Body Heat (33 page)

Determined to get free, Sophia threw her head back, smashing it into his face. His hold loosened, but the blow had hurt more than she'd expected, stunning her, too. By the time she tried to reach for her gun, she'd lost most of her advantage, especially because her Glock was strapped to her calf, which didn't make it as accessible as
she needed it to be. She'd barely lifted her pant leg when he seized her by the hair.

Sophia screamed for help, but there was no response from the office.

“There's no one to hear you.” He hit her in the mouth, shocking her with the pain. Then the fight became a wrestling match on the rocky ground—a wrestling match that ended with him grabbing her firearm and tossing it out of reach.

Finally in control, Gary yanked her back to her feet. One hand was still entangled in her hair as he held his gun to the back of her head. “We're going to the truck. Do you understand?”

Covered in dust and sweat, they were both breathing hard. Sophia didn't think she'd ever been so exhausted in her life. This day just wouldn't end. But she couldn't give up, couldn't follow his commands. She knew what he was hoping to achieve. He wanted to drive her out into the desert to shoot her. Then he wouldn't have to transport a bleeding body and could leave her to the elements and the scavengers, like the UDA murderer did with his victims—and drive off. Maybe he
was
the UDA killer.

Briefly, she imagined Detective Lindstrom coming out to take a look at the crime scene and smiling the moment she identified the body. That gave Sophia a fresh dose of determination and strength. She wouldn't be the next victim in Bordertown, wouldn't let herself be killed—especially by her stepfather.

Going limp, she sagged against him, which allowed her to rest, since he was forced to bear most of her weight.

“Walk, damn it.” When he let go of her hair to grab her by the arm, she whirled and kneed him in the groin. The gun went off, probably by reflex, but she wasn't hit.

Groaning, he stumbled, trying to recover, which gave her just enough time to slip out of his grasp.

She wanted to run for the office. She'd spoken to the manager fifteen minutes earlier and knew he lived on the premises. But if the sound of that gunshot hadn't brought him out, he wasn't capable of helping.

There's no one to hear you.
Did that mean there was no one
alive?

Just in case, she ran for the barn instead, where she felt she might have the space, darkness and freedom to evade capture.

On her way, she pressed the speed-dial button on her phone for Sheriff Cooper. If he responded quickly enough, she
might
survive….

 

Rod had been hit in the thigh, which hurt like hell, but he doubted it was a serious injury. Thanks to the solid wood door, the other two bullets hadn't even penetrated the wood. Ignoring the pain, he continued to hold the panel closed. And when whoever had just shot him tried to open it again, he provided enough resistance to tempt his attacker to pull harder—then let go.

The sudden release knocked his opponent into the opposite wall. Knowing he'd achieved one goal, he threw his gun aside. He couldn't shoot blind because he couldn't risk missing. Standing back long enough to fire could enable whoever it was to escape, and there was no way in hell Rod would take that chance. This was going to end here.

Launching himself in the intruder's direction, he flung his arms wide, hoping to catch the guy regardless of whether he ran right or left. He managed to grab hold of the man's shirt and drag him to the floor. His
injured leg screamed at the jolt when he went down, but he had enough adrenaline flowing through him to keep fighting.

The shooter fired his gun again, but it wasn't pointed at Rod. Rod had grasped the man's wrist and pushed the muzzle up and away from both of them so the bullet went into a wall. A second later, he wrenched the gun away completely. Then he used his forearm to choke his attacker while putting the gun to his head.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

As soon as the barrel touched his temple, the man stopped squirming.

“I can shoot you and then turn on the light, if you prefer,” Rod said when he didn't answer. “It's your choice.”

“I… You… I think there's been a misunderstanding,” he rasped.

“What kind of misunderstanding?”

“I'm James Simpson. I'm a—a neighbor of Charlie's…supposed to be taking care of the place. I thought you were a burglar…or—or the UDA killer, for God's sake. Everyone's been so…nervous…so afraid of what might happen next. I don't want to see anyone else get hurt. I guess…I thought I'd be able to put a stop to it.”

“Nice try,” he said.

“It's true!”

“So why have you been driving Charlie's truck?”

“He said I could. He lets me use it whenever I want.”

Keeping the gun to his head, Rod yanked him to his feet. But then he had to catch his breath and cope with the pain radiating from the bullet in his leg.

For a moment, he couldn't seem to find his equilibrium. He swayed as if he might pass out but, gritting his teeth,
he steadied himself before inching down the hall, where he finally encountered a light switch. Using his elbow to turn on the light, he released James and stepped back. The threat of death by bullet would subdue him now that Rod could see well enough to hit his target.

James's night-vision goggles lay on the floor. He no longer needed them, anyway. His gaze went from the muzzle of the gun Rod held, which was trained on him, to Rod's pant leg. “You—you'd better get some help for that injury. I'm really sorry, man. I didn't mean to shoot you. I swear I thought you were the UDA killer. God, I'm so sorry. Let me call someone, okay?” He lifted his hands. “I'm not trying to spook you. I just want to call an ambulance.”

Blood soaked Rod's jeans, making them heavy and uncomfortable. He needed medical attention, all right. But in case the lab couldn't cull any DNA from that cigarette butt he'd picked up at the Sanchez murder scene, or that butt hadn't actually belonged to the killer, he first needed James to reveal whether or not he was the man they'd been hoping to find. If he was, there'd never be a better chance to get answers. The way he'd been sneaking around, using Charlie's truck, certainly implied that he was guilty. Even if he denied it later, Rod would know how to focus the investigation. The Simpsons had plenty of their own vehicles. James didn't need to “borrow” one.

But Rod had been involved in enough criminal investigations to know the D.A. would never be able to make murder-one charges stick without an eyewitness or some hard evidence. Taking Charlie's truck without permission was a far cry from homicide.

Grimacing, Rod began to make a bigger deal of the pain in his leg than necessary. He wanted to appear hobbled,
weak and vulnerable. “Hurts like hell,” he muttered, and allowed the barrel of the gun to dip, as though he believed James enough to be distracted by his own wound.

“I have a cell phone in my pocket,” he said. “If you'll let me get it out, I'll make that call.”

He was putting on a good show, but Rod wasn't convinced. He blinked several times as if he was having trouble clearing his vision—which he was, thanks to the sweat rolling from his hair. “Do it slowly,” he said.

“I will.” While James stuck his hand into the front pocket of his jeans, Rod could sense that his attention was elsewhere. He'd spotted the gun Rod had tossed away as he left the closet. It was lying on the floor within reach….

James pushed three buttons on his phone and held it to his ear. “Hello? Yes. This is James Simpson. I'm at 1184 White Rock Road and would like to report a shooting incident. Someone's been injured and needs medical help right away. Please send an ambulance.”

Pretending to struggle with a fresh surge of dizziness, Rod closed his eyes and sagged against the wall. And that was when James made his move. Throwing his phone at Rod, he dove for the gun. But Rod deflected the phone and shot James in the butt.

“Ow! You shot me!” he screamed. “You son of a bitch! You tricked me and then you shot me!”

Unaffected, Rod watched him writhe. “Don't worry. You called an ambulance, right?” Bending carefully so that his leg wouldn't hurt or bleed any more than it already was, he retrieved his gun, which was still too close to James for comfort. Then he picked up James's phone and checked its call history. “Er, scratch that. Looks like you'll have to wait a while—4-5-6 doesn't go to any emergency services that I know.”

“You'd better get me some help, you son of a bitch! I'm dying! Do you hear me? I'm going to die if you don't get me a doctor!”

“I'll get us both a doctor. When I'm ready.” Sliding down the wall to ease the terrible ache in his thigh, Rod switched to the other gun—James's had to be getting low on bullets—and dug his cell phone out of his pocket. The call that'd come in at such an inopportune time was from Sophia, just as he'd hoped.

Thank God.
Keeping an eye on James, who was finally beginning to realize that he wasn't mortally wounded, he called her back.

She answered on the first ring. “Rod, help me!” she whispered. “He's here.”

Rod had no idea who she was talking about, but he didn't care. If she was frightened, he wanted to be there for her. “Where?”

“The Boot and Spur.”

“I'm coming,” he said, but he wasn't sure if she heard him. He didn't get a response; she'd disconnected.

Afraid he wouldn't be able to reach her in time, he called the manager of the ranch. The phone rang and rang without being answered, so he called his boss in California, dragging him out of bed, and told him to get Van Dormer or some other federal agents to the Boot and Spur as soon as possible and to have someone come and take care of James. Then he used a length of rope he found in Charlie's garage to make sure James wouldn't be going anywhere until Van Dormer arrived.

After tying a dish towel above his gunshot wound to staunch some of the bleeding, he limped out of the house—only to find his tires slashed.

Damn it, he had to go back in and wrangle the keys
to Charlie's pickup out of James. But he was on the road minutes later, pressing his hand to the hole in his leg as he drove.

Rod knew it probably wasn't smart to keep pushing himself. He was losing too much blood. But he'd finally won the girl he'd always wanted. No way would he risk losing her now.

L
eaning against the tackle shed, Sophia tried to peer around the corner. Where was her stepfather? She'd paid a price for answering Rod's call. Gary had been closer to her hiding place than she'd thought. When he'd heard her voice, he'd come after her again. She'd only escaped him in the barn by throwing a bucket at him. He'd tried to bat it away but he'd been running too fast and had tripped over it instead, enabling her to run out of the barn and disappear among the outbuildings before he could recover.

But she'd also lost track of
him,
didn't know how close he was. Fortunately, she'd reached Sheriff Cooper, who was on his way. She only had to evade Gary until he or Rod arrived, which shouldn't take long. But a lot could happen in just a few minutes. And Gary had her gun. If he got hold of her again, it wasn't as if she'd have an equal chance.

In case she didn't make it out alive, she sent a text to Officer Fitzer. Evidence of human smuggling by Gary O'Conner and others in Rod's Hummer. Something happens to me, turn it over to FBI.

A thump near the barn startled Sophia.
What was that?
Obviously, Gary had caused it. But why? Was he hoping
to scare her? To flush her out into the open? Or was there something else going on?

Holding her breath, she peered around the corner again but without the porch lights on the cabins up by the office, she could see very little. And she was beginning to worry because she'd told Rod and the sheriff she was at the Boot and Spur, but they wouldn't know to come immediately to the outbuildings.

She had to text them, too, but texting took her attention off what was happening around her.

A horse nickered in the barn, soon answered by another horse. They seemed spooked. Did that mean Gary was searching for her in the stalls?

Probably. That gave her a few seconds, didn't it? Swallowing her fear, she tried to steady her fingers to hit the right keys—but never got the text sent off. Her phone went flying as her stepfather grabbed her from behind and pushed her to the ground.

“It's over. Do you understand?” he ground out, standing over her with the gun aimed at her head. “You run again, and I'll shoot you without thinking twice.”

She believed him. He was close enough that she could see him in the light of the moon, and the determination on his face was absolutely convincing.

“Calm down.” Raising one hand in a motion of surrender, she used the other to help her sit up. “You'll be sorry if you hurt me. You'll spend the rest of your life in prison. Is that what you want? To lose everything? Don't you care about Mom?”

“You've finally pushed me too far. Why'd you have to do this? You've been out to get me from the very beginning.”

Sophia felt as if she had to shout to be heard above the
hammering of her heart. “No. You're wrong about that. I tried to love you. But you wouldn't let me.”

“That makes no sense,” he said. “I wanted you night and day. I've always wanted you.”

“That's not the same,” she said sadly. “Anyway, killing me won't save you. I have evidence, evidence other people already know about. It's too late, Gary.”

Her words didn't scare him as much as she'd hoped. “You're bluffing.”

“I'm not. I made copies of what I found in the feed store. I know about Charlie, Patrick's wife, the mayor. They're making money by investing in your smuggling enterprise.”

He laughed. “They don't know that. They think we were importing coffee.”

“We'll see, won't we?”

His mouth twisted into a sneer. “You've never been afraid of me, have you?”

“You're wrong. I was afraid of you for years. But now I just see you as pathetic, as someone who's going to prison. So it won't do you any good to kill me.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” he scoffed.

“You think you can avoid it? That I'm lying about the evidence?”

“The evidence won't matter, sweetheart. Sheriff Cooper will take care of it. For the right price, of course.”

Those words hit Sophia like a fist to the stomach. Cooper had been one person she'd always trusted. “What'd you say?”

“I said Sheriff Cooper will handle it.” He grinned at her stricken expression. “How do you think he could afford that fishing trip to Alaska last summer? He took
his brother and his best friend. A trip like that costs over eight thousand dollars.”

“
You
paid for it?”

He winked. “Now you're catching on.”

That meant Sheriff Cooper wasn't coming, unless he planned to help Gary. She should've called Van Dormer. But she hadn't even considered it. The deal was that the county provided her backup.

“How many others?” she asked. “Who else do you have on your payroll? Lindstrom?”

“No, not Lindstrom. I don't need her on payroll.”

“Because she's easy enough for you to manipulate without money.”

“Not me. I don't even know her. Leonard's the one.”

“Leonard's involved?”

“I never liked him much, either. But I'm a businessman, Sophia. I work with people who have something to offer.”

“What does a chicken farmer have to offer a human smuggler?”

“He hasn't always been a chicken farmer. I hired him when he was a cop to help out at the safe house now and then. The men I brought in to run it are effective but not always trustworthy, you know? I don't want them skimming. Having some insurance helps. Leonard was also my eyes and ears inside the police force. When it looked like he'd become chief, I had it made. But you got in the way of that.”

“If it wasn't for the murders, I never would've realized what you really are.”

“Everything was working just fine until someone started killing Mexicans,” he said.

“You're saying that had nothing to do with the safe house?”

“Nothing. Why would I kill those poor defenseless bastards? Seeing them safely across the border is how I make my living.”

“So it must be Leonard, trying to get back at the woman he raped and get me fired?”

“If he
was
hoping to get you fired, it almost worked, didn't it? Then maybe he would've been useful again. But I don't know. The men who run my safe house deal with coyotes all the time. They don't have any idea who's behind the killings, either. No one does.”

The hard, rocky ground hurt her palms, but Sophia didn't shift. She wanted to keep Gary talking as long as possible. And he was so proud of what he'd accomplished, of how he'd fooled her and everyone else, he was eager to brag. “Leonard's dead,” she told him. “You know that, right?”

“I heard.” Gary made a
tsking
sound. “Too bad. Losing the future chief of police will hurt. But sometimes employees have to be replaced. I'll work with it, see what other candidate I can groom. I'm sure Cooper can recommend one of his deputies. With the abysmal salary those guys make, it shouldn't be hard to find someone who's interested in a significant raise.”

Beads of sweat ran down Sophia's back and between her breasts, making her T-shirt cling to her. “What about Stuart? Don't tell me he was working for you, too.”

“No.” Regret glimmered in his eyes. “I don't know what happened to Stu. I didn't have anything to do with that, either.”

Apparently, he wasn't enjoying the conversation any
more because he jerked his gun toward the shed. “That's enough. Get inside and take off your clothes.”

Sophia's heart began to pump even harder. “What for?”

“I've come this far, I might as well get what I've always wanted. Before it's too late.”

The memories of him slipping into her room when she was a teenager came tumbling back to her. Here he was again, after the same thing. It had a sick kind of symmetry, she thought bitterly. “You're going to rape me?”

“I'm going to get what I've always wanted,” he said with a grin she'd never seen before.

Where was Rod? How would he find her? Maybe he was here already, searching…. “I'm your
stepdaughter.
”

“That makes us no relation.”

“I won't let it happen,” she said. “Why would I? You'll shoot me no matter what I do.”

“True. But there are two ways to die. One is quick and easy—a bullet in the head. If you pretend to like it, that's how I'll end this. With as little pain as possible. That's how I'd prefer to do it. I'm really not a violent person. But if you refuse…you'll give me what I want, anyway, and then I'll tie you naked to a tree out in the desert and let you die of sunburn and dehydration, which could take days.” He studied her. “You choose.”

 

Rod saw the pearl-colored Escalade parked behind the Hummer as soon as he pulled into the lot and exhaled in relief. If both cars were here, Sophia was probably still on the premises. If Gary had taken her somewhere else, Rod knew he wouldn't have a prayer of finding her in time. He wasn't sure he'd find her in time, anyway. He was begin
ning to tremble and feared he was going into shock from loss of blood.

Ignoring the pain that radiated through his whole body as he got out, he checked the cars, found both empty, then went to the cabin. No one was there, either. It looked exactly as it had when he'd left it earlier.

The terror he'd heard in Sophia's voice seemed to echo in his brain. He'd texted her several times, asking for more information, but he hadn't heard back from her.

Hoping the manager could tell him something, he limped to the office.

Glancing through the window, he saw that the front desk was unmanned, but once Rod stumbled inside, he could hear a television blaring in the back. Someone sat in what appeared to be an office. He rang the bell, but there was no response. Whoever it was couldn't hear him above the damn TV.

“Hey!” Determined to rouse the man, Rod dragged him self around the desk—and found the manager unconscious.

 

Sophia lay on her back, staring up at a hanging light-bulb Gary had turned on when he'd dragged her into the tackle shed. He was crouched over her, holding the gun. Her blouse lay open, exposing her bra, but she wasn't taking her pants down fast enough to suit him. She was drawing it out, bargaining for more time.

“Hurry up or I'll start shooting your fingers off,” he said.

Rod had to be here by now, didn't he? It seemed like so long ago that she'd called him. At this point, he was her only hope. Sheriff Cooper hadn't arrived and probably wasn't coming. He was letting Gary take care of her.
After it was all over, they'd decide who to put forward for her job.

“That's it.” Victory rang in Gary's voice as she began to wiggle her pants down over her hips. “How does it feel to know that denying me all those years was only putting off the inevitable?”

Distantly, Sophia imagined him going home to her mother after this and getting into their shower to wash her blood off his skin. Imagined him climbing into bed. Imagined her mother turning to take him in her arms. And felt as if she might throw up. Or maybe the nausea came from all the times he'd had to hit her to get this far….

“Now the panties,” he coaxed. But Sophia couldn't do it. She lay without moving, staring mutely up at him.

Surprisingly, he didn't hit her. He was too busy taking off his belt and undoing his pants. “This is what you've been missing,” he said proudly, exposing himself.

Sophia knew she had two choices. She could allow her revulsion to get the best of her. Or she could use his sick desires against him.

Determined to survive at all costs, she smiled and motioned for him to lie down beside her. It was almost impossible to suppress her gag reflex when she put her mouth on his, but then the will to survive and her preoccupation with reaching some sort of tool she could use as a weapon took over, and she was able to divorce her mind from her body. She even moaned and was gratified when he moaned in return. He was falling for it, the stupid bastard.

The barrel of the gun cut into her temple, but he was getting so worked up that he wasn't holding it very steady. Praying he wouldn't shoot her by accident, she groped through the hay and the dirt, searching for the pitchfork she'd noticed earlier. Pretending she was as carried
away as he was, she writhed and rolled and moaned—and found it.

“See? This isn't bad, is it?” he murmured. “God, you taste good….”

She had a hand on one tine of the pitchfork, but he wasn't watching the gun. She was beginning to believe she might be able to get hold of it. If she grabbed it, twisted and fired simultaneously it could all be over….

Did she want to take that risk? Any sudden movement and he might squeeze the trigger before she could push the muzzle away. But he was trying to remove her panties, and she knew, even if she got hold of the pitchfork, she couldn't use it while she was lying on her back. She wouldn't have enough leverage. Which meant she had no other option.

Arching into him, she groaned and, when he glanced up to see her face, to revel in her supposed enjoyment, she made her move.

It happened so fast, she wasn't sure she had the gun at the proper angle. But she grabbed it—and fired.

 

Rod had never experienced anything worse than hearing that gun go off—or seeing Sophia lying on that dirt floor with her clothes askew and her face streaked with blood and tears when he opened the door of the tackle shed. It reminded him of the helplessness he'd felt whenever his mother was hurt. He couldn't decide whether to gather her to him and comfort her or kill the man who'd caused her harm.

And then it occurred to him that he could do both, if he started with the man. But maybe he wasn't thinking straight. The room was spinning. “Rod?”

He heard Sophia's worried voice but refused to take
his eyes off Gary. “Get up,” he told him. No way would he shoot someone who was lying on the ground. But Gary couldn't get up. He was rolling around, shrieking in pain. He was the one who'd been shot, not Sophia. The bullet had gone right through his face. Blood streamed down both cheeks, but the bullet had been far from fatal, which meant he wasn't hurt enough.