Guns and Roses (12 page)

Laura Griffin

N
IGHTFALL

Chapter One

Holly Henriksen skidded toward the guardrail at fifty miles an hour and realized she was going to die because of a piece of pie. She shouldn’t have pulled into Mae’s Truck Stop. She shouldn’t have taken that booth. And she definitely shouldn’t have ordered a generous wedge of the blackberry ala mode.

What she should have done—what she’d
almost
done—was gone to the Mickey D’s drive-thru, ordered an extra-large cup of coffee, and resumed her journey. But instead, she’d caved. And now the decadent combination of warm fruit and flaky golden crust, just like her grandmother used to make, was going kill her.

I’m too young to die
, she thought as she eased her foot off the accelerator and resisted the urge to fight the skid. She’d driven in icy conditions countless times and before this moment, she’d never lost control of a vehicle.

But then again, before this moment, she’d never settled in for an evening road trip with a giant dessert dulling her senses and a monotonous stretch of highway in front of her, without even a radio to keep her company.

Holly’s hands gripped the wheel. She braced for impact. Despite her best efforts, her foot jabbed the brake in an uncontrollable last-ditch attempt to stop the inevitable. Metal crunched. A giant wall of branches came at her and her head whipped forward—
thunk
!
—into the steering wheel.

Seconds or minutes ticked by. She opened her eyes to find herself surrounded by a dark cocoon of foliage. The van was eerily silent. She tasted something warm and coppery. She touched her finger to her lip and looked around dazedly.

The silence was drowned out by a roaring in her head as she processed what had happened. She’d careened off the road. She’d wrecked the company van. And not only that—she’d wrecked it on a seldom-used road just before dusk on an evening when every weatherman in the state of Montana was predicting snow.

Holly’s heart flip-flopped as she looked around once more. What little daylight remained was blocked out by the branches smashed against the windows, and the only illumination was coming from the dashboard. Her gaze landed on the shadowy shape of her purse, which had tumbled to the floor. She reached for it and felt a sharp pain as the seatbelt bit into her skin once again.

Holly unbuckled herself and felt around for the bag. The contents had spilled out, but it didn’t take her long to grope through the clutter and locate her phone. She clutched it in her hand and it lit up, creating a bluish glow in the front seat.

Relief swamped her. But it quickly vanished as she jabbed her thumb against the screen and saw only the slightest hint of a bar. No signal.

Holly tried to open her door, but the branches pinned it shut. She threw her shoulder against it and managed to force it open. Sticks and pine needles clawed at her as she wedged herself out, but the relative light outside the van made her feel better. She took a deep breath and tried to calm her racing heart. It wasn’t dark yet. She still had time to wave someone down. Surely, someone else would be traveling between Eulee and White Falls on this chilly November evening.

Wind whipped through her long-sleeve T-shirt, and she reached inside for her green ski vest. She shrugged into it and gazed down at her phone again.

Still no bars.

She looked around to assess the damage. She’d plowed through the guardrail and landed nose-first in a ditch. Her front tire looked punctured. How had that happened? Not that it mattered. Although the incline wasn’t steep, there was still no way she was driving out of here. This definitely called for a tow truck.

Her stomach tightened with dread as she thought through the implications. Even if she managed to get a truck out here soon, there was no chance she’d reach White Falls by eight tonight. Which meant no chance she’d deliver her cargo on time. Which meant no chance she’d collect that check from the client—the one she and her sister had already earmarked for luxuries such as rent and groceries and heat.

I am so screwed
.

Holly gazed at the crumpled bumper. Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back as she looked around. She was in a valley between two foothills. To the east, where the valley widened and mountains rose up on either side, was Eulee. To the west, through a twisty mountain pass, was White Falls. She remembered a ranch a few minutes back and set out in that direction. She glanced at the phone again.

Signal!

Holly felt a rush of relief and immediately dialed her sister, praying the signal wouldn’t vanish before the call went through. Her sister could get on the phone with the client and make excuses while Holly figured out how to get a tow truck out here.

Crack.

She dropped to her knees beside the road. What the
hell?
Who would be stupid enough shoot a rifle so close to—

Crack.

Her chin hit pavement. She darted her gaze around. The smell of wet asphalt filled her nostrils as panic spurted through her.

That was no careless hunter. Someone was shooting at
her.

Holly scrambled to her knees and lunged for the ditch. She ducked her head down and crawled frantically for the safety of the van. But as she scuttled behind it, she realized it wasn’t safe at all.

A loud
ping
rang out as the next shot hit the bumper.

Someone’s trying to kill me!
Her breath came in ragged gasps. She glanced around. Where could she go? She couldn’t just sit here and wait for someone to walk up on her. She jumped across the narrow ravine and plunged into the thicket. She batted away leaves and branches until she was deep within the woods, sheltered by darkness and trees.

What is going on? Why is this happening?
Panic seized hold of her as she darted between thick tree trunks. The forest was dense and damp. The floor had escaped the season’s first snow. But the trees that had blocked the snow blocked light, too, and Holly could hardly see anything as she plowed deeper and deeper into the woods. Her heart galloped inside her chest. Branches stabbed at her, ripping at her clothes, her hair. She used her arms like a swimmer, ignoring the stinging cuts as she swiped desperately at the brush. Her toe caught a rock. She pitched headfirst into a void. White-hot pain exploded inside her head.

~*~

“What do you mean it didn’t happen?”

“Just what I said. It didn’t go down.”

“Are you sure?”

Colin Denton gritted his teeth as his headlights sliced through the falling darkness. “I was there almost two hours. He didn’t show.”

Silence on the other end. Colin glanced at the phone in the cup holder to make sure the connection hadn’t dropped.

“So what do we do now?” his boss asked.

Colin smiled ruefully, but of course, there was no one there to see him. He was alone in his pickup. He was alone on the road. He was alone in this isolated corner of Montana, as he had been for the past five months. Colin was a loner by nature, but the constant isolation was starting to get to him, and it wasn’t even full-on winter yet.

Next operation, he was thinking about getting a dog.

“I say we sit tight,” he answered, scanning the roadway for ice. It had gotten into the forties today, but the temperature was sinking fast and it had started to snow. “Hooks doesn’t get paid until he delivers the goods. Something spooked him tonight, but he’ll reschedule. Believe me, he needs the money.”

“And you’re sure you got the place right?”

“I’m sure.”

“And the vehicle?”

“A white Dodge van. I’m positive.”

The truck skidded as Colin hit a patch of ice. His shoulders tensed until he felt the tires grip asphalt again. He checked his rearview mirror, but no one was behind him.

In his peripheral vision, he saw a flash of metal. He glanced to the side as he sailed past the back end of a white van.

“No freaking way,” he muttered, tapping the brakes.

“What’s that?”

“I may have just found him.”

“Are you sure? What—”

“Call you back.”

Colin eased onto the shoulder and rolled to a stop about forty yards in front of the van. He checked the rearview mirror. He considered his hazard lights, but opted for dark instead. He slipped the Glock from his holster and climbed out of the truck.

Colin darted his gaze around as he approached the vehicle, which had obviously slid off the road—probably after hitting the same patch of ice as he had. At least, he hoped that was why it had gone off the road. Any other reason—assuming this van belonged to Hooks—was going to mean problems.

His boots crunched over the inch of snow that had already accumulated on the shoulder. It was really coming down now, and he could hardly see shit. He had a mini-Maglite in his pocket, but he made his way by feel, trusting his feet to tell him where the asphalt was. After ten paces, he paused to listen. No sound but the faint whistle of wind through the forest on either side of him.

Thirty more paces. He switched on the flashlight and aimed it at the cargo van in the ditch. He checked the driver’s window. No one inside. He studied the exterior. It was an old model—probably mid-eighties. The front end was crumpled against the embankment and a dusting of snow covered the hood, which told him the engine had cooled. He shifted the light and saw the guardrail that had once lined the curve in the roadway. Now it lay twisted in the ditch behind the van.

Colin’s phone vibrated in his pocket, but he ignored it. He tromped around the back. He hadn’t seen any people, but more importantly, he hadn’t sensed any. His sharply honed instincts told him he was alone out here. Whoever had been driving this thing had been picked up by another vehicle or possibly gone for help—probably picked up, as going anywhere in this weather was stupid without a serious coat and a thorough knowledge of the area.

Colin stopped again to listen. He reached for the handle of the cargo door and was surprised to find it unlocked. Gripping his pistol in his right hand, he pulled open the door, making sure to stand behind it so it could act as a shield.

No sound. No hint of movement. He aimed the flashlight inside the van, where he expected to see a shit ton of firearms.

He saw flowers. Boxes and boxes brimming with bouquets. The perfume overwhelmed him as he stepped up to the bumper and shined the light over the sea of pink and yellow and orange blooms.

A noise. Colin whirled around. He recognized the snippet of pop music. It came again, and he spotted a faint purple glow beneath a layer of white. He picked up the cell phone and shook off the snow. The caller ID showed a Bozeman area code. Colin scrolled through the call history—all Bozeman numbers—and a text came in:
Holly!! Where RU? Call me ASAP.

Colin tucked the phone into his pocket and re-holstered his weapon. He muttered a curse as he swung the flashlight around in an arc. No sign of Holly, and he hoped to hell she hadn’t tried to hike out of here in this weather. He returned to the front of the van and he noticed the dark smear near the door handle.

Blood.

He scanned the area, feeling both annoyed and worried. He should be tracking down his informant right now, not looking for a missing woman. But he couldn’t just leave her alone out here. Wherever she’d gone, she hadn’t bothered to take her purse—which meant she was either disoriented from her injuries or lacking common sense.

He combed the area with the flashlight beam and spotted a blue baseball cap on the other side of the ditch. Beyond it were some broken branches, as if someone had crashed through there in a hurry. Colin picked his way over the ravine and studied the trail, frowning. It didn’t make sense. Why head into the woods when the chances of flagging down help were much better on the roadside?

Colin’s voice shattered the silence as he called out her name. No answer. He trekked deeper into the trees and called it again. The trail was erratic, zigging this way and that, and the snow accumulating on the forest floor made it even tougher to follow. He remembered the Kaplan place about a mile back and wondered if she’d noticed it, too, and gone for help. Would have been easier if she’d stuck to the highway, but maybe she’d been dazed from a head injury. The thought chilled him as he moved deeper into the woods.

“Holly!”

A faint rustle as something scampered up a tree. Colin pushed on, plowing through branches until he entered a clearing. He moved the flashlight beam around, trying to pick up the trail.

The phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out.

“Denton.”

“Was it him?” his boss demanded.