Pure Dynamite (44 page)

He watched her sleep. His admiration for her multiplied as she weathered each new storm. When this was over...

What?

What could he possibly do or say to make up for any of this? Thanks to him, she'd been yanked into a nightmare. Was still in it.

Frustrated, Adam slipped outside. The waning moon offered enough light to make out shapes. From the corner of the barn, to see the main house. A light burned in the kitchen. He crept closer, trying to eavesdrop, but heard nothing.

Adam's questions were endless: Where was the first shipment of C-4 and what did Willy have planned for it? What was Ethan up to and would he try to sabotage Adam?

Adam needed help, but who to trust? It wasn't as simple as picking up the phone and calling it in. The leaks...

He thought back to Stan's original instructions to Zach: that the data be delivered to Chris Tashley. Tashley was his best bet for now. Adam would have Zach e-mail copies of Stan's files to Tashley, with a message asking for his help in getting backup.

Tense and tired, he headed back toward the bunkhouse. In the morning he'd insist on making contact with his brother and finalize a plan to get Renata to safety and the McEdwins to jail.

A pounding at the door woke Adam before five.

It was Tristin. "Pa wants the doctor to check Lyle."

Adam grew concerned. "Is he worse?"

"He had a restless night and he don't look so hot. Pa had to leave, but he wanted her to look at him first thing."

The news that Willy was no longer at the compound was also troubling. "When will he return? I have people I need to contact."

"He'll be back before dark. And he's two steps ahead of you; he left a satellite phone at the main house. Nevin's already laying out plans to bring Montague here, too."

"That's presuming a lot."

Tristin shrugged. "You can take that up with him."

Renata was already dressed when Adam returned to the bedroom. He slipped on the handcuffs, felt her shudder. "You have to trust me. Remember: It's part of the act."

She met his gaze. "That doesn't mean I have to like it."

At the main house, they found Lyle's condition had deteriorated overnight. His breathing was labored, his color poor.

"How long has he been like this?" She checked his vital signs.

"I'm not sure," Tristin said. "Pa stayed with him most of the night."

She grabbed the bottle of painkillers sitting on the nightstand. The lid was off, pills scattered on the table.

"Any idea how many of these he's taken?"

"Nope."

She tossed the loose pills in the trash and recapped the bottle before handing it to Tristin. "These have to be monitored and kept out of his reach. He could easily overdose."

"He won't like me taking them."

"Too bad." She checked the IV, found the drip had stopped, the tubing crimped where it had caught in the nightstand's drawer. "Here's part of the problem."

Working to restart the IV, she added yet another antibiotic. "This may be futile. He needs blood work, cultures."

Lyle coughed, his eyes fluttering, unfocused. "No hospitals, Tris. I'd rather die . . . than go back to . . . prison."

"Don't worry. You ain't going back, bro." Tristin turned to Adam. "Nevin's waiting on you. I'll stay and help the doctor."

Nevin was in the kitchen. "Here's what I've come up with," he said. "Call your partner and tell him to drive north into Wyoming on highway 191. We'll pick him up at the Roadside Diner, thirty miles south of Pinedale, in three hours."

"Hold it. I haven't discussed any of this with him. He may have other ideas. His coming here was never part of our plan."

"Plans change. We have a deal to conclude and now all those Feds are massing in Colorado. If we bring him here, it's safer. We can make final arrangements to get the C-4, and you two can talk to Pa, figure out if you're interested in doing more. If not, fine—but you know yourself it's a hell of a lot easier to conduct business in person than on the run."

Adam couldn't fault Nevin's logic. "I may not be able to reach him. If he's gotten wind the Feds are that close, he may have fled."

Nevin checked his watch. "I've got an errand to run. There's a phone in the other room. I'll be back in an hour. If he agrees, we'll take off, then meet the chopper."

"What about the woman?"

"Tristin and Burt will stay here with her and Lyle. Pa should be back by the time we return."

Adam didn't like the idea of leaving Renata. Asking to bring her along was out of the question; would only raise suspicion, especially with Lyle so sick. Having his brother pose as his partner, and getting him here quickly was their best option for now.

Burt was on the computer when Adam went to use the phone, so he kept his call to Zach brief.

"I was getting worried" his brother began.

"There's been a change." He explained his conversation with Willy and Nevin.

"Did you tell him I'd be interested?"

Adam grunted. "I told him I don't put words in your mouth. Can you make Pinedale, Wyoming, in three hours?"

"Might be tight. I'm trying to wrap up a few arrangements here."

"What kind of arrangements?"
"I doubt you want to know. But I've got the merchandise close by."

Adam grunted. The C-4. How in the hell had his brother gotten that? "I need you to forward those files."

"Will do. I'll see you soon."

When Adam returned to Lyle's room, Tristin took a break to get coffee, which gave him a moment alone with Renata.

Adam pulled her away from the bed and lowered his voice. "Nevin and I are going to pick up my brother. I shouldn't be gone long."

Her eyes flared. "Guess that means you aren't taking me, are you?"

"Not with Lyle this ill. I should only be gone a few hours."

"And if you don't return?"

He nudged her chin up. "I'll return."

Footsteps sounded in the hall. Adam moved back to the bed and began discussing Lyle's condition.

Behind them, Burt cleared his throat. "You need to go. Nevin's waiting."

Renata had a strong urge to run after Adam. Even though she knew it was part of the charade, his cold indifference in front of Burt stung. And the knowledge that he'd be gone left her uneasy.

She had no illusions where the McEdwins were concerned. To them, she was nothing more than a temporary caretaker for Lyle. Beyond that, she was a liability. Someone who could lead the police to their hideout.

The morning passed slowly. She remained in Lyle's room, reading old magazines. Tristin or Burt remained
just outside the door, the computerized
binks
and
boinks
from a handheld video game a constant reminder of their presence. And their apathy.

At noon Tristin delivered a tray of food. Enough for five or six people—provided they liked it burnt. "It's late for breakfast, but it's all I can cook. The oatmeal's for Lyle."

Ignoring the brown eggs, she forced herself to eat a piece of scorched toast, smearing it first with strawberry jelly. The sugar did little to cover the carbon taste.

Lyle roused enough to take a single bite of oatmeal. "Tastes like ... shit. Pa must be gone."

"Try a little more," she urged.

"What's the use?" He turned away, drifted back to sleep.

Frustrated, she changed his dressings and bathed him. He looked cachectic—drawn, deathlike—his body so ravaged with infection that it was slowly shutting down.

"Fight," she whispered, pulling a clean sheet over him.

He stirred barely conscious. "Thanks, doc. I know I don't... deserve ... care ... like this."

His gratitude surprised her. "Everyone deserves care. It's a basic human dignity."

"I'm not gonna make it, am I?"

"I won't lie. You're quite sick. But I've seen worse." A new idea occurred to her. What if, in his weakened state, she could convince Lyle to ask to go to a hospital? Surely Willy would honor his son's request.

"You'll make it," she urged. "If we can get you to a hospital. Surely your father can pull some strings; get you admitted under an alias."

When he didn't respond, she bowed her head, discouraged.

"My father ... won't... help," Lyle whispered.

She shifted closer. "What about your brothers?"

"Or Adam—" Lyle passed out.

A noise sounded behind her. Burt leaned in the doorjamb, watching her, making her uncomfortable.

"Did I hear Lyle talking?" he asked.

She moved closer to where Burt stood. Lyle had said his father wouldn't help, but he hadn't ruled out his brothers or Adam.

"He asked to go to a hospital." She kept her voice low. "He doesn't want to die."

A shadow crossed Burt's face. "Pa said gangrene's already set in. That he'll lose use of his leg."

"Your father is wrong. The leg could be saved." Renata felt the lie stick in her throat. She'd seen the signs of non-responsiveness in Lyle's leg, felt the coldness from lack of circulation. Neither boded well. But Burt wasn't a doctor.