Jackrabbit Junction Jitters (45 page)

His eyes were rimmed with red when he focused on Claire. “Where
did you get these?” he asked again. A vein throbbed in the center of his
forehead.

“I found them. That one over by the wall is particularly
interesting.” Especially if he enjoyed seeing close-up views of his mother in
the process of orally satisfying Joe.

“Your mother’s lipstick seems to be the exact same shade as
her panties—which you’ll find in the bottom of that package, if you’re
interested in keepsakes.”

A pain-filled groan rose from Mac.

Claire tried to keep an eye on Richard as he tore into the
package, while sneaking peeks at Mac, who’d paused to lean his head against the
wall. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his face chalky white except where dried
blood stained it dark maroon.

“Are you okay?” She spoke low, for Mac’s ears only.

“I’d be a hell of a lot better if you’d stop trying to get
shot.”

“Trust me.”

He grimaced. “You’re playing with fire.”

“I’m a licensed pyromaniac. Besides, I have a plan.” Well,
she kind of did. Some parts were a bit murky.

“That’s what worries me.”

Richard roared and threw the package across the room. “I
should’ve known.”

“Should’ve known what?” Claire prompted him. If she could
get Richard talking, maybe he’d forget about his revolver.

“He blackmailed her.”

“Joe Martino or whoever took the pictures?” She’d bet the
farm on Joe, but that left the question of who took those shots.

“Yes, Joe. The mother fucker!” Richard’s breath mimicked an
old steam engine. The gun dangled from his fingers.

Claire needed to get that gun, but her intentions got
tangled up in her curiosity. “Why would Joe blackmail your mom?

He sneered at her. “For money, of course. And revenge.”

Her ears perked up. “Revenge? What did your mom do to him?”

“Not revenge on her. On my father.”

Claire checked on Mac, who was now sitting forward again.
She breathed easier at the return of color to his cheeks.

Behind him, she noticed a pointy, softball-sized chunk of
rock lying on the ground, undoubtedly making a painful cushion for his lower
back.

With an almost audible pop, an idea formed in her brain.
Stealing a small step backwards, she tried to act as if she were casually
leaning against the petroglyph-covered wall.

She needed to keep Richard swimming in the past for a bit
longer. “What did your father ever do to Joe?” She tried to sound disgruntled
on behalf of the Rensberg clan while stretching her foot behind Mac.

“Killed his dad.”

Say what! Claire paused in the midst of using her heel to
nudge the rock toward her.

“Your father murdered Joe’s dad?” She hadn’t expected that.

“No. My father bought some low-end equipment for the mining
company that turned out to be faulty.”

When Mac noticed what Claire was up to, he pressed back
against her foot, pinning it to the wall.

Richard was fixated on the photo in his hand, his face
blotchy. “The cause of the mine fire that killed Joe’s dad was listed as ‘human
error,’ but the bastard blamed my father.”

“So, he blackmailed your mom to ruin your dad’s marriage?”
She purposely confused the situation to keep Richard’s tongue greased.

Meanwhile, she tried to pull her foot free, shooting Mac a
knock-it-off glare.

“Don’t you get it?” Richard snorted, crumpling the photo in
his palm. “Screwing my mother was only part of that asshole’s revenge.”

“I’m confused.” With a grunt, she extracted her foot from
behind Mac’s back. “How would blackmailing her with these photos exact revenge
on your dad?”

“Joe knew my father would do anything for my mother. He must
have used her to convince my father to sell off what company stock he still
owned in the Copper Snake.”

“So that’s how the Rensberg family lost control of the
mining company.” Mac sounded as if an itch had been scratched.

Richard’s laugh was ragged, harsh. “And the money-hungry
bitch still left him. A year later, he blew his brains out.”

Claire grimaced. Young Richard must have been in his early
teens then. And she thought living with Mommy-dearest had been rough.

“Did your father have any idea that Joe played a part in his
demise?”

“No, but I did. I’d caught Joe in bed with my mother once.
After she left us, I figured she’d run off with him. Years later, when he came
back to town, I wanted to kill him for what he did to my family. I even
followed him up here one night, planning to leave him to rot at the bottom of a
shaft, but I lost him in the mine. When I finally found him, he was standing in
front of that boarded up wall, lighting a stick of dynamite. After the
explosion, when I finally found my way out of here, he was long gone.”

Richard stared at the wall above Claire’s head. “I tried to
come back and see what he’d been hiding, but I ended up lost again and gave up.
Now, I understand why he wanted to keep this place hidden.”

“Because of these petroglyphs?” Claire indicated overhead.

“No, because of the mummified bodies lining the walls in
that side chamber.” Richard nodded his head toward the shadows hovering in one
of the corners of the room.

Mummified bodies?

That would explain the stick-figure deer and the sandal, answering
several of the questions that had plagued her over the last two weeks. Joe had
stumbled onto some kind of ancient burial chamber. But he wouldn’t have wanted
anyone else to find it and risk the authorities sniffing around the Lucky Monk,
especially with his practice of stashing stolen goods in his mines.

“Unfortunately, there’s a lot of copper and a little gold in
this mine.” Richard pointed the revolver at a shimmering vein that ran down one
of the walls. “Ore that the Copper Snake could profit richly from over the next
decade.”

“Maybe so.” Mac struggled with the rope around his wrists,
trying to pull one hand free. “But once word gets out about the archaeological
remains here, there’s no way the state will allow anyone to touch this
hillside.”

“Unless nobody finds out it’s here. Which is why you two
have to die.”

“What?” Claire’s legs wobbled. According to her addition,
one plus one did not equal them dying. “Are you sure about that?”

“Huh,” Mac said. “Now it all makes sense.”

“No, it doesn’t.” She slid down the wall, squatting next to
Mac once again. “Why do you care about the Copper Snake, Richard? Your father
sold out.”

“I know some people with deep pockets. People willing to
lend cash for a high return. I’ve bought back forty percent of the company’s
stock, and I want more.”

Mac bumped Claire to get her attention. “He hired Leo Scott
to help him steal the Lucky Monk from Ruby.”

“And Leo says I’ll have it in another week. With you out of
the picture, it will go even smoother.” His smile widened, his eyes taking on a
freaky, Cuckoo-for-Coco-Puffs glaze.

Richard aimed the gun at Claire’s chest, then Mac’s, then
back at her head. “The only question now is who dies first?”

“Him.” Claire pointed at Mac while watching Richard.

“What!” She could feel Mac’s glare.

With a shrug, Richard turned the gun on Mac.

“Hey, Richard,” she said, “you forgot about this picture
over here.”

Claire scooped up the rock from behind Mac and fast-balled
it at Richard’s head.

Richard was slow to react and dodge. The rock slammed
against his kneecap with a loud thwack.

Oops! Her aim wasn’t what it used to be.

Howling in pain, Richard doubled over, the gun clattering
onto the floor behind him.

“Was breaking his kneecap part of your brilliant plan?” Mac
asked.

“I’m improvising as I go.”

Claire ran toward the gun. Midway there, she changed course
and instead charged straight at Richard, who was reaching for his gun.

“Claire, no!”

Mac’s words caught up with her as she nose-tackled Richard,
who’d just grasped the revolver.

Richard stumbled backward, off-balance. His heel caught on a
small jut of rock, and they tumbled to the floor, arms and legs tangling, gun
flying free and sliding out of reach.

Somehow Claire ended up on the bottom. She wiggled one arm
free and tried to poke him in the eye. He blocked her and grabbed her hand,
twisting her wrist until tears blurred her vision.

She tried to move her legs and realized her right leg was
free. With all the strength she could muster, she jammed her knee into his
crotch.

Richard grunted, his eyes bulging as he gasped in her face,
showering her with stale breath and spittle.

Yanking her wrist free of his loosened grasp, she brought
her elbow down on the tender spot between his neck and shoulder blade.

He wheezed and curled sideways, half off her.

Shoving him further onto his side, she squirmed out from
under him and scrambled toward the gun. Her fingertips brushed the polished
wooden handle at the same time his hand clamped on her ankle and wrenched her
backwards.

“Come back here, you bitch.” He caught her by the knee and
hauled her closer. “You’ll pay for that cheap shot.”

Claire rolled onto her back, swinging her free foot around,
and smashed the heel of her tennis shoe into his nose.

Something crunched. Blood gushed from his nostrils.

He roared, tipping his head back, cupping his nose.

Flopping back onto her stomach, Claire lunged for the gun.
But it was gone, replaced by a pair of ostrich-skin cowboy boots.

What the …?

Claire looked up. “Porter!”

She could have danced a jig at the sight of his green eyes.
Then she remembered where they were.

“What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.” He held the revolver steadily on Richard,
who lay there whimpering, dripping blood.

“Oh. How did you find me?” She stood, her legs quivering so
much that she clung to a nearby wall to stay upright.

“I followed you after your sister dropped you off.”

Porter walked over to where Richard lay. He pointed the gun
at Richard’s head, smiled at Claire with his pearly whites, and pulled the
trigger.

Claire screamed as the gunshot boomed through the chamber,
turning away at the spray of blood and brains across the floor. Her ears
ringing, she clutched her stomach, fear mixing with revulsion to produce
instant nausea, and gagged several times, barely managing to keep her supper
down.

“We didn’t need him slowing us down.” Porter’s voice sounded
different, more clipped, even while slightly muffled by the lasting effects of
the gunshot explosion in her ears.

Then it hit her—his drawl was gone.

“You should thank me,” Porter said. “He was going to kill
you.”

Claire looked over at Mac.

Run
, he mouthed, nodding toward the narrow exit. He
held up his hands just enough to show her he’d managed to free his wrists, but
his legs were still bound.

“Where are the goods, Claire?” Porter asked.

Next to Porter’s boots, Richard’s foot was still twitching.

She snapped her lids shut and spoke between gasps. “What
goods?”

“Don’t fuck with me, darling.” His boots clomped across the
room. She opened her eyes in time to see him point the revolver at Mac. “Tell
me where the goods are, or I’ll blow out your boyfriend’s brains next.”

Mac nudged his head toward the exit again. Then his face
spasmed, his body jerking in pain, and he paled even more.

There was no way Mac could take on Porter, not with what was
probably a concussion slowing him down.

Claire stood up straight, focusing on her newest nemesis. “Which
goods?”

“The ones I heard Jess talking to you about while you were
mopping up the bathroom floor earlier today.

Claire replayed the scene with Jess in her head. “You mean
the money she mentioned?”

“No, I mean the gold.”

The gold?
Oh, yeah, Jess had asked her what she was
going to do about that piece of gold they’d found. “Oh, that gold.”

“Yes,
that
gold. My dad didn’t spend the last few
years of his life in prison with his lungs rotting in his chest to die for
nothing. That gold belongs to me. It’s my inheritance.” He pulled a crumpled
piece of paper from his pocket and threw it in Claire’s direction. “There’s the
note to prove it.

Claire limped over to the wadded up paper, her body aching
like she’d slid down the whole length of the Olympic bobsled track on her
stomach.

Smoothing out the note, she read aloud:

If you find this, you know where to
find me.

The handwriting was Joe’s. She’d become an ace when it came
to nailing his penmanship.

“I don’t understand what this means.”

“Last year, my dad called to tell me he was dying and that a
‘treasure’ was waiting for me in a safe deposit box in a Vegas bank. But
instead of any money, I found this note from Joe.”

What was it with the father-son stories today? Claire let
the note fall to the floor. “How’d you know it was from Joe?”

She wasn’t surprised that Joe had gotten into a safe deposit
box that didn’t belong to him. After learning as much about his past as she had
in the last few months, she figured that breaking into a safety deposit box was
probably child’s play for him.

“He was the only other one who knew about this so-called
treasure, according to Dad.”

“You’re the one who broke into Ruby’s office.” Claire had
been right to suspect Porter from the start. She couldn’t wait to make Kate eat
her words—providing she made it out of this mess free of bullet holes. “I knew that
writer from Texas routine was a bunch of bullshit.”

Porter shrugged. “People here don’t trust outsiders. But
throw on some cowboy boots and slur your words a little, and they’ll spill
their guts for a free beer.”

She needed an answer to something that had been bugging her
since Jess told her about it. “What prompted you to look in
Treasure Island
for clues?”