Wink of an Eye (32 page)

“Sure.” I wasn't the least bit hungry but didn't want to disappoint him.

We sat there in the baking heat eating warm bologna sandwiches and drinking tepid bottled water.

“So, you going to tell me what was going on a little while ago?” I asked. I remembered when I was his age, I had so many things to say, but no one to say them to.

He tossed a pinch of bread to Jasper. “I was just thinkin' how many people know the truth about my dad but no one ever came forward.”

“As long as you know the truth, that's what matters.”

He cut his eyes at me, followed by a slight grin. “That's a load of crap.”

I sighed. “You're right. It's a load of crap. I used to tell people my old man joined the army and was off fighting a war in some foreign country.” I took a long drink of the water.

“You think they knew the truth?”

“I don't know. I really don't even know what the truth was. I don't know if anyone other than him knows why he left.”

“Do you still miss him? I mean, I know you're old and all, but—”

“Old? I'm going to let that slide and not throw you over the edge.”

He grinned. “You're a
cool
old.”

I laughed. “Thanks. I think. And yes, I still miss him. Every day.”

He threw the last bite of his sandwich to Jasper. “That girl that called—”

“Her name's Claire. She's Mark Peterson's sister-in-law.”

“Do you think she knew?”

“About the girls, possibly. About your dad … no.” I prayed to God she didn't know.

He slowly sipped his water. “I like Sophia better.”

I almost spit my water out. “Sophia … Sophia's … nice.”

“We call it
fine.
”

I burst out laughing. “She is that.”

Movement coming from the left caught my attention. A car was in the far distance but approaching at a fast speed, leaving plumes of dust in its wake. It was a burgundy Crown Vic. Mark Peterson. Why was he out at … the … sinkholes? Damn Claire! She sent Peterson out like an attack dog. I was so fucking numb, for a moment I couldn't move.

My chest tightened. I struggled to breathe. I finally shook off the shock. I'd deal with the reality of the true Claire later; protecting Tatum was my first priority. I stood quickly and jerked Tatum up by his arm.

“What's the matt—”

“Get in the van.” I handed him the keys. “Get Jasper. Lock the doors and don't unlock them for anything. Understand?”

“What's going on?”

“Just do what I say. My cell phone's in the cup holder. Rodney's number is in my contact list. Call Rodney and tell him where we are and we need help.”

“But—”

“Get in the fucking van!”

He fumbled with the back door then ordered Jasper to get in. The panic in his eyes was real and desperate and searching mine for an answer I couldn't give. I heard the door lock just as Peterson wheeled up sideways. The Crown Vic stopped about a foot from the van's front bumper. Peterson was out of the car before I could blink, pressing the barrel end of a shotgun straight into my chest.

“Just couldn't mind your own business, could you?” He pumped the gun; the sound echoed in the sagebrush and lonely tumbleweeds. “You are one cool motherfucker, aren't you?”

If I could have spoken, I would have told him sure, I was a cool motherfucker. But I was too fucking terrified at the moment to speak. If I was going to die right here, chances were Peterson would take Tatum out, too. I wasn't going to let that happen.

In one motion, I dropped and rolled and landed a square kick to his right kneecap. He yelled out in pain as he dropped to his knees. I bounced up and in a roundhouse kicked the shotgun from his grip. It skittered across the ground and landed at the edge of the sinkhole. Peterson grabbed my snake-bitten ankle and brought me down in one swoop. My back slammed against the hard earth with a loud
thud
that reverberated in my ears. Peterson was on top of me, pummeling my face with his monster fists. Blood pooled in my mouth as bright yellow stars flashed before my eyes. Dammit, I hadn't survived a rattler bite to be beat to death by this gorilla. With everything in me, I brought my right leg up and drove my knee so far into his balls, I thought they popped out of his eye sockets. Payback's hell.

He rolled off of me and crumpled to his side, giving me enough time to roll away. I scrambled up then nearly took his head off with a kick under his chin. A stream of blood sprayed the brown dirt around us. I added another kick for good measure, then stood over him gasping for breath. It couldn't be over. For Peterson, this was a fight to the death and I wasn't dead yet. I backed away, moving toward the shotgun. Just as I turned to grab the gun, he fired off a shot from his service weapon that pinged the dirt at my feet. He fired another that blew by my ear. I covered my head with my arms and dropped to the ground just as Tatum and the dog burst from the back of the van.

“Tatum! No!” I screamed. Damn kid! I
told
him to stay the fuck in the van!

Everything happened so fast. Jasper lunged at Peterson but met a hard knee to his chest. Tatum screamed as his dog yelped and fell to the side. The kid attacked Peterson with a blind fury fueled by his murdered father. Peterson tried to knock the kid off but Tatum actually connected with a couple wild swings, sending Peterson staggering toward me. I grabbed up the shotgun and pumped it at the same time Peterson regained his balance. He was holding Tatum to his chest, the kid's feet dangling off the ground, and Peterson's gun digging into the side of Tatum's head.

“You first,” Peterson said through bloody teeth.

The anger that flared in Tatum's eyes moments ago was now pure fear.

“He's just a kid, Peterson.” I was calculating whether or not I could make a clean shot without catching any part of Tatum. Damn near impossible with a shotgun. “Let him go. This is between me and you.”

He cocked the gun. I could feel my heart beating in my toes. I could hear it vibrating in my ears. Tatum clenched his teeth, steeling himself for what he thought was coming. “It's okay, kid. You'll never feel it,” Peterson said.

I tossed the shotgun over the edge of the sinkhole. “Do what you're going to do to me, but don't hurt him.”

“Gypsy, no!” Tatum screamed.

Peterson whacked the gun against the side of Tatum's head, splitting his ear. Just as he screamed out in pain, Jasper charged at them, snarling like he had rabies. Tatum tried wrestling away from Peterson's clutch but Peterson spun around, fighting to maintain his balance with Jasper biting viciously at his legs. As I reached out for the kid, Peterson scrabbled backward and fell, flinging Tatum over the edge.

“Nooo!”
I leapt over Peterson and prayed I jumped out far enough to clear the sides of the sinkhole.

I hit the surface like a bullet, plunging feet first into the dark depths of the murky water.
A hundred feet down and still couldn't find the bottom …

I shot back up as fast as I had sank. I spit and coughed water for a second, then screamed for Tatum. I dove back under but the water was too dark to see anything past my own hand. I came up again and just as I took a deep breath, Tatum bobbed to the surface about a hundred feet away. He was coughing and sputtering, his arms flaying in full panic mode.

I cleared the distance between us in seconds. I rolled him on his back then held him under the arms. He was still fighting for his life, the fear of drowning dominating rational thought. “You're okay, Tatum. You're going to be okay.”

A gash above his right eye was gushing blood. He was still sputtering but he had calmed down to only slightly panicked. At least one of us was calming down. I was on the verge of a heart attack.

I swam backward with one arm toward the side of the sinkhole, dragging Tatum with my other arm. How the hell the kid ended up in the middle of the sinkhole is beyond me. My adrenaline rush was slipping, giving way to exhaustion.

With one last rush of strength, I reached a small ledge of rock and earth. I pulled Tatum up to the ledge and planted both his hands firmly on the edge. “Do not let go.”

He nodded, slowly regaining his senses. I pushed away enough to tread water but still close enough I could get a hand on him if the dirt ledge gave away. I looked up and down the dirt walls of the sinkhole. Now I knew what a goldfish felt like. The walls were much like a fish bowl—smooth all the way around. There were a few outcrops of rock and earth scattered far enough away from one another to guarantee their uselessness. There was nothing to climb. The situation wasn't looking very good. I turned slowly in the water, scanning all sides of the great hole. The north side was at more of an angle than the others and might be a better climbing option, but it was on the opposite side of where we were. It would be a helluva swim. I couldn't make it towing Tatum. Bile rose in my throat as I realized we were running out of options.

Don't let him see you panic …

“Jasper,” Tatum whispered in a hoarse voice. “I hear him barking.”

Damn dog. The kid was right—Jasper was barking his fool head off. And in between barks, I picked up a siren's wail. It was faint but growing.

“Did you call Rodney?”

Tatum quickly nodded. “And 911.”

I smiled.

 

CHAPTER 28

From my perch in the back of an ambulance, I could see Peterson along with Ranger Rick and several officers. A group of paramedics hovered around Peterson, evaluating several nasty-looking dog bites. One of his hands was handcuffed to the stretcher. I'd rather see it cuffed to an electric chair but the stretcher was a start.

“Jasper got some pretty good bites in,” Rodney said in a low voice. According to him, when he arrived on the scene Jasper had Peterson pinned against the Crown Vic. Apparently when Peterson stumbled and fell, he suffered a compound fracture to his leg. He dragged himself to the car with Jasper biting his ass every inch of the way. “I hope he's current on his rabies shot.”

“Peterson or the dog? I wouldn't want Jasper to catch anything.” I watched a paramedic wrap a bandage around Peterson's nasty-looking calf.

Another set of paramedics were examining the gash over Tatum's eye and debating the use of glue or stitches. Jasper sat at the foot of the stretcher, whining for Tatum's attention.

I had said very little since we were rescued, other than to wave off the ice pack a paramedic kept trying to put on my bruised cheek. The paramedics took my silence as a sign of shock. Maybe they were right. There was no other way for Peterson to have known where I was except through Claire.

“Mr. Moran, we really need to put some ice on your cheek. Your eye's going to swell shut.” There she was again, standing in front of me armed with an ice pack.

I shook my head then shook off the blanket they had wrapped around my shoulders. Not that I didn't appreciate it, but it was 115 degrees and steam was literally rising from my wet clothes.

“You really need to keep that on. You could be in shock.” She was thick in the middle and wore gold-rimmed glasses.

“I could be, but I'm not.”

“He's pretty stubborn.” Rodney smiled apologetically. He then nodded toward Tatum. “Why don't you go check on the boy and give us an update in a minute or two.” He smiled again and the paramedic took her cue to leave us alone.

She nodded, then headed over to her coworkers. Rodney hiked up his jeans like he did when he was about to get serious.

I saved him the trouble. “Claire sent him here to kill me.” The words were fire in my throat, exploding like an inferno off my tongue.

“You're sure?”

I nodded. “She was the only one other than Rhonda and Burke who knew we were coming here.”

He hiked his pants up again. He twisted his lips into knots then finally spoke. “Rick and I were on our way to question her when I got Tatum's call.”

“I want to talk to her first.”

We looked at one another, him not believing what I had just said and me meaning each word to the fullest.

“Gypsy—I don't think I can do that. I mean … come on, man. You know I can't allow that. Especially now.”

“No, it's
especially now
that I need to talk to her.” I pushed my hands through my wet hair, hoping it might clear my head. Maybe it would straighten the thoughts as well as the tangles. “I just want to know why she sent Peterson. I don't care about the case. I just want to know why.”

“Gypsy…” He shook his head slowly and for a moment I felt sorry for him. I understood the position I was putting him in and my heart was heavy with the burden.

“Ten minutes. That's all I'm asking for. Y'all can come in right behind me and handcuff her right there, I don't care. Just give me ten minutes, Rodney. Please. I'm begging you for this and begging doesn't come easy for me.”

He kicked at the dry dirt with the toe of his boot. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. His face was contorted, bearing a pain I was responsible for. “Dammit, Gypsy.”

I took a deep breath and forced a slight smile. “If you're worried about her finishing the job—”

“Oh, I'm not worried about that. It's just I know you're still sweet on her and sometimes that can cloud a man's judgment.”

“The woman sent someone to kill me, Rodney. I'm crazy about her but I'm not a fool.”

He kicked at more dirt, then sighed heavily. “Go. But when we're finished here, we're coming to arrest her.”

I hopped out of the ambulance and headed over to Tatum.

“I don't want to go to the hospital,” he said, his puppy-dog eyes turning to me for help.

“You're going. You probably need a few stitches over your eye.”

One of the paramedics, a woman with butt-length black hair pulled back in a ponytail, nodded her agreement. “I'd say you don't have a choice.”