Jackrabbit Junction Jitters (44 page)

As one bend turned into the next and the walls contracted
around her, Claire’s leg muscles began to quake and burn. Her raincoat
scratched over the rocks as she slid through a narrow gap toward a rectangular
opening ahead that glowed with light.

A shadow flickered across the gap. She froze, her heart
sharing real estate with her tonsils.

Mac?

After several seconds of willing her legs to move, she shut
off her flashlight and crept forward, peeking into a cavernous chamber.

Across the room, Mac leaned against a wall half-covered with
crude drawings of what looked like deer, or maybe horses. His eyes opened and
closed in the battery lamp-lit room, his wrists and ankles bound with red
climbing rope.

Claire’s mouth opened in a noiseless gasp.

Mac’s gaze seemed to land on her for several seconds, then
he groaned and tried to sit up, only to fall back against the wall, his eyes
shutting, his head lolling to the side. Blood trailed from his temple and
stained his cheek.

For half a minute, Claire sat there, every cell locked in
uncertainty. She listened for the sound of Mac’s captor, and for another half a
minute, the only noise she heard was an occasional groan from Mac, along with
her own pulse banging in her ears like a Tommy Gun.

Her gut told her to go to Mac, untie him, and drag him to
safety.

Her head warned her to race back to Mac’s pickup and go get
help in the form of a badge and licensed firearm.

Her feet and legs voted to just stay there in the crook of
the mine’s intestines until she woke up from this nightmare.

Claire decided to go with her gut. It had served her well
most of the time in the past. Moving with her version of sniper-like grace, she
snuck into the chamber.

Three clicks of a revolver hammer stopped her a few steps in.

“Move and I’ll pull the trigger,” an unfamiliar voice said
from behind her.

Fuck! Shit! Damn!

Her gut had been wrong.

* * *

The bottles of vodka and hot sauce clinked against each
other in the small paper sack sitting in the passenger seat as Kate rumbled
toward the R.V. park.

On the bright side, the rain had finally stopped, and
sunshine glistened on the wet rocks and shards of broken glass littering the
shoulder.

On the not-so-bright side, Butch hadn’t changed his mind and
come chasing after her.

Up ahead, someone walked along the shoulder carrying an
orange suitcase. Kate let off the gas as she neared the pedestrian, swerving
into the middle of the road to give plenty of space as she passed.

A familiar pair of green eyes met Kate’s through the windshield.
She slammed on the brakes, the Ford’s tires skidding on the wet roadway as the
pickup spun one-hundred and eighty degrees before stopping.

Her fingers still white-knuckling the steering wheel, Kate
rolled forward to where Jess stood on the shoulder with her mouth gaping, her
ponytail blowing in the breeze the storm had left in its wake.

“What are you doing, Jess?”

Jess walked over to Kate’s open window. “Did they teach you
how to do that in driver’s ed.?”

Kate ignored Jess’s question. “What’s in the suitcase?”

“Nothing.”

“Where are you going?”

“To Yuccaville.”

Jess’s stony expression clued Kate that she needed to step
carefully. “What’s in Yuccaville?”

“A bus.” Jess shifted the suitcase to her other hand. “I’m
going to Ohio.”

Shit!
Talking sense into Jess’s head was Claire’s
job. Kate had agreed only to helping out at the store.

“Does Claire know about this?”

Jess nodded. “She’s the one who told me I needed to leave by
tomorrow, since Mom’s coming home on Wednesday.”

What in the hell was Claire thinking? Kate chewed on her
lower lip. There was no way she could let Jess leave on her watch. If she could
just stall Jess for the evening, she could dump this problem on Claire’s lap
tomorrow morning. But how?

“Why don’t you hop in? I’ll give you a ride to Yuccaville.”

Her eyelids narrowing, Jess took a step back. “How do I know
you’re not going to kidnap me and take me back to Ruby’s?”

Okay, so Plan A was a bust. “You have my word.”

When Jess hesitated still, Kate said, “Come on, Jess. It’s a
long way to Yuccaville. It’ll be dark before you even reach the halfway point,
and trust me, you don’t want to hitchhike at night. Climb in and let me drive
you to the bus station.”

The kid stared Kate down for several more seconds. “Okay,
but you’d better not try to stop me. I’m going to Ohio and nothing you say or
do is going to change my mind.”

“I won’t,” she lied.

As Kate stuffed the paper sack from Biddy’s under the seat,
Jess jogged around the front of the pickup and pulled open the passenger side
door.

“You’re kind of weird,” she said to Kate and crawled into
the cab, smelling like grape bubblegum and fresh desert air. “But I still like
you. You should visit me sometime in Ohio.”

Maybe she would.

Kate hit the gas.

Maybe she should even save Jess the bus fare and drive her
to Ohio. There certainly wasn’t any reason for Kate to hang around here now
that Butch had kicked her to the curb.

Wait a second! She was supposed to be figuring out a way to
keep Jess in town, not daydreaming about a Thelma-and-Louise road trip to the Buckeye
state.

“What are you going to do after you arrive in Ohio?”

“Get my license.”

“You have someplace lined up to stay?”

“No.” Jess patted the orange suitcase. “But I have plenty of
money, so I’ll probably just live out of a hotel for a while.”

Crap! Jess must have found that stash of cash Claire
mentioned Ruby had hidden somewhere around the house. So much for scaring the
kid into sticking around. If Jess had that much cash, she’d be set for a few
months without a problem.

Kate avoided looking over at The Shaft as she paused at the
highway junction.

“Does your dad know you’re on your way?”

She turned onto the main highway.

“Nope. I want to surprise him on my birthday.”

Wincing mentally, Kate glanced over at Jess. The girl stared
out at the passing scrub, chewing on her sparkly fingernails. Kate whipped her
gaze back to the road as Jess looked over at her.

“Kate?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think Claire is really going to drag your mom to the
airport tomorrow?”

Knowing her sister, probably. “I don’t know. It depends on
Mac, I think.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Claire’s mad at Mom because Mac is mad at Claire. If
Mac forgives Claire and changes his mind about kicking her out, Claire might
let Mom stay.”

“What’s it like to have a big sister?”

Kate shrugged. It had been a way of life since birth, so she
hadn’t put much thought into it. “It’s okay, I guess. Claire is usually pretty
fun to hang around.”

A large orange diamond sign whizzed by, warning of road
construction ahead, followed shortly by a green sign stating Yuccaville was
just fifteen miles away. She was running out of time. How was she going to keep
Jess from climbing on a bus?

“What about your other sister, Veronica? What’s she like?”

“Ronnie? She’s fun too, most of the time. Every now and then
she gets pretty bossy, but she’s not as bad as Mom.”

Jess sighed dramatically. “I wish I had an older sister.”

“You do, kind of.”

“I know, I have your mom. But that’s not the same. She’s
just a stepsister, and not very nice most days.”

“I wasn’t talking about Mom. I was talking about Claire—and
me. We’re kind of like big sisters, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, I guess. I just wish you lived closer.”

“Me, too.” But Jackrabbit Junction wasn’t big enough for
Butch and her. She didn’t think she could stomach running into him off and on,
smiling like she didn’t care who was sharing his bed, waving as if they were
just old friends. “Maybe you’ll find some more big sisters in Ohio.”

“Probably not.” Jess sounded like someone had torn the arm
off her favorite teddy bear.

“You can always—” A loud bang interrupted Kate in
mid-sentence. The steering wheel jerked hard to the right. She jammed her foot
down on the brake pedal.

Jess screamed as they skidded across the asphalt toward the
ditch.

A steel gun barrel jabbed into the side of Claire’s head.

She stood frozen, her jaw clamped tight, her breath
whistling through her teeth.

Shit-criminy! She’d been around more guns in the last few
months than she had her whole life. They must hand out guns with birth
certificates in Arizona.

“Who are you?” the man at the other end of the revolver
asked, his voice a steady baritone with a slight rasp.

“Avon calling?” Claire tossed out the first thing that came
to mind.

“Real funny.” He planted his free hand in the middle of her
back and shoved hard.

She stumbled forward, falling, her palms and wrists taking
the brunt of her weight. Joe’s package of porn spun across the dirt floor in
front of her, pictures sliding out of the envelope and fanning in several
directions.

“Leave her alone.” Mac’s vocal chords sounded rusty, as if
they’d weathered under the desert sun and rain for too many years.

Claire looked across the room at him, relief spreading
through her at the site of his hazel eyes wide open.

“Shut up, Garner.” The gunman placed his cowboy boot on
Claire’s hip and pushed, rolling her onto her back. “Get up!”

Scrambling to her feet, Claire stared at her attacker in the
low light of a battery-powered lantern, finally able to see who’d been holding
the gun to her head.

He looked vaguely familiar, with his silver sideburns and
salted black hair greased back off his forehead. His ruddy face and jowls were
stretched taut in a menacing grin. His eyes shifted back and forth like
windshield wipers between Mac and her.

“Now get over there next to Garner.” He used the gun to
motion Claire toward Mac.

How did he know Mac’s name?

She licked the dust from her lips, wondering what in the
hell this guy was doing in Ruby’s mine and how they could get away from him
without losing any blood. She needed a distraction. Something to sidetrack him
long enough for her to get that gun from him. But what?

As she walked toward Mac, she glanced at the drawings
covering the wall over his head. Were those actual petroglyphs? Did Joe know
about those? Did they have anything to do with the mummy hand, sandal, and twig
animal?

Claire slowed as she neared the package she’d dropped,
bending over to scoop it up.

“Leave that alone. Get moving.”

Johnny Ringo could use a little work on his manners. Claire
stepped over one of the bawdier shots of Bianca and Joe, then stopped and spun
around to study the gunman again.

Holy Little Smokies! “Richard Rensberg,” she said.

“What?” Rensberg raised the gun.

“You’re Richard Rensberg—the Third.” He looked a bit thicker
in the face than his father, and very little like the young boy in the
newspaper photos, but add a handlebar mustache and a cane, and he was a dead
ringer for his grandfather.

“And you’re about to get a bullet in the teeth if you don’t
move your ass, lady.”

“Claire.” Mac’s tone practically vibrated with tension. “Would
you please get over here next to me?”

Hesitating, she eyed the photo at her feet. But what if
Richard saw the photos of his mom and Joe? He might …

Claire’s pulse kicked into a buzz-roll that would make any
jazz drummer envious. That was it! Her distraction, front and center, courtesy
of Kodak. If she could get Richard to take a look at the photos, the sight
might set him off his game enough to offer her the opportunity needed to get
that gun away from him.

She joined Mac, squatting instead of sitting so that she’d
be ready to pounce when the time came.

Mac frowned. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t do it.”

Ignoring Mac’s warning, she focused on Richard.

“How’s your mother doing, Richard?” Claire tried to keep her
tone light and happy, like old friends catching up.

Richard’s face crinkled. “Shut up.”

Bingo. There was that nerve. Too easy!

“Claire,” Mac whispered, “stop poking the bear.”

“Is red still her favorite color?”

“I said shut the fuck up.” Richard’s ruddy complexion
deepened to a nice purple hue as he aimed the gun at her head.

“Calm down, Richard.” Rising to her full height, Claire held
out her hands palms-up. “I’m just curious how that snake tattoo on her hip
looks now that she’s eligible for Medicare.”

“Oh, shit.” Mac didn’t hide his struggle to free his wrists.

Richard’s nostrils flared, his mouth white around the edges.
“How do you know about my mom’s tattoo?”

Scanning the pictures spread across the floor in front of
her, Claire pointed at the close-up of Bianca’s hip. “I saw it in that picture
right there.”

“You lie!” The revolver trembled, but stayed locked on her.

“Claire, please shut up.” His wrists still bound, Mac
reached for the rope tethering his ankles together.

“Look for yourself,” Claire continued. “It’s right there in
Kodak color.”

Richard angled over to the picture. Keeping the gun on
Claire, he glanced at the floor. His brow scrunched as he peered at the shot of
his mother’s hip, along with Joe’s bare butt cheek. “Where did you get that?”

Claire ignored his question and pointed at another photo. “Check
out that one over there. It’s a great profile shot of your mom.” And Joe, in
the middle of tearing off Bianca’s red panties with his teeth.

Richard followed her advice, the gun drooping a little as he
eyeballed the second picture.

“She sure has long legs. Was she a dancer before she married
your dad?” As in the pole-hugging, bump-and-grind kind?