Blind Faith (38 page)

"Leave it," he said as he hoisted himself up into the passenger seat and slammed the door. He didn't bother with the seatbelt, instead turned to keep his gun trained on Sam. "You pretending to be a cowboy with your truck and guitar? Hide the truth of what you really are to the world? A liar and a thief."

When Sam was silent, Logan gestured for him to start the truck. Sam made a three point turn, narrowly avoiding the tree trunks clustered around the tiny clearing and bumped the Ford over the rutted dirt track.

"What's Alan got on you?" Sam asked as he began to accelerate.

"Easton's going to get himself a bullet if he's not careful." Logan craned his head, looking through the windshield at the thick foliage whipping against the sides of the truck surrounding them. "The man's a fool. He sees a hundred million dollars and thinks of the shit he can buy with it. A new car. A boat. Idiot. Money is power. Control. With money you can own anything—or anyone."

"You couldn't buy me," Sam argued.

"Which is why we can't let you live. Otherwise you might blab to Korsakov. But," he turned to Sam with a grin revealing teeth as crooked as the logging road they were driving on, "I'll let you decide where you want to be buried and how you want to die."

Sam shifted down, the truck growling in response. He pressed down on the accelerator, taking the first curve so fast that the rear tires nearly spun off the side of the road. The only thing on that side of the road was a whole lot of nothing. That was the point, right?

"You're not really going to let Sarah and Julia go, are you?" Sam asked. "They know too much."

"Oh we'll let them go," Logan said. "Promise. Just no guarantees Korsakov won't pick them up and make an example of them." He shifted in his seat, leaning toward Sam. "So, what's it gonna be? A bullet in the head? Or one to the heart?"

One more turn and Sam saw the spot he wanted. He gunned the engine, slamming down on the accelerator until he thought his foot would break through the floorboard and find empty air. Logan was flung back in his seat as they careered over the edge of the road and off the side of the mountain.

"How about none of the above?"

Alan was actually licking his lips in anticipation of getting his hands on the money. Could care less about what happened to Sarah or Julia.

Julia. She had to focus on her, do whatever it took to get her out of here alive. No matter the cost.

Sarah backed up, leaving Julia in the corner, until she was pinned against the wall beside the fireplace. The only light was the flickering of the lantern, casting the mounted antlers hanging just above the mantle next to her into ghostly shadows. She remembered how proud the Colonel was. That buck had been her first kill, a four pointer. She had polished and sharpened those antlers herself, mounting them to a sturdy piece of oak and hanging them with pride as the Colonel watched. Now she was the one as trapped as a deer in a hunter's sights.

A chill wind blew in through the still open door, taunting her with freedom. Alan sidled closer, his eyes wide in anticipation. "We don't have much time left, Sarah. Let's not waste any more."

He stopped inches away from her, his gaze dropping from her eyes to her lips then down to her breasts. She shifted her weight, inching along the wall, one hand behind her, gripping the wall.

Alan slid the gun barrel across her stomach. Her muscles clenched, trying to pull away from his noxious touch. His smile widened and now his eyes fastened on hers as the gun inched below her shirt, caressing her bare skin. The metal was cold, rough as it crept up, coming to a rest between her breasts.

"Say something, Sarah. Tell me how much you want it, how much you want me. Tell me the right thing and I'll let the girl go." He raised his free hand to smooth her hair back from her face and Sarah saw her opening.

She kept her eyes locked on his, parted her lips, teasing him as she ran her tongue across them. His body tensed in anticipation. She held her breath as he leaned forward, angling his mouth to meet hers.

Then she plunged the razor sharp antlers into his side, twisting them up, gutting him.

His scream split the air.

"Run, Julia," she shouted, keeping her grip on the antlers. The gun clattered to the floor as he tried to push her away. She didn't see where it landed, only had eyes for the sight of Julia racing to safety.

Alan slumped, his weight wrenching the antlers from her grasp. "You—bitch—" The words emerged a harsh groan as he clutched his side.

Sarah didn't wait. She ran to the door. She had to find Julia. And Sam.

Just before the last tire left the ground, Sam twisted the wheel furiously and the truck spun sideways, flying into the air.

"Sonofabitch!" Logan's gun went off, the bullet crashing through the windshield. The front passenger corner of the truck smashed into the trunk of a two hundred year old hemlock. The seat belt grabbed Sam so hard he thought it was about to cut him in two. His vision went white as the airbag exploded in his face, pushing him back.

Logan blasted through the windshield as they came to an abrupt halt. His foot caught on the dash, torquing his body sideways and propelling him head first into the tree.

The wheels of the truck hit the ground. It landed, resting at a thirty degree angle on its side. The tree stood in the middle of the engine compartment like an ungainly hood ornament with Logan pinned between two hundred years of wood and two thousand pounds of steel.

The pounding in Sam's ears made him dizzy. Conking his head against the steering wheel after the air bag deflated didn't help any. He blinked hard. Blood was running into his eyes, but his vision was clear. Clear enough to see Logan's body twisted like a rag doll in unearthly directions that had literally torn the leg with the foot caught in the dash from his body.

Sam swallowed hard against the wave of nausea accompanying that sight. Thank God Logan's slacks were still relatively intact, there was little blood on the surface. It was knowing what lay beneath that made his stomach heave.

He turned his head away and took stock. His hands were wrapped around the steering wheel in a death grip. He focused on releasing them. When he opened his hands, his fingers stubbornly remained curled and pain rumbled through his wrists. The air was curiously still and quiet as if the forest held its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

His chest hurt like he'd been kicked by a mule and he couldn't feel his right foot at all. Had it gone through the floorboard like he'd imagined? Maybe it was lying a hundred feet above them on the side of the road?

Aw hell, maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

He wasn't sure how long he lay there, trying to remember how to breathe, but it was long enough for the last remnants of the setting sun to fade. Dim sparkles of moonlight filtered through the tree branches, just enough to convince him he really was still alive.

Focus, Sam. Alan still has Sarah.

That thought cleared his mind. He heaved his weight against the door. At first it wouldn't budge, then slowly with a groan of metal scraping against metal, it gave an inch. He slumped back, panting, sweat pouring from him. He still couldn't feel his right foot, but the pain cascading over the rest of his body more than made up for that.

He took a deep breath and tried again. This time the door popped open. He fell sideways, almost all the way out of the truck. Until his foot caught.

"Mother of God!" His yell tore through the night. No one seemed to care. As loud as his shout was, his foot was screaming louder. God, he'd rather cut it off than feel this. Bone scraped against bone, sending shockwaves through his body.

Now he really was going to vomit. He caught the doorframe with his hands, hauled his weight back onto the seat, releasing the pressure from his trapped leg. But once woken, the pain wouldn't stop its clamoring. He wrapped his fingers around his calf trying in vain to stabilize the leg, to free it, or yank it totally off—anything to stop the pain.

A searing light stabbed into his eyes. He held up his hands to block it.

"Sam? Are you all right?"

Sarah. It was Sarah. Sam didn't try to fight the tears of joy that overwhelmed him. He cleared his throat, wiped a hand over his face and caught his breath as she maneuvered through the brush to his side of the truck. Her flashlight bobbed through the darkness, flashing on Logan—or what remained of him—then on Sam, then over his head and back again.

"Are you okay?" he asked as she joined him.

"I'm fine. Julia's in the car, waiting. I stole Logan's car," she said with a trace of pride in her voice. Then a shadow covered her face.

"And Alan?"

She leaned across him to examine the situation more closely. "Hold this," she handed him the flashlight. She leaned forward, her fingers gently probing his leg. "I think maybe I killed him."

Her tone was flat and he didn't ask any questions. She wiggled something and he bit his lip against a shriek of pain. She turned her head to look up at him. "Your foot is wedged under the gas pedal. It's bleeding, probably broken. I can slide it out if I can twist it to one side—but it's gonna hurt."

He sucked in his breath. "Do it."

Sarah craned her head to look up at her husband. The bright light of the flashlight etched his face into crevices of pain. And she was about to cause him more.

She realized for the first time that her anger was gone. Sam had made mistakes. Many of them. But he was a different man now and everything he'd done in the past two years had been done in the hopes of keeping her and Josh safe. She hadn't totally forgiven him—she might never—but she was beginning to understand.

Reaching a hand out, she took his and gave it a strong squeeze. "I love you, Music Man."

His eyes widened as he looked down at her in surprise. She took that opportunity to wrench his leg out in one quick, firm movement.

His scream echoed through the small space. The color drained from his face and his hand gripped hers so tight she couldn't feel it. Then he released her and slumped back. "You've got some bedside manner there."

"It worked, didn't it?" She turned back to examine his ankle. It was already swollen, purple and scraped raw, oozing blood from several areas. But it was in one piece. "Let's get you out of here."

Together they maneuvered him out of the truck. Sam couldn't put any pressure on his leg, so he leaned on her.

"Wait," she said, handing him the flashlight. She reached back into the truck and grabbed his guitar case, hauling it over the seat and then slinging it over her free arm.

In response, he grabbed her waist, pulling her close and planted a wide-open kiss on her mouth.

"C'mon. Julia is waiting." She guided him down the mountain to where she'd parked the car. The truck had flown off the topside of a switchback and landed close to the straightaway on the downhill side, saving them the need to climb back up the mountain.

Julia was waiting, hiding in some bushes off the edge of the road. She leapt out to help Sarah wrangle Sam the rest of the way to the car.

Sarah lowered the guitar, ready to toss it into the back, when the glitter of headlights on a curve above them came into view. "Julia, can you drive?"

"No ma'am."

"All right, get into the back," she ordered, trying to ignore the knot of fear in her throat. "Sam, take the wheel."

Sam tensed beside her, craned his head to stare up at the lights. "No. It's me he wants."

"Listen to me. You can drive. Get Julia out of here." She firmly pushed him down into the drivers' seat. "I'll take care of Alan."

"How?" Sam asked as he maneuvered his injured leg to the side and slid into place behind the wheel.

Sarah propped the guitar case against the side of the car and unsnapped the small pouch attached to its lid. "With a little help from the dark and the woods." She pulled out a package of wire guitar strings. "And these. Now go. If this works, I'll meet you down at the Rockslide."

"No. I'm not leaving you again. I'll wait for you."

The lights above them were moving slowly but steadily in their direction. As if the man behind the wheel was having a hard time maneuvering the car. She hoped he'd have a harder time walking.

Sam snagged her waistband, pulling her forward into the car for a quick kiss. "Did you mean what you said?"

"I'll always love you, you're the father of my son," she said. "That doesn't mean I always like you. Or that I've totally forgiven you. Yet."

She slammed the door shut before he could wrench any more confessions from her. "Keep your lights off so he doesn't see you. Now go!"

The Taurus slid past her, lights off, engine purring as Sam eased it down the road. She wanted to race after them, jump in, tell him to just drive as fast as he could.

Instead she tore open the package of wire guitar strings and found the longest length. She coiled it around her palm. The bite of metal against her flesh took her mind off Sam and Josh as she considered her plan. She had to finish this, now, tonight.

No more running, no more hiding. She couldn't let Alan off this mountain alive.