Out of Control (4 page)

“I’d say you’re right to be worried.”

“You’re stepping on my toe.”

“Sorry.” His boot didn’t move.

“I don’t think protecting me involves invading my personal space and mauling my toe.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Then why are you close enough to perform eye surgery?”

“Maybe because you smell so good. I really hate the smell of oil fires.” He inhaled
deeply. “Nice perfume.”

I blinked. “Look, Robichaud, you can’t seriously think anything’s going to happen
between us. I don’t even like you.”

“Because I’m a conceited jackass.”

“Pretty much, yeah.” I was frankly astonished at him. He didn’t look the slightest
bit offended. “Do you always come on to coworkers?”

“Do you always assume someone’s coming on to you just because they compliment your
perfume?” His eyes were dark enough to be black.

“Only when they’re in my face when they do it.”

He backed off, but not much. “Granted, I’m lousy at anything romantic, but I know
enough to see when a woman’s interested.”

“And you think I am?”

“Definitely. But you won’t admit it because you’re more competitive than interested.
You’re not about to give me any slack.”

I considered. “Well…I do think you’re good looking.”

He frowned again. “Is that all?”

“That’s all.” I sighed, watching A.J. come toward us. “You should be grateful. I can
be the best friend you’ll ever have, but trust me, I’m lousy at relationships.”

“Whatever you had with that jerk isn’t any indication of what you’re capable of.”

I looked up at him and shrugged. “It wasn’t just him. He was only the beginning. Every
guy I get involved with ends up ditching me. I’m just not cut out.”

“Maybe it’s the job.”

“Could be. I’m almost never home.”

He leaned close. “I bet you scare the tee-total shit outta most guys.”

I raised a brow. “You don’t look scared.”

“I’m not scared of much, but for damn sure I’m not scared of you.”

“You should be,” A.J. muttered as he came to stand next to us. “She’s a ball-buster.”

I wanted to hate A.J. Probably should have. But all I could muster for him was profound
disgust. And maybe a little nausea. I’d actually slept with the toad. Looking at him,
I came back with, “Not including yourself, of course. Hard to bust a guy’s balls when
he doesn’t have any.”

Robichaud cleared his throat, though I could swear I heard a hint of amusement behind
the gruff. “This’ll go a lot easier, and faster, if you two would lay off swapping
insults.”

“Fine.” I focused on A.J. “Is he coming with a check?”

“His son, Dylan, is staying in Iraan and will be here within half an hour.”

“His son? What’s up, A.J.? Did you start playing for the other team?”

“My business relationship with Hoyt Sharpe is based on mutual respect and has nothing
to do with his offspring.”

Right.

I started to make a comment, but caught Robichaud’s expression and decided to skip
it. Instead, I asked A.J. about the well specs. As I suspected, he didn’t have a clue
what he was talking about. But I listened and nodded as though I understood perfectly
while Robichaud looked vaguely appalled.

Just as the news crews left, a dark SUV raced toward us and slid to a stop less than
three feet from A.J.’s Mercedes. A round-faced guy dressed in sloppy jeans and an
unbuttoned yellow oxford shirt got out and hurried over. He looked about my age, maybe
a bit older, and had the appearance of a man who lived hard. A drinker. Maybe dabbled
in coke. I wished he’d button his shirt. His flabby, white belly was not fun to look
at.

When he was next to A.J., he stopped and stared hard at me, his gaze moving down my
body, then fixating on my breasts. “What the hell is a
secretary
doing out here?” Evidently, he considered secretaries in the same social strata as
crack whores.

His attitude, as much as his staring at my breasts, set my teeth on edge. I noticed
a slip of paper in his hand. “Is that our check?”

He held it close to his chest and looked toward Robichaud. “Dad’s not gonna like that
you brought her out here. He doesn’t allow women on his jobs.”

“Your father’s been in the oil business a while?” This from Robichaud.

“Not long. His main business is construction, and he won’t let any of his bosses hire
women. Says it’s distracting, and besides, women aren’t any good at construction.”

What an ass. I suspected his father was equally atrocious. Deciding to blow off the
jerk and get rid of him and A.J. as quickly as possible, I stepped close and snatched
the check out of his thick fingers, then said to A.J. “Leave now, so we can get to
work. Give me your card and I’ll call with updates.”

Dylan moved between A.J. and me, way too close for comfort, and grabbed for the check.
I sidestepped him, which put my right breast directly into his hand. The loser actually
squeezed it. I went into autopilot, quickly twisting so my knee made firm contact
with his groin.

He bent over, holding himself, coughing and spluttering choice epitaphs. I leaned
down so he could hear me. “Ask yourself, why would a secretary be out here in the
middle of bumfuck nowhere? Then ask yourself if copping a feel off me was really worth
it.”

I straightened and held out my palm to A.J. “You were going to give me your card.”

He handed it over. “His father isn’t going to appreciate this.”

I held the card between my fingers. “We contracted with Arroyo Petroleum to kill a
well fire. Feeling up the Lacrouix and Book employees isn’t included in the fee.”
I looked at Dylan. “If he touches me again, he’ll pull back a bloody stump and I’ll
mail his fingers to Daddy in a package with a pink bow. Maybe he’d appreciate
that
better.”

Turning, I walked away toward the Jeep, Robichaud in step with me. “Where’d you learn
to move like that?”

“Self defense class. Trick makes me take one every year, during the Boys’ Break. While
the guys go off to bond in the wilderness, drink beer and play poker, I attend Mr.
P.’s Kick-Ass School for Girls.”

We reached the Jeep and I stopped to glance up at him. “I’ve never enrolled in Mr.
P.’s Firing Squads ‘R’ Us, or I’d be able to protect myself now. Maybe next year,
I’ll give firearms a shot.”

Robichaud was about to say something when, less than a foot from where we stood, the
driver’s side window of the Jeep suddenly shattered. We both whipped around. “What
the—” I said, just before Robichaud knocked me to the ground and landed on top of
me. I saw him raise his arm, saw a very big black gun in his hand, felt the recoil
through his body as he fired toward the mesquites east of us.

Hell and damn.

The shooter had found me.

Chapter Three

“Hey, Ms. Drake! Are you okay?”

The grad student, Leslie Conaway, ran into my line of vision, limited by Robichaud’s
shoulder. The roar of the fire, even from almost a hundred yards away, muffled the
sound of gunfire from across the clearing, which is the only explanation I have for
why the young woman would run into the middle of a gunfight. She just didn’t know.

“
Get back,
” Robichaud yelled, slashing a hand at her.

His stiff, tense body was more akin to an oak door than a human form. And he was a
helluva lot heavier than he looked. I could scarcely breathe. Or maybe that’s because
I was scared spitless.

“What are you gonna do, shoot me?” She moved closer, obviously misinterpreting the
entire situation. “Now drop the gun and let her up, or I’ll go get that giant man
to come over here and pound you.”

“Get
down
. Somebody’s shooting at us.”

She turned to look, but not for long. I watched in horror when her body jerked and
she dropped to the ground, her head landing close to mine. She clutched her bleeding
arm and blinked at me, clearly in shock. “Crap. Who?”

“I don’t know.” I shoved at my protector who was crushing me. “Robichaud,
do
something!”

He fired another round, then moved off of me. “Roll under the Jeep. Drag her with
you.”

“I can crawl,” she said through gritted teeth as she flipped to her belly and scrambled
beneath the Jeep, feet first. “Jesus, this hurts. Why the hell is the bastard shooting
at us?”

Following her, I peered out at Robichaud, noting the way he aimed and fired, staying
flat against the ground, scarcely raising his head. No way was the guy an amateur.
“Do you have any clue what’s going on, Conaway?”

“Does the shooter have something to do with the blowouts?”

“We think so. We think he’s trying to kill me because I can identify somebody I saw
on the Maresco platform before it blew.”

“You saw the guy who did all this?”

“I saw
a
guy. I don’t know if he was responsible.” I glanced at her arm. “You’re bleeding
a lot.”

“Just a flesh wound. I’ll live.”

“Blair,” Robichaud yelled over his shoulder. “We gotta get out of here. I’m running
out of bullets and for all I know, the guy’s got an armory back there.”

I looked at Conaway. “You up for a drive?”

“No problem.” Without asking what I meant, she began to back out from under the Jeep.

Scrambling after her, I crouched low and opened the passenger door. I helped her into
the back, told her to lay low, then climbed into the driver’s seat, hunkered down,
and hollered out the broken window, “Get ready, Robichaud.” I hit the clutch, started
the engine and took off, making a donut to get the Jeep between the shooter and Robichaud.
He was in the seat within two seconds and I peeled out, headed south.

“Where the hell are you going?”

“Around him, so I can come up from behind.”

“You’re out of your mind. Drive to the other guys and get out. Let me handle this.”

“If we wait, he’ll get away.” I nearly flipped the Jeep when I took a turn around
a clump of mesquites and skidded to a stop.

Conaway wasn’t a happy camper. “Dude, I’m f’ing wounded. How ‘bout you not do that
again?”

“Sorry.”

Robichaud ignored her, his focus totally on me. “Let me drive.”

“How do you propose to drive a standard and shoot at the same time?”

“Yeah,” Conaway said, “you think you can shift gears with your—”

“Okay, I get the point.” He was still staring at me. “Drive directly toward where
he was shooting from. Don’t slow down when you spot him. Just drive.”

“You want me to run over him?” The man was a killer, but I wasn’t sure I was capable
of running him down. I got weirded out when I accidentally hit a squirrel once.

“Just drive as fast as the Jeep will take the landscape. I’ll tell you where to go.”
He glanced at Conaway. “Stay low.”

I shifted into first and took off again, headed toward the eastern edge of the well
site. When we hit the mesquites, I focused on driving around the largest of them,
but still managed to take out every other one, causing the Jeep to jerk and lurch.
Conaway cussed a lot. Robichaud was trying to reload and having limited luck. I circled
around and doubled back again before I spotted a tall, blond man, pointing a rifle
right at us.

I sucked in a sharp breath. “It’s the guy from the Maresco platform.”

“
Drive
,” Robichaud yelled.

I headed straight for Blondie, adrenaline and anger egging me on.

Robichaud opened his door, swung out, and fired at him. “Don’t slow down. Drive around
him, then back.”

With mesquite branches beating the hell out of him as we passed, he clung to the flimsy
door and continued firing at the running man. In the midst of the chase, I was freaking
out in amazement that Robichaud could do that. The man had no fear. None.

Blondie gave up and fled toward his car, but he wasn’t gonna make it because I wouldn’t
let him. And he couldn’t stop, take aim, or fire the rifle at a dead run. I drove
after him and Robichaud continued to shoot, always barely missing because the guy
was winding his way through the brush in a zig-zag.

“He’s heading for the well.” I panicked at the thought of him shooting one of the
guys.

“The asshole thinks he can get to another car. Speed up and cut him off.”

I did, but the Jeep didn’t like it. I heard something crack when I ran over a too-large
mesquite, and I was fairly certain it wasn’t the mesquite. “We’re losing speed.”

“The drive train snapped,” Robichaud said, just before he jumped from the door and
disappeared into the thicket.

I kept going as long as the Jeep would move, but it came to a sudden stop when I hit
a huge hunk of metal. “I just found the rig motor.”

“It blew this far away from the well?”

Glancing over my shoulder at Conaway, I nodded. “The raw energy from a blowout explosion
could light up New York City for three days. There are undoubtedly pieces of equipment
scattered all over out here.” I frowned when I saw how pale she was. “You look like
hell. We need to get you to a hospital.”

“Yeah, that’d be awesome. I think he just grazed me, but it hurts like a mo-fo.” She
jerked her head toward the sound of gunfire. “You think he got him?”

“I don’t know, but we probably shouldn’t stay here, in case the guy comes back this
way. You up for a walk?”

“No problem.”

We got out of the Jeep and started toward the well, but we’d gone less than fifteen
feet when I heard a rapid round of shots, and Robichaud shouted, “Blair, he’s headed
for you—
run!
”

If the whole area wasn’t lit by the enormous flames of the well fire, we could easily
have hidden in the mesquites. Since that wasn’t an option, I turned and ran west,
toward the area where the Jeep had been parked earlier, thinking we’d stay close to
the edge of the brush and make it back to the well site.

Too bad Blondie had the same idea, only in reverse. From maybe twenty yards apart,
we spotted each other and he raised the rifle in one, fluid motion, taking aim. “Conaway,
you got a grenade on you?”

“Damn, I left it in my purse. But I do have a camera.” She held it up and began clicking,
sending strobe flashes at Blondie, who blinked one too many times to aim well. His
shot went way wide. Smart girl.

Then we were hauling ass back into the mesquites, back toward the Jeep, my mind racing
for an idea of something to use as a weapon, wishing I had one of Mr. Lacrouix’s pearl
handled pistols. I could hear Blondie crashing through the brush behind us. When I
spied the Jeep up ahead, my gaze snapped to the gas can in the back. Running for the
passenger door, I flung it open, retrieved a book of matches from the glove box, then
went round to the back and lifted the gas can. I hurriedly sloshed gasoline on the
ground beside the small vehicle. When Blondie caught up to us, I threw the gas can
at him. “Move back, Conaway.” I struck a match, lit the book, and tossed it as soon
as the guy came within the circle.

He was instantly surrounded by flames and I expected him to run out of the fire, away
from us. Instead, he stood in the center of it, his gaze transfixed on the flames.
He looked hypnotized. Catatonic.

“Eew, sick. He’s a firebug,” Conaway said, standing close to me.

I grabbed her good arm and pulled her backward, just before the fire reached the Jeep’s
gas tank and exploded in a huge fireball.

When the fire died back a bit, I saw Blondie on the ground, a charred, smoking body.

Conaway gagged. “Jesus, that’s heinous.”

“You okay, college girl?”

“You mean, other than being shot, scratched all to hell by these demonic bushes, and
witnessing a man’s horrible death?”

“Are you always a sarcastic bitch, or is that bullet wound making you testy?”

She cocked a grin at me. “No, it’s a fairly usual state for me. Unless I’m buttering
somebody up. And hey, I saved your life back there. You owe me.”

“Next time you’re about to die, I’m there for you.”

She shook her head. “Screw that. Give me an interview and we’ll call it square.”

What could I say except, “Okay, Conaway, but no questions about my family.”

“No problem. I’m not interested in a bunch of rich white people. Been there, done
that, have the souvenirs.”

“Oh?” I looked at her a little more carefully. “Conaway. Hmm. Not ringing any bells.”

Her smile was really pretty. She had perfect teeth. I suspected Leslie Conaway got
asked out a lot.

“Do you buy greeting cards?”

I made the connection. “Your family owns Pinnacle Stationers?”

“Lock, stock and barrel. We’re so rich, we pay people to eat for us.”

“Then why are you out here?”

Her grin faded. “Same as you. Trying to get the hell away from them.”

It had been a very long time since I had a friend who produced estrogen, and as I
was suddenly hit with the prospect, I realized I liked the idea. And her. “Conaway,
you’re an idiot for running into a gunfight, but you’re okay.”

Robichaud appeared then, striding toward us, looking less than his usual calm, controlled
self. When he saw the body, his eyes widened and he shot me a look of astonishment.
“You fried the guy.”

Cash and Harley, followed closely by A.J. and Dylan the boob-squeezing derelict, burst
through the bushes, drawing up short when they saw the Jeep. And the dead shooter.

I kept watching the brush, waiting for Deke. When he never arrived, a deep foreboding
washed over me. Deke would have been the first on the scene. Cutting my gaze to Robichaud,
he read my mind and slowly shook his head. “I’m so sorry, Blair. He ran at the guy,
and…”

Moving around him, I took off running, my mind shouting denial. He couldn’t be dead.
Deke was too alive, too powerful, too important to die. I tripped over low lying branches,
rocks and casing pipe, stumbled into the well site—and almost fell across his big
body.

“No, no,
no
.”

I dropped to my knees and gathered his head in my lap, smoothing his coarse, black
hair, rocking him to and fro, willing him not to be dead.

But he was dead, and no amount of prayers or promises to God could change that. My
mind took me back over the years, remembering a thousand moments, a million laughs,
a few soul-deep conversations. I moved my hand across his face, keeping my focus on
his rough, hard features, ignoring his blood-sodden shirt. Deke had tried to save
me from the shark.

In the midst of my memories, I wondered,
why?
Who was behind this? The deaths and the blowouts? Did it all begin and end with Blondie?
Gut instinct said no, that he was involved, but not the brains behind the plan. And
what
was
the plan? What did they hope to gain by killing good men and causing millions of
dollars in damage?

Staring into the cold, quiet face of my friend, I was overwhelmed with grief, frustration
and righteous fury. Whoever was responsible would be found out, and they’d pay. I
made a silent promise to Deke that I’d do whatever it took.

From behind me I heard Cash, his voice cracking. “I didn’t get a good look at the
guy when he ran out of the mesquites, but Deke must have recognized him. He started
cussing and took off toward him, yelling that he’d tear the son of a bitch apart.
He was getting close when the shooter turned around, aimed and fired. Deke…never had
a chance.” He hunkered down beside me and looked right into my eyes. “Robichaud says
you saw the shooter on the platform yesterday, that you wondered if he was the one
responsible, and how he could have known how to blow an offshore. Well, I think he
knew because he was in the business. That girl who was shot showed me the pictures
she took of the shooter, and I’m certain he was Parnell. You know, the guy who worked
with the company for a while, until Sweet caught him—”

I waved him off. “It makes sense, but how did he get on that platform without anyone
noticing?”

Cash kept his eyes on me. “The cops will find out for sure, but I’m guessing he took
a job with Maresco, requested offshore, and there you go. Probably checked it all
out and planned this for a long time.”

“Why, Cash? Why would somebody do this?”

His gaze moved to the enormous fire and he slowly shook his head. “I dunno, but I’d
guess money. Most terrible things in the world get done because of greed.” He looked
down at Deke’s face. “There’s some what think a man’s life ain’t worth nothin’ if
he stands between them and money.”

…

The sheriff and two deputies showed up not long after and we spent some time explaining
what happened. A.J. went ahead and made good on his nauseous look, several times,
which appeared to disgust the sheriff. He asked A.J. a few questions, then told him
to go back to his motel room in Iraan, that he’d call if he had any further questions.
A.J. looked relieved and without another word, or additional hurling, he left.