Blind Faith (26 page)

Julia heard it as well, her arm wrapping around his. "What should we do?" she whispered, her breath stirring the small hairs on his neck.

JD wished like hell he knew.

Hal backed Caitlyn up against the door jam as they continued their dance of passion. She clawed at his shirt, as anxious to touch him as he was her. Intermittent, anonymous voices on the scanner were their audience, occasionally breaking their momentum.

At one point, he had lurched up, pulling away, listening.

"What?" she murmured, her teeth gently tugging at his ear, drawing his attention back to her.

"Nothing, sounds like some kids saw some more lights near the dam. The county can handle it."

She finally coaxed him free of his uniform shirt and started in on the T-shirt he wore below it, feathering her fingers under the cotton, tantalizing him as she drew it over his head. He grabbed it from her, wadded it in a ball and aimed it at the counter where the scanner sat.

Their lips collided once more. Caitlyn pushed him back a step, came up for air. "Well, this has been real nice, Chief," she said, her fingers twisting in his sparse chest hair, "but maybe we should retire to the comforts of your bed?"

Hal turned his head away from her, his gaze searching the shadows of the hallway beyond the kitchen. As if he were asking the ghost of his dead wife for permission.

"Here's fine," she reassured him, curling one leg around his hips, drawing him back to her.

She was enjoying the cascade of sensations that every touch, every sound brought. Wished she could have had one of these Alice in Wonderland type of migraines before—there was no pain, just a surge of conflicting feelings. As if she were all-powerful, in charge of the universe but at the same time hopelessly spiraling out of control.

Her depth perception had returned to normal, but everything still seemed too bright, too vivid, colors so intense they burnt her eyes. And touch—her skin was sensitive to the slightest brush, the heat of Hal's hands, the whisper of his tongue had already brought her close to climax several times.

If this was her last night on the job, she sure as hell was going out with a bang. Caitlyn laughed out loud at her pun. Hal didn't notice, he was too busy working her belt free of her slacks.

Sarah scrambled down the path at breakneck speed. She hadn't heard a shot, but that didn't mean Sam was still alive. She came to the edge of the grassy slope below the dam and stopped. Light from the caretaker's cabin cascaded onto the fog like a searchlight.

The cabin only had one window. She approached it quietly, the gun clenched in her hand. The grass was wet, slippery, the fog swirling in the breeze so thickly that it obscured the building only fifty feet away. She didn't really have a plan, but she couldn't let Sam die. How could she possibly face Josh again, knowing she could have saved his father?

And even though she was still angry—no, furious—at Sam for taking Josh from her, she couldn't deny the fact that she had once loved the man. Or the way it had felt so right, so natural, to be back in his arms.

Crouching, she rounded the corner to the side of the shack with the window and door. And almost tripped over someone lying on the ground.

"Ayyy," came a cry that was quickly muffled. Sarah flattened against the wall, holding her breath as she waited to see if anyone inside had heard. A long minute passed and she slid down to crouch beside a boy and a girl.

"Julia, JD—what are you doing here?" she whispered. JD removed his hand from where it covered Julia's mouth and opened his own. Sarah held a palm up to stop him and gestured to them to follow her.

Just what she didn't need: two kids in the line of fire. They quietly moved back to the edge of the woods, far enough away that they could talk freely.

"Mrs. Durandt," JD began in a rush, "your husband, he's—"

"You saw Sam?"

He nodded as the words burbled out. "Yes. He's alive. Kind of beat up. But he's in there." He jerked his head back at the cabin. "Two men—"

"One of them left," Julia put in. "We called the cops."

"They had guns."

Both teens stopped as they locked gazes on the gun in Sarah's hand. "It's all right," she was quick to reassure them. "Everything is going to be all right."

"But, Mrs. D, how did—"

"He was dead, everyone knew—"

Sarah was buffeted by their questions. Questions that she didn't have time for. "You called the police?"

"Yes, but I don't know if they believed me. Everyone knows that JD and I have been following the mystery lights."

"Julia thinks the cops thought she was playing a gag, trying to get them to rush out here for my documentary or something. 'Cause that was about twenty minutes ago and no one's shown up."

"You guys go home. And please don't tell anyone about seeing Sam. It's important that no one knows he's alive." The words emerged in a raspy whisper, an echo of all those sleepless nights when she'd cried herself hoarse hoping that somehow Sam and Josh would come back to her.

Beware what you wish for. The gun felt heavy in her hand. Sam was right. The only way to keep Josh safe now that Alan and Logan knew where he was was to silence both men. Permanently.

"But Mrs. D—"

"No buts, Julia. This is really, really important. Do you understand?" The girl nodded her head. Sarah leveled her stare onto JD. He'd be the bigger problem, the boy was a born journalist, questioning everything. "How about you, JD? Can you keep a secret?"

He met her stare then nodded solemnly. "Yes ma'am. But will you be all right? That man in there, he still has a gun."

"Don't worry. I'll be fine."

"Still, we're not going anywhere until we're sure you're safe." Julia wrapped her arm in JD's, standing firm with him.

"All right then, but wait here."

"Want me to call Chief Waverly?"

"No, I want you two to get the hell out of here."

Both jumped at her sharp tone, but Sarah didn't have time for apologies. She crept through the heavy layer of fog and returned to the cabin. She sidled up to the window and peered through it. Sam was lying on the ground, eyes closed. Was he dead?

Her heart stuttered and she realized she couldn't wait. Logan was leaning against a tool bench, legs stretched out before him, his gun ready.

Sarah crouched down and crawled to the door, then stood again, her hand on the knob. She raised her gun. Now or never.

Sam inhaled the wet fragrance of damp earth and fertilizer. The longer he played possum, the more time Sarah would have to escape. Once she was in the clear, it wouldn't matter what happened to him. Sarah and Josh would be safe.

He forced himself to ignore the pain in his shoulder and ribs and tried to melt into the packed dirt floor as Logan approached.

"C'mon, I didn't hit you that hard," the FBI agent nudged him with his foot. "Sit up, we have important things to discuss before Easton returns with the car."

Sam debated his options and slowly sat up. Logan lounged against the tool bench across the room from him, between Sam and the door. Fine by Sam, he wasn't looking for a way out, he was looking for a way to stop Logan and Alan before Korsakov arrived.

"What did you have in mind?" he asked, leaning back against the cinder block wall, one hand knuckling his temple as he scoured the tiny space for possible weapons.

A rake and a shovel stood in the corner behind the door. A few hand tools on the bench beside Logan. But on Sam's side of the cabin there was nothing but bags of fertilizer stacked to the ceiling and an overturned galvanized steel bucket. Not a whole lot to work with. He fantasized about throwing the bucket over Logan's head or blinding him with fertilizer, but in the cramped space there was no way Logan would miss him once he began shooting.

"Same as Alan. A way to the Russian's money and a scapegoat once he finds it missing. Seems to me like you might be the key to both."

Sam thought about that. Alan had given him the impression that Logan was working for him, but it seemed Logan had larger ambitions. "You've been in touch with Korsakov?"

"Let's just say that I like to cover my bets. How hard is it to get to the money?"

"Not very." Sam watched as Logan's eyes glittered in the light from the bare bulb over head. "For someone who knows the pass codes. Like me."

Logan pursed his lips. "You stick with me and I'll let your kid and wife live."

"That's the same deal I made with Alan. Why should I trust you more than him?"

"Alan hired me to track you down two years ago. He didn't care if the kid or the missus got caught in the crossfire, just as long as he got his hands on the money."

Sam had already guessed as much, but it still made his gut twist to hear of his friend's betrayal. "You sent Richland to kill me?"

Logan shook his head, frowning as if he thought Sam was smarter than that. "Idiot wasn't supposed to kill you. He was supposed to grab you, take you somewhere private until we convinced you to get the money for us."

"And then you would have killed me."

"Price of playing in the big league. You knew that when you decided to steal from the Russian to start with. So," he pursed his lips, regarding Sam with narrowed eyes, "how'd you do it? How did you kill Richland?"

Sam met the other man's gaze. "You won't believe me, but I didn't. When I left him, he was still alive."

"Don't get smart with me. I'm offering you a fair deal." He stalked over to where Sam sat on the floor. He raised the gun over his head, ready to strike at Sam. "Tell me what happened to Richland."

"Can't tell you what I don't know," Sam replied, his voice calm as he tightened his muscles, preparing to tackle Logan.

The door flew open, banging off the cinder block wall. Logan's gun went off, the sound deafening in the tiny space. Sam flinched, then realized Logan had been aiming at the ceiling. The only casualty was a bag of fertilizer above his head, now spilling out a steady stream of brown powder.

"Drop it, Logan," Sarah shouted from her position in the doorway. Sam looked over at her in amazement. She held Richland's gun, weight balanced, arms steady as she aimed at Logan's chest. "Now!"

The FBI agent slowly turned to face his new threat. He kept hold of the gun, his grip tight as he held it over his head. Sam climbed to his feet, ignoring the pins and needles that lanced through his leg. Logan still hadn't dropped his gun. He lunged forward, grabbing Logan in a chokehold.

Logan struggled, trying to aim at Sarah while clawing at Sam with his free hand. Sam held firm, slowly tightening his grip. "Give it up," he told Logan. "Stan Diamontes might have been an accountant, but Sam Deschamps works in a lumber mill, hefting and wrestling with uncut timber all day."

Logan made a gurgling noise in reply. The gun clattered to the floor as he turned a dark shade of red and crumpled in Sam's grasp. Sarah rushed forward, grabbing the gun, never losing her aim as Sam slowly lowered the other man to the ground.

"Stand back," Sarah said, her voice low and deadly.

"No. Get me that twine," Sam said. She reached for the ball of twine and tossed it to him, her eyes still on Logan. You'd think she'd done this a million times, Sam thought as he quickly tied Logan's hands behind him. Only after Logan was restrained did Sarah relax her guard.

"I thought you were going to get Josh," he said, standing once more.

"Right." The bitterness and anger in her voice made him take a step back. "Like I could tell my son that his father was dead, after everything Josh has been through." She gave a small shake of her head, her eyes tightening, revealing worry lines that hadn't been there two years ago. "Damn you, Sam. I hate that you've forced me into this. That you brought Josh into it. What the hell are we going to do?"