Endangered (9781101559017) (37 page)

Beside her, Chase had peeled off Zack's wet clothes and dressed him in an adult T-shirt and his own blue nylon jacket. Chase ran his hands quickly up and down the toddler's arms, chafing his skin. “Warmer now, Zack?”

Good idea. She pushed herself to her feet, although it felt like she was moving in a Frankenstein-like fashion. Rubbing her hands over her own arms felt like a lot of effort, but it seemed to be working.

Chase stood Zack up on the ledge. The adult clothes dragged on the floor, obscuring the toddler's feet. Zack wrapped his arms around her leg and smiled up at her. “Warm!” he chirped.

Although she was still soaked from the waist down, she was getting warmer herself. It was nice that the green jacket fit her so well. Which was weird, because she always had a hard time finding clothes that—“Hey, this is my jacket,” she observed.

“Nothing gets by you Internet reporters, does it?” Chase grinned.

“Hypothermia,” she said by way of explanation for sounding like an idiot.

He nodded and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I found your jacket back there, along with more clothes and cans of food. Looks like Davinski has been ripping off the tourists around here for a long time.”

“Did you shoot him?”

“I tried. The gun misfired. Wet, I guess.” He stood and chafed his own bare arms.

She hadn't seen Perez in short sleeves before. His arms were lean and muscular. His stomach was flat under a plain white T-shirt. He looked . . . capable. Maybe after this whole damn nightmare was over, they'd—

A flare of panic suddenly ignited in her water-chilled brain. She didn't have time to admire the man's physique! “Chase, my phone! The hunters! We've got to call park headquarters.”

“First things first.” He pressed an energy bar into her hands. She stared at the metallic wrapper. Could it be the same one she'd lost last night and found beside her this morning? It was surreal, the way the dang thing kept reappearing. She peeled down the wrapper and took a tiny bite. Its sweetness flooded her mouth. She lowered the energy bar to Zack's lips. The child placed both hands around it and pushed the snack into his mouth eagerly.

Perez sat on his heels, regarding the two of them. “You'd make a good mother.”

“No.” Her reply was vehement. “No. I'm not taking care of anyone.”

His gaze met hers. “Sometimes, Summer, we all need taking care of.”

Right,
she thought bitterly.
And where were you when Zack and I were dangling over a seventy-foot drop?

Zack held the remainder of the energy bar up to her with both hands. She took a bite, then gave it back to him, wiping a crumb from his chin. The cold water had sogged up her emotions as well as her clothes; she stifled a sob. All the times she'd held food to her mother's lips; all the times she'd wiped the dribbles from the spasm-clenched jaws. She'd never forget the beseeching look in those gray-blue eyes. What had her mother been asking for? An involuntary shudder ran through her. After all these years, she still didn't know.

She swallowed painfully. “Where's Davinski now?” she asked.

“He got away. There's a hole in the back of that pocket cave. He had it blocked up with rocks. It comes out into the ruins, about six feet above the roof where you slept last night.”

The caved-in ceiling, the footprints in the moss, the dampness. She had slept just below that gap for hours. Had Davinski watched her all night? Had she really heard Zack?

“He had a stash of cans and packets of freeze-dried food back there, too, and some other stuff: clothes, pocketknives, matches, that sort of thing. It looked like they'd been there awhile; like Charlie—I mean Karl—had been raiding the campgrounds for food and clothes.

“And there was a book.
The Anasazi Way
. The forensics team should get a kick out of it: looked like a cross between the
Mother Earth News
and some New Age bible.” Perez rubbed his hands over a scratch on the right side of his face. “I was so close at first. Right behind him. But the pack slowed me down. Davinski could be halfway down the mountain by now.”

That's right, Perez had been carrying her knapsack. She surveyed the room and spotted the blue nylon tilted against the wall beyond the fire pit. Dirty water dripped from the fabric down onto the floor. She didn't want to think about what was inside.

“David—wasn't that what he called him? David Davinski,” she murmured. Cold, gray, dead. She understood it all now. The blue demon. Her intuition about Weird Wilson. The grapes. Even the odor of Camembert she thought she'd imagined last night had been real. “David is—was—the baby Barbara Jean was carrying three years ago. BJB plus KJD.”

Perez frowned. “You lost me.”

“Initials—they're carved into the wall of the town house, a few doors down. BJB plus KJD. Barbara Jean and Karl. Those handprints in the Drawing Room.” A family of handprints: father, mother, baby. The items pilfered from campgrounds. Food, clothing, cooking utensils. The repeated sightings of Coyote Charlie. “They've been living up here for nearly three years.”

Perez considered. “Well, Davinski's been here for that long. Barbara Jean probably died around six months ago. And David, just days or, at most, a week ago.”

“Poor David.” She looked down at the boy by her side. His hair was dry now, golden blond. Blue eyes stared into hers.

“Zack!” he chirped.

“Yes, you're Zack,” she agreed. “But you do look a lot like David.” She turned toward Perez. “Did my camera and phone survive?”

“I'll get your pack.” He disappeared again.

Out beyond the plaza, the rain poured off the overhang in a translucent curtain of water. She sat down again, closed her eyes and listened to the hum of falling water. Zack climbed into her lap, and she hugged his small warm body. It would be so nice to lie down and go to sleep for a few hours. Maybe for a few days.

Footsteps scuffled in front of her. She opened her eyes to a blinding flash. Perez stood there, the digital camera in front of his face. “Now that's your photo,” he said, his dark eyes shining.

Ever since she'd met Chase Perez, she'd been trying to think of a description for the clear brown color of his eyes. Finally, she had it: they were the color of a stream she'd drunk from on Vancouver Island. The surrounding peat bog tinged the crystal-clear water dark brown. Peat brown, dark but transparent at the same time. A smoky flavor, earthy and delicious.

He set the camera down beside her. She didn't want to think about how she'd look in the picture he'd just snapped. A sewer rat, an old hag. In a minute she'd take a picture of Zachary by himself. She glanced at her watch. A deep scratch marred the crystal, but the hands were still moving. It was a few minutes after two o'clock.

Two o'clock.
The USDAWS hunters were to start from the park perimeter at noon. “The hunters!” She clawed at Perez's arm. “We've got to let Thompson know we have Zack!”

“I'm trying.” Perez held her cell phone up to his ear. After a second, he shook his head. “Just static.”

“It was almost dead last night.”

“The light's still blinking.”

“Try the satellite.”

She gave him the number and her access code. He walked outside, but returned only a couple of moments later. “Can't get a damn thing in this storm. But the hunters won't be out in it, either.”

She wouldn't bet on that. The hunters she knew prided themselves on overcoming the elements.

“The sky's brighter to the west; the rain might lighten up. I'll try again in a minute.”

Zack looked a lot healthier than he had a half hour ago, but Sam knew that the toddler needed decent food and probably medical attention as well. She could do with a few Band-Aids and a beer herself. Maybe several Band-Aids and several beers.

“We need to go,” she told Perez. “They'll be shooting any minute. We can walk out of the rain.”

“I'll get the pack.” He turned toward the far wall.

She shouldered her borrowed pack, took Zack's hand, and led him out onto the plaza. On the little boy, Perez's shirt and jacket dragged the stone floor like a nightgown. Zack stumbled on the material. As she turned to pick him up, Karl Davinski emerged from the shadows of the town house. His chopped hair dripped muddy water onto his bare chest. His eyes, locked on Zachary, were coldly determined. In his outstretched hand he held what looked like an antique revolver.

“David,” he hissed. “Come to Daddy.”

CLUTCHING a fold of her soggy pants, Zack shrank back behind Sam's leg. The barrel of the pistol was pointed squarely at her chest. Davinski's finger was on the trigger.

“Give me my son!” he roared.

Was the gun loaded? Sam saw a movement behind the armed man. Perez. Davinski saw her eyes focus on the point beyond him; he began to turn in the other man's direction.

“Karl!” Sam yelled, pulling her gaze back to Davinski.

He swiveled back in her direction, his eyes shifting from side to side now.

“I know you don't want to do this, Karl.” She had to keep his attention. “This is not David. This is not your son. David is dead.” She emphasized the last word heavily. “Like Barbara Jean.”

The wraith shook his head violently, dislodging a shower of droplets from his tangled locks. The gun barrel wavered. Behind him, Perez crept closer.

“No,” Davinski moaned. His gaze trailed downward and locked on Zack. The little boy's fingers clenched more tightly around Sam's leg. “David was lost for a little while, but I found him. I saved him.”

“You didn't save David. David died in that cave-in,” she said softly. “He was crushed by the rocks. David's dead.”

Karl Davinski's eyes flickered as if she'd just jolted him with a stun gun. He wasn't completely disoriented, then. Sam reached back, put her hand on Zack's head. “This is another little boy. A different boy, Zachary Fischer. You found him in the campground, didn't you? Just like you found those grapes.”

He looked startled that she'd put it together. Then his pale eyes blazed with anger. “Liar!” he shrieked. “He's mine. I saved him.”

“This is not your son. This is Zachary, and his mother wants him back.” Still looking at him, she slowly slid the pack down over her shoulders and extracted an arm from the straps.

Davinski's washed-out gaze connected with hers. “I made a mistake, and then David was lost. But he didn't get hurt; look at him! He was stolen!”

“Karl,” she said gently. “You know that's not true.”

His eyes blurred with tears. “But the blue demon had him. I saved him.”

“I know you did, Karl.” Wilson's mud-covered outfit had been blue. He was the shadowy man at the end of the path. “You saved him. But Zack is not yours to keep.”

Davinski's finger pressed against the trigger.

Sam hurled her pack at Davinski and dove for the floor, pulling Zack down with her. A bullet whined over her head like a rocket-powered bumblebee. At the same time, there was a loud crack as the pack connected with Davinski's knees, and he staggered forward and tripped over it. Then Perez was on him. She rolled to her knees. Zack was on all fours, crying. She pushed herself up, ran toward the struggling men. Perez gripped Davinski's wrist; he slammed the man's hand against the floor. Another shot rang out, ricocheted off the plaza stones in a puff of dust, only a foot beyond the sobbing toddler.

Perez was on top of Davinski. No way to kick or punch one without getting the other. She stomped on the hand that held the pistol, felt metal and bone hard beneath her boot.

Karl Davinski howled. She heard a pop as another bullet exploded from the gun under the sole of her boot. She raised her foot. The limp hand drew away, leaving the pistol on the floor. She grabbed the weapon.

Davinski kneed Perez in the groin. The agent's body buckled in pain. Davinski shoved him away, slithered like a lizard toward the nearby opening of the kiva. He was halfway down into the underground structure before Perez recovered and grabbed his ankle. As they both tumbled into the kiva, Perez's foot caught the ladder. It fell with a crash after them.

Sam galloped to the stone edging around the kiva. Perez sat on Davinski's abdomen, struggling to pin the other man's arms to the ground. Davinski's legs flailed behind Perez's back.

“Stop it, Karl!” She pointed the pistol at Davinski's head. Neither man gave any sign of hearing her. Davinski kneed Perez hard in the back. Sam felt the blow in her own kidneys. It didn't look as if Davinski would be down for long.

Sam shouted again. “Stop or I'll shoot!” Yeah, right. She'd never shot anything but tranquilizer guns. But how hard could it be? Thousands of people did it every year, and some of them were idiots. Warning shot first; she really didn't want to kill anyone. She aimed just above Davinski's head and pulled the trigger.

The bullet pinged exactly where she was aiming, releasing a little puff of dust, then smacked off the wall behind Davinski and then off the wall just inches away from Perez's ear. Davinski flinched, but Perez amazingly did not. He delivered a blow to the side of Davinski's head that gave Sam an instant headache. As the other man went limp beneath him, Perez rolled off him and whipped a zip tie from his jeans pocket. Then Davinski shot up, managing to get his hands on the edge of the kiva, pulling himself up to the rim.

“You have
got
to be kidding,” Sam groaned. As his head emerged from the rim of the kiva, she drew back her foot and kicked out hard, connecting with his temple. Davinski dropped from the rim, hitting his head hard on the packed earth floor; he stayed down this time. Flipping Davinski over, Perez quickly bound his wrists together and then moved down to Davinski's legs, tying his ankles together only a second before Davinski started thrashing again.