go wherever the hell he chose. Still disgruntled and
restless, Joel finally stalked out to his four-by-four and started up the
engine.
He'd just put it in gear when the gun was
pressed against his ear.
"Joel," Cain said quietly.
The young man's eyes widened in the rearview
mirror, then just as abruptly his face split into a snarl.
"No!" Cain pressed the gun hard to
remind the rash young man of all the things at stake. "Don't do anything
stupid now. That won't help Kathy."
"Don't you say her name. You haven't the
right to say her name!"
"I have more right than you think,"
Cain said softly. He risked a glance around the parking lot. The first fat
raindrops plastered the windshield, providing him with more cover. Still, his
thigh felt as if it were on fire and he was growing woozier. His original plan
of running to Idaho to search for evidence had already come and gone.
Now he was down to hours and minutes. Now he
was making it up as he went along and hoping he didn't pass out before it was
over. He didn't want a confrontation. He didn't want to shoot his brother or
any more violence. He just wanted the truth.
Heaven help him.
"Shoot me," Joel snarled from the
front seat, his nostrils flared impressively with his rage. "Shoot me or
get the hell out of my vehicle!"
And Cain felt the weariness press down against
him. He wanted to slap this young man silly and tell him to stop being so
stupid. Life was more precious than that. Survival more important. As long as
you were alive, you always had a chance.
Maggie.
He kept his voice steady, though his vision was
starting to swim. "I know you don't believe me, Joel, but I didn't kill
Kathy. I know who did, though, and you're going to help me catch him. I'll give
you justice, Joel. Grant me two hours and I will give you justice."
Joel still gnashed his teeth, but when Cain
finally demanded the CB, he complied. At Cain's instructions, he issued the
call code for Ham, broadcasting it over several frequencies.
Abruptly there was a click across the crackling
airwaves as one of the frequencies finally found their target and Abraham
responded.
"Hello, Ham," Cain said simply.
"We need to talk."
"I won't talk about that bi—"
"We're not going to talk about her,"
Cain overrode steadily. He looked at Joel, taking in the young man's dark gaze,
filled with so much rage. He thought of Ham and just how lethal his older
brother could be. Knight to rook two. Winner takes all.
It was the last gambit he had. "I want to
meet," he repeated. "No guns, no outsiders. Just you and me."
"I've got nothing to say—"
"Yes, you do. We're going to talk about
Dad, Abraham. Dad. Because it may have taken me a bit, but I finally know
everything."
Maggie left C.J. in the small lobby and walked to her room on shaking legs. The
thought of sinking down into the black void of sleep was suddenly so appealing
she could barely get her key into the lock.
She'd just finally slipped it in when she heard
the footsteps behind.
"I'm fine, C.J.," she said
reflexively and half turned to throw her overprotective brother a reassuring
glance.
And for one moment, she thought the man was
Cain and her gaze had already begun to melt.
But he wasn't Cain. Her gaze picked up too many
discrepancies. His face was too dark and weather-beaten. His blue eyes were not
calm, but glowed with a bone-deep purpose that made her shake. He was outfitted
for the hunt, and in less than five seconds she realized that made her the
prey.
Abraham. He had to be Abraham.
"The hostage woman," he murmured.
"The police told me your hair was on fire."
He took one step forward and with a rapid move
she couldn't even follow, he grabbed her arm and twisted it cruelly behind her
back.
"We got an appointment," he said
simply in her ear, and slapped his other hand over her mouth before she could
scream. "No noise and maybe I'll let you live. Don't know yet."
He dragged her effortlessly down the hall and
held her too tightly to even struggle.
C.J.'s feet popped off the coffee table in the motel lobby and hit the floor
with a dull thud. "What the hell?"
His gaze peered out into the dark, dense
rainfall and the two figures moving toward an old pickup truck. Visibility was
shot, but there was no mistaking that red hair.
"Damn!"
He was up out of the chair and already pulling
out his gun while the lobby receptionist gasped and dove for cover. Brandon
picked that minute to walk down the hallway from his room, saving C.J. the
inconvenience of having to break down his door.
"Move," C.J. commanded and Brandon
didn't blink. He recognized the grim edge of his brother's voice and he moved.
"Cain?" Brandon yelled above the
rainfall as they bolted from the lobby toward C.J.'s rental car. Both of their
gazes had picked up the blue truck that was already pulling out of the parking
lot.
"Who else?"
C.J. hopped into the car, gunned the engine and
barely gave Brandon time to close his door. One second later and they were
peeling off in pursuit, the rain hammering against their vehicle.
"I'm going to kill him," C.J.
promised simply.
"Me first," Brandon murmured.
"You never used to be so bloodthirsty,
Brandon."
Brandon didn't reply.
The world was spinning. Sometimes it righted itself enough for him to pinpoint
the brown carpet and gold bedspread of a truly hideous motel room. But mostly
the world spun and Cain was beginning to realize that his venture was truly
just a pipe dream. He was going to pass out cold and that would be the end of
it.
He struggled for lucidity, forcing himself to
sit up in the threadbare wingback chair. He couldn't feel his left leg anymore.
No more pain, just a curious numbness and pinpricks of coldness he figured were
bad signs.
He'd made it here, though. He had the room
registered in Ham's name so his brother would be sure to find it. He even had
Joel handcuffed in the bathroom, serving as a living tape recorder of the
events about to unfold since Cain didn't have the time or money for electronic
devices. No doubt the junior officer was digging through the complimentary
toiletry items with his toes, searching for tools to pick the handcuff lock
while inventing new ways of killing Cain once he was free.
At least the pieces were assembled on the
board. Cain had made it that far.
It had been two hours since he'd contacted Ham
by radio. Ham had said he would need that long to get to the chosen hotel. Cain
didn't know where his brother was at the time of the call to confirm that one
way or the other. The two-hour delay had been painful, though, putting him at a
further disadvantage. He was growing weaker and weaker. If Ham didn't get here
soon, the end would be very anticlimactic. Ham breaking down the door, Cain
already passed out cold.
Fight the pain. Dammit, Cain, fight it!
He placed his gun in the bedside drawer, not
completely out of reach, but not conspicuous. He'd told Ham to come unarmed but
didn't believe for a minute that that would be the case. Still, Cain wanted to
avoid a standoff or shootout as long as possible. In his opinion, a hail of
bullets was definitely a worst-case scenario. Whether he died or Ham died, the
effect would be the same—the truth would never be told. Cain needed the truth.
But what about Ham's point of view on the
subject? Cain had always done a poor job of anticipating Ham's actions. Did his
older brother hate him enough to kill him? As a child, Cain had never understood
why Ham seemed to resent him. After all, Ham had been the oldest son and their
father's favorite. Of course, the Old Testament didn't put much stock in oldest
sons, and in fact seemed to favor younger siblings. Thus Abel was chosen above
Cain, Jacob over Esau, Joseph above his brothers.