Hellbent, page 23
It was a very long fall, with brutally sharp rocks at the bottom if you didn’t jump out far enough. Only Anton and his two brothers had ever done it, back when they were young and dumb and had no adults watching them.
The faint crack of gunfire caught their attention. A bullet whined off a cedar tree next to them, leaving a raw pale wound in the trunk. Men were running down the hill from above. At least three, all shooting. Reinforcements. They would be here in seconds.
Kimball shambled out the door of the container. His groin was blood-soaked, his thigh red to his knee, and he clutched it, his face contorted with rage as he lifted the gun.
Bam. A bullet hit the tree closest to them, ripping through the fir boughs.
They turned to face the empty air beyond that cliff, the thundering white water and stumbled toward the cliff’s edge with all the speed they could muster.
No second chances. No second-guessing. Go.
They jumped, hands linked.
30
Anton’s grasp on Fiona was broken when they hit the icy water. Down, down, so deep. He slowly fought back up, lungs burning. Gasping as he broke the surface.
He was yanked back underwater again. The current thundered downstream from the waterfall’s overflowing pool with terrifying swiftness.
He tried to turn around, looking for Fi in the water. Didn’t see her.
Fi. Oh, Fi, please. No, no, no.
Then he caught a glimpse of her head and shoulder, disappearing in a rush of opaque brown water that roared down between two rocks into a long sluice they used to call the Chutes back in the old days when they played there as kids. In the summer, when Kettle River acted more like a creek, and wasn’t swollen with runoff from the recent rain.
He tried to move through the water in her direction, insofar as he could. He saw at least four men gathered at the clifftop above the falls. Saw muzzle flashes. Incompetent assholes. They were out of range and getting farther every second.
An attempt to backstroke toward the Chutes set him coughing painfully. He had broken ribs from Kimball’s tantrum, and his right arm wouldn’t respond. He did his best with his left, but the water took him wherever the fuck it wanted. And the water just wanted to go down the Chutes as fast as possible.
It dragged him under again.
* * *
Fiona flailed to keep herself at the surface. Grabbed a gulp of air at every opportunity, but always got sucked back under before her lungs could be filled. Coughing, choking. So fucking cold. She could barely move. Her feet felt so heavy. Hard to kick.
She got flung up against some rocks from time to time, like being punched by a huge gigantic fist, but the river always pulled her numb body back into action again, and now she’d been dragged into a deep, narrow channel between a canyon and she was sliding, sloping down, going faster and faster…
Right over the edge of the Lower Falls. A long, heart-stopping fall…and she plunged deep into the second pool.
When she broke the surface this time, she found the current was moving slightly slower, and the river was wider and shallower. She could just barely touch her toes to the bottom, but she didn’t have the strength to brace herself against the suck of the water. She looked frantically around for Anton, and finally caught sight him. The water was chest deep now, but still brutally swift and strong. He floated face down. Oh God.
It was a slow nightmare, fighting the water with heavy, leaden limbs, trying to get closer to him.
By pure luck, Anton snagged on a boulder and was trapped there with the water beating against him, rushing and bubbling up over his still face. She fought her way across the stream. His bullet wound leaked pinkish threads of color into the brown water.
Fiona pulled herself along, scraping her numb fingers across rocks and logs for what felt like an eternity to get to him. She tried to hoist him up so his face was out of the water. “Anton? Anton! Hey! Wake up!”
His lips were bluish. He could have been bleeding out all this time.
“Anton!” Her voice felt so small and weak against the roar of the water. “Wake the fuck up! Look alive! I can’t pull you out of this alone!” She slapped his face. “Anton! Goddamnit, help me out here!”
Nothing.
She screamed in frustration. The sound was lost against the roar. “Goddamnit, Anton! I love you! Don’t you dare die on me before I get to tell you that properly!”
Screw this. She couldn’t help him in the middle of a river. She got her back into it and pried him loose of the rock, flinging them both into the flow of the current again.
She struggled to keep him right side up, mouth above water while they swept downriver. Their combined weight made it easier for her to touch the ground more often, but never for very long.
Finally she got her feet beneath her, and got enough purchase to drag him out of the current of the deepest part of the river and into a calmer, shallower part. The water still pulled strongly at her legs, and dragged on Anton’s body, trying to get it away from her.
As far as she could tell, from her sketchy memory, they were almost to the outskirts of town. A little bit farther, and they’d be close to Circle Falls, and then they would reach the spot where Kettle River dumped into Shaw Lake.
There was a trailer park built up on the hillside of Kettle Creek Canyon on both sides of the gravel road. She could see manufactured homes peeking through the trees.
The closest house was very near the river’s edge. It was ramshackle single-wide, surrounded by defunct cars, and it had a thin plume of smoke curling up into the air. Someone had a woodstove fire burning inside. Anton’s eyes were still closed.
She dragged him closer to the shore. Dogs ran frantically back and forth on the river bank, jumping around on the big, water-tossed smooth boulders tumbled at the bank. One, a big shaggy faced mongrel, jumped excitedly into the water and paddled toward them as they staggered closer. She hoped the animal was friendly. Fighting him off of her and Anton would be tough, with her body so numbed by cold.
“Hey,” she said again. “Hey. Anton. Let’s try to get out of the water. Please, wake up. Please. Open your eyes.”
His eyelids twitched, trembled. He opened them, meeting her eyes, and gave her an almost imperceptible nod. She would have sobbed in relief if she had the energy to spare.
Anton tried to stay upright as she draped his arm over her shoulder. They fought the pull of the hip deep water.
He stumbled over a rock under water and went down again, splashing face first into the water and taking her down with him, and they had to start from the top all over again. Fighting gravity, fighting to get their own shaking legs squarely under them and keep their balance. The dogs splashed and wagged and barked in wild encouragement.
Anton fell heavily onto the drifts of rounded pebbles at the shore, panting. She didn’t even try to get him up this time. She just made sure he was far enough out of the water not to get swept out again, and crawled up onto the shore. Three big dogs circled them, capering and barking and yipping.
The door of the single-wide opened and a heavyset older lady with long gray hair and a black baggy track suit came out onto a sagging wooden porch, peering through her glasses. She shouted at the dogs, but Fiona couldn’t make out what she said.
Fiona raised her and arm and waved. No strength left to yell for help.
The woman hurried awkwardly down the stairs and limped down the path to the creek bed. As she got closer, Fiona could finally make out the words.
“…hurt? You fell in that river? Good God, you must be froze to death! Want me to call an ambulance? You get out of the way, there, you bad dog! Go on, now! Git!”
“He’s been shot,” Fiona forced out, through chattering teeth. “We jumped off the Upper Falls to get away from them. If we wait for an ambulance, the men who shot us will catch up.”
The woman froze, mouth open and eyes wide behind her glasses. “Holy shit.” She looked at the pinkish hole in Anton’s sweater. The blood seeping through it. “Is that one of them Trask boys? Oh my goodness. Are those Trasks getting into trouble again?”
“Please, could you just drive us straight to the hospital?” Fiona pleaded. “He’s been bleeding since we fell in the water. And we’re so…cold.” She could barely get the words out, her teeth chattered so hard.
“But why did they shoot…” The lady cut herself off, lips tightening. “Never mind. Let’s get him to that hospital on the double. I’m Glenda, by the way. Glenda Visser. Out of the way, you useless dog.”
Between the two of them, they dragged Anton to a dilapidated Volkswagen camper van. Glenda slid the side door open and Anton thudded down heavily in the van’s doorway, making the vehicle shudder and rock.
“Scoot on back in there,” Glenda instructed. “Sorry about all those boxes. I was trying to get some old stuff down to the thrift store, but I never seem to have the time. Wedge yourselves on in and I’ll run get some blankets and the car keys. You all sit tight.”
Glenda’s rattling monologue faded away as she hustled back to her house. Fiona crawled inside, helping Anton to move further back into the only free space between the stacks of dusty boxes. The biggest dog, the one who had swum out to meet them, leaped in after them, panting heavily over Fiona’s shoulder and licking her face.
Glenda reappeared with an armful of wool blankets and a couple of raggedy towels, a bag of cotton balls and a silver flask. A smartphone was clutched in her hand.
“Out of there, you useless dog,” she scolded, dragging at the dog’s collar until the big mutt hopped reluctantly out. “Here, put some cotton balls over that bullet hole. And if you can make the call to the hospital or whoever, I’ll go ahead and get us on the road. Can you manage the phone call on your own?”
“Yeah, I think so. Thanks,” Fiona said gratefully.
“Sip of this Jackie D oughta warm you both up. Here, get those feet of his inside, and I’ll close up the door, and then we can haul ass.”
Fiona and Glenda had to hoist up Anton’s knees, one on either side, to get his feet out of the way of the door. It slid shut with a grinding crash.
And they were squished together into a dusty, breathless clinch. The poodle’s face appeared again from over the seat, dangling over the stack of boxes right behind the van’s passenger seat as they jounced up the road. She didn’t have Eric’s or Nate’s phone numbers memorized, so she looked up Demi’s Corner Café on the smartphone.
Demi picked up on the first ring, her voice anxious and high. “Hello, this is Demi’s Corner Café. Can I help you?”
“It’s Fiona,” she said, her voice rough and shaking.
“Oh, thank God. Where are you? What happened?”
“Anton’s been shot,” she said. “Glenda Visser is driving us to the hospital from the trailer park. She’s in an old Volkswagen camper van. We’re on Kettle Canyon Road.”
“Got it. I know where Glenda lives. I have your number memorized, and I’m letting you go to call Eric. He and Nate are headed toward you, or they might have already overshot. Call you right back.”
Fiona let the phone slide out of her icy hand, and concentrated on pressing down on the wound with cotton balls. Anton jerked and gasped, which she took as a positive sign. He was in pain, yes, but he was still with her.
The camper van slowed, and ground to a halt, tires crunching in the gravel. Panic seized her. Kimball’s men could have driven down from GodsAcre by now.
She stared around, saw nothing that could be useful as a weapon except for a large and hideously ugly, dust-grimed pink glass vase poking out of one of the ancient and cobwebby boxes. She shielded Anton with her body, grabbed the vase by the neck, and brandished it as the door rattled open.
It was Eric and Nate, bristling with weapons, eyes bright and battle-ready. The sight brought tears to her eyes. They were only the second-most-beautiful thing she’d ever seen. The first being Anton’s eyes fluttering open in the middle of the Kettle River.
She let the vase fall from her numb hand, too choked up to speak.
31
Nate checked his watch again as a couple of nurses in scrubs walked by. Two FBI agents had been in Fiona’s hospital room talking to her for the better part of an hour. Time to tell them to get lost. Come back tomorrow. Better yet, next week. Fiona had been through hell. She was battered and exhausted. Eric and Mace were with Anton in the ICU, and Wong covered Demi at the restaurant, so Eric had charged Nate with guarding Fiona from Kimball’s henchmen. He could ward off overzealous Feds, too.
Things were blowing up around here, but Fiona and Anton needed to heal before joining in the fun. He was about to march in and tell the FBI agents the new rules when the elevator door across the hall rattled open.
Elisa Rinaldi stepped out, holding a big paper bag and pulling an overnight case. The gorgeous, talented and mysterious woman who worked at Demi’s restaurant. Her hair was in its usual high messy bun, coiled up with a few wisps swinging loose below her chin. She was all zipped up into a puffy wine-red winter jacket.
Their eyes met, and he had his usual reaction. Partly let-me-fall-into-the-bottomless-pools-of-your-eyes, partly wishing he’d taken the time to put on a fresh shirt this morning. They’d been up all night, with one thing and another, so he’d let it slide.
Hardly mattered, though. As usual, Elisa never got close enough to him to actually smell him. She was skittish. The most he got from her was an occasional furtive, curious glance, which skittered instantly away whenever he tried to meet her eyes.
He figured she was embarrassed about almost severing his brachial artery with a box-cutter last week at Demi’s house. But he didn’t hold it against her. Shit happened.
And he knew PTSD when he saw it.
Something haunted that woman. It was none of his fucking business, but that didn’t stop him from wondering what it was, and fantasizing about fixing it for her.
He’d love to chase the shadows out of those gorgeous eyes.
Elisa had showed up in Shaw’s Crossing some months before, and asked for lunch in exchange for some fresh chalk art on the menu boards, at which she excelled. She’d ended up staying, bunking in the little apartment that Demi owned above the restaurant. She was smart and quick, and had quickly become Demi’s most valuable worker. But she never talked about her life. Not even to Demi.
She stopped at her usual careful security distance and gave him an inscrutable smile. “You look tired,” she commented.
Shit. He wished he’d grabbed a shower before starting sentry duty. “I’ll live.”
“I come bearing lunch,” she told him. “I already delivered some to Eric and Mace. Demi asked me to bring you guys some sandwiches and some spicy potato wedges. There’s soup in there for Fiona, too, if she’s not up to gnawing on a sandwich.”
“Thanks.” Nate stepped forward to take the bag, stopping short as Elisa flinched back. He waited, very still, for her to move toward him before taking the bag. Wondering if she was aware of the gesture and what it revealed.
The sack was gratifyingly heavy. He was ravenous. It was afternoon and he hadn’t eaten since breakfast the day before, before Fiona’s abduction.
He gestured at the overnight case. “What’s in there?”
“Clothes and toiletries for Fiona,” she said.
Nate harrumphed, frowning. “You shouldn’t encourage her. She needs to stay in that bed and heal up. If she has her shoes, there’s no telling what she’ll do.”
“Yeah, well. She called Demi earlier and made a big fuss. Demi finally gave in and sent me over to the house to pick up some of her stuff. Fiona’s difficult to argue with.”
“So I gathered,” he said. “Did Wong go with you to the house?”
“No, he stayed at the restaurant to cover Demi.”
“You shouldn’t be wandering around here alone either,” he said. “This town is like a fucking war zone.”
“Oh, I’m not on Kimball’s hit list,” she assured him. “I’m just an outsider.”
“Yeah?” He studied her until her eyes slid away. “Funny, how you seem just as tense and uptight as the rest of this crowd. Maybe even more so.”
Her face stiffened. “I have my reasons.”
“Yeah?” He waited for more. “And what reasons are those?”
She took a step back. “That’s nobody’s business but mine.”
He grunted under his breath.
The room door opened, and the two FBI agents came out. Elisa spun around and walked quickly away, right past the elevators, to the end of the corridor and into the stairwell. She didn’t want to share an elevator cab with the Feds. She was also still clutching the handle of the trolley that had Fiona’s stuff in it.
She’d panicked. Hmm. Interesting.
He wished he could chase after her, but that wasn’t an option. He’d already failed Fiona the day before at the restaurant, falling for Kimball’s phone-switch ploy like a fucking idiot. He wasn’t leaving her ass uncovered again. So he just waited, secure in the knowledge that Elisa had to bring the overnight case back eventually, or else face Fiona’s wrath.
Sure enough, after a few minutes, Elisa’s head popped out of the stairwell, checking to see if the coast was clear. She opened the door and approached him with obvious reluctance. She was careful not to meet his eyes.
She set the case down by the door and backed up a step. “Enjoy your lunch,” she said, her voice frosty. “Give Fiona that, and tell her I said hi.”
“You don’t have to run away now,” Nate said. “The Feds are gone.”
Her lips tightened. “I’m not running from anyone.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” he said.
“Think whatever you want,” she said. “But I have to get back to work.”
Nate spoke up as she pushed the elevator button. “I wouldn’t judge you,” he told her. “For whatever it was you did that put you on the lam, I mean.”
