Dark Paradise (74 page)

didn't want to waste time going the long way around if Sam was in

danger.

He stole a glance at his brother out the corners of his eyes and hurt

for him. Love-'em-and-leave-'em Will, ever the good-time cowboy, not a

care in the world, was frantic with worry, torn up with guilt. It didn't

matter that he expected Samantha to divorce him. He loved her. That was

plain enough. Loved her enough to rip limb from limb anyone who might

hurt her. J.D. had never thought Will capable of feelings that deep,

that unselfish.

And what about you, J.D.?

He didn't answer himself. He would have said he had never wanted to care

that deeply for a woman, but he didn't want to hear that voice sneering

at him again. Liar. Maybe there was a part of him that longed for

something more with Marilee, but he had missed his shot and it was for

the best for all concerned. That kind of longing had always seemed more

like foolishness than necessity.

He negotiated the truck around a curve where the shoulder of the

hillside dropped eighty feet almost straight down. The needle on the

truck's tachometer was swinging wildly upward toward the red zone. The

engine roared. A warning light was glowing red on the dash, and a hot

smell rolled out of the air-conditioning vents.

The odometer showed 153,189 miles. The trail disappeared over yet

another crest. He held his breath and punched the accelerator.

The Ford jumped to meet the challenge, lunging for the hilltop. At the

same instant, over the crest of the rise came Marilee's mule. There was

no time to react. The mule was flying, long ears back, reins blowing

behind him like streamers. He twisted in midair, trying to avoid the

truck, but it was too late. They collided with a sickening thump. His

front feet skidded up the hood. The cattle guard over the grill caught

him in the ribs, and his whole body came up onto the hood, threatening

to crash through the windshield. But he slid off on the driver's side as

he scrambled in panic, eyes rolling white in his big ugly head.

J.D. swore and slammed the brakes. Every molecule of his body was

trembling as he jumped out of the cab and ran for the mule. Clyde had

landed heavily on his side, wedged up against the trunk of a fallen

tamarack. He thrashed wildly, trying to stand. J.D. caught hold of one

rein just as the mule got his feet under him and surged upward.

"Whoa, whoa. Easy, fella." J.D. spoke softly, but he couldn't keep the

urgency from his voice. The mule rolled an eye at him and danced in

place. His hide was slick with sweat and flecked with lather. His

muscles quivered as if an electric current were running through him. The

cattle guard had opened a gash in his right side, ugly but not

life-threatening. His legs were all intact.

"He all right?" Will demanded as he tried to jog over from the truck. He

had pulled a catch rope off the gun rack. His knuckles were white as

his hand squeezed around it.

"Doesn't look like he broke anything," J.D. mumbled.

His attention was less on the mule than on the mule's empty saddle.

"Where the hell did he come from?" Will groused, slipping the loop over

the animal's head and twisting it over his nose into a makeshift halter.

"He belongs to Marilee."

"She must have gotten herself dumped," he said, tying the rope around an

aspen sapling. "Let's get the hell out of here. If we see Marilee on the

way up, she can jump in the truck. Let's go."

He started back to the truck, too concerned about Sam to consider

anything else. But J.D. stood there and stared at that empty saddle.

With fear clenching a fist in his belly, he thought of Marilee, the

little city girl who liked to act tougher than she was. And he thought

of all her suspicions and her determination to find the truth.

And he thought of the signs he had seen up on Five-Mile creek, signs of

a hunt. He thought of Samantha, who had been seen bound to a bed, and

Lucy, who had been found with a bullet blown clean through her.

Above the trees, thunder tumbled through the swollen clouds. A sense of

doom descended on him like a shroud.

They scrambled up the hillside, Marilee dragging and shoving Samantha

along, pushing her own body far beyond its limits. The cover of forest

had grown dense again, giving them a small measure of security. Any shot

would have to be taken from close range.

Her foot slipped on the trail, and she went down hard, what little

breath she had leaving her on a grunt as her right knee cracked against

the dome of a rock buried in the soft loam. Gravity and the weight of

Samantha hanging on her left arm threatened to pull her backward, and

she grabbed wildly to catch hold of a handful of a huckleberry bush.

We're dead. We're dead. The words pulsed through her brain. The

expression on Sam's face seemed to confirm them. Her eyes had gone flat

and dull, as if there were nothing behind them, as if her soul had

already departed.

Her mouth hung slack. She was in shock, Marilee supposed, her systems

shutting down one by one until the only thing left to kill was a body

running on autopilot. The plan held a certain appeal. As she sat in the

mud, her body on fire with pain, she had to kick herself mentally to

keep from succumbing. Her will was flagging, her stamina gone. Del's

place was still a distant dream.

We're dead. We're dead!

There was no way on earth they were going to make it.

She couldn't drag herself any farther, let alone drag Samantha with her.

The sounds of the dogs baying rang in her ears.

We're dead, she thought again. The air sliced in and out of her lungs

like the blade of a ripsaw. A million things buzzed through her

head - prayers, longings, regrets, images of her family, nebulous thoughts

of the children she would never have, J.D. As clearly as anything, she

saw J.D., the sexy curve of his mouth set in a frown, his gray eyes

stormy with emotions he would never voice.

Damn hardheaded cowboy. Too stubborn to know a good thing when he saw

it.

Oh, damn, Marilee, this isn't the time.

But the tears rose, despite her inner scolding. She bit her lip hard to

keep them from falling. She was going to die soon, and all she could

think was that she loved J.D. Rafferty. A hopeless thought for a

hopeless situation. She wanted a second chance. She wanted a chance to

make him see her for who she really was and love her for who she really

was. She wanted a chance to give him something sweet and good and

lasting. Her heart. Her love. Her loyalty. Her life.

The life Sharon Russell would take. Soon. The life she would give over

meekly if she didn't get up and do something. She thought the old

Marilee might have just sat there, complacent. The old Marilee, who had

given up dreams and settled for a life that wasn't worth living at all.

But that Marilee had ceased to exist. Montana had changed her. She had

shed the old life and was emerging, new and fresh, alive in a way she

was not willing to give up just yet.

From some deep well inside her she dredged up strength she had never

imagined possessing and pushed herself to her feet. She propped Samantha

up against a tree and scrambled to get a view of their pursuer. She

could see the basin they had skirted. The hunting dogs were racing

through the high grass. Sharon rode just behind them with a rifle slung

across her back. They were moving fast, closing in. Apparently, Sharon

didn't find a manhunt nearly as much fun in the rain. She had probably

decided to waste them and be done with it. Go home for a soak in the

Jacuzzi and relive her glory moments over champagne.

The rain was coming harder, slicing down through the trees, plastering

their clothes to their bodies.

"I don't want to die," Samantha mumbled to the world at large. She

stared straight ahead as if she were blind

"Then you have to do what I say," Marilee said sharply.

She took hold of the girl's shoulders and pulled her around to face her.

"Do you understand what I'm saying to you, Sam?
 
You have to listen to

me."

Her gaze swept the area for possibilities as her brain did a thumbnail

sketch of a plan. It wasn't much, but it was better than being run into

the ground and shot in the back. She laid it out for Samantha as quickly

and concisely as she could, and prayed that the girl wasn't too deep in

shock to comprehend. Then she sent Samantha ahead on the trail and

hoisted herself into the branches of a pine tree.

There was no sign of Del at the cabin. J.D. shrugged into a rain slicker

and saddled a pair of stout, leggy geldings while Will went to the inner

sanctum and procured a pair of rifles.

There had been no sign of Marilee along the trail.

J.D. couldn't keep his mind off her. Was she lying hurt somewhere?
 
Was

she dead?
 
Was her disappearance somehow connected to her search for the

truth?

And where the hell did Del fit into this ugly picture?

God, he would never forgive himself if Del had done something to

Marilee. He had allowed his uncle to stew in his own madness up here. If

it turned out that Del had gone over the edge, it would be J.D.'s

responsibility.

What if Del had shot Lucy?
 
What if he had strangled Daggrepont?
 
He

didn't want to believe it could happen, but what he wanted to believe

and what was true were increasingly two very different things.

He tried unsuccessfully to clear it all from his mind as they mounted up

and headed northwest.

Sharon pulled up at the base of yet another sharp hill, in the shelter

of a canopy of ancient pine trees. The rain was turning her mood sour.

She had planned to continue riding until the girl turned around and

begged her for mercy. But the little bitch was proving to be remarkably

resilient and the rain was spoiling everything.

She raised her gun and peered up the trail through the night vision

scope. Her quarry was on the ground, lying in a heap, about a hundred

and fifty yards up the hill. She could see no sign of the Jennings

woman, and assumed she had run on after the girl collapsed. There were

no other options for her. She wasn't armed. She couldn't hope to fend

off the dogs. She had no way of protecting herself from the rifle except

to keep on going after the girl had fallen and hope that Sharon would

settle for her original target.

The dogs ran circles around Sharon's horse, frantic for the command to

go. She didn't give it. Not just yet. She wanted a moment to savor the

anticipation. She smiled wickedly, wishing Bryce could be watching this.

She wanted him to see what she could be compelled to do. She wanted him

to know the lengths to which she would go. Just imagining his shock brought

her a sense of power. He didn't realize her strength. He didn't realize she

was his strength. Without her, he was nothing. Without her, he would succumb

to the tepid pleasures of a girl like Samantha Rafferty or a petty criminal

like Lucy MacAdam and his power would shrivel and die.

She would never allow that to happen.

She urged the horse forward.

Marilee looked down on her from the branches of the pine tree. A hundred

unforeseen complications thundered through her head. What if she missed?

What if she landed behind the horse or on one of the dogs?
 
What if the

dogs caught her scent?
 
All Sharon had to do was tilt the muzzle of her

rifle up and pull the trigger.

She took a breath and held it, waiting. The dogs were setting up a

racket that rivaled the storm, dashing up the trail, then turning back.