Perfect Partners (37 page)

Letty opened a pack of cards as silence fell on the beautiful house. Outside, the wind was howling restlessly through the trees. “Anyone for a game of gin?” she asked.

They were all in bed by ten-thirty.

Letty was the first one up the next morning. She awoke shortly before dawn and emerged from the bathroom with some vague notion of making pancakes. She realized the wind was still shrieking through the trees.

Then she looked out the window and saw the gray and white world that had engulfed the cabin overnight. Letty could see only a yard or two beyond the window because of the thick, swirling snow. She had no difficulty ascertaining that the blanket of white on the ground was already very thick and growing thicker by the minute.

Diana came into the front room, tying the sash of her robe. Her eyes widened in dismay. “My God, look at that blizzard. I guess that settles it. The men can all relax. Looks as if we're going to be stuck here for a while.”

Stephanie came out of the bathroom. She looked pale and shaken.

Letty frowned. “What's wrong, Steph?”

“My water just broke.”

Letty met her eyes and saw the fear in them. The finest obstetrician in Seattle and the most sophisticated neonatal facilities in the state were only seventy miles away. But they might as well have been seventy thousand miles.

No one in her right mind would risk driving even seven miles in the blinding snowstorm that had gripped the mountains.

Diana put her hand to her throat as she glanced from Stephanie's stricken face to Letty's. “If her water has broken she's about to go into labor. What are we going to do?”

Letty took a deep breath and managed a smile. “Isn't it lucky that I recently read some articles on the joys of having a baby at home?”

When the phone on Joel's desk rang he grabbed it up instantly. Mrs. Sedgewick was not at her desk yet. It was far too early for a business call.

“Blackstone,” he said, expecting to hear Keith Escott's voice on the other end of the line. Across the room Morgan sipped a cup of coffee and watched him.

“Last time it was your father,” Victor Copeland snarled. “This time it's going to be your whore. I know where she is. I'm going to get her. Just like I got your father. This is how it works, Blackstone. You took something of mine. Now I'm going to take something of yours. Dead simple, isn't it?”

“
Copeland
, wait, you bastard.” Joel's fingers locked around the phone as if he could somehow grab Copeland through the line.

But it was too late. Copeland had slammed down the receiver on his end.

Joel kept his death grip on the phone and started to dial the number of the Thornquist cabin. The fury was burning in him. “
Last time it was your father
.” There was no longer any doubt. Copeland was a killer.

“What is it? Was that Copeland?” Morgan put down his coffee.

“It was Copeland, all right. He says he knows where Letty is and he's going after her.” Joel listened to the telephone company recording that had come on the line. “Shit.”

“What?”

Joel dropped the receiver into its cradle and looked at Morgan. “I can't get through to the cabin.”

Morgan narrowed his eyes and gazed out the window. “This rain we're seeing here may be coming down as snow in the mountains. The phones are always going down during a snowstorm up there.”

“Christ.” Joel forced himself to think. “I've got to get to her.”

“You got chains for the Jeep?”

“Sure.” Joel stood up, shrugged into a blue down jacket, and pocketed his revolver. “Keep trying the phones. See if you can get through to the cops up there. Tell them what's going on.”

“No,” Morgan said. “You're not leaving me here. I'm going with you. My daughter and my wife are up there. Escott can stand by the phones. I'll call him and let him know what's happening.”

Joel nodded once. “All right. Move.”

They both moved. Fortunately the morning rush hour traffic was light leaving the city. Most of the commuters were headed into downtown Seattle, not out to the suburban east side. Nevertheless, it took time. Too much time.

Once free of the city, Joel was able to move more quickly. It was raining heavily on Interstate 90 as they started climbing into the heavily forested terrain east of Seattle.

The rain turned to sleet and then to snow in the space of half a mile. By the time they turned off the freeway onto the back road cut into the mountain above the river, visibility was down to a few yards.

“We're going to have to stop to put on the chains,” Morgan said.

“I know. I'll pull over up ahead.”

Morgan shot him a quick glance. “It won't take long. I'm an old hand at this. I've been putting on chains since I was seven.”

“Figures. I keep telling Letty you midwesterners are a hardy bunch.”

“You better believe it. Joel, she's going to be all right. Diana is with them. Copeland won't hurt his own daughter. She can handle him until we get there.”

“I wish I could believe that. How the hell did he learn about the cabin?”

“That,” said Morgan, “is a very good question.”

Joel was about to respond when some sixth sense made him glance into the rearview mirror. “Damn. There's someone right behind us.”

“Give him plenty of warning before you try to pull over in this muck.”

“I will.”

The big car behind the Jeep was following far too closely for the treacherous conditions. The snow-covered road was slick, and braking action would be almost nonexistent without four-wheel drive or chains.

Joel was suddenly very conscious of the sheer drop to the right of the narrow road. It was a long way down to the river.

Morgan turned around in his seat. He squinted through the rear window. “What the hell's the matter with that idiot?”

“Damned if I know.” Joel started to ease the Jeep to the side of the road.

At that moment the big car—a Chrysler, Joel noticed—surged forward and swung out as if intending to pass.

“I don't believe it,” Morgan said disgustedly. “You West Coast folks are never going to learn how to drive in snow.”

Joel glanced to his left and saw the outline of Victor Copeland's massively overweight body behind the wheel of the big car.

“Damn it to hell,” he said softly as realization dawned. “Copeland didn't know where Letty was. He waited until we left the office, and then he followed us. It's me he wants.”

Joel remembered all too clearly how his father had died. He suddenly knew Copeland intended the same fate for him. The narrow river gorge yawned at the edge of the slick road, invisible because of the driving snow.

Copeland had followed them all the way from Seattle, waiting for his opportunity. There had been no chance on the busy interstate, but now the two cars were alone on a narrow road.

Joel waited, sensing what was coming. He reacted just as the nose of the big car edged toward the Jeep's fender.

He jerked the steering wheel to the left and took his foot off the accelerator. The Jeep immediately started to fall back, slowing rapidly in the thickening snow. Its left front fender struck the rear fender of Copeland's car.

The big Chrysler went into a ponderous skid as Copeland lost control of the rear wheels.

Through the constantly shifting veil of snow Joel and Morgan watched the Chrysler spin halfway around and come to a halt blocking the narow road.

Joel put the Jeep into reverse. Then, through the thick mist of white, he saw the door of the Chrysler open. Copeland was reaching for something in the back seat.

“He's got a gun,” Joel said. He eased his foot down on the accelerator and backed the Jeep up as quickly as he could. All he needed was thirty more feet, he realized. That would put the Jeep out of sight around a bend in the road.

Fifteen more feet. He could hardly see the roadway at all now. The only consolation was that he knew Copeland's visibility was just as bad.

Ten feet. Or was it five? Maybe the road had already started curving and he was in the process of backing the Jeep straight over the cliff into the river. He turned the wheel cautiously.

“That's far enough,” Morgan said. “We're on the blind side of the curve.”

“Out.” Joel yanked at the clasp of his seat belt. “He'll find the Jeep in another couple of minutes. All he has to do is keep walking down the road and he'll blunder straight into it. Head up that slope toward the trees.”

“Don't worry. I'm not hanging around here.” Morgan opened the door on his side and got out of the vehicle.

Joel and Morgan scrambled through the driving snow into the shelter of the trees. The blowing storm was still swirling furiously around them, providing a cloak of invisibility that would dissolve the instant the wind died down.

From the shelter of a heavily branched fir, Joel tried to watch the road. He could barely make out the shape of the Jeep sitting in the middle of it.

Then the boiling snow cleared like fog for an instant, and he saw the big figure lumbering around the bend. Copeland had a gun in his left hand. He found his way to the Jeep's front window and pointed the gun into the interior.

“
Blackstone
. You son of a bitch. Blackstone, where are you? You want to know why I ran your pa off the road that night? 'Cause I thought it was you, that's why. It was supposed to be you, goddamn it.”

Copeland's cry of rage was carried on the shrieking wind. It was the enraged howl of a beast deprived of its prey.

An instant later Joel lost sight of him and the Jeep altogether in a renewed burst of wild wind.

“If we get any farther away from the Jeep, we'll run the risk of getting lost out here,” Morgan said quietly. “This could turn into a whiteout at the rate it's going.”

“Copeland can't see us any better than we can see him.” Joel edged back behind the tree. “My guess is he'll stay near the Jeep until he can see clearly. This may be the only chance we'll have.”

“You're going to try to get to him?”

“Yeah.” Joel took the revolver out of his jacket pocket. “I'm going down there. Watch for him. You may spot him before I do. If you do, yell.”

“I don't like this.”

“Neither do I,” said Joel. He took his glove off his right hand so that he could get a better grip on the revolver. His fingers immediately began to get cold.

He started cautiously down the slope, moving through the trees to where he thought the edge of the road should be. Around him the snow continued to eddy and whirl, occasionally clearing just enough to allow him to get his bearings. He thought about how stupid it would be to get lost out here just a few feet from the Jeep.

The wind lessened for a few seconds, and the veil of snow cleared. Joel saw Victor Copeland at the same instant that Copeland saw him. They were separated by the width of the road.

“Bastard. I'll teach you to mess with Victor Copeland. Who the hell do you think you are?” Copeland raised the gun in his fist and fired.

Joel dived into the thick snow. Copeland's shot crackled over his head. Joel raised his gun, but the wind picked up speed again, drawing a white curtain between the two men.

Joel started crawling forward on his belly through the snow. When he got home he was going to be able to testify personally to the effectiveness of Thornquist Gear boots and down jackets, he thought. He was in no danger of freezing yet, thanks to them.

Except for his right hand
. It wouldn't be long before his fingers were numb. He had to finish this quickly.

“Joel. On your right. Look right.” Morgan's warning roared through the blowing snow.

Joel obeyed instantly. He swung the revolver and his gaze simultaneously to the right just as the deadly white shroud lifted once more.

Copeland was less than two yards away, flailing about as he struggled to orient himself to Morgan's voice. He stumbled and fired wildly into the woods.

Joel pushed himself to his feet and launched himself at Copeland, knocking him off balance.

They went down heavily into the bank of snow at the edge of the road that overlooked the river. The revolver feel from Joel's numbed fingers. He landed on top of Copeland's huge frame.

Copeland convulsed as he tried to bring his gun up to aim at Joel.

Joel slammed a fist into Copeland's thick midsection and then grabbed the wrist of his gun hand. He held on with both hands and twisted desperately.

Copeland screamed with rage and pain. The gun fell into the snow. Joel tried to leap back out of the way of a huge fist. His booted foot skidded in the snow, and he lost his balance.

Copeland's blow found its target. The strength behind it was incredible. Joel's entire left arm went numb. He glanced down and saw the gun disappearing into the snow. He grabbed it with cold fingers.

Copeland was already on his feet, charging like a bull elephant. Joel sidestepped him at the last instant.

“Don't make me pull the trigger, you son of a bitch,” Joel yelled as Copeland staggered and turned for another charge.