Too Sexy for his Stetson (28 page)

C
onsciousness slowly seeped in. The salty taste of blood tinged Brandy’s mouth.

“You got a half hour, Morrisey, then we’re out of here.”

Coogan’s voice.

Brandy listened and held her breath.
Don’t move. Don’t open your eyes.

Footsteps thunked. Hinges creaked. A door slammed. Coogan had left her with Morrisey? She tried wiggling her stiff jaw.

“Alone at last,” Morrisey’s slurred voice came from across the room.

She swallowed and remained rock still even though she doubted a limp passive body would discourage the creep. From the sound of his voice, a doped–up creep.

Focus.
Dispelling a shudder, she gritted her teeth. With her back to him, she dared moving her hand and inched her fingers toward the hidden pocket in her waistband and groped for the miniature Swiss army knife. Attacking him with a tiny one–inch blade would be like trying to slay a dragon with a dart gun, but it was all she had.

She clenched her fists at the sound of feet shuffling closer… closer… until his boot connected—hard—with her ribs.

****

Whitewater.

After eight minutes, they were in the thick of it. No turning back.

Every muscle in Blade’s body went on alert as a jet stream of water propelled the raft straight for the rapids and Quicksilver Falls.

“This baby is my most stable raft. She can handle extreme conditions.” Tonya steered from the stern with the single–bladed guide stick, if her efforts could be described as steering. The Shoshone whipped the raft along at its whim. Rambo crouched next to her.

Blade tapped Thigpen. As soon as he turned around, Tonya said, “Latch onto the rope grips when we go over the falls.”

“Sounds like a plan.” The agent’s corded forearms tensed, as did Blade’s, as they clamped the rope running along the top of the raft.

“A plan that includes staying in the raft,” she emphasized. “But if you do get tossed in the drink, float—feet forward—”

The stampeding water was deafening. Blade squinted. Thigpen wasn’t the only one reading Tonya’s lips. He sucked in a breath and braced for the inevitable. Before he had time to worry about going over, they were airborne.

His stomach bottomed out as they dropped.

The flat surface of the raft smacked the river and jarred his bones. They were greeted by an icy–cold spray, a frigid monsoon gone wild. Water eddied over the rubber tube and took them under. Then, like a submerged balloon, they rocketed up.

Fell again, belly–flopping.

They bobbled in a violent swirl of water that propelled them downstream beyond the falls into current that churned as though God had turned his heavenly turbines to full throttle.

Blade scrubbed the wash from his eyes. At the stern, Tonya used her paddle as a rudder. Rambo scrabbled for footing next to her. Thigpen had gone partway over the side, but was hanging onto the top rope, his feet in the freezing water.

Blade crawled toward him and helped him climb back aboard.

Spitting out a mouthful of water, Thigpen addressed their guide, “This Tour d’Alene’s premium package?”

“You just survived grade six level of difficulty in whitewater rafting—known as a suicide venture.” Tonya signaled a V for victory.

Ten minutes later, they hit a blanket of haze. In the soupy mix, Tonya directed them blindly downstream, managed to find their target spot, and nosed the raft into a bank. They jolted to a stop. “This is the channel. As close as we can covertly get to the cabin.”

His nerves still on edge, Blade glimpsed the time on his watch just before he jumped onto the bank. On the plus side, they’d made it in record time. And the rain had stopped. But they were still too far away from Brandy.

Pointing to the right, Tonya said, “Beringer, we can follow that trail and approach from the woods on the back side of the cabin.”

What trail?
Everything beyond two feet in front of their noses was veiled in earthbound clouds.

Tonya dug out her rifle and their cell phones from the wet box and moved into the agent’s line of vision. “Thigpen, if you’re headed for the dam, this is where we part.” She motioned to the left. “Once you reach Hawk’s Nest, cut cross country. I have the feeling you know your way around in the wilderness. You’re a tracker, right?”

“In one of my other lives, yeah, I was a Shadow Wolf.”

“I knew it. Kwatee be with you.”

Their eyes locked for a second, and then Thigpen disappeared into the fog. Blade signaled Rambo, while Tonya hefted her rifle over her shoulder. “Maybe you should send your dog along the river so he can approach from the front? Divide and conquer?”

“Good idea.” Blade knelt. “Rambo,
Such
. Go find Brandy.”

His K–9 sniffed, twitching his nose in the humid air, and took off along the water’s edge. Just as quickly, Tonya and Blade set out, each vying to set the pace. The grade rose sharply, and with the elevation, the fog lifted to reveal a wilderness dense with dripping foliage.

“How far to the cabin?” Blade stopped to catch his breath.

“From here,” Tonya said between quick breaths, “maybe a quarter of a mile.”

Neither of them mentioned Brandy. Or how long it had been since Blade had heard from her. Or how dangerous Morrisey was—a brainwashed product of a cult who was likely under the influence of drugs.

Tonya pushed the pace, breathing down Blade’s neck. Finally, she stepped out and took the lead. They sprinted over slippery muck, skidded over moss–covered rocks, and hurdled the occasional rotted log. The heavy air sucked away energy like a thirsty sponge.

Coming to an abrupt stop, Tonya pointed and said, “There’s the cabin.”

Blade strained to view the outline of a roof rising from the gloom.

She heaved a breath and moved to the edge of the mountainous path that angled downward and disappeared in the fog. Her foot slid on a patch of slick grass.

Blade reached out, scrambling to grab her. He wasn’t fast enough. Helplessly, he watched her slide partway down the hill and introduce her knees to a tree root that saved her from tumbling further.

He rushed to climb down after her. “You okay?”

While offering her a hand, his foot give way and skated on the soupy incline. Loosened rock gave way in a small avalanche, and the clogged treads of his boots lost purchase. Feet first, he slid down the steep grade. Edges of shale nipped at his back through his shirt. He grunted as sharp gravel bit the exposed skin on his arms. Granite clunked against his head as he surfed down the hill, scrambling for a handhold. Tonya came tumbling after him. Her face twisted in a grimace when she came to a stop next to him.

She asked dryly, “You okay?”

“Wonderful.” Blade made a quick check of the abrasions on her arms and wiped away the mud as best he could. “Did you break anything?”

“Just my stride,” she said, flexing each leg before she pushed to a standing position.

While Blade brushed himself off and studied the expanse of rocks that stood between them and the cabin, his phone squawked. He dragged it out and answered.

“This is Christiansen. What’s your twenty? Find Brandy yet?”

“We’ve got the cabin in sight.”

“Good. That’s one positive. On this end, the lake’s still fogged in, and we can’t get through on the service road to the dam. It’s a total washout.”

“Then the opposition won’t be able to either.”

“We wish. Tire tracks indicate they’ve already passed this point.”

“Hold your position, keep them barricaded in. Is it too foggy to drop a team in from the chopper?”

“Affirmative.”

Jeezus, they couldn’t catch a break.
“The security guards at the dam have been alerted?”

“Affirmative.”

Bang!

The sound of a gunshot came from the cabin.
God, no… Brandy.

CHAPTER TWENTY–SIX

B
randy tried not to react when Morrisey fired a gun and then kicked her in the ribs. Or when he leaned over her and said, “Don’t you worry, baby. Danny Boy’s got something really good for you.”

Playing dead wasn’t going to work.

She pushed up and looked into his glassy eyes. “You’re a fool, Morrisey. McKee has you brainwashed. If you take part in blowing up the dam, you’ll be responsible for the deaths of hundreds of people.”

“Shut up, bitch.” He wound his hand through her hair and yanked, dragging her to her knees.

Fat chance she had of reasoning with a mind controlled by the warped doctrines of McKee’s Church of God’s Chosen People. Panic shot through her. How did she handle someone who was high on drugs and cult trained to kill?

“Sometimes, killing is justified, Deputy. If you treat me real nice, I’ll make sure you’re out cold when you go over Scuppernong Falls. You won’t even feel your bones smash to pieces or your lungs fill with water… shit, that must be hell.” He grinned like the freaking lunatic he was. Still leaning over her, smirking, he shoved her backward onto the floor and reached to unzip his jeans.

“Go to hell.” She ground her teeth together to keep her jaw from trembling.

“Fiery little thing, ain’t ya? I’m going to enjoy teaching a bitch cop how to treat a man.”

He dropped to his knees, straddling her. Brandy’s insides clenched as she squirmed and slid back, drawing her knees toward her chest. Clutching her hand around the knife, she extended the blade. It was so tiny Morrisey didn’t notice. He grabbed for her ankles, and she kicked with her right leg, throwing him off balance. When he righted himself and moved in on her, she kneed him in the groin.

He doubled over, but fired back, whacking her cheek with the back of his hand as he groaned and fell on top of her.

Sparkles shimmered before her eyes.

You have to divert his one–track mind.
“For God’s sake, Morrisey, use your head. Think about what’ll happen. You can’t let them blow up the dam. Hundreds of people will die.”

“Those Scuppernongs aren’t God’s chosen people. We’ll just be fulfilling the prophecy.”

Yeah, your religion is so honorable.

He fingered her hair before he fisted it again and yanked. “Now, you wouldn’t be trying to distract me—trying to play with my brain, would you, honey?”

You’d have to have a brain for me to distract it.
Hysteria loomed, a shiver of fear coursing through her. But she damn well would not let this monster, operating on a drug–induced high, violate her. He’d have to kill her right here and now.

Her heart pounded. Her fingers went numb from the tight grip she maintained on the tiny Swiss Army knife. When he leaned over, she lashed out, slicing diagonally upward from his waist to his shoulder.

Fabric ripped. The blade dragged. He froze. For a second. A vein on his forehead gorged.

“What the fuck?” He swiped his hand across his chest, gaped at the smudge of blood on his fingers, and lurched for the knife, slamming it away. It danced across the floor out of reach.

The door whipped open. “Jesus Christ, Morrisey, can’t you do anything right?” Skip stomped in and loomed over them, pistol clamped in his right hand. “You moron.”

Jaw set, face twisted in an ugly scowl, Morrisey glared at Brandy. “It’s nothing. I’ve got this under control.” He narrowed his eyes and fisted his hand.

Brandy again found herself on the receiving end of his favorite way of entertaining a woman. His punch landed on her chin, and stars exploded in her head.
Do not black out.

Do.

Not.

Black.

Out.

“There’s a change in the schedule,” Coogan said. “Zip up your fucking pants and take her to the boat.
Now.
We’ve already got people in motion. It’s time Deputy Wilcox starts her trip downstream to Lake Shoshone, which will soon cease to exist.”

Brandy tried to raise her head and saw two Coogans. She squinted. “You’re blowing up the dam to cover up my murder?”

“I can’t afford another suspicious death of someone connected to the Abbott case. It might bode poorly for my reputation. With the destruction of the dam and the resulting disaster, no one will question your unfortunate drowning.”

A chill ran down her spine. Skip was warped enough to kill hundreds of people to cover up her murder? She had to stop him. “You won’t get away with this. Blade will hunt you down.”

“Blade trusts me. He’ll believe anything I tell him.”

“He knows the truth, Coogan.” She pushed onto one elbow.

“No, Deputy, I think he only believes what you’ve got him bamboozled into thinking. And you’re not going to be around to influence him or to sink your hooks into him. Not that you’d have a chance of landing him. He may want to fuck you, but he’d never settle down with a stray cat who grew up running wild.”

“A stray cat who knew the truth about you all along.”

“Someone who’ll never win Blade.”

The words stabbed. If Coogan had his way, Brandy would never have a chance to convince Blade he was wrong about his self–doubts. Anger surged through her. She couldn’t let Coogan win.

“Tie her hands, and take her to the boat. And try not to fuck up this time.” He handed Morrisey a pistol.

Zombie–eyed, Morrisey nodded and stuffed the gun into his waistband, then pulled a length of rope from his back pocket. Brandy kicked and scratched, struggling against his every move. His strength finally won when his knee connected with her stomach and knocked the wind out of her. He grabbed her arms, pulled them in front of her, and wrapped the rope around her wrists. She flexed her muscles and clenched her fingers to keep him from pulling the rope taut.

He dragged her outside, shoving her along a sodden path. Unsteady, she stumbled, her head spinning. She scoured the surroundings, looking for an escape route, something other than the ancient wooden rowboat that came into view when they reached the riverbank.

Something moved in the shadows.

Her eyes blurred. She strained to see. Rambo?

“What are you looking at, bitch?” Morrisey followed her gaze and drew his pistol.