Hidden Pearl (45 page)

"Unless your goons have figured how to free him, still chained to a tree."

"Why did you come back?" Soul asked.

S.T. felt the warmth of Christine's body against his back. "Do you have to ask," he said.

"No, another time I might have thought it rather charming in a trite sort of way. Needlessly sacrificing your life to save your lover, but now I can only think I don't want to lose this game. The only way to stop that from happening is to kill you."

"You'll die yourself," S.T. reminded him.

"Life hasn't been so terribly amusing lately anyway. I see now a chance for one last victory. To take away all you want, all you'd hoped for. It might even make me believe my own death was worthwhile. Perhaps we are finally at checkmate. Only you will lose, not I, because you do want to live, don't you?"

S.T. felt Christine try to push from behind him, but he had a firm grip on her with his left hand. The gun in his right, although not pointed upward, was still possible to bring into play if he got a chance.

"You can't do this," Christine cried as she shifted too quickly and S.T.’s weakened left arm gave out. She was beside him before he could stop her.

Soul smiled as he looked at her. "You look a bit bedraggled, fair lady. Perhaps you're wearing your true colors this evening."

Christine smiled. "Better mud than yours."

His smile disappeared. "You could have had it all."

"I could?" she asked. "And what would that
all
have been--murder, lies, drugs, deceptions? There's so much to choose from, isn't there?"

S.T. mentally calculated how much chance he had to get off a shot at the same moment he flung Christine to the side. He had about decided to take the risk, when Sharon walked between them.

Soul stared at her as though having forgotten she existed. "Get out of the way," he ordered.

Sharon smiled then, her path fixed as she headed directly for Soul. He no longer had a clear shot at S.T. or Christine and before he could shift to the left far enough to realign himself, S.T. had his own gun up but couldn't fire for fear of hitting Sharon.

"I followed you," Sharon said tonelessly. "Like a fool I believed all you said. You betrayed me and everyone like me."

"Sharon," Soul cried, "get out of our way, or you'll be killed."

"I won't let you hurt anyone ever again," she said, continuing to walk straight toward him.

S.T. gave Christine a strong shove, sending her stumbling away from him, "Get down," he yelled and dodged even farther from her to get a clear shot at Soul.

Soul swung his own gun to point at S.T.'s chest. As Christine screamed, two shots blasted the stillness. Sharon, who at the last moment had thrown herself between the two men, let out a little sigh and sunk to the ground as Soul staggered back, his face twisted in a grimace. He tried to raise his gun again, but the barrel lowered, and he crumpled to the ground.

S.T. walked carefully toward him, kicking the gun out of his hand before he knelt at his side. He knew Christine had run to Sharon, but he bent low to hear Soul's whisper. "It wasn't supposed to be this way--"

The dying man's eyes widened then and in seconds he was gone. S.T. could hardly believe it was over so quickly. He didn't know what he'd expected, but not this, not Soul dead on the ground.

He shoved his own gun into his belt at his back; then picked up Soul's gun. Looking at Christine kneeling at Sharon's side, he walked to stand above them. “Is she dead?”

"No, but it's bad. She took the bullet meant for you."

S.T. scanned the woods around them. The shots would bring Soul's men, maybe George too if they'd managed to free him. They couldn't stay here. This wasn't finished.

"We can't stay here. Take this gun.” He held out Soul’s gun.

“I don’t know if I can use it.”

“Just take it. We can’t leave it here. I'll carry Sharon. George and his goons could show up anytime."

She swallowed hard but obeyed, clasping the gun firmly in her right hand. He picked Sharon's unconscious form up into his arms, rising to his feet.

“Where can we go?” she asked following beside him.

“To a phone. We have to take the risk. It’s no safer out here than in there right now.” He understood better now what Hank had meant when he had said he didn't like guns. He felt a sick feeling inside as he relived pulling the trigger and watching Soul fall. Justified or not, he'd taken a life.

"Back to the building?" Christine asked, finally penetrating his dark thoughts. He saw she was having a hard time keeping up with his long strides even when he was carrying the wounded woman, and he slowed down.

"She's going to need medical help fast, or she's dead," he said. Christine couldn't argue as she had no plan of her own, except that wherever he went, she would be at his side.

At the entrance to the compound, they waited, listening and when they heard nothing, they got in as quickly as they could.  S.T. carried Sharon down the main hall, heading for Soul's office. Before Christine could try the door, they heard the main doors slam open.  S.T. dropped to one knee, laying Sharon on the ground.

George and two goons stood in the door, the barrels of their guns pointed at them. S.T. slowly rose, ignoring Christine's desperate grab to stop him. His gun was at his back, too far to reach quickly. If George began firing when he was near the women, bullets might hit Christine.

“Well nice to see you two,” George crowed. “Chris baby, drop that gun or I’ll gut your boyfriend right now.”

S.T. heard the gun fall.

“Now step away from it, baby. Guns can hurt folks. You hear that?”

S.T. began to walk toward the men, expecting every moment to feel a bullet tear into his body.

"I shoulda killed you that first day. Where’s Lou?”

S.T. kept on walking. He wanted to be as far from Christine as he could be when he dived for the floor and his gun. He didn’t actually expect to survive it but he knew he’d take George with him.

“I asked you a question. Where’s Lou?” This time George’s voice was louder and sounding more agitated.

"The police are on their way. You're doing this for nothing."

"Satisfaction is enough reason." George raised his gun and fired as S.T. hit the floor. Before he could get his own gun out, he heard another shot, saw George twist, hang for a moment and then fall.

“Don’t shoot. We’re not part of this,” the two guards shouted as they threw down their guns looking toward an ell to their right where a figure looking very much like a commando with a gun trained on them was slowly moving forward.

S.T. moved quickly to George's fallen body and kicked the gun away, doing the same with those of the two bodyguards. When Hank got up to him,” S.T. said, “For a man who doesn’t like guns, you do good with them.”

“Don’t have to like ‘em to use ‘em when required.” Hank managed a sick smile.

"Should've killed you the first day I saw you," George groaned, drawing S.T.'s attention back to him. “You were nothing but trouble and I knew it. I should’ve skinned you alive. Where is Lou?”

“Dead.”

George sucked in a breath as S.T. knelt at his side and tore his shirt away to look at the wound high on his shoulder.

"Is he dying?" Hank asked, as he looked down.

S.T. rubbed his hand across his mouth. "No such luck. Go help Christine break into the office to get a phone. We need an ambulance." 

George groaned again. “You killed Lou, didn’t you?” Hate was in his voice.

S.T. stood up. “It’s how it ended.”

"Then it's all been for nothing," George said.

S.T. forced himself to think beyond the immediate, beyond the death and violence. Could anything be salvaged from this debacle? "You killed Lane Brown, didn't you?"

George’s smile was mean. "You can't prove it."

"My bet is I can, and Katy Brown needs to know what happened to her husband so she doesn’t have to someday tell her little girls something that could damage their lives. You're going to prison for a long time no matter how you slice it. Why not do something good once in your life."

George laughed, then choked. "Good?" he asked finally. "Why would I want to do something good?"

S.T. looked back at the guards standing along the wall. "One of you or both know what happened to Lane Brown. I know he didn't commit suicide. The police are going to prove it now too with those bodies on the hill. The first one of your bunch to turn state's evidence is going to get a light sentence. You think about that."

The men looked at him, contemplative expressions in their eyes. S.T. could hear the sirens below on the road. It seemed only moments before police flooded into the building, followed by Jim Bailey.

"You okay?" Jim asked. “Damn looks like The Alamo in here.”

"Good to see you," S.T. said. He realized then for the first time that George’s bullet had grazed his arm. It was sluggishly bleeding and now beginning to hurt. This nick was not far from the earlier knife slice. He’d likely have no choice about seeing a doctor.

"That's quite a look you've got there, bare chest, knife in your belt, cloth headband," Jim said, grinning. "You look like an Indian, S.T. Straight out of one of the oaters."

"I am. You never knew?"

Bailey frowned. "Why would I?"

S.T. shook his head. "No reason I guess." At that moment, Christine was at his side, her arm around his waist, offering him support and love and wrapping a clean towel around his arm.

"You're getting this tended to properly," she ordered. "You look terrible."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Cocking her head, she looked at him.  "How do you think I look, S.T.?"

"Woman, this is no time for trick questions."

"Just answer me."

He looked at her smudged face, her ripped, dirty dress, the smears of dirt covering her beautiful face and her long, dirty, tangled blond hair. "I think you look beautiful."

She laughed. "You really do love me, don’t you?"

“And how do you know that?”

“Only a man in love could say that when I look like this.”

“I might love you. I’ll give you that.”

Bailey chuckled. “This doesn’t sound like a time you need an audience.”

S.T. moved with Christine to the other end of the hall away from the emergency personnel and now the questioning members of the Servants of Grace who had wandered to where all the noise had been.

He heard the siren from an ambulance coming up the road. He swallowed hard, feeling as though he was taking a risk as great as any he'd taken this night. "I love you," he said finally. “And I might, just saying might want to marry you. I don’t see how it’d ever work out though the way we fight all the time.”

“Well, I might say yes if you asked me. Just saying might is all.” She smiled, her expression so filled with love that he could no more have denied it than stopped breathing.

He thought about that as she stroked the side of his face, pushing the heavy black hair back. “It’s not a good time for a proposal,” he said finally.

“It doesn’t really matter if we marry anyway.”

“It doesn’t?”