Secrets in Four Corners Page 13

  She thrust her upper body through the opening and threw the clip as hard as she could.

  Drawing quickly back inside, she shouted, “I tossed it near the three rocks clustered together.”

  “Stay out of sight, Bree!”

  She’d done all she could.

  Now she waited.

  Until Patrick nailed the son of a bitch. Or backup arrived. Though they didn’t have cell service, Tabitha would be frantic to get in touch with Bree. She would call dispatch and dispatch would send someone to this location.

  If neither of those things happened she would be forced to stay put…until the bastard came charging into this shaft.

  Bree crawled back to where Peter huddled. She positioned herself in front of him, braced her arms on her bent knees and took aim at the opening.

  If the shooter came through that opening he was a dead man.

  PATRICK SCRAMBLED toward the cluster of rocks. Hit the ground on his belly and snatched up the clip.

  Two, three bullets rained around him like hail.

  He rolled back to take cover behind the larger boulder.

  There was no choice at this point but to wait the bastard out. If he thought he’d hit Patrick he might just come closer enough to kill.

  Fury tightened Patrick’s lips.

  He’d only just learned of his son’s existence. And Bree. Bree was back in his life, on shaky ground but back nonetheless. No son of a bitch was going to take that from him.

  He opened his cell phone again and tried to get a call through.

  Not enough service.

  Dammit.

  The next rifle shot sounded a hell of a lot closer.

  Patrick smiled.

  “Come on, you bastard,” he muttered.

  Patrick braced his back against the boulder, knees bent, hands wrapped around his weapon.

  A muscle started to flex in his jaw in the ensuing silence.

  “Come on.”

  A rumble echoed in the canyon.

  What the hell?

  Patrick tensed. Listened hard.

  Definitely not a weapon firing. Not vehicles arriving, though that would be nice as hell.

  Another thundering rumble.

  And then he knew.

  The cave or old mine shaft.

  His chest seized.

  Another fierce rumble reverberated around him.

  Dust flew from the opening of the abandoned mine shaft where Bree and Peter had sought refuge.

  Terror lit in Patrick’s veins.

  He shot to his feet, not caring about the danger, and charged toward the opening.

  Another dust cloud burst free of the rocks.

  Then there was silence.

  Patrick stilled.

  His heart swelled in his chest until he thought it would explode.

  He started forward again.

  “Don’t move.”

  Patrick froze.

  “One more step and you’re dead.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Bree coughed hard. She scrambled up.

  Peter?

  She shook her baby gently. She’d been lying flat on top of him.

  “Baby?”

  He whimpered.

  Thank God.

  “Are you okay, baby?”

  “It hurts.” He moaned.

  Oh, God.

  The flashlight. She needed the flashlight!

  She felt around where he lay. Where was it?

  He moaned softly and started to sob.

  “Just let me find the flashlight, sweetie, and Mommy will take care of you.” Her heart pounded like a drum inside her rib cage.

  “I got it,” he mumbled. Peter bumped her with the flashlight.

  Relief flooded her. “You did good, baby.” Thank God. Thank God.

  She clicked on the flashlight and started her examination. Tears spilled from his eyes and his face was contorted with pain but there was no blood. No sign of injury around his head and neck.

  “Where do you hurt, baby?” Torso area was also clear of blood. No visible injuries.

  “My leg.” He cried out. “Oh, my leg!”

  The ache that bloomed inside her forced her to swallow a moan.

  She guided the light to his legs. “I’m going to touch your legs one at a time, okay?” He moaned but didn’t protest further.

  She moved her fingers gently down his right leg. No protests. Nothing felt out of the ordinary. Now for the left one.

  The instant her fingers touched his left thigh he cried out. “It’s okay. I’ll be very careful.”

  Her pulse hammered. All the possibilities, including internal blood loss, if something major was broken badly enough, raced through her mind.

  “You tell me if the part I’m touching hurts.” She moved slowly down the thigh. Then over the knee. When her fingers eased down his calf, he screamed.

  Bree jerked her hand back. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” Tears streamed down her dusty cheeks. She leaned carefully over him and pressed her cheek to his. “It’s not so bad,” she promised. She tried hard not to allow her voice to shake but she wasn’t entirely successful.

  She checked him over once more. Hips and pelvis were clear of blood.

  She raised up once more. “Okay, baby, I’m going to touch you, starting with your head. You tell me if anything else hurts, okay?”

  Please, God, don’t let there be any more collapsing in this shaft.

  Peter whimpered through the examination but insisted that nothing hurt but his leg. His reflexes appeared fine. Pupils were a little dilated but that could be from the fear. Or the consuming darkness beyond the flashlight’s beam.

  Hell, she didn’t know.

  Everything she’d learned in her emergency training course was suddenly out the window.

  If she had a knife. Scissors. Anything she could use to remove the pants leg and check out the damage. But she didn’t dare move him.

  She sat back on her haunches. Tried to think. “I’m going to check your feet. Is that all right? I’ll be really careful.”

  “Don’t make it hurt more, Mommy, please.”

  Why couldn’t it have been her? She’d give anything to take away his pain.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  She swallowed. Her throat was so dry it hurt. With painstaking care she untied and wiggled off his right shoe. “Everything okay here?” she asked as she palpitated his foot.

  “Yes.” He moaned.

  “Let’s try the other one.”

  Bree untied the left shoe, then held her breath as she slowly removed it. She examined his foot. “Doesn’t hurt here?”

  He moved his head from side to side.

  “Good.” She wished she could examine his calf more closely. The best she could tell there might be a compound fracture. There was a significant lump about midway down the length of his calf. Felt like the bone was split completely apart but there was no dampness to indicate it had pierced the skin.

  But what did she know? She was a cop!

  Stay calm. If Peter sensed she was upset, it would make him more upset. She had to be brave so he could be brave.

  “Are we gonna get outta here?” he asked softly.

  Fear made her tremble. “Of course we are. Patrick is right outside. I’ll bet he’s already getting help.” If he was still alive.

  Bree closed her eyes and forced the images away. Agent Grainger’s face kept swimming in front of her eyes.

  No. Patrick couldn’t be dead.

  They were all going to be fine.

  Think like a cop, Bree. Don’t think like a victim or a mother. Think like a cop.

  “I’m going to get as close to the opening as I can and call out to Patrick. Maybe he’ll hear me.”

  Peter’s sobs grew frantic. “Don’t leave me.”

  “I’ll be right over there. You’ll be able to see the flashlight.” They weren’t more than twelve or fifteen feet from where the opening had been.

  “No!” he wailed.

  �
�It’s like when you were younger and I’d check your closet,” she assured him. “You would be on the bed and you could see me across the room looking in the closet. Okay?”

  He nodded jerkily.

  Bree took her time, scrambled over the debris. Her senses were ever alert for the slightest sound or filtering of dust that might indicate another collapse was imminent. Thank God she’d recognized what the rumbling meant in time to cover Peter’s body. Evidently a falling rock had hit his leg where it lay between hers. She’d pretty much sprawled over him in an effort to protect his trunk and head.

  When she’d gone as far as she could, she turned the flashlight beam to the side and looked for any sign of light that might be creeping through.

  Nothing.

  Did that mean they would run out of oxygen?

  Wasn’t that the worry when a mine collapsed?

  Stop. They weren’t underground. This wasn’t the same kind of situation. They were going to be fine. Patrick would get them out of here.

  Bree took a deep breath, coughed hard. When her lungs had stopped seizing, she took another deep breath and called out, “Patrick!”

  She listened for any sound. Nothing. All she could hear was blood roaring in her ears.

  “Patrick!”

  Still nothing.

  There was no way she could dig her way out of here. The rocks were too large. Moving one might start more trouble.

  Bree took a moment to calm herself. She couldn’t let Peter see her mounting fear.

  When she’d pulled herself together again, she crawled over the rocks and debris to where he lay.

  “Doing okay?”

  He nodded. His eyes were puffy from crying. Bree glanced back at the mass of rocks that lay between them and freedom. For now there was nothing she could do but hope help would reach them soon.

  Except…She peered down at her son. She could try to make him feel better.

  Bree crept around to his right to lie next to him. It was a lumpy bed but she didn’t care. She laid the flashlight between them, letting the beam light up their faces.

  “Just think,” she said, “when your friends hear about this they’re going to be thinking you’re a superhero.”

  Peter made a sound that might have been a laugh.

  She swiped the hair from his face, wiped his damp cheeks. “I’ll bet none of your friends have ever done this.”

  He shook his head. “I’ll be the only one.”

  Bree smiled. “You sure will.”

  Peter licked his lips. “Is that man really my daddy?”

  Bree’s lashes brimmed with tears once more. “Yes. He’s your daddy. His name is Patrick Martinez. He’s the sheriff of Kenner County.” Dear God, she had made such a tragic mistake.

  “He’s a good guy then, not like Big Jack.”

  “Not at all like Jack,” Bree agreed.

  “He looks like me.”

  Bree laughed. “Yes, he does.” So very, very much.

  “Has he caught a lot of bad guys like you?”

  “Even more.” Pride replaced some of the pain in her chest. “All the good people in Four Corners, especially in Kenner County, love your daddy.”

  Peter turned his face to hers. “Do you love him like Robby’s mom loves his dad?”

  The tears won the battle and rolled past her lashes. “Yes, I do.”

  “Tell me stories about my daddy,” Peter said. “It makes me feel better to hear you talk.”

  “Sure, baby.” She wiggled a little closer. “I’ll tell you all the stories you want to hear. And the next thing you know help will be here.”

  Please, God, don’t let her be wrong.

  “DROP YOUR GUN.”

  Patrick considered his options. He could toss his weapon and get shot in the back. Or he could make a dive for cover and get shot anyway.

  He’d go for Plan C. Even though he didn’t exactly have a Plan C.

  “If we don’t get help,” he said slowly, “Bree and her son will die in there. They may be hurt.”

  The bastard behind him laughed. “Maybe you don’t get it yet, but that’s the point. I’ve been planning ways to kill that bitch for months now. I took my time, though. Wanted to give her a good scare first.”

  “You must be the ex.” At least the question of who was harassing Bree was solved.

  “That’s right. And if I can’t have her no one else will. Just knowing she’s breathing makes me sick.”

  Patrick had to make a move. He had to do something. Bree and Peter could be hurt. It would take time for help to get here and time was wasting.

  Patrick wasn’t about to lose either one of them. “Why don’t we talk about this rationally? So far you’re only guilty of harassment. You let them die in there and it’ll be murder. I don’t think you really want to spend the rest of your life in prison.”

  “Who says I’m going to prison?”

  He had moved closer. Patrick braced himself for action.

  “Well, since you left your prints all over her SUV,” Patrick lied, “it’ll be a simple matter to tie you to this.”

  “But I didn’t leave any prints.”

  He was coming closer.

  “Are you sure? The crime lab says differently.”

  Hesitation.

  He was trying to remember if he’d made a mistake. “No way,” he finally said. “No way. And I made all those calls from public phones. I wore gloves when I left that message on her SUV. I got friends who’ll swear I was with them this morning. No way I can be tied to any of it.”

  Patrick laughed. Thankfully it didn’t sound as nervous as he felt. “I wouldn’t count on any of your friends. We’ve been talking to a few of them and they were only too willing to share what you’ve been up to.” Patrick was taking a risk bluffing like this. But, at this point, he had nothing to lose.

  “I said drop your weapon.” The business end of the rifle rammed into his back.

  Patrick flinched. He had to wrap this up. If Bree or Peter were hurt…“All right. No need to get excited.”

  “I am excited,” he growled, leaning close to the back of Patrick’s head. “I want to watch from up on those cliffs as they cart her body out of that damned hole. It would’ve been more fun to shoot her between the eyes, but this’ll work.”

  Patrick stiffened. The images the bastard’s words evoked made his gut clench.

  “Now drop it.”

  Patrick bent at the knees and slowly lowered into a crouch to do as the man said. “I’m putting my weapon down. Just stay cool.”

  Patrick placed the weapon on the ground.

  Uncurled his fingers from around it.

  This was it.

  Act or die.

  Since Patrick had no intention of dying today, he opted to act.

  He propelled his body into a spin, crashed into the bastard’s legs and twisted.

  The impact threw the man off balance. The bastard flew backwards. The rifle discharged into the air.

  Patrick got a swing in, an uppercut to his jaw. He grunted but recovered quickly. He rammed a fist into Patrick’s chest. Patrick groaned, went for his throat.

  They rolled. One minute Patrick was on top, the next the bastard was.

  But Patrick had something going for him that this bastard didn’t have. Sheer desperation.

  Patrick got astride him and punched him in the face. He grunted. Patrick thought of how this bastard had hurt Bree and threatened Peter and he punched him over and over until he was no longer moving.

  Patrick couldn’t stop. He kept seeing this guy hurt Bree.

  Harder and harder he rammed his fist into the bastard’s face.

  Stop. Patrick hesitated, his fist halfway to the bastard’s nose again.

  Enough. Getting to Bree and Peter was more important than beating this guy to death.

  Patrick retrieved a pair of nylon cuffs from his SUV and secured his prisoner.

  For good measure he kicked him in the side. A grunting sound escaped his mouth though he was
clearly unconscious.

  Patrick left the guy lying there and went in search of his cell phone. He opened it, glowered at the lack of signal bars.

  “Dammit!” He’d forgotten. No damned service.

  He rushed to the opening that had collapsed and called Bree’s name. No answer. He called out to her again, but still nothing.

  He pulled away some of the fallen boulders. All the tugging and pulling didn’t seem to be getting him anywhere. He needed help.

  He raced to his SUV, drove like a bat out of hell to the entrance of the canyon. He checked his phone.

  Thankfully every bar was lit up.

  He called dispatch, advised them of the situation. He closed the phone and tucked it into his jacket pocket.

  A patrol car was already en route based on Bree’s sister’s frantic call. Dispatch would notify search and rescue. They would be here soon.

  But would it be soon enough?

  BREE STIRRED.

  Was that a scraping sound?

  She listened.

  Maybe she’d imagined it.

  Peter had finally fallen asleep. She touched his forehead. Checked to see that he was breathing steadily.

  She shook the flashlight when it tried to go dim.

  If Patrick was hurt…

  He could be lying out there, dying.

  No. She refused to believe that. He would find a way to overtake the shooter and then he would bring help.

  She was sure of it.

  Her head ached. She reached up and rubbed at her forehead. Something damp and sticky stuck to her fingers.

  She looked at her fingers in the light.

  Blood.

  She shuddered. She was bleeding.

  As if she’d only just then become aware of her own injuries, her body ached. Her back. Her right arm. And her head. Her head throbbed like hell.

  But she was okay.

  More importantly Peter’s injury didn’t appear to be life-threatening.

  Bree reflected on the stories she’d told her son before he’d drifted to sleep. With each one the memories of how very much she had loved Patrick stacked one on top of the other.

  She’d been young and impulsive and too career focused. She’d walked away from a relationship that could have been the forever kind.

  Worse, she had deprived her son of a complete family unit.