The Great Jackalope Stampede (46 page)

She shined the flashlight around the body, noticing a cloud of pink in the water. Blood. The woman must have hit her head on the way down the mine shaft, and not just her head judging from the odd angle of the left leg below the knee.

Something green further down in the water caught Claire’s eye.

“What’s that?” she whispered.

She climbed down several more rungs until the water almost touched her shoes. Gently toeing the body aside, she shined the flashlight into the water. There were several green things littered on the bottom of the shaft, all close to the same size except one, which was bigger and seemed to be partially wrapped in something black.

These must have been what the lady was hiding down here. What were they? Where had she found them? Were they from one of Joe’s stashes?

Claire peered up toward the shaft opening, looking for any signs of light from topside. How much longer was Mac going to be? Would he be willing to swim down in the water and grab one of them? No, wait. That would mean he would need to climb down in the shaft and she didn’t want him coming down. With her luck, the rope would break and they would be stuck, left to die next to the dead woman.

She nudged the body away again, leaning down with the flashlight until it almost touched the water. There was one of those green things directly below her, close to the wall.

The water would be so cold.

But she was already wet and shivering.

No, she should play it safe and wait for Mac.

She shined the light around, counting the green pieces. Twelve plus the big one.

Looking up again, she saw nothing but darkness. How long had it been? What if something happened to him on the way down? What if he fell down, broke his leg, and got eaten by vultures.

Okay, that was the panic talking, trying to rise to the surface again. Claire beat it back down by bonking her head lightly with the rubber flashlight.

Rubber flashlight. She stared at it. Of course, it was one of Mac’s waterproof flashlights.

She shined it back in the water on the piece of green directly below her. She could be in and out in less than ten seconds with whatever that was.

That would be stupid. What if something happened and she got hung up and drowned all because she wanted to see what the dead lady had been hiding—what she had been willing to kill for down here.

Claire stood there waiting, thinking, wondering, shivering, waiting, listening, dripping, counting the seconds, waiting, peering into the water.

If she had that green thing in her hand, at least she would have something else to look at while she waited.

“Mac?” she called up and waited some more.

“Oh, screw it.” She gripped the flashlight tight, took three short breaths, held the fourth, and stepped off the ladder.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Mac couldn’t scramble back up the hillside to the Lucky Monk fast enough.

While Claire was able to get out of the water, he knew the temperature in the mine and how fast the combination of cool air and the cold water would sap her heat and energy. Trembling muscles made it twice as hard to hold onto a ladder, let alone climb one, which was what she was going to have to do to get back to the surface.

He shifted the tactical nylon rope ladder he had grabbed from his pickup, carrying it with his left arm for a while. She needed enough strength to climb twenty-five feet or so up the rubber rungs, which should be doable for her so long as she had conserved her energy.

Sweat rolled down his back as he jogged through the mine, wondering if Claire was freaking out about the body floating down there with her. Her love of horror movies might be coming back to bite her in the ass right about now. Christ, why had he dragged her up here? She would be safe at Ruby’s right now if he hadn’t been so hell bent on getting some time alone with her.

As he made it closer to the drift with the shaft, he thought he noticed a sweet hint of flowers in the musty air. He slowed, sniffing again. After racing down the side of a big hill, grabbing thirty pounds of gear, and chugging back up with it, maybe his synapses were misfiring, screwing up his senses.

He rounded the last bend and skidded to a stop.

No. They were not misfiring after all.

In front of him stood another khaki vested woman, peering over the edge of the shaft.

She looked at him, her eyes widening. She reached down, digging in the backpack at her feet. When her hand came up, she held what looked like another .38 Special.

“Don’t move,” she said, raising the gun.

Mac threw the rolled up ladder at her, all thirty pounds of it, as hard as he could. It slammed into her chest, knocking her hand with the .38 aside, but she hung onto the gun. She stumbled backwards away from the shaft. Before she could fully regain her balance, he rushed toward her.

She lifted the gun again in her right hand, her aim wobbly. He swung his arm around, slamming into her wrist, trying to break her hold on the .38. But her grip was strong, her face pinched in determination.

He clamped onto her wrist with his left hand, forcing her to point the gun away from him. “Drop it!” When she refused, he raised his right fist. “I said drop it now!”

Shielding half her face with her other arm, she said, “You wouldn’t hit an old woman, would you?”

Mac’s gaze narrowed. He had heard that one before. His hesitation when wrestling the dead woman below for her .38 had given the bitch the opportunity to plant the toe of her hiking boot solidly into his nuts. He’d dropped to his knees, which had allowed her time to retrieve her gun and aim it at him again.

His balls still ached from that error in judgment. There wouldn’t be a second mistake.

“If she’s carrying,” he said, “hell, yes.” He nailed her with a hard right, his fist smashing into her cheekbone.

She crumpled to the floor at his feet.

Huffing from the adrenaline flood, he waited for her to get back up and come at him again. When she didn’t move, he squatted next to her and rolled her over. She was still breathing but out cold. Her cheek had an angry, purplish-red mark already. She would live, but she was going to have a big shiner come tomorrow.

He took her gun, made sure the hammer was down, and shoved it down his sock on the outside of his calf. Then he dragged the woman away from the shaft and tied her hands and feet together with some of the rope he had carried up to the mine along with his ladder.

When she was safely tied up, he leaned over the shaft. “Claire?”

The sight of a flashlight moving around below the tangled mess of the ladder made his limbs feel rubbery with relief.

“What took you so long?” she called up.

“I stopped for a beer on the way back up.” He flexed his right hand, his knuckles beginning to throb from that punch. “I’m going to lower down a tactical ladder. When you’re ready to grab onto it, let me know so I can secure it up here.”

“I thought I requested that you bring a big sexy stud to carry my ass out of here.”

“They were all out of big sexy studs at Creekside Hardware.” He started unrolling the ladder down into the shaft. “As for carrying you, I thought with women’s lib and all, you’d want to haul your own ass out of there.”

“You thought wrong.”

“Darn. How about when you get topside, you take off your bra and we’ll burn it together.”

“You said you liked the blue polka dots.”

“I like you better without them.” He threaded the ladder around the twisted mess below.

“The ladder is here,” she hollered up.

“Count to ten, and then climb on.”

“Are you sure this will hold me?”

“Positive. Make sure you take one step at a time, no rushing. This is not part of a timed obstacle course.”

“When was the last time you saw me rush for something involving physical exertion?”

“True. Exercise is not really your style.” He shined his light on the bent ladder, making sure there was nothing sticking out that might snag her on the way up. “I’m going to be a few feet away holding the other end of the ladder, so I can’t help you over the edge.”

“What ever happened to chivalry?”

“I think I saw it at The Shaft the other night.”

“Ronnie probably threatened to hogtie it.” He felt her tug on the ladder. “I have a surprise for you when I get up there, Mac. You’re gonna love this.”

“I have a surprise for you, too.” He frowned over at the woman tied up over by the wall, her eyes still closed. “Hurry up and start counting.”

There was another tug on the other end of the ladder. “Don’t let go of me, Mac.”

“Never, sweetheart. Trust me.”

He took several steps back as she counted, unrolling as he went, giving himself more leverage. Then he slipped the ladder over his head and one shoulder, bracing his foot against an outcropping in the mine wall.

“Here I come,” he heard her yell, and the ladder jerked and pulled.

He held steady and counted the seconds. The sight of the top of her head could not come soon enough.

Her hand showed up first, then her crown, then her brown eyes, bright with determination. Those were the eyes he wanted to look into every day, morning and night, until he keeled over. One of these days he was going to tell her that, but not yet. It was still too soon.

“You were right, Slugger.” He tightened his hold on the ladder as the leverage shifted with her reaching the top. “Your lips are blue.” Which was one of the signs of shock, but he didn’t want to alarm her until he saw how severe her injuries were.

“It’s my new Star Trek look. Blue is the new green.” She hoisted herself up out of the shaft very ungracefully, rolling over the broken two-by-six and coming to a stop on her back a few feet away from the shaft. Her breathing didn’t sound shallow or rapid, even though she had just climbed up twenty-plus feet. “Captain Kirk would find me hot, I bet.”

Mac reeled in the ladder enough so it wouldn’t slide down into the shaft, then lowered to his knees next to her. She hadn’t acted injured at all when she’d pulled herself up and out. He scanned her clothing, her head, her arms. There was no evidence of blood that he could see. No cuts either, only a small bruise on her forearm.

“You sure know how to show a guy an exciting time,” he said, brushing wet tendrils off her cheek. He picked up her wrist and checked her pulse. Under her cold, wet skin, it felt strong and steady. Good. “Want to come back and do it again next week?”

“Only if you go down first.”

He chuckled and stared into one eye and then the other, checking her pupils. Nope, not dilated. Another good sign. “I’m always happy to go down first, but only if you have your tool belt slung low on your hips again and those pink lacy panties on.”

“You’re incorrigible.” She swatted weakly at his chest. “I almost d-died down there and you’re flirting with m-me.”

“I can’t help it, Slugger. I’m nuts for you.” He leaned down and kissed her cold lips, trying to warm them up.

He ran his hands over her shoulders, feeling her body begin to tremble under her wet shirt. He was no doctor, but from what he could tell by her other checkpoints, she was not going into shock … yet. But here came the shakes anyway, which could be just a delayed response to the prolonged exposure to the cold water and air. Add to that the psychological trauma of spending time stuck in a mine shaft alone with a dead woman, and a release of the stress was inevitable. He had seen it before. A person made it through something traumatic without a hitch only to collapse afterward, shaking and crying uncontrollably.

“We need to get you out of these clothes,” he said. More importantly, they needed to get out of the mine and into the sunshine with its heat and brightness. But one step at a time.

“I know I agreed to k-k-kinky sex if you rescued m-me, but I don’t think I can get into the m-mood to do the wild thing with that woman floating d-d-down there.”

“I’ll take a raincheck.” He helped her into a sitting position. “I need to get you warmed up, Slugger. This shirt is cold and wet.”

He tugged the shirt she had borrowed from him over her head, and then wrapped her shoulders in a threadbare but dry towel he had found stuffed under his pickup seat. He helped her crawl further away from the shaft to be safe. Dropping down next to her, he pulled her onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her. She snuggled in under his chin while he rubbed her arms and legs, alternating.

With a little more time and friction, his body heat might warm her enough to slow her shaking. It probably wouldn’t hurt to keep her lucid and talking while he was at it.

“I’m s-s-s-so c-c-c-c-cold.” She burrowed into him, her whole body racked with shudders. Her coolness soaked through his shirt and jeans. “Who’s th-th-that?” She nodded toward the tied up woman.

“The other half of our problem. She’s that surprise I mentioned.” He pulled her closer, rubbing faster. “What’s your surprise?”

She shifted, reaching into her back pocket, and came out with a green stone about half the size of her palm. “This is w-w-what the other one s-sent me down to g-g-get.”

Taking it, he frowned down at the piece of jade, inspecting the carving on it. “No shit. What’s this design?”