Microsoft Word - DeadHeat_wrp356.doc (30 page)

could run. Kincaid would get Rising Sun away from you,

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and we'd switch horses before a race.”

“Yep,” he continued, talking more to himself than to

her. “The boss had already found a ringer in Europe. One

with potential. They tattooed him with the same number

as Rising Sun and shipped him to the states. We had

plans to make a killing.”

“Then you saw how fast Rising Sun could run,” Jenna

added.

“Hey. You're catching on.” Casey smirked. “I

informed Montega that the real Rising Sun was probably

a stakes horse. Better runner than the ringer. Told them I

had a great plan to dispose of the ringer.”

Jenna didn't want to remember the horse head in her

bathtub. “Why'd you kill my father? He made sure his

horse lost the race...just as he was ordered to do.”

“Can't leave loose ends dangling.”

“And Dimitri?”

Casey laughed. “The man got cold feet. Rafael

Montega paid big him bucks to make Tsunami fractious

so Rye would sell the colt. Dimitri attempted to give the

money back. Said he wanted out. No one leaves the mob

and lives to tell about it.”

Casey reached into his pocket and pulled out a

hypodermic needle. He fingered it, glee in his eyes.

Jenna’s heart thudded.
Keep him talking, Jenna.

I’d planned to kill you the same way as the others,

but since you’re my sister, I'll give you a choice. The

Ketamine,” he held up the needle, “or a bullet between the

eyes.” He patted his side, drawing her attention to the

bulge under his shirt.

Jenna's spirit plummeted. Casey had a gun as well as

the Ketamine. Her chances looked even slimmer. The

same thought kept repeating in her head.
Keep him

talking
. “So you killed Dimitri? How'd you manage to drag

him to my barn without anyone seeing you?”

“Easy. I didn't have to drag him anywhere. I relayed

a message to him from you. Told him you wanted to ask

him some questions about working in Rye's barn.”

“Dimitri was already dead when I came out of the

tack room that night?”

“You got it.” He slapped his forehead. “Give the girl a

prize.”

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Pam Champagne

“And Jamal?”

“That bastard?” Casey laughed. “He was a thorn in

my side from the beginning. Always sneaking around,

poking into things that didn't concern him. When I saw

you and him getting chummy, I knew he'd be trouble. So I

eliminated him.”

How could someone with her blood speak of killing

with such callousness? How did he get this way?

“Casey,” she drew a deep breath. “You’re my brother.

You need professional help. Let me...”

He jumped up. The chair crashed to the floor. He

knelt beside her and grabbed a handful of hair, yanking

her close to his face. “Shut up, stupid bitch. I don't need

your help.”

Jenna swallowed hard, the pain bringing tears to her

eyes. “I'm your sister, Casey.”

“And that should make me all warm and fuzzy

inside?”

“Where's our mother?” Perhaps Laura could stop this

maniac who was her son.

Casey released her hair with such force that her head

banged against the wall.

“Our mother is resting quietly out behind the cabin.

You'll be joining her shortly. Separated in life, united in

death.”

Casey bent over to retrieve the needle he'd dropped.

Jenna prayed to God to help her. This was her one

chance to live. With a vigor she didn't realize she had, she

sprang to her feet and kneed him in the face.

Casey staggered back, holding his nose as blood

spurted on the floor. “You bitch...”

Jenna ran to the door, kicked it open and jumped.

She hit the ground running, without a thought of her bare

feet on the rocky gravel. She traveled toward the woods,

never looking back. Her ragged breathing was a dead

giveaway as to her whereabouts.

Once inside the cover of the trees, she paused, held

her breath and listened. A thrashing noise came from the

direction she'd run. Casey was hot on her trail.

She took off in another direction, then started

zigzagging, not knowing or caring where she was going.

Escaping from the insane man who wanted to kill her was

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all that mattered. Faintness washed over her, and she

staggered. She couldn't run forever. She'd pass out and

he'd find her. Jenna chose the only option left.

****

The screen door of the cabin flapped in the wind.

There was no sign of activity.

“Stay here,” Brett commanded as he pulled up next to

the beat-up sedan. “A helicopter's on its way with medics.”

He pulled his weapon from his shoulder harness and slid

out of the car.

Rye gripped the dash hard enough to hurt his

knuckles. And prayed. Like he'd never prayed before
.

Please God, don't take Jenna away from me. Don't punish

her for my mistakes.

With his back to the outside cabin wall, Brett side-

stepped to the door, turned and burst in.

Silence. No shouting. No gunshots. Just silence. Dead

silence.

Rye reached for the door handle just as Brett

emerged from the cabin, reholstering his 10 mm. Glock.

Rye flung the car open and vaulted onto the gravel.

“Where is she?”

“Not inside. It's empty. There's blood on the floor, but

not a lot.”

A wave of nausea rolled in his stomach. “What now?”

Brett's gaze was on the loose gravel. He pointed.

“Two sets of footprints heading for the woods. One

wearing boots and one not wearing shoes. “Looks like our

Jenna made a run for it.”

Rye's elation that she was alive was short lived. How

far could a barefoot woman run in the woods pursued by a

crazy man?

“You coming?” Brett asked as he followed the trail of

footprints.

“I don't want to be in the way.” It killed Rye to say

the words, but the last thing he wanted to do was

interfere with Brett saving Jenna.

“Just do as you're told. For starters, stay at least five

feet behind me.”

****

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and hugged the pine tree tighter. In spite of the rough

bark digging into her skin, she gripped the tree with her

legs and bare feet, hardly noticing the pain. She'd been

climbing trees since she could walk. As a kid, every year

she'd won the greased flagpole-climbing contest at the

local fair.

Casey must be close. A rush of adrenaline pumped

through her veins, providing the boost she needed to

ascend several more feet. She grabbed a large limb, pulled

herself up and straddled the branch, leaning her back

against the trunk.

Her muscles relaxed slowly. If only she could quiet

her breathing. The escape from the cabin would be for

naught if Casey found her now.

Safe for the moment, her injuries screamed for

attention. The swollen eye still wouldn't open. She must

have one hummer of a black eye. The left side of her face

throbbed from her hairline to her jaw. Her stomach

threatened to heave.

Pain stabbed through her ribs. Were they cracked or

just badly bruised? Hurt or not, she was lucky to be alive.

Now she needed to figure out how to stay that way.

If it were dark, she'd have a chance to stay hidden.

The rising sun battled a gray sky and started to win. Soon

Casey would find her. If her luck held out, she'd climb

down in an hour and make a run for it.
Right Jenna. Run

where? You don't have a clue which direction to go.
The

easy way out would be to admit defeat. Death by an

injection of Ketamine didn't hurt. Did it? Jenna pressed

the back of her head against the coarse tree trunk. Her

father's death had taught her the fragility of life. The

possibility of dying seldom crossed her mind before then.

The chances of escaping Casey's madness were slim.

The tiny hope that Brett and Rye might find her

strengthened her will to survive. She'd never been a

quitter. Why start now?

A sing-song voice called from close by. “Jenna, where

are you? Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

Casey sounded as if he were enjoying his game of

hide and seek. She held her breath. An animal seldom

looked in a tree for danger. Was man the same?

An angry chatter came from above. Shit. She tilted

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Dead Heat

her head. A red squirrel sat on the limb above, swearing

at the intruder sitting in its tree.

“Game's over, Jenna. Come out now, and I'll go easy

on you. You won't feel a thing. Just a little prick in the

arm. It won't hurt a bit. I promise.”

Casey came into her view. Impending doom sat heavy

on her shoulders. He held the .44 Mag in both hands, the

hammer cocked. A weapon that would put a hole in her

the size of a lemon at this close range.

Ferret-like, his gaze shifted back and forth from right

to left. He moved forward like a hunter stalking his prey.

Tops of the trees danced in the wind, swaying and

twisting. The red squirrel chose that moment to scramble

down the trunk, drawing Casey's attention. His thin lips

curved in a sneer when he spied her on the limb. “I'm

impressed, Jenna. Never thought you capable of climbing

a tree. You lose. And I've decided you no longer have a

choice. I'm going to blow you out of the pine. Not as nice

for you as the Ketamine, but the end result will be the

same.”

“Casey, please don't do this.” She hated the way her

voice wavered with fear. “You'll never get away with it.

Do you want to spend the rest of your life in prison?”

His face twisted in anger. “By the time someone finds

your body — if they find it — I'll be long gone.”

“You're wrong. The FBI is on the way.”

“Right,” he laughed. “I suppose the Marines aren't far

behind either.”

Casey readied the revolver, gripped the butt with

both hands and aimed.

This was it. Jenna looked away from the man who

was about to end her life.
Now I lay me down to sleep...

“Drop the weapon, Casey.” Brett's deep voice rang

out in the silent woods.

Jenna shook so hard, she almost slipped from the

branch. Brett stood about ten feet away, his gun pointed

at Casey's head.

Casey froze. He didn't turn. His eyes and weapon

remained fixed on his target.

Two shots shattered the silent morning.

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Pam Champagne

Echoes of gunshots rang in Rye's ears.

“Jenna...” he yelled and watched in helpless terror as

she jerked once and tumbled to the ground. His heart

hammered. He shook off Brett's hold. Jenna had been hit!

Please let her just be wounded.

“Don't be a fool, Rye,” Brett rasped. “There were two

shots. I didn't fire.”

Rye ceased his struggles as Brett's words registered.

Together, they ducked behind a large pine. Casey lay as

still as Jenna. There was no sign of the second gunman.

A rustling in the leaves came from their left. Brett

leaned a shoulder against the tree's trunk and raised his

gun. Rye kept his gaze on Jenna.

Move, damn it. Let me know you're alive.

If he lived to be a hundred, he'd never forget the

sight of her bruised and battered face before she fell.

“What the hell are you doing here, Hills?” Brett

lowered his gun when the overweight detective ambled

out of the woods. “Looking to get yourself shot?”

Rye hardly gave Hills a glance before bolting for

Jenna.

“Followed you, Cameron. This fiasco started in my

jurisdiction. I kinda' wanted to see it end.”

Rye dropped to his knees and ran a trembling hand

over Jenna's tangled hair. His fingers searched for and

found a weak pulse in her neck. “Where's the fucking

helicopter, Brett?”

No sooner had the question left his mouth when the

whupping noise of the 'copter's rotors could be heard

overhead.

Brett pulled out his cell and punched in a number.

“We have an injured woman. Possible broken bones,

internal injuries. Possible gunshot wound.”

“Don't move her Rye,” Brett warned. “You could

cause more damage.”

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Dead Heat

Rye buried his face in Jenna's hair and breathed her

essence. “Don't give up, baby, please don't give up. Help is

on the way.”

The short wait for the medic to be lowered seemed

like forever to Rye. Although weak, Jenna's pulse rate

remained steady. He couldn't find any blood. Wouldn't

there be a lot of blood on the ground if she'd been hit?

“Move back. Make room.”

Rye scooted to the side, allowing two medics to get

close. One prepared the stretcher while the other

attended to Jenna.

“Jenna,” the medic spoke next to her ear. “Can you

hear me, Jenna?”

A low moan slipped from her mouth. She attempted