High Stakes, page 21
I’m already walking out of the office, barely aware of the tears streaming down my face as I listen to Ewing’s calming voice.
“Listen to me. I’m on my way, so is the fire department, and I’ll call the vet. What I need you to do is take the phone and lock yourself into the downstairs bathroom, okay?”
“Okay,” I lie.
No way in hell can I cower inside and listen to this, knowing the people I care most about in this world are out there, doing the right thing.
“Hang in there,” I hear the sheriff say as I step outside.
Fletch
* * *
Flames lick down from the hayloft and it’s raining burning embers on my shoulders as I wield the ax at the door.
The fire must’ve started in the tack room. I found the entire front of the barn engulfed and inaccessible. I directed the old man and Alex to the rear barn doors to release the horses from there, but King’s stall is nearer to the side door leading to the manure pile. My horse is cut off from the barn doors on both sides.
I can hear him inside—the terrified sounds he makes, the stuff of nightmares—and I swing the ax again. I keep telling myself as long as I can still hear him, he’s alive. Someone must’ve thrown the heavy-duty latch on the inside and I’ve tried kicking it down without success. When the hole is big enough for me to reach through, I ignore the falling embers burning my skin and I rock the latch back and forth until it finally slides free.
Smoke billows out the moment the door is open, and I quickly pull my shirt over the bottom half of my face. Visibility is zero and it’s only by feel and memory I find the latch to King’s stall, but nothing happens when I throw open the door. I’m not thinking of my own safety when I reach a hand in front of me and step into the pen. Some of the straw in the stall is smoldering which is likely why he’s cowering against the far wall.
“Let’s go, King,” I rasp against the thick smoke. “Come on, boy.”
My fingers encounter quivering flesh and a hot puff of air. His nose. Instinctively my hand grabs onto his halter and he follows me without hesitation.
It’s an amazing bond between horse and man, one built solely on mutual trust. I know I can close my eyes and trust King to navigate me down the steepest cliffs, just as he trusts me to lead him from danger, even if what I’m asking of him is against every instinct he has.
I lead King away from the barn and straight to the corral, where a small group—Thomas, Pippa, and Alex—is keeping the other horses calm. Six of them in total. King is almost vibrating beside me when Alex, who is ready with the hose, douses both my horse and me before aiming it back at the others.
Smart of her to focus on the horses instead of the barn. It would’ve been a futile attempt, I’m afraid. The hay became fuel to the fire and before I even got outside, it had spread along the entire length of the loft. I can hear sirens coming closer but I don’t think the fire department is going to do much more than make sure the fire doesn’t jump.
I glance around at the horses to gauge their injuries but it’s difficult to tell, even though someone thought to flick on the floodlight next to the corral.
“We sure this is all of them?” I ask.
“Yup.”
This from Thomas. Pippa is standing beside him and looks to have a very nervous Missy in hand.
“Don’t start with me,” Nella’s sister snaps when she catches me looking. “I wasn’t going to sit around.”
No, I imagine she wasn’t, then again, I didn’t expect her sister to either. Or Dan, for that matter. My gaze automatically goes to the house where I see the sheriff’s cruiser parked. There is no sign of him though, which seems odd. The front door is wide open and an icy sliver of unease makes my breath catch in my throat.
I let go of King and start walking to the gate, my eyes never leaving the porch.
“What’s wrong?” Thomas is the first to ask.
“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully.
Two fire engines are coming up the driveway, and I wave them over to the barn. Then I continue toward the house, taking the porch steps two at a time. I’m about to walk in when Ewing appears at the end of the hallway, an inscrutable expression on his face.
When you’ve been in the field for decades, body language becomes an almost more effective mode of communication than words. And the sheriff’s body language is conveying nothing good.
Something is horribly wrong.
“Nella?”
I can barely get her name out, still have her fucking taste on my lips.
“Was talking to her as I was pulling onto the highway. Found the phone lying on the porch when I got here. I can’t find her, Boone.”
Storming through the house like a man possessed, I throw open doors, check behind and under furniture, and call her name in hopes perhaps she did as I asked and hid. Nothing. She’s not here.
I fucking left her here. Ran out like an idiot to rescue a bunch of horses and a goddamn barn, and left the woman I was supposed to protect alone.
A frustrated howl rips from my chest as I grab my head with both hands and bend over.
Life can’t be this cruel.
“Where the hell is my sister?”
Pippa barrels through the door and stops in front of me, planting her hands on her hips. She juts her chin defiantly, despite the abject fear on her face.
“I’ll find her,” I promise.
“What happened?” she demands to know.
“I think I know.”
A woman’s voice I can’t immediately place comes from behind Pippa, who instantly steps aside.
“Gemma, what are you doing here?” I rush to the frail woman’s side.
Gemma is Dan’s mother, who has advanced metastatic colorectal cancer. Gemma and Dan moved into one of the cabins before the summer, when Jonas discovered the farmhand was struggling to look after his mother while also maintaining an income they could live off.
“Dan went after them.”
“Who is them?” Ewing inquires.
“I never saw them, but he said there were two men and a woman. Dan was on his way to help at the barn when he spotted them.” Then Gemma turns to me. “I’m sorry. He told me to call the house and I tried but no one answered, so I walked here instead.”
She sways on her feet and I slip a careful arm around her. The woman is so slight, I’m afraid I’ll break her.
“Do you know where they went?” the sheriff pushes.
“My boy thought they might be heading for the old logging road along the river.”
That road is more like a trail by now. It would be fastest to get to on horseback. Otherwise, we’d have to drive out to the highway, head south for half a mile and hit that overgrown cutoff right before the bridge. Problem is, the only tack that didn’t perish in the fire is mine. It’s still out there on the porch. I can’t take King, he’s injured, but maybe one of the other horses is in better shape.
“Look after her,” I instruct Pippa, handing Gemma to her before I tear out of the house.
“Hold up,” Ewing says when I collect my saddle and bridle and make my way down the steps. “Where are you headin’?”
“Logging road. It’s a good fifteen, twenty-minute walk if they cut straight through the woods. I may be able to catch them on horseback, but my guess is they’ll have a vehicle waiting. If you access the road from the highway, we may be able to block them in.”
I’m already rushing down the steps when his next words stop me in my tracks.
“We may be too late either way.”
He’s not wrong, it’s not like the thought hadn’t crossed my mind that whatever they intended to do to Nella was already done. In all the chaos here, a gunshot could’ve gone undetected. But I’m not ready to consider that possibility. Not yet.
“We’re gonna find her,” I insist, just as Pippa comes bounding down the porch stairs.
“I’m coming,” she announces.
“Like hell you are,” Ewing counters.
I don’t have time for this shit.
With long strides I make my way over to the corral and snatch Buttercup. She’s an old biddy, but still has some fire in the tank and pretty much unflappable. While I quickly saddle her, I fill in Alex and Thomas and let them know Gemma is up at the house by herself.
Then I swing onto the mare and dig my heels in.
The sheriff’s cruiser is just pulling out as I head around to the other side of the house. I’m not surprised when I get a glimpse of Pippa in the passenger seat. The Freling women are not easily deterred.
I guide Buttercup past my cabin and into the woods. It’s dark, especially under the tree cover, but every so often the moon will peek out, giving me a bit more visibility. I wish I had my night-vision gear but I don’t, nor do I have my compass. I’m going purely on gut here, and I hope to God it steers me right. Normally I’d be looking for tracks, signs someone passed through, but that’s not an option now. Speed is imperative or they will get away, and my instinct is all I’ve got.
Every now and then I stop Buttercup, long enough to listen for any sounds of movement. I’d imagine three people stumbling through the woods in the middle of the night would make some noise.
Through the trees I can see an occasional silver ripple—a reflection of moonlight—and I know I’m getting close to the river. The growth is less dense. I pull back on the reins so I can dismount and walk the rest of the way. Buttercup makes too much noise and I don’t want them to hear me coming.
I’ve walked maybe twenty feet when a hand shoots out from behind a tree, clamping on to my arm.
“Fletch…”
Twenty-Seven
Nella
* * *
“Move, you miserable cunt.”
The guy with the stringy blond hair—I guess that must be Willy—yanks on the rope tied to my bound arms and I almost do a face plant. My leg is in bad shape and I’m having a hard time keeping up with these yahoos. Wyatt is behind me with the gun. He actually scares me more than the foul-mouthed Willy.
I’d give them both a piece of my mind, but unfortunately the first thing they did after shoving the barrel of a gun in my face was slap a piece of duct tape over my mouth. They tied my arms in front of me and whisked me off the porch. The whole thing took no more than a handful of seconds.
I couldn’t scream, unfortunately, but I could listen…and listen I did.
From what I was able to piece together they were supposed to get both me and Pippa, but hadn’t counted on my sister beelining it out of the house right behind everyone else to help rescue the horses. Willy, the mouthy one, said something about Graham who would be pissed if they showed up with just one of us. I’d wondered why they hadn’t just shot me—finished the job—but I realized then the plan was to take me to this…Graham, whoever he is.
Still, I’m not so sure Wyatt would hesitate to put a bullet in my back if I tried to take off. Not that I’d get far on this leg.
Despite the brisk night air, sweat is pouring down my face and stinging my eyes. I’m not sure how far I can keep trudging through these woods when I notice a break in the trees up ahead. Is that water? I remember Fletch mentioned Fisher River bordering the south and east side of the ranch when we were out on our ride. Did they sneak in by boat? I guess it would be smart, it’s much harder to track someone on water. Also, from what I remember of the maps of the area, Fisher River hooks up with the much larger Kootenay River, which could take us anywhere. Heck, if you followed it all the way north of the border, it would take you to within half an hour of my apartment building in Cranbrook.
Stumbling through the trees with a gun at my back, I’ve never felt farther removed from my life there. I feel like an entirely different person, barely recognizing the woman I was then. So much has happened, it feels like a lifetime ago. When every day is the same as the one before—safe and predictable—you don’t feel the passage of time so clearly, but since coming here I’ve been swept along on this continuously changing adventure and it feels like months have passed.
Even that horseback ride Fletch took me on feels like it was weeks ago and not just days. A pang of hot grief penetrates the cold fear at the thought of him.
Am I ever going to see him again?
Does he even know I’m gone?
I want to believe it. I want to believe he is somewhere behind us, coming to find me, but I’m afraid to. More afraid of being disappointed when he doesn’t show, than of facing whatever these guys have in store for me by myself.
Another yank on my arms snaps me back to the present as Willy pulls me out of the cover of the trees onto a dirt trail along the river. I’m trying to slow down as much as he’ll let me as we walk parallel to the water. I can’t even feel my leg anymore at this point. It feels like I’ve been walking forever.
“There she is,” he says, pointing ahead at a pickup with a large RV hooked up to it.
So many thoughts are going through my head as the two lead me toward the camper. What are they planning to do with me? Is their boss waiting in there?
I go even slower, but am immediately poked in the back with a barrel.
“Keep going.”
This time it’s Wyatt prompting me when up ahead the door to the trailer swings open.
“Where’s the other one?”
Not even the gun shoved between my ribs can get my feet to move when I hear that voice.
“Jesus, you two are more useless than tits on a bull, ain’t ya?”
“She was never alone,” Willy protests, but the woman won’t hear of it.
“Wanna get anything done you gotta damn well do it yourself,” she mumbles. “Well, get the girl off the road already, would ya?”
Willy jerks on the rope and I stumble forward. I really don’t want to go inside that trailer but Willy shoves me up the steps.
Recognizing Wyatt had shocked me to the core—he’d been such a nice, helpful guy before—but being fooled twice like this has me terrified.
The moment I step inside the trailer it becomes clear how much trouble I’m in.
“Gonna make this fast,” she says, her own gun pointed at my head. “Finish what my dang boys started. Can’t trust the young generation to do anything right anymore, can ya? First, they let your sister get away, although I’ve gotta say, I was sure shocked she survived. Stubborn girl, but I guess that runs in the family, don’t it? You don’t give up lightly either. Your moxie surprised me, but it’s too bad that stubborn streak landed you here.” She motions to the floor with the gun. “Need you to get down on your knees, girl.”
Like hell I’m going down on my knees. If she plans to kill me, I’m not about to make it easier for her. The woman is batshit crazy. Unfortunately, retreat is not an option because Twiddle Dee and Twiddle Dum are blocking the door. But that also potentially puts them in her line of fire, which is probably why she wanted me on my knees.
A flash of light shines in through the window. Looks like headlights.
“Grab her, Wyatt,” the woman barks. “You two take her in the bedroom and stay quiet.”
I bang into furniture as I’m roughly hustled to the rear of the trailer. There I’m shoved facedown onto a bed where I’m joined by one of them. I assume Wyatt, since he was holding the gun, which is currently being pressed against the back of my head.
“I will shoot you if you make a sound,” he hisses, and if I wasn’t so damn scared, I’d laugh. I thought the plan was to shoot me either way.
Outside I can hear a door slam, then nothing for a bit before there’s a crunch of footsteps coming toward the trailer. If that is Fletch, I hope to God he’s careful. I don’t think this woman would think twice about putting a bullet in him.
The loud rap on the door is unexpected. I startle as Wyatt jumps off the bed.
“What the hell is she doin’?”
“Shut the fuck up, Willy,” his cousin mutters.
A second knock sounds at the door, followed by a voice.
“Sheriff’s office! I need to talk to you about parking here. Can you open the door?”
I recognize Sheriff Ewing and for a moment relief floods me, but it doesn’t last.
“Hold yer horses!” she calls back. “I’m just gettin’ my clothes on!”
No she’s not and suddenly I’m worried for the sheriff.
My wrists are still tied in front of me and currently tucked under my body, but I quietly roll over and bring my hands up to my mouth. In one fast move, I rip the duct tape off. It hurts like hell. I blink furiously against the sudden tears burning my eyes as I suck in a lungful of air.
“She’s got a gun!”
Fletch
* * *
“I followed them for a little while and guessed they were heading toward the river. Nella’s not moving too well so they’re going pretty slow, so I circled around them to get ahead. I was hoping maybe I could find some way to intercept them, when I saw the trailer.”
Dan and I are crouched down behind a large tree stump on the edge of the logging trail. A thirty-or thirty-two-foot camper hitched to a late model Chevy Silverado is parked on the other side, right along the river.
“There’s someone inside,” I observe as I watch a shadow move behind the blinds.
That’s got to be the elusive Graham, or Grant, whatever his name is. I wonder if this is one of the stolen RVs. Ewing should be able to tell once he gets here.
Suddenly Dan grabs onto my arm and I hear the movement too. It’s coming from our left. The sound of footfalls on dry dirt.
“There she is.”
The voice belongs to a young punk, about Dan’s age. He’s holding a goddamn rope tied to Nella, who is limping badly behind him, followed by the other motherfucker. Relief at seeing her alive is quickly replaced with rage surging through my body. I must’ve made a sound or something because Dan digs his fingers into my forearm in warning. That’s when I notice the second guy jab a gun in the small of Nella’s back.
I move now and she’s dead.
