Killjoy (26 page)

She ignored his order. “Just tell me when to start shooting. We’ll keep him down until we get past.”

It sounded like a great plan, and she’d said it with gusto, but that was only because she didn’t believe Monk could have gotten down the hills that quickly.

She was wrong about that. She spotted him before John Paul did.

“Get the hell down,” John Paul shouted.

Her response was to flip the safety off. Leaning against the door, she put her arm out the window, steadied the barrel of the gun on the side mirror, and waited. She ducked down as much as she could.

When Monk crouched down and swung the rifle up, John Paul shouted, “Now!”

They fired simultaneously, again and again as they sped toward the killer. Monk dove for cover, then scrambled to roll over and get his weapon up. Avery kept firing, pinning him down as they flew past.

The road suddenly curved up the mountain. There was a dirt road that angled sharply to the south that would have taken them farther down the mountain, but John Paul knew that, at the speed he was going, the SUV would roll if he tried to make the turn.

“I’m out,” he said as he emptied the magazine.

She was turning to look when John Paul grabbed the back of her neck and shoved her down. “Get on the floor,” he ordered as the back window shattered.

They were still climbing and had reached another sharp curve when Monk blew out the left rear tire.

The car went into a spin. They careened off the road into the brush, narrowly missing a tree head-on, but finally stopping when they hit a rock.

“Move it,” he shouted as he leapt out of the car and raced around to the other side. Avery had no sense of where they were, only knew they were once again climbing. Her heartbeat, like the turbulent white water, was roaring in her ears. She raced up the steep slope, then skidded to a stop.

“No,” she cried.

John Paul stopped beside her. “Ah, hell.”

She wanted to weep as she stared down at the swirling water below. No. Not again. Shaking her head, she said, “I won’t do it. I can’t. You can’t make me.”

He looked genuinely sorry when he grabbed her. “Sure I can.”

Chapter 25

P
ICTURESQUE, MY ASS.
I
F
A
VERY SAW ANOTHER WHITE-WATER
anything, she thought she just might start screaming and never stop. At the moment, she was feeling malevolent toward pine trees too. Hated every one of them. She wasn’t real fond of John Paul either. He had tossed her over the cliff like a discarded candy wrapper, and on the way down she had vowed that, if he survived, she’d kill him, just for the sheer joy of it.

She knew she was being irrational. She didn’t care. Her bad mood intensified when she cut her leg on a jagged rock. If they’d been in the ocean, the blood pouring from her cut would have sounded the lunch bell for the neighboring sharks. Trying to stay positive as she fought to stay afloat, she told herself to be thankful there weren’t any sharks around. And her leg didn’t hurt all that much compared to the searing charley horse in her calf that nearly caused her to drown. John Paul hauled her onto the bank, half carried her into the trees so they wouldn’t be seen, and then dropped her. She landed with a thud on her backside.

He dropped beside her. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Since she’d taken in more than enough water to fill a backyard swimming pool, she was too waterlogged to answer the absurd question. Shoving her hair out of her eyes, she glared at him.

“It wasn’t as bad as the first jump, was it? I don’t think that drop was more than twenty feet,” he said.

“You pushed me over a cliff.”

Actually, he hadn’t pushed her. As he recalled, he’d thrown her so she wouldn’t hit the rocks jutting out from the base of the cliff. He didn’t think it would be a good idea to mention that now, though. “Did I have any other choice?”

She wasn’t ready to admit that there really hadn’t been any other alternative. Their guns were useless against a high-powered rifle, and Monk was hot on their trail.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

He grinned. “Cup half empty, sugar? Where’s that optimistic attitude?”

“At the bottom of the river.”

He stood and offered her his hand. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

She didn’t know if she had enough strength to even stand. She was so tired and cold and wet. Suck it up, she told herself.

“Right,” she said as she grabbed hold. When he jerked her upright, she fell against him. He put his arm around her and held her tight while he made up his mind which direction they should go.

“Aren’t you tired?” she asked.

“Yeah, I am.”

She looked back toward the river. “Maybe he’ll give up now.”

John Paul shook his head. “That isn’t gonna happen. He’s a professional. He’s taken the contract, and he won’t stop coming after us until . . .”

“He succeeds?”

“Or until I kill him.”

“I vote for the second option.”

They both heard the sound of children’s laughter. Avery pulled away from him and started running toward the noise. “I hope they have a phone.”

“Doubt you can get a signal.”

She actually smiled. “There’s that negativity I so love. You had me worried, John Paul. For a minute there you were . . .”

“What?”

“Cheerful.”

“The hell I was.”

He sounded as though she’d just insulted him. She was laughing as she ran toward the sound. The reason for her sudden good humor was either joy or hysteria. A family of five was setting up tents near a little stream.

After a brief explanation, everyone piled into the father’s minivan and headed toward a town the man remembered he’d driven through on the way up the mountain.

Thirty minutes later they reached the sleepy little community of Emerson. Downtown consisted of four streets. The father stopped the van in front of a two-story stone building. The second they got out of the van and closed the sliding door, the father sped away.

“I think maybe you scared him,” Avery remarked.

“The faster he can get his family away from us, the safer they’ll all be.”

There was a police station, which was surprising, considering the size of the town. Sharing the same building, the police station was squeezed in between the volunteer fire department on one end of the building and Bud’s Burgers on the other. There were three doors facing the street with signs above each one. They walked through the middle door into a wide hall. Swinging doors were on both sides. One connected to the restaurant, and the other to the fire department. The police station was directly ahead.

The aroma of hamburgers and onions and french fries filled the air, but the smell didn’t spur Avery’s appetite. It actually made her nauseous. The lack of food, running for miles and miles, the cold, and the terror had taken their toll. She felt all used up. Getting from the door to the counter was suddenly more challenging than surviving the currents. Her feet felt as though they weighed a hundred pounds, and it took every ounce of stamina she had left to move at all.

John Paul could tell she was having trouble. She seemed to wilt before his eyes.

“You okay?” he asked as he put his arm around her waist.

“I feel like rigor mortis has set in,” she said. “I’m not dead, am I?”

Smiling, he said, “You’re still breathing.”

He looked through the glass window and saw the police chief sitting behind his desk. There was a stack of papers on the blotter, and he was poring over them. Every couple of seconds he would glance up at a television mounted to the wall behind the counter. Dressed in navy pants and a white shirt with the name
Chief Tyler
on the pocket, the middle-aged man was frowning as he picked up a sheet of paper.

A woman in her late sixties stood behind the counter with her back to the door. Her hair was as white as Avery’s face. She seemed mesmerized by the program on the television.

John Paul could hear her talking as he pushed the door open. “Didn’t I tell you something bad was going to happen? Didn’t I tell you, Bud?”

“Yes, Verna. You told me.”

“And didn’t I tell you he brought this on himself?” she asked. “Tearing out all those beautiful trees and digging away at the mountain just to build himself a fancy monument. It looks like Mother Nature decided to get even, didn’t she?”

The chief wasn’t paying much attention. “Yes,” he drawled as he continued to scan the sheet of paper in his hand.

“If you ask me, he’s the villain. I feel sorry for his wife.”

“You mean ex-wife, don’t you?”

“That’s right. He got rid of her so he could move on to a younger model. It’s criminal, if you ask me. Poor thing. He got her used to living the high life, and then he yanks the rug right out from under her.”

The chief was clearly exasperated. He dropped the paper on the desk and looked at the television. “‘Poor thing’? Didn’t you see that interview they did with her last month? They had to bleep out every other word she said. I think he was crazy to ever marry her.”

“But how is she going to get along now?”

“She can get a job and work like the rest of us. Nobody put a gun to her head when she signed that prenup,” he pointed out.

John Paul and Avery had been listening from the doorway. They walked inside as Verna was telling the chief it was all a terrible shame. The chief spotted them, did a double take, and stood.

“What happened to you two?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’ll be happy to listen,” he said.

Avery pulled away from John Paul and walked over to the counter. Verna gasped, and her brown eyes widened as she approached.

“My name’s Avery Delaney,” she said.

“You’re soaking wet. What in heaven’s name happened to you? You look like something my cat dragged in.”

Avery didn’t know where to begin. She saw John Paul shake the policeman’s hand and sit in the chair he offered. She decided she’d let him do the explaining.

“May I use your phone?” she asked. “I need to call the FBI.”

Verna’s eyes now looked as if they were going to pop out of her face as she called over her shoulder, “Bud? The lady wants to call the FBI.”

“Let her use the phone,” the chief said. He was leaning into the desk, listening intently as John Paul explained the situation.

Verna placed an old-fashioned black phone on the counter. “There are showers on the second floor above the fire station and nice clean cots too. While you make your call, I’ll go get a couple of blankets for you folks. Your lips are trembling. You’re gonna get hypothermia if you aren’t warmed up soon.”

“Thank you,” she said. “You’re very kind.”

Avery picked up the phone and then put it back down. Exhausted, she couldn’t remember the phone number to the pen. She closed her eyes to think about it. Was it three-nine-one or nine-three-one?

Maybe she could call Carter. What was his private number? Then she heard John Paul ask the chief if he had ever heard of a property called Land Between the Lakes.

“Everyone in Colorado has heard about that property.”

“How far away is it?”

“Quite a distance from here,” he said. “And with all the Lookie-Lous out there, you won’t be able to get close. By now, the police have the area sealed off. The best way to see it is on television.”

John Paul didn’t know what he was talking about. He glanced at the screen.

Nine-three-one. That was it. Avery picked up the phone and started dialing. The receiver was halfway to her ear when she happened to look up at the television. She froze, the phone number once again forgotten.

A local newscaster announced that they had new footage of the disaster from a hiker just outside of Aspen who had captured the explosion with his video camera.

“The judge’s decision was announced at eight-fifteen this morning, granting ownership of the mansion to Dennis Parnell. For those of you who just tuned in, we repeat, late this morning, the Parnell mansion known as Land Between the Lakes was ripped apart by an explosion.”

The phone crashed on the floor as Avery collapsed.

Chapter 26

N
UMB WITH SHOCK AND DESPAIR,
A
VERY COULDN
’
T MOVE.
Carrie was dead. Carrie, who had given her unconditional love, always, no matter how crazy Avery made her with her career choices.

And Avery had failed her. Carrie would still be alive if Avery had been faster or more clever. All that time wasted running from point to point for the demented woman on the phone who taunted her with lies that Avery could save Carrie. She should have found a way to rescue Carrie and the other women. Now it was too late.

John Paul held her in his arms and let her ramble as she told him over and over how she was to blame.

Verna made soup and all but force-fed Avery, then led her upstairs and stood like a prison guard outside the bathroom while she showered. The old woman, hearing Avery’s sobs, kept whispering, “The poor dear.”

When she was finished, Verna handed her one of the chief’s gray T-shirts to put on, then gathered up her clothes to wash.

She hovered over Avery like an anxious mother hen. She sat Avery down on one of the cots and knelt on the floor with her first-aid kit. The cut on her leg wasn’t deep, but it needed to be cleaned. She applied a liberal amount of iodine and wrapped the wound in gauze.

When she was finished, she tucked Avery into bed and headed downstairs to fix a cup of hot tea for her. When she turned back at the doorway to ask her if she wanted a dab of milk in her tea, Avery was already fast asleep.

John Paul was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. “Is she okay?”

“She’s sleeping, and that’s the best thing for her now. She’s all tuckered out.”

Nodding agreement, John Paul went back into the station. The chief was on the phone verifying that John Paul was who he claimed he was. When he’d gotten the information he needed, his attitude became more open and friendly.

“The troops are on their way,” he said. “I know you’ve got to be hungry, so I called over to the restaurant, and one of the employees is bringing some food for you.”

“Thanks,” John Paul said.

“I checked you out,” he said then. “You were a Marine.”

“Yes.”

“I was in the army,” he offered. “Went through West Point, then did some duty in Germany. My best friend was a Marine. He died last year, and I sure do miss him. He was a good man.”

John Paul wasn’t sure why he was telling him his history. “I hear you’re good with a gun,” Tyler continued. “Do you think trouble’s coming this way? Until the FBI gets here, we’re on our own.”

“If Monk knows where we are, then maybe he’ll try to end it here. I don’t think he knows, though, and I’m guessing he’s gone to ground to reorganize. That’s what I’d do.”

“We can’t be taking any chances,” Tyler countered as he stood and crossed to a cabinet on the other side of the room. He pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the padlock. When he opened the doors, John Paul smiled. Chief Tyler had an arsenal at his disposal.

“You like to be prepared for just about anything, don’t you?” he asked with approval.

The chief grinned. “Sometimes we get a cranky bear I have to go after.”

“You go after them with an M1911?”

“No, that’s just a leftover from my army days. Take your pick,” he said. Turning to his assistant, he said, “Verna, you go on home to your daughter and stay there until this is finished.”

“I don’t want to leave that girl alone upstairs. She needs comfort now. I’m worried she might be going into shock.”

“She’s tougher than she looks,” John Paul said. “I’ll com . . . I’ll watch out for her.”

He’d damned near said he’d comfort the woman, but he’d caught himself in time. What was the matter with him? He didn’t have a clue how he was supposed to make Avery feel better, only knew he didn’t want her crying on anyone else’s shoulder. None of this made any sense to him. She confused him, turned his thinking upside down, and put all sorts of crazy, impossible thoughts into his head. He couldn’t understand how or why she had become so important to him, only knew he was driven to keep her safe from harm . . . at all costs.

Protect and serve. If he kept thinking like this, he would end up on the side of law and order again. He shuddered at the possibility.

The chief interrupted his thoughts. “I’ve got good strong doors with double-bolted locks. There’s a back door out of this area, and that has a glass window, but I put in an alarm because of all the firepower I’ve collected, and the whole town will hear the noise if anyone tries to get in.”

John Paul checked out the perimeter. Fifteen minutes later he and Tyler were satisfied with the lockdown. He ate, then went upstairs, showered, and put on the sweats and T-shirt Tyler had given him. When he stepped out of the bathroom, Verna was waiting with a plastic trash bag to collect his wet clothes.

“My son-in-law will drop these off with Avery’s after they’ve been laundered,” she said as she started down the stairs. “You take care of her. You hear?”

“I will,” he promised.

She left a few minutes later with her daughter.

Tyler had insisted that he could hold down the fort while John Paul caught some shut-eye.

He hadn’t argued. He tried not to make any noise as he walked into the dormitory where Avery slept. There were four cots, all with clean bedding, lined up against one wall. The chief had told him that when the building was constructed, the town believed they would have a full-time fire department, but when the town didn’t develop the way the city planners thought it would, the budget couldn’t afford salaried firefighters. It was volunteer now.

John Paul noticed the window was unlocked. It overlooked the alley behind the building, and there was a fire escape ladder just a couple of feet to the left. He locked the window and then sat down on the cot next to Avery’s.

She was sleeping on her back. Her face was scrubbed clean; her hair was still damp from washing, and he thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She looked like an angel, but she had a little vinegar in her disposition, the way she tried to boss him around. He liked the fact that she stood up to him, held her own. He liked her attitude too. She viewed the world the way he used to when he had been naive.

He was tired, and surely his fatigue was the reason he was thinking such foolish thoughts. When the FBI arrived, he’d leave. Simple as that. Avery was the ultimate team player, he reminded himself, so he’d let her team watch out for her.

“Hell,” he muttered as he rolled onto the cot.

He got in two full hours of sleep before Tyler woke him. John Paul had heard him coming up the stairs and had the handgun aimed and ready when he opened the door.

The chief waited until John Paul put the gun down. Then he walked inside. “We’ve got company,” he whispered. “The FBI’s here, and the man in charge wants to see you.”

Avery was still out cold. She’d kicked off the sheet, and one leg was hanging off the side of the bed. There was a bandage wrapped above her ankle. Spots of dark blood dotted the gauze. When had she hurt herself? he wondered as he carefully lifted her leg and tucked her back under the sheet. And why hadn’t she told him?

He knew the answer to that one. She would never think to complain.

Fighting the urge to kiss her, he went into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face.

He became angry thinking about the interview he’d have to suffer through with the Feds. If the team leader turned out to be like so many others John Paul remembered, then he’d be an arrogant, opinionated, we-do-it-my-way-or-no-way prick.

By the time he’d dried his face and hands, he was ready for a fight. Fact was, he was looking forward to it. He found himself hoping the guy did turn out to be a prick because he was suddenly in the mood to kick some ass.

Unfortunately, Agent Knolte was neither a prick nor a know-it-all. The freckle-faced agent was intelligent, eager, and sincere, and seemed to know what he was talking about as far as strategy went. He’d certainly done his homework on Monk, knew almost as much about him as John Paul did.

There were only two problems with Agent Knolte. One, he looked like a twelve-year-old. And with a cowlick and braces, no less. What were they doing in the Bureau these days? Recruiting from grade school? The second problem was monumental. Knolte was a by-the-book agent.

“Mr. Renard, it’s an honor to meet you,” Knolte said, extending his hand as four other eager agents crowded around. “We all heard about the hostage rescue down in South America, and I want you to know we consider it a privilege to be able to work with you.”

John Paul stared into Knolte’s brown eyes. “I was never in South America.”

“But I talked to—”

“I was never there.”

“Yes, sir. If you say so,” Knolte hastily agreed.

Another agent stepped forward. “Sir, we understand the Agency was elated to hear you decided to come back to work after your long leave of absence.”

John Paul didn’t look at the man when he responded. “I didn’t take a leave of absence. I retired and I’m still retired.” Then without missing a beat, he asked, “How old are you, Agent Knolte?”

The question didn’t seem to faze the man. “Older than I look,” he answered. “Let me introduce you to my team.”

John Paul suddenly found himself surrounded by agents wanting to shake his hand. The attention didn’t sit well. Chief Tyler observed the spectacle from the back hallway. When John Paul caught his eye, the middle-aged man shook his head and muttered something about a damn fan club.

“We’ll need to question Miss Delaney,” an agent named Brock said.

“Not until she’s had some sleep,” John Paul said. “You can talk to me.”

The interview lasted an hour. There were constant interruptions as Knolte kept getting updates from another agent at the explosion site. He told John Paul that they’d brought in the dogs and were searching for bodies. Thus far, two had been found. From the remains of the vehicle near the site, they knew that one of the women was the former wife of Dennis Parnell, the owner of the house.

The wait for the discovery of the other bodies was grim and tense. Then Knolte got another call and thrust the phone at John Paul. “You’ll want to hear this.”

A minute later John Paul bounded up the stairs. Knolte could have sworn the brooding man actually smiled for a second there.

The door to the dormitory banged against the wall when he rushed inside, but the noise didn’t disturb Avery.

He shook her awake. “Sweetheart, open your eyes. Come on, Avery, wake up.”

She was slow to respond. She felt drugged and disoriented. She finally opened her eyes and struggled to sit up.

“Is it time to go?”

“Carrie’s alive.”

She squinted up at him, shaking her head as she tried to comprehend what he was saying. “Alive? How can she be alive? The house—”

“She got out before the explosion. I don’t know how she managed it, but she’s okay.”

Avery burst into tears. John Paul sat down next to her and pulled her onto his lap. He held her while she cried all over him.

When she was finally able to calm down, she asked, “Did everyone get out? Where’s Carrie now? Have they called Uncle Tony? The poor man will be beside himself. First, they tell him she’s dead, and then they tell him she’s alive. I hope to God he has a strong heart.”

John Paul wasn’t sure which question to answer first. “Carrie’s in a hospital in Aspen.”

She jerked away from him. “Why is she in the hospital? You told me she was okay.”

“She is,” he insisted. “But the other woman was hurt. The judge tore up one of her knees when they fell into a deep ravine,” he explained. “Carrie twisted her ankle, and fractured her arm, but she was still able to drag some dead branches over them so they could hide the rest of the night. One of the police dogs found them,” he added. “They were taken to the hospital, and the judge is in surgery.”

“But what about the other woman? There were three . . . weren’t there?”

“Anne Trapp. She stayed inside the house.”

“Why? Why would she stay?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Carrie, or maybe Knolte knows the reason now.”

Avery stood and nearly tripped over her backpack and duffel bag. “How did these get here?”

“The chief called a friend. He got my car working and drove it here.”

Avery was so relieved and jubilant about Carrie, she felt limp and giddy. She wanted to laugh and cry, and kiss John Paul. Oh, she really wanted to kiss him, and a whole lot more. What was wrong with her? Maybe it was the endorphins. Yes, that’s what it was.

She mentally shook herself. She needed to concentrate on Carrie now. And Uncle Tony. “Did anyone call my uncle?”

“Yes,” he answered. “He’s a happy man right now, but scared too. He wants to get on the next flight to Aspen.”

She nodded approval. “Who’s downstairs?” she asked as she knelt beside her duffel bag and unzipped it.

“FBI,” he said. “There are five of them downstairs, all talking on their cell phones. They’ve taken over the police station, and Chief Tyler isn’t real happy about that. Tyler’s an okay guy,” he added. “He doesn’t much like the FBI either.”

She rolled her eyes. “Your prejudice is juvenile, John Paul.” She pulled out a pair of khakis. “I should go down and find out what they have so far. Any word on where Monk might be?”

“No,” he answered. He was staring at her legs, noticing how long and shapely they were. One thought led to another, and another, and before he could stop himself, he was picturing her legs wrapped around his thighs.

He looked at the wall behind her head. “You can’t go downstairs like that.”

“Like what? I’m going to put on slacks,” she said. “And since when do you care what I look like?”

“I don’t care,” he answered gruffly. “But I can see through that threadbare T-shirt.”

She looked down, whispered, “Oh, God,” and grabbed the sheet from the cot, tugging with all her might to get the end out from under John Paul. She dropped her slacks as she wrapped the sheet around her.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” She was blushing.

“Now, why would I want to do that?”