Hit 'N' Run (Under Suspicion #1) (27 page)

“It’s not all bad,” the older man offered. “Just a pain in the ass for you. Be terrible for the woman though. Especially if she wasn’t expecting it.”

Mitch squeezed his transmitter at his throat. “I’m heading up.”

“Copy that,” Avery relayed.

“Copy too,” Hank pinched his transmitter, giving Mitch the thumbs-up the communication was working.

About to jog off, his phone rang. He stopped mid-motion, pulling the phone from his jeans pocket, looking down at the display. Three pairs of eyes joined his.
Lorna
.

Heavy static assaulted his ears. “Lorna,” he yelled.

“Quiet, man,” Hank warned.

“Lorna.” Mitch’s voice remained urgent, if more quiet.

Nothing.

Chapter Twenty-Three

When at first excitement leapt in her stomach while she ran full tilt across the small field, pulled out her phone and saw the service indicators, it now plummeted to the ground. Despite two bars, when she placed her call, hand shaking, all she registered was static. Then dead air. The damned signal bounced despite standing close to the maintenance hut at the wellhead. It wasn’t steady enough to even send a text.

With a watchful eye, she moved to the other side of the black pump jack towards the two-storey metal tower. If she could harness the relay beacon, she’d be able to send a signal for help. Holding the cell to the metal of the tower itself, she saw she had one steady bar and very little battery life left.

The oil lease identifier was a large plaque attached to the maintenance hut. Alphanumeric. Lorna could see it from where she stood. This may be my only chance. She steadied herself and pulled up Mitch’s number. Quickly she typed.

Lorna: AO-290713-BC-CY

She pressed send and waited for the blue bar to complete the request. There would be no ping. She couldn’t risk the sound.

Daring to breathe again only after the text went, she slumped against the metal ladder of the small tower. Cradling the phone against her chest, she waited.

And waited.

Glancing down at the readout, she noted the loss of coverage—again. “For the love of God,” she mumbled under her breath. With ten percent battery life left, she was running out of time and options, watching the whirly wheel spin, searching for signal. If she couldn’t contact someone soon, she didn’t know what she would do. “I don’t understand this techno-shit.”

She turned to the tower ladder and climbed a couple of rungs.

***

Mitch ran back along the water’s edge to where it curved, scoping for the particular rock formation his teammates described. He would have passed it completely had he not tripped and fallen hard on his hands and knees. Tangled roots ran across the path towards the bank of the swollen river. His head came within inches of crashing against the snowman-like rock.

“Jesus, that was close,” he mumbled, straightening, unsure if he meant the near miss of his head hitting the boulders or nearly missing the landmark itself.

Facing the steep incline, he scanned the grade for what would look like a trail.
He said look for a thread-like line in the vegetation
, Mitch remembered. “Anything could look like a thread.”

He removed his ball cap to wipe the sweat off his brow, opening his jacket halfway. Though the temperature had been cold and wet when they arrived in the dark during the storm, the sun now made its presence known—he was heating up fast. Scanning from the rock up the slope, he searched again for anything resembling a trail, giving himself another minute before just taking his chances and cutting his own trail.

The river’s roar thundered all around him. He moved to stand on the other side of the snowman rock, the random spray of water a welcome relief.

Pinching the transmitter at his throat, he radioed his position. “At rock and going up the hill.”

“Copy that. Beta team still following tracks along the river,” Hank replied. “Out.”

“Alpha team relays no tracks along the river in present position. Concur they may have moved into the shelter of the woods,” Avery’s clipped voice sounded a second later. “Copy your position.”

“Out,” Mitch echoed, lowering his arm and setting off.

About to take his chances, just before entering the canopy, he saw the two-foot wide trail—like finally being able to spot Waldo in a cluttered picture. Following its progression through the trees, he concluded this was indeed the game trail he was searching out, and he started to jog, limbs burning because of the upward grade.

Despite the trail, his progress was unsteady, and he wondered if he might pass Lorna, tangled in the bushy mass. As Sinclair had warned, he was surrounded by the Devil’s Club before he realized. The thick thorns scratched his bare arms and caught on his jeans as his feet slipped off the trail, searching for stability on the grade.

His phone pinged, and he sat down to check the readout. His heart leapt. “Lorna.”

Lorna: AO-290713-BC-CY

“What does that mean?”

He tried to call her number again as he had after her last touch point. Static and varying signal tones battered his ears. “Goddamnit.”

Mitch: Where r u?

He waited for the ping indicator.

Lorna: Lease site top of hill from river.

Leave it to Lorna to find the needle in the haystack
. Relief flooded him, making him smile and shake his head.
She’s the only woman I ever met who’d be able to stumble upon a lease site in such dense forest
.

Mitch: I’m coming 4 u.

So great was his relief, he would have gladly remained where he was and continue to text just to keep up the connection, but he had to call this in. He reached to squeeze his transmitter together when the sounds and reverberations of chopper blades echoed through his chest. He was on his feet and scrambling up the hill to her.
I’m coming, baby. Hold on just a little longer, I’m coming for you.

Pumping his legs, he pinched his transmitter button mid-motion. He panted over the shortwave. “Have lease site location of woman. Who can relay to chopper? Over.”

***

Lorna climbed as high as she could on the tower ladder, reading Mitch’s text and watching her last bit of battery life fade away with his message. She hugged the ladder, slipping the useless piece of plastic inside her bra. “He’s coming.” She breathed easier.
He knows where I am, and he’s coming
.

Trees along the edge of the clearing bent under an oncoming turbulence. The grass started to part as Lorna heard the approach of the helicopter. She peered to the sky, one arm raised to wave, thinking surely this must be Mitch—when she saw the logo on the side panel. A-Q-O. “Oh, no.”

Having quickly honed in on her presence, the chopper approached the tower like a menacing bug. She slipped and slid down the rungs of the ladder, eager to be out of sight. Reaching the bottom, she hobbled around the oil derrick to the maintenance hut and pulled on the door.
Locked
. With her back pressed tight to the door, she tried to draw the dusty air into her lungs, watching the dirt swirl on the wind currents created from the motorized blades.

Hunting her, the whirlybird circled around the clearing until the pilot was in plain sight. The pilot fixed her with an intense glare as she racked her brain, thinking about what she could do to escape.
Mitch is coming. I’m so close
. But she didn’t know what that meant. How far away was he? How long would she have to survive? Picturing Charlie Fong in the cockpit, she assumed once they apprehended her again, they’d move her to a new location before Mitch accessed the clearing.
If they let me live
.

With the machine still facing her, it started to increase and decrease altitude.
He’s looking for the Fongs. Or signaling to them, more likely
. As she moved around the maintenance hut, keeping her back to the wall, the chopper followed, always keeping her in sight. With wobbly legs, she found herself facing the same patch of trees she sprinted from not long ago. Understanding the cover of the canopy to be her only salvation, she sprinted across the clearing.

A movement from the corner of her vision caught her attention, causing her to stumble, then fall hard to her knees. With a horror that locked her breath in her windpipe, Lorna watched Tim Fong emerge from the tree line to her left. Looking a hell of a lot fresher than she did, he made a mad dash in her direction as the helicopter continued to hover nearby. Slamming her hands hard against the ground, Lorna stood up with new resolve and ran towards cover.
If he wants me, he’ll have to find me. But I’ll bury myself in those thorns first before I let him get me
.

Chancing a glance behind her as she ran, she noticed he’d stopped. His hands were raised as he aimed his gun. She faced forward and lowered her head, her arms coming up protectively around her ears. The ground close to where his next step would have been waffled up as bullets sprayed the ground. Lorna changed direction. Lungs burning, she stumbled again just as another bullet whizzed by her head. She changed direction again. Not able to watch her footing, she lost her step in a depression in the ground and tumbled forward. Somewhere between a crawl and a run, Lorna moved forward, her heart slamming against her chest.

She rose up, about to launch into a run. Directly in her line of sight, another shape loomed out of the foliage. Anticipating Charlie Fong would block her escape, Lorna swirled around, sheltering her eyes from the flying debris, trying to determine the best escape.

“Lorna.” It was a soft echo carried on the propellers.

Whirling, she focused in on the best vision she had ever seen. “Mitch,” she screamed as she ran directly for him.

His mouth was moving but she couldn’t make out the words. Then, as his arm rose in her direction, the sun glinting off the silver of his pistol, understanding dawned. He flapped a hand at her, and she turned to see Tim directly on her heels.

Adrenaline working overtime, she couldn’t stop. She ran directly at Mitch, almost barreling him to the ground.

He sidestepped her approach. “Get down,” he shouted, pushing her behind him. “Get down.”

***

Placing Lorna at his back, Mitch fell purposefully with one knee to the ground, taking careful aim. The burn of a bullet grazed his outer thigh. He twisted with the impact and his shot fired astray of its intended mark. Refocusing all his senses, he wobbled, adjusted, and sighted his target. Firing one round leveled at Tim’s shooting shoulder, he watched the other man falter.

The chopper tilted in his direction so the wind from the blades showered him in dirt. “Fucking bastard,” Mitch yelled above the fray, turning his attention to the hovering bird. His next slug sparked off the blades, but the chopper took the hint, gaining altitude.

Tim regained his feet, moving fast, coming out of the dust like an apparition, gun elevated. Mitch pulled the trigger, but his hand seemed to lose feeling and he toppled backward.
What’s this?
He wondered, looking stupidly at the gun lying limp in his palm, which lay open in the swirling dirt, splattered in red. Not waiting for confirmation of pain to tell him he’d been shot, he rolled to his side towards his immobile hand and grabbed up his weapon with the left.

Tim’s face was a mask of distorted rage as he ran at Mitch without caution. With seconds to impact, Mitch squeezed off as many shots as he could, emptying his chamber before Tim sprinted past in his pursuit of Lorna.

***

She had just entered the shelter of the trees when something made her turn to see Mitch hit the dirt, his arm flung wide of his body.

“Ohmigod, no!” she screamed. “Mitch, no!”

Grabbing the first thing she could find to use as a club, Lorna hobbled unsteadily back towards Mitch, feeling the whiz of a bullet pass her head. With the helicopter now higher in the air, the explosion resonated loudly. Her unstable gait saved her life.

Standing between her and Mitch, Tim stopped as she raised her arms in surrender. Mitch was down and she’d nowhere left to go. His contorted face bore no resemblance to the man she worked with just the day before. “I won’t go down because of a fucking bitch,” he growled, the gun level with her forehead. “I’ve worked too hard and too long to get here. You’ll never testify.”

There was nothing left for her to do. Mesmerized by the black barrel of the pistol, she couldn’t run even if she wanted to. Swinging her body with all of her might, no longer feeling the heavy thorns slice her palms, she swung her club across his arm.

Click.

The chamber was empty.

Tim howled in pain and lunged as Lorna ducked, brought down to the ground by the heavy weight of the branch. Spreading her feet wide like a baseball player, she used his momentum against him—like she’d been shown so long ago in self-defense class—and landed another blow across his handsome face, releasing her grip on the thorny limb.

Tim dropped his gun, both hands coming to his face as he dropped to his knees.

Lorna kicked him in the stomach before grabbing up his empty gun and running back to Mitch.

He was struggling to reload, blood running freely. “Ohmigod, Mitch.” She fell next to him.

“Here, take this,” he panted, handing her a black cartridge.