A Dark Lure (42 page)

Eugene’s body snapped wire-tight the instant he noticed Olivia was not in her corner. But as he took a step forward into the cabin, she brought the rifle down with a sharp crack on his skull.

The jolt of impact reverberated up her arms, and jackhammered into her shoulders, neck, teeth. She felt it in her broken nose.

Eugene went dead still, as if shocked by an electrical current. Then slowly he turned to face her.

Olivia caught her breath as pale amber eyes met hers.

Everything turned to elasticky slow motion. In the flickering firelight she could read every detail, every nuance of Eugene’s features as the killer’s eyes held hers. And Olivia was suddenly suspended in time, everything looping back on itself, taking her all the way back to the Bear Claw shed where he’d held her, raped her, all those years ago.

A quiet despair rose in her chest.

It was all over. All lost.

He opened his mouth, smiled, then suddenly stumbled sideways. In that blinding instant Olivia whipped the gun out to her side like a baseball bat. She swung with every ounce of might, with every inch of her desire to live, and cracked the weapon in a sideswipe across his cheekbone. She heard, felt, bone break, crush.

Bile lurched bitter into the back of her throat as Eugene staggered, a bemused look in his eyes, and he tripped backward. He landed hard on the floor, hand reaching out behind him to brace his fall. His hand went into the fire.

A roar of pain exploded from his chest, as he lurched back up onto his feet and came in a full frontal lunge for her. He bashed his body into hers, crushing her hard against the wall. Pain sparked through her brain, her ribs. He wrapped his big hands like a vise around her throat, lifting her feet off the ground as he squeezed. She couldn’t breathe. Her eyes bulged. Her first wild impulse was to grab at his iron-like fingers and try to pry them away from her crushing windpipe, but instead she held her focus, and groped madly for the knife that she knew had been resheathed at his hip.

He pressed his body against hers and squeezed her neck harder. Her vision went red. Her consciousness slipping. On some distant level she registered his penis was rock hard, pushing against her hips where her fly was still open. A memory washed through her, the sensation of his sweaty, naked body atop hers, him driving his cock deep into her. Her mind suddenly sharpened with rage. Her fingers met the familiar hilt of her knife at his hip. She yanked it out of the sheath, and plunged it deep into his side, this time angling upward under his ribs toward the liver. He stilled. His fingers loosened slightly. Her vision flooded back. She ripped out the blade and plunged it in again. And again. And again.

He gasped. His hands dropped to his side. He staggered back, his lion eyes holding hers, his features twisting with disbelief.

As his hands went to the blood coming from his side, she lunged at him with the knife held high in her fist. Driven by a feral kind of madness to survive at all cost, to beat him down forever, she brought the blade down hard into his chest.

Steel met bone and sent a judder up her arm. She yanked the knife out, the shaft gleaming with blood. He crumpled to the ground, his skull cracking against stones around the fire. The ends of his hair met coals. The acrid scent of burning human hair filled the cabin as Olivia dropped down on top of him, and with small grunts, her mind black and unthinking, she plunged her hunting blade into his chest, his neck, his belly, his face. She was vaguely aware of blood. Everywhere. Hot and slippery. On her hands, face, her naked torso. In her hair. She could taste his blood in her mouth.

Those vile yellow eyes stared blankly up at her now. His body was limp, his head lolling with each ferocious stab of her knife. Somewhere, far away, she heard her name.

Olivia! Olivia—stop!

Vaguely she registered big hands on her shoulders, someone grasping her wrist that held the knife. Someone trying to stop her, yank her off the bastard.

She fought it. A gunshot cracked the air.

She stilled.

Shaking.

And for a moment she couldn’t quite register what she was seeing, what she’d just done. She turned and looked up.

CHAPTER 26

Cole stared at the vignette in front of him—a scene from a horror movie.

Olivia, naked from the jeans up, her fly open, straddled a bloodied mess of a man lying dead on the floor, his wet hair singeing in a dying fire. She was splattered in blood, her eyes wild, unrecognizable, a mother of a hunting knife clutched in her fist.

“Livia,” he whispered, holding her eyes, crouching down beside her, as he stuck the pistol he’d just fired into the waistband of his jeans. The smell of blood, burned hair, filled his nostrils. And something worse—guts. She’d nicked through to the bowel of this monster, and the stink was vile. He looked deep into her eyes as he reached gently for her shoulders.

“You can stop now,” he whispered. “Look at me. Focus. He’s dead. Gone. Long gone.”

She looked blankly at him, mouth open, panting.

His heart wrenched. “Come, come to me, Liv.”

He lifted her off her assailant and gathered her wet, bloodied body up into his arms. He held her tight, rocking slightly as he stroked her matted hair. “It’s okay,” he murmured against her hair. “It’s over. You did it. You got him.”

He cupped the side of her face, looked into her eyes. “Can you hear me, Liv?”

Her mouth opened, but she seemed unable to speak, great big shudders taking hold of her body. Her ear was ripped. Bleeding. Her nose looked broken. Her face was cut and swelling. He quickly shed his down jacket, started to put it on her.

But she gasped in pain as he attempted to slide the sleeve over her arm. The pain seemed to refocus her a little.

“Where are you hurt?”

“Arm,” she whispered. “Broken, I think.”

He tried again, more carefully, conscious of her left arm. He edged the sleeve of his jacket onto her hand, moved it up until he could wrap the jacket around her and she could get her right arm into the other sleeve.

He zipped it up to her neck. Her gaze dropped to the massacred body on the floor.

“I . . . I . . . killed him.”

Cole cupped the side of her face, forcing her to look at him, not the mess on the floor.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “Don’t think about it now. Don’t look at him. He’s in the past. Come here.” He led her away from the body, into the corner of the cabin. He helped lower her into a sitting position. She leaned against the wall, going limp. Spent.

“I want you to tell me where you hurt.”

She looked blank.

“Your arm,” he prompted. “Your nose.” He touched it gently. She winced. He dug in his pocket for his father’s handkerchief, which was still there. Ever so gently he wiped the blood from her face. Most of it was her assailant’s, by the looks of things, apart from the dried blood around her torn ear. His heart clutched. He smiled softly, relief, love, washing through his chest. “You’re going to be fine, Liv,” he whispered. “You’re going to be just fine. You hear me?”

She nodded, swallowed.

Then she blinked. “How . . . how did you find me?” She frowned, her mind reaching back. “The plane—it was you?”

He nodded.

Heat crackled sharply into her eyes, and she grabbed his wrist. “Ace? Was that Ace? I heard gunfire. Did he shoot Ace?” She was suddenly sheet-white and shaking all over again.

“No,” Cole lied. Because he didn’t know. Yet. And he wasn’t going to upset her into thinking otherwise. But he intended to find out, because right now, more than anything, this woman needed her dog. He was also worried about Burton. He shot a glance at the body, then scanned the rest of the cabin. An old rotting canvas tarp was bunched in the corner.

“Wait here.”

Cole lurched to his feet, gathered up the canvas. Dust and debris fell from the folds as he draped it over the body. He dragged the covered body by the boots away from the fire. Quickly he fed more bits of wood onto the embers, stoking them to life.

He went back to Olivia. “I’m going to check on things outside, okay? Will you be all right alone, just for a moment?”

She swallowed. Her gaze locked onto his. He knew she was thinking about Ace. His heart and stomach were so tight with worry it stopped his breath. He took her cold hands in his. “I’ll just be a minute. Don’t look at him, okay? Don’t even think about it.”

She nodded.

Cole exited the door. It was still snowing heavily. Anxiously, he moved into the clearing, making his way toward the ditch where Burton was supposed to have been lying in ambush for the killer. As he neared, as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw a black shape about twenty meters out, lying in the snow. He rushed forward. A chill washed over his skin.

“Burton?”

Nothing moved. No sound came. Snow was settling over him.

Cole reached for his shoulder, turned him over, and his heart clean stopped as the man’s head flopped back, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. And from a gaping hole in his chest.

Cole felt for a pulse, knowing full well it was useless. The cop was dead. His gaze flashed up. Olivia’s attacker must have second-guessed them. The dog, while drawing him out, must have also piqued the suspicion of a cunning hunter. Expecting an ambush, he must have approached Burton from behind.

Shit
.

He dragged his hand over his wet hair. Then fear suddenly lanced through Cole.
Ace?

He grabbed the shotgun that was lying at Burton’s side and ran toward the bank and up into the forest.

“Ace! Buddy! You okay?” he called out.

Silence.

Then as he entered the cover of trees he heard a yip. His chest near burst with relief.

The old dog yapped again, louder, his voice hoarse as he jerked against his line to reach Cole.

Cole dropped to his haunches in front of the dog. Ruffling his fur, he unhooked the harness. “Someone needs you now, bud. More than she ever will. Go! Go find Olivia!”

The dog bulleted out of the forest, down the bank, and into the snowy field. Cole ran after him, tracking line and shotgun in hand. They raced across the snow toward the cabin.

Ace wiggled into the door and found her in the corner.

Olivia gave a gut-wrenching sob as she grasped hold of her dog, burying her face into his fur, just rocking and holding him. Cole entered the cabin and stood there, watching woman and dog. Emotion flooded his eyes.

He let them be for a moment. Ace whined slightly, licked her face. When Olivia looked up, her eyes were hollows, her face white under blood and bruises and cuts.

He wasn’t going to tell her about Gage Burton right now. That could come a little later.

He crouched down beside her and moved matted hair from her face. “You should let me look at those injuries now.”

She held his gaze. Then she leaned into him, put her head against his chest. Cole’s heart clean broke. She rested like that, as if drawing strength from his presence. Slowly, gently, he put his arm around her. She had hers around Ace.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for coming to find me, for drawing him out like that. I . . . I wouldn’t have made it otherwise. He . . . he’d have taken me . . .”

“It’s over, Liv.”

She nodded against his chest. “My sat phone,” she said as he stroked her matted hair. “It’s in his jacket pocket. He took it from me and put it in his pocket.”

“In a moment,” he said. “I’ll get it in a moment.” He closed his eyes, just held her awhile longer, and said a silent thanks to the universe that this woman—
his
woman—had made it through. That he’d arrived in time. That maybe, just maybe, there would be a second chance. For both of them now.

CHAPTER 27

By the light of the small fire he’d kept going in the cabin, Cole listened to Olivia’s recount as he patched and bound her up as best he could with the help of his first aid kit. He’d already called in with her satellite phone, which he’d retrieved from Eugene’s jacket pocket.

“I’ve heard of dominance-submissive issues between twins,” he said, “but this seems to take it to the extreme. Sounds like his mother was at the root of his problem. From what he told you, she fueled this notion in his brain.”

He peeled open another butterfly suture and applied it to the rip under her ear, carefully drawing the edges of the wound together with the bandage. She winced, eyes watering.

“It sure explains the DNA evidence used to convict Sebastian. And how you thought it was him in the police lineup.”

“Where is Tori?” she said after a long period of silence.

“With my dad.”

“How did you manage to take off from Broken Bar in that storm?”

He smiled ruefully. “I suspect we had a helping hand—don’t ask.” He paused and sat back, examining the bandages, then the sling he’d fashioned for her arm.

“Sometimes,” he said quietly, “I wonder if there is a greater plan, if things are just meant to be. If all my life I was supposed to circle back to Broken Bar, and meet you.”

Her broken eyes met his. Her hand still rested on Ace. “That’s what I asked Melody Vanderbilt once. She was Gage’s wife, a journalist who used to come and sit with me in the hospital. I asked whether she thought we could pinpoint the exact moment our life first started on a collision course with another’s—” Her gaze sharpened suddenly as it struck her. “If Tori is with Myron, where is Gage? He . . . he didn’t come with you, did he?”

“Olivia—”

“Oh, Jesus, no . . . the gunshot . . .”

“He’d have wanted it this way, Liv. He was dying, close to the end. And he had this one thing in life to finish. All his life, the Mountie believed the real killer was still out there. And he proved it. He finally found him. The Mountie finally got his man.”

Her eyes flickered toward the shape under the tarp, and a shiver ran through her body.

“He also brought you and Tori together.”

“She’s lost
both
her parents,” she whispered. “How . . . how is she going to cope?”

“She has you.”

He held her gaze. “We can do this, Liv. Together.”

She stared at him, a range of emotions chasing through her features as she absorbed the subtext of his words. Tears, finally, filled her eyes. And when Cole saw them, his heart clenched. She was coming back. They were going to win this.

“I want to see him.”

He thought about it a moment, inhaled, nodded slowly. “You think you can stand, walk?”

“Yup,” she said quietly.

Cole took her arm and led Olivia outside. It was dawn, merely a lighter shade of night.

She blinked, feeling as though she’d stepped from one reality into another. She glanced up at Cole. His eyes were dark, stormy, intense, full of questions and worry. In his touch she felt his compassion, love. And in that moment, in that exchanged glance, with her arm in his, leaning on him like this, she believed she could, maybe, just love this man back. Maybe, one day, she’d figure out how to trust someone again.

“What?” he said quietly.

“I . . . nothing.” He held her gaze a moment longer, then gave a quiet nod. As if he’d read her mind. As if he’d seen in her face what she was feeling inside. But he was not going to push her. Olivia believed now that Cole McDonough would never rush her. And in spite of everything she’d just been through, a sweet warmth filled her chest. It wasn’t a sensation she could articulate. Didn’t even want to. Not yet.

He led her away from the abandoned cabin. Away from Eugene’s body. Ace followed at their heels. Cloud was low and heavy, mist thick. Snow had fallen several feet deep, and was still coming down.

As they neared the mound in the snow, Olivia heard the faint thudding of choppers above the clouds. Her heart kicked. She glanced up into the tattered swaths of mist—there was no way a pilot could put down here. Yet it was still good to know they were out there, coming. This time she was no longer alone.

Cole crouched down, dusted some snow off Burton’s body.

“Take the snow off his face,” she said.

He dusted the face free. Wide, frozen eyes looked up at them.

Olivia stared at the body. A long time. Finally, softly, she said, “I can’t believe how inextricably our lives have been entwined. Gage’s, Tori’s, Melody’s. Mine. Eugene’s. All these years, and I didn’t even know it.”

Cole squeezed her hand. She let go of him and lowered herself painfully into a crouch. Ace sat at her side.

“I’ll look after her, our baby girl,” she whispered. “I promise.” She reached out and gently closed Sergeant Gage Burton’s blue eyes. “I’ll make sure she’s proud of you.” Her voice caught.

Wind soughed through the snowy pines, and flakes stirred around them.

She came to her feet. Hesitated, then said, “I don’t know what happened to me back there in the cabin.” She looked at her hands that were still stained with Eugene’s blood, “I don’t even remember doing it, stabbing him like that.”

“You wanted to live. It was self-defense.”

“It was overkill, Cole. They’ll come down on me hard for that.”

“Liv, I doubt it.”

She glanced up into his eyes.

“Whatever happens,” he said, locking his gaze with hers, “you are not alone. I have your back.”

As the distant whine of snowmobiles deep in the forest reached them, Cole put his arm around her.

“Ready?”

She nodded.

Cole loaded a cartridge into the pencil flare from the first aid kit.

He fired it up into the cloud. Pink light exploded into the misty snow, mushrooming into an umbrella of color that hung low and haunting among the dark trees.

Out of the woods and over the ridge they came, an army of law enforcement personnel, paramedics, search-and-rescue volunteers on snow machines.

He drew her closer to his body. “Time to go home,” he said.

They stood in the glare of headlights, under the pink cloud from the flare as the cop on the lead snowmobile dismounted. He took off his helmet and came rapidly toward them, followed by another member. Two paramedics also dismounted and ran toward them.

Cole stepped forward to greet the lead officer. “I’m Cole McDonough. This is Olivia West—she needs immediate medical attention.”

The cop’s gaze darted around as he shook Cole’s outreached hand. “Sergeant Yakima, homicide,” he said as the EMTs surrounded Olivia. “This is Constable Martinello.” He motioned to the cop behind him who took off her helmet. Blonde hair in a ponytail came free. Her face was pinked from cold.

The female cop nodded toward Cole, and moved directly to Olivia’s side, joining the paramedics as other personnel deployed around the scene.

Tori held the old man’s hand. He was in great pain as he lay in bed. His gnarled fingers clutched hers tightly, as if she were a lifeline. She swallowed, besieged by a sense of grave responsibility, and for a moment she felt as though she were a bridge, holding hands with the other side, and if she could just hold on long enough, she might keep him here until Olivia and Cole and her father returned.

The other cops were downstairs in the library, but one sat in the room with her—the nice, young-looking one. He was seated on a chair in the corner, near the heater. His phone buzzed.

He answered and spoke softly, then looked up and said to Tori, “They got him.”

“Is Olivia okay?”

“Yes. She’s safe. With Cole.”

Tori stood up from her chair, still keeping her hold on Myron. “And my father?”

The officer was quiet a moment. He stood, came over to her, placed his hand on her shoulder, a strange look in his eyes. He seemed to be weighing how to tell her something terrible. And she knew. She just knew.

“Your dad would have known that this is the hardest thing a cop does—”

“He’s dead?”

“I’m sorry, Tori.”

She swallowed, her heart falling. She clutched the old man’s hand tighter, moving closer to the bed.

“What . . . happened?”

“Your dad went down a hero, Tori Burton,” the young cop said, a gleam in his eyes, a crack in his voice. “A real hero. He got his man. After all these years, after no one believing him, he got the Watt Lake Killer.”

Tori tightened her mouth. The insides of her stomach trembled.

She felt Myron squeeze her fingers. Her gaze shot to him. His eyes were open. He was looking at her, right into her. Emotion clogged her nose, her throat. She didn’t know what to do. What to say.

“How did it happen?” she asked again.

“In the course of rescuing Olivia West, he took a fatal gunshot wound to the heart.”

She looked away. The day was dawning outside—cold and wintery. A new day. And the whole world was changed. She wasn’t a kid anymore. She didn’t even know who she was anymore.

“Tori,” the old man whispered. “He’s . . . a hero. He did it for you.”

She looked at him, then the cop.

“Can I get you anything?” the officer said.

She shook her head, and reseated herself slowly on the chair next to Myron’s bed, still holding his hand. After a long while the cop stepped out for a moment to take another call.

Tori felt something change in the old man’s grip. The air grew suddenly cold in the room. She glanced up, sensing a presence.

Something moved like a breeze beside Myron. For a nanosecond Tori saw the shape of a woman, just like the one in the frame next to his bed, then she was gone. Then Tori saw another face. She saw her mother—Melody’s face. She smiled and held out her hand to Tori. Warmth filled Tori’s heart. And the image faded.

Tori’s heart raced. She shot a look at the old man. He’d gone still.

“Myron?” she whispered, coming sharply to her feet. He didn’t move. Cautiously she touched his cheek with her fingertips. His skin was ice cold.

And he had a smile on his face.

Thanksgiving Day. Evening.

The police had brought a victim services worker up from Clinton on a snowmobile to stay with Tori and talk to her.

The woman was cooking supper for them both in the kitchen.

Tori was in the library, which was the warmest room in the lodge right now with the big fire going. Myron’s wheelchair was empty next to the hearth. She watched out the window, feeling hollow inside, unsure. Snow lay thick and silent under the eerie bluish light of evening. There was a gap in the storm—the whole world looked frozen and still. The social worker said another front would be blowing in around midnight.

She heard it. The distant chop of a helicopter. She tensed and peered down the side of the window. It came into view, making a loud
thuckthuckthuck
sound. Trees bent, and snow blew up in a dervish as the chopper lowered to the ground.

Tori turned and fled down the stairs. She burst out the front door, stalled. Suddenly afraid.

The helicopter set down a short distance from the lodge, clear of telephone and hydro lines.

The door opened as the rotors slowed. A figure jumped out. Cole. He helped another person out, lifting her to the ground. Olivia. She had an arm in a sling. Ace jumped out behind them. Cole put his arm around Olivia’s shoulder, and they ran in a crouch under the rotors. Once they were clear, Cole gave a thumbs-up, and the helicopter rotors sped up again. The skids lifted off the ground, then the chopper took off at an angle and disappeared into cloud.