Unspeakable (46 page)

As they continued their hike, she experimented with her camera and various attachments. She prevailed upon him and David to pose until David complained of the purple spots behind his eyes caused by the flash. Jack suspected she got off some candid shots as well using natural light, because once after he and David stood up from their inspection of a hidey-hole in a tree trunk, he caught her lowering the camera from her face and smiling with satisfaction. With the afternoon sun came a return of the heat. The wet ground began giving off steam, and they decided it was time to return to the house. Jack rolled down the windows in the cab of the truck. Anna sat in the middle, allowing David to get out and open and close the cattle guard gates us they drove through them, a chore the boy enjoyed.

Anna rode with her hand resting on Jack's thigh. It was an unconscious gesture—comfortable, trusting, possessive—that she wasn't even aware of. But Jack was. He covered her hand with his and when he did, she looked up at him and scooted closer until he could feel her breast beneath his triceps, her hip comfortably against his. Familiarity. With a woman. One woman. Something else new to him.

Anna's hair blew against his cheek and neck. The fragrance she wore reminded him of intimacies they had shared last night. David talked incessantly, but rather than being an annoyance, his chatter added to Jack's contentment.

He didn't know whether to cry or to crow.

He had never known life could be this good.

It was so good that he didn't trust it to last.

Nothing this good lasted.

It would end.

How it would end scared him.

CHAPTER FORTY–FOUR

T
he pickup rolled to a stop. "What time is it, Jack?"

"Going on three o'clock."

"Good, I haven't missed Gilligan's Island." David opened the passenger door and nearly fell out of the cab in his haste to alight. Running up the front steps, he bounded across the porch.

"You forgot the electricity's not on!" Jack hollered after him. But the front door had already closed behind him.

Jack helped Anna out of the truck. "He's a bundle of energy today." Pulling her against him, he added, "Not me. Not after all that exercise you put me through last night." She tried to look affronted but couldn't keep from smiling. He hugged her tightly and quickly, then set her away and began unloading the bed of the pickup. She carried her camera and related gear. He took the quilt and food hamper. "Soon as we get this stuff inside, maybe we should go into town and see what's going on, ask about the electricity and such. What do you think?" She made the sign for food.

"Right," Jack said. "If any stores are still standing they've probably already been picked clean, but maybe we can still find some groceries that don't require refrigeration. Good thing the cookstove is fueled by gas."

Reaching around her, he opened the front door and pushed it open. Anna went in ahead of him. He followed.

The blow was struck with staggering force.

He'd been kicked in the head by a horse once. He was working as a wrangler on a dude ranch in southern California, a place where rich people paid huge sums of money to play cowboy for a week. The gelding was known to have a nasty disposition. He'd been rubbing him down after a trail ride when he saw the horse's nostrils flare and realized what was coming. He had dodged, but not quickly enough. The hoof had caught him in the head.

This was much worse.

With the horse, he'd had a millisecond to brace himself. This time nothing had prepared him. It had come out of nowhere, delivered by an entity unseen. The side of his head sustained the full thrust and all the impetus behind it. It literally knocked him off his feet. He went airborne and seemingly hung there forever before crashing into the entry wall. A stabbing pain shot through his side and he knew the collision had left him with at least one broken rib. He landed in a heap on the floor, swallowing the nausea that filled his throat. He clutched his head and closed his eyes, cursing the pile-driver that had hit him, because nothing short of that could have caused this much blinding, debilitating pain.

He could actually feel his brain bouncing around the inside walls of his cranium like a ball on a roulette wheel. Only when it finally resettled was he able to open his eyes, astonished that he still could get them open and that the blow hadn't killed him or knocked him unconscious. Acting on instinct, he tried to stand but managed only to come up onto all fours. When he raised his head, the surrounding walls did a hoochie-coochie and the floor undulated. The motion made him sick. He hung his head between his shoulders and retched.

"Aw, Jesus. Will you stop that?"

Jack's arms collapsed beneath him and he fell onto his side, sending another searing pain through his torso. The broken rib was acting like a branding iron on his vital organs. He clenched his teeth to keep from crying out.

"Now look at the mess you made on the floor. How about it, sweetheart? You gonna give him hell about puking on your wax job?"

Jack opened his eyes again. The vertigo had abated a little. At least the rhythm of the dance the walls and floor were performing was slower now than before. Nevertheless, he had to swim through waves of nausea before he was able to pull things into focus.

The man was tall, handsome, deadly.

Jack knew that immediately, and with that knowledge came another gush of vomit, which he was able to keep down only by the sternest act of will.

The guy had one hand clamped over David's mouth, hard enough to hold the boy against him. In the other hand was a pistol aimed at the side of David's head. Anna was flattened against the opposite wall, staring at the man in terror, her eyes wide and white. All the blood had drained from her face.

Their assailant was addressing her. "Didn't your mama teach you that it was impolite to ignore folks when they were talking to you?"

Anna continued to stare at him.

Pushing David ahead of him, he moved closer to her. "What's the matter, honey? Cat got your tongue?"

She stood frozen, petrified.

The man poked her lightly in the belly with the barrel of the pistol. "Come on now. Speak up." He moved the gun barrel down past her waist and rubbed it against her pubic area. "Bet I can make you talk." Lowering his voice to an obscene whisper, he said, "Bet I can make you scream."

"Deaf."

Jack's voice was little more than a croak, but it brought the man's head around. He looked at Jack shrewdly through eyes honed sharp by years of imprisonment.

"She's deaf," he rasped. "She can't talk."

The cold eyes narrowed with even more suspicion, but his disarming smile was in place. "You wouldn't lie to me, would you? I don't advise it."

"She's deaf."

To Jack's surprise, he threw back his head and laughed, showing even rows of straight, white teeth. "I didn't know whether to believe it or not, but, by God, it's true. My brother said— Ow! " Suddenly he yelped and flung David aside. He waved his hand in pain, then inspected the red teeth marks on his palm. "You little fucker, I'll teach you to bite me." He advanced threateningly toward David.

"No!" Jack shouted.

Anna screamed.

"Leave my mom alone," David cried as the man reached down, grabbed him by the front of his T-shirt, and jerked him off his feet. David began flailing his arms and kicking. For several seconds the man had his hands full trying to subdue the boy.

Jack, fearing the pistol would go off in the tussle, forced himself to his feet, then staggered in the general direction of the struggle.

"Stay back!" The gunman thrust the pistol at Jack's chest as he pushed David against Anna, who clutched the sobbing boy to her chest.

As Jack saw it, he had two choices. He could die a brave fool's death, or he could use his head and realize that he would be no good to Anna and David if he got himself shot. His impulse was to attack the son of a bitch. But what purpose would defending them serve if he got killed in the process?

So he did as ordered and stayed back.

The man grinned and rolled his shoulders as though to relax them. "Now that's more like it. No need for everybody to get all excited."

"I'm not excited," Jack said calmly.

"Well then, good. We don't have a problem, do we? We shouldn't. 'Cause we're family. Here I was on my way south, and I say to myself, 'I can't pass up an opportunity to meet my nephew and sister-in-law, now can I? No, sir.'" He gave Anna a wide smile. "No blood relation, I'm glad to say." His eyes moved over her. "Dean did good for himself. I swear, everything that kid touched turned to pure gold, and that includes you, honey."

"What do you want, Herbold?"

He turned to Jack. "None of your goddamn business." Then vanity got the best of him and he cocked his head to one side. "You called me by name. You know me?"

"You serious?"

Carl laughed and bowed slightly. "I'm a regular TV personality, aren't I?" Giving Jack no time to reply, he said, "Let me guess. You're the one says he's the hired hand." Jack remained stonily silent.

"Yeah, Cecil told me about you."

"Did he tell you about Delray?"

"That he was about to cash it in?"

"He did."

"He's dead?" Carl looked at him skeptically.

Jack said, "I can show you the obituary in the newspaper."

"Won't be necessary." Thoughtfully, he rubbed the barrel of the pistol up and down his cheek as though scratching an itch. "Does my heart good, thinking about that motherfucker roasting in hell." He savored his vision for a moment, then refocused on Jack. "So what's with you?"

"Nothing's with me."

"That's not what Cec said. He said he thought you were law. Federal maybe." Jack almost laughed, but the pain in his side made him gasp instead. "Cec was wrong." It was obvious Carl didn't believe him. "You're just the hired hand."

"That's it."

"Now that Delray's dead, you planning to take over?"

"No. I'm just sticking around until Mrs. Corbett gets on her feet." Carl grinned and gave him a slow once-over, then glanced at Anna before returning to Jack. "Not what it looked like to me. To me y'all sure seemed friendly. Going on picnics together and all," he drawled, indicating the food hamper that Anna had dropped when he grabbed her. He bent down and picked up an apple that had rolled from it, polished it on his sleeve, then took a large bite that crunched loudly as he chewed. "You fucked her yet?" Jack said nothing, knowing Carl was trying to bait him so he would have a good excuse to kill him. He probably planned to kill him anyway, but as long as he could delay it, they stood a chance of escape or rescue.

Anna was watching him, following his dialogue with Carl as best she could by reading their lips. He hoped she also could see his right hand as it moved against his belt. His fingers formed each letter slowly, so as not to attract the other man's attention.

To use up time and keep Carl distracted, he remarked, "Your brother's not with you." His fingers formed the letter k.

"No, Cecil couldn't make it today."

"Where is he?" N.

Carl's smile faltered. "You sure you're not law? You ask a lot of questions about stuff that is none of your goddamn business."

Jack hoped he could keep Carl preoccupied until Anna noticed and interpreted what he was signing. I. "I figure Cecil is dead."

"Shut the fuck up!"

"Why, Carl," Jack taunted. "You sure are touchy when it comes to talking about your big brother." F. "What'd you do? Kill him so you could keep all the bank money for yourself?" He pointed the pistol at Jack. "Look, I'm warning you. I told you to shut up." E. Jack had no illusions about how dangerous Carl Herbold was. But even the most hardened criminal had an Achilles' heel. He had found it on the first probe. Fratricide was a heavy load of guilt to bear, even for a seasoned killer.

If Anna had noticed the signal he was sending, she hadn't acted on it. He started over. K. "What about the girl? What's her name, the teller who helped in the robbery." N. "Where's she, Carl? Or did you dispose—"

Carl backhanded Anna in the face.

The attack was so vicious and unexpected that for an instant it immobilized them all. Then David started screaming at Carl, Carl started laughing, and all Jack could do was let the rage surge through him because Carl still had the pistol aimed at his midsection.

"That's right, big-shot hired hand, or whoever the hell you are. You keep up the smart-ass chatter and she gets the back of my hand. For starters." Anna was holding her hand to her bleeding lip, but her posture and her eyes were full of hauteur as she glared at the convict. "Or maybe I'll fuck her in the ass while you and the boy here watch. Now that I think on it, I'd like that better." Jack was powerless. If he gave Carl any excuse to kill him, he would do it and still sleep well tonight. Losing his temper was not an option, but it took all his willpower to stand and do nothing when his impulse was to rip out the guy's throat.

Each breath sent a shaft of pain through him. It hurt like hell to talk, but his voice was the only weapon available to him. "You're real tough, Carl. Who'd you pick on while you were in prison?