The Legacy of Copper Creek (23 page)

W
hit reached the summit and parked his truck in the shelter of a thick cluster of ponderosa pines that completely hid the vehicle from view.

Keeping to the woods on foot, rifle in hand, he watched the trail below, hoping for a glimpse of the stolen ranch truck bearing Cara and whoever had abducted her.

Hearing the sound of an approaching vehicle, he took refuge behind the trunk of a giant pine.

As the truck came into view, his heart nearly stopped when he caught sight of Cara's pale face peering through the passenger window. In her eyes he could read all the pain, all the terror she was experiencing. Though she blocked his view of the driver, he felt an overwhelming sense of fury at the stranger who had inflicted such pain on the woman he loved.

The woman he loved.

That knowledge left him shaken to the core.

Hadn't he known ever since meeting Cara Walton that she was different from all the other women he'd known? That she'd touched some special place in his heart that he'd always believed was untouchable? Why had it taken something this dark and dangerous to make him accept the truth?

He felt a wild surge of emotions. Fear that he wouldn't be fast enough, or accurate enough, to keep her safe from this monster. Absolute fury at the madman threatening her life. And a fierce sense of protectiveness for this one small woman who had already been through so much pain in her life.

When the truck halted, Whit's finger tightened on the trigger. All he needed was one clear shot and this stranger would pay dearly for what he'd done.

When the truck came to a sudden halt, Cara's blood started throbbing in her temples. She stared around the vast wilderness and felt so alone.

Alone, but not helpless, she vowed.

This was the moment she'd prepared for, and dreaded. As soon as the driver opened her door, she would have to run, no matter what.

The stranger stepped out of the truck and circled around to the passenger side.

Cara braced, ready to make good her escape.

Instead, as he opened the door, he took a firm grasp on her arm, hauling her so roughly from the truck, she lost her balance and fell. He swore and yanked her to her feet, keeping an iron grip on her as he forced her to move along beside him. Though she tried to twist free, he wasn't about to let her go.

As they walked, she saw signs of small, freshly dug holes in the ground. They were too small to have been made by a shovel, but they appeared to be deep.

“What—”

“None of your business,” he snarled.

He dragged her forward until they came to a fallen log. Before releasing her, he pressed her forcibly down on the log.

“Could you at least release my wrists?”

“Aw, are you feeling uncomfortable?” His tone grew dangerously quiet. “In a few more minutes you won't feel anything at all.” Kneeling behind her, he reached into his pocket and produced a switchblade. With the press of his finger, it opened and he quickly cut through the plastic restraints.

As they fell away and Cara began rubbing her bloodied wrists, he leaned close to whisper in her ear, “I'm not doing this for any humane reason, but I need your hands free so you can kill yourself.”

Her eyes went wide. “What do you—”

“If anyone ever happens across what remains of your carcass when the wild animals are through with you,” he said with an evil smile, “an autopsy will prove that you actually took your own life. With this gun.”

He used his handkerchief to wipe the pistol carefully before lifting it and pressing the muzzle to her temple.

She used that moment to push herself up, ramming the top of her head under his chin, snapping it so hard he could taste blood as a tooth broke after piercing his lip.

He gave a bellow of rage and fell backward. That was all the time Cara needed to start running.

Before she'd managed more than a couple of steps, the stranger's hand tangled in her hair, pulling her back with such force she cried out in pain, her hope of freedom dashed.

Across the clearing, Whit stepped out of his place of concealment, his rifle aimed at the man. Until now, Cara had blocked his chance for a clear shot of her abductor. But now, as he took aim, the man spotted him and quickly wrapped an arm around Cara's throat, pressing his pistol to her temple.

“Now you have two choices,” the figure behind Cara called. “Drop your weapon, or, if you decide to be a hero, you can take that one-in-a-million chance of shooting me before I manage to blow her away. You willing to gamble on her life?”

“Let her go.” Whit dropped his rifle. “Kill me instead.”

“I have a better idea. I'll just kill two for the price of one.” The man laughed at his little joke as he pushed Cara ahead of him until he was close enough to kick the rifle aside.

Whit made an audible gasp when, for the first time, he was able to see the man's face.

“Lance? Lance McMillan? What the hell…?”

At Cara's blank look, Whit said, “This is the son of my father's trusted lawyer and one of his oldest friends. He's also our family lawyer since his father retired. What is this all about, Lance?”

The lawyer kept a firm grasp on Cara's neck, his arm wrapped around it so tightly he was cutting off her breath, while his pistol was pressed painfully against her temple.

Leaning close he said, “If you get any more clever ideas about running, it'll be the last idea you ever have.” He looked over at Whit. “And if you're thinking about being a hero, just remember that you'll be the cause of the lady's sudden demise. I can pull this trigger faster than you can move.”

“Why, Lance? What am I missing here? Why would a successful lawyer resort to criminal activity?” Whit demanded.

“I wouldn't expect a guy who shovels manure and tends fat, stupid cows for a living to understand. I realized years ago that there was a better way to live than to shuffle documents for rich old men who called themselves friends of my father. Hell, my father had no ambition beyond doing their bidding, driving clear across Montana to draw up wills and land purchase agreements and be invited along on their hunting and fishing trips as his reward. I'll choose my own rewards, thank you very much. And I prefer my private plane and pilot, my new car, my million-dollar house in Billings, and my own hunting lodge, where I'm the host, not the guest.”

“And you got all this by stealing?”

“Let's just say I decided to forge my own path instead of following my father's advice to earn everything the old-fashioned way.”

“Yeah.” Whit took a step closer, watching for any opportunity to get close enough to attack. “Why work for it when you can steal what others worked so hard for?”

“Now you get it.” Lance gave a chilling laugh. “Like old Abe.”

Whit's head came up. “You killed him? For his land?”

“Not just land. I needed to be assured that he'd retained mineral rights to his land. I had some soil borings done. The old geezer was sitting on acres of gold-rich land.”

Cara's eyes widened. “Is that the reason for those holes we just passed? Soil borings?”

Whit looked from Cara to Lance. “You've had soil borings done on MacKenzie land? Why?”

“When I took over my father's work, I learned that your father and grandfather retained all the mineral rights to their land. More than a year ago, I hired a private firm to do some work in secret. To see if I've…inherited more than just wilderness.”

“Inherited?” Whit's blood started heating as the implications of what Lance was revealing began to register.

“I guess you haven't put it all together yet. Too much for a stupid cowboy to ponder, is it?”

“That's the second time you've called me stupid.” Whit inched closer. “Since you seem fixated on your brilliance, why don't you fill in this stupid cowboy?”

Lance's head lifted. His chest expanded. It was obvious that Whit had tapped into his source of pride. “Since I was a kid, I've watched all these wealthy ranchers work like dogs, fighting the weather, the predators, determined to protect their precious cattle, when all along, the true value isn't what's being fed by the land, but what's beneath it. So I decided I'd use my brains to my advantage and get my hands on as much land as I could.”

“Even if it meant killing a few hard-working ranchers along the way?” Whit's eyes narrowed. “So you needed to get rid of Cara, the only witness to your threat against old Abe. But if there were other victims, won't you have to eliminate any witnesses to those crimes as well?”

“I'm too smart to leave witnesses. That's why I had to shoot the old biddy at your place.”

“Myrna. A sweet lady you've known for a lifetime. And you did it without an ounce of regret?”

“I'd do it again. All it takes is a brain and a steady hand. And I have both. I actually felt a rush of adrenaline, especially when I took out a legend like Bear. That rich, arrogant fool never even saw it coming.”

His words hit Whit with all the force of a bullet to the heart.

“You…killed my father?”

“I killed the great Bear MacKenzie.” Lance spoke the words almost gleefully. “He found out I'd forged his signature on some documents. After I begged his forgiveness and said I'd make good on any debts, he agreed to meet with me before telling my father what I'd done. So, of course, I had to work fast to see that my secret wasn't revealed.”

All the color drained from Whit's face. His hands fisted at his sides. His eyes were blinded by a red mist of fury.

From the look on his face, it was obvious that he was so overcome with pain and rage he was beyond words or reason.

Lance turned from Cara and took aim at Whit with the pistol, intending to fire at point-blank range. In that same instant, Cara reacted instinctively, knocking his hand upward and causing the bullet to deflect to a nearby tree.

Before Lance could try again, Whit was on him like an enraged animal, driving him backward into the dirt.

As he fell, Lance managed to hold on to the pistol, and as Whit's hands closed around his throat, he squeezed off a shot.

Whit's body jerked backward and his right arm dropped uselessly to his side. Still, he managed to knock the pistol from Lance's hand before landing his left fist squarely into Lance's nose, causing a fountain of blood to spurt.

The two men rolled around on the ground, grunting with pain and exertion as they exchanged lethal punches.

Despite Whit's fury-driven frenzy, Cara could see his energy flagging with every blow. When Lance sensed victory, his fingers scrabbled around in the dirt until they encountered the gun.

He gave one of his most chilling laughs as he took aim. “All for nothing. You're going to die, MacKenzie. And I'll see to it that the only prints on the gun belong to the woman.”

The sky above seemed to fill with helicopters, their blades whirring. The Cessna roared directly overhead before coming to a bumpy landing. Emerging from the woods, half a dozen trucks and police vehicles circled the two men on the ground.

Seeing all his chances of laying blame on Cara slipping away, Lance turned his full fury on Whit. Before he could fire, he gave a shocked scream at the red-hot pain emanating from his back. A quick glance behind him showed Cara standing over him. In her hands was the switchblade he'd left lying beside the log.

“You'll pay…” He struggled to aim the pistol, but before he could take a shot, his body betrayed him, and he fell forward.

“Don't kill him,” Whit cried as the police sharpshooters surrounded them. “I want him to pay for a lifetime for what he…” His words trailed off as he lost consciousness.

“Whit.” Cara scrambled to lift the heavy burden of Lance's body away before kneeling beside the still form of Whit, blood oozing through his shirt.

Had the bullet torn through his heart?

Cara was gripped by a feeling of absolute terror. “Oh no, Whit. Please don't die. This is all my fault. Please, Whit. Oh, please. I don't know what I'll do if you die.”

While the police and the MacKenzies hurried forward to assist, Cara wrapped her arms around the unconscious Whit, rocking him while her tears spilled over him in a torrent.

She looked up at his mother, who joined Cara, pillowing Whit's head in her lap.

Seeing mother and son, Cara felt her poor heart break in two. “I'm so sorry, Willow. Myrna's dead, and now Whit. And it's all because of me.”

After several moments of stunned silence, the air was suddenly filled with shouts as Ira and the police took charge.

“We need a medic,” the chief called. “What's the holdup?”

Uniformed officers rushed forward. While several bent over Lance, proclaiming him alive and securing him to a gurney, more gathered around Whit.

One of the medics ordered Cara to move away, but she didn't seem to hear.

“Ma'am,” the officer said gently, drawing first Cara and then Willow aside. “We need to examine the patient.”

Juliet, who had been racing to keep up with Mad's scooter, dropped to her knees beside Cara and drew the young woman into her arms while Brady gathered Willow close and attempted to soothe her.

“He's dead,” Cara whispered. “And it's all my fault.”

“Shhh.” Juliet smoothed her hair in an attempt to comfort. “Let the medics do their job.”

As the others formed a close circle around the still form, they seemed to stop breathing until the medic lifted his head to declare, “There's a pulse. It's feeble, but he's alive. Get a gurney over here.”

As they strapped Whit onto the gurney in preparation for the flight to the clinic, Mad clapped a big work-worn hand on his grandson's shoulder. “I hope you can hear me, lad. You stay strong. All of us will be fighting right along with you.”

“Mad…” Whit's voice was little more than a croak. “Mom.” He struggled to see through the hazy mist that clouded his vision. “Lance…killed…Pop.”