Dangerous melody, p.14
Dangerous Melody, page 14
He still did not move.
She looked frantically for Luca, who was nowhere in sight. Her phone was back in the car where she’d left it.
Terror rose inside until she could not form a coherent thought. She pressed her mouth to his neck.
“Please do not leave me,” she whispered, fingers trying to find a pulse.
Her trembling fingers would not obey.
“Tate,” she whispered, her tears dropping onto his face, etching trails onto his dusty skin. “Tate, Tate, Tate” was all she could manage, tracing her fingers over his head, his cheeks, the curve of his chin, the hollow of his throat.
She could no longer feel the ground under her or the wind, suddenly gentle, that toyed with her hair. She pressed her lips to his, desperate to feel an answer there. He remained motionless. The last of her strength left her and she put her face to his chest, tears soaking into his ruined shirt.
She felt movement as he inhaled deeply. Jerking to her knees, she stared into his face as his eyes slowly came open, confused and disoriented.
“Tate?” she whispered.
“You okay?” he mumbled.
She could only fight to control her cascading emotions as the gray eyes cleared and he struggled to sit up. He tried to get to his feet, but he toppled over. She tried her best to keep his head from hitting the ground. She rolled him onto his side and pressed her face to his cheek.
“Stay still, just for a minute,” she whispered into his ear. Holding him around the shoulders, crouched next to him, her cheek touching his, an overwhelming current of some deep emotion flowed between them. She was transported back in time, past the anguish of addiction, the pain of being shut out. She thanked God again that Tate was alive. It was truly the only thing that mattered.
Tate clutched her hand in his, and for that brief second she wondered if the past was erased for him, too. It was Tate and Stephanie again, facing the journey ahead together, their back turned on the ugly road they’d already traveled. Did he feel it as strongly as she did?
A shout from the direction of the car broke the spell, and Stephanie got on her knees to find Luca hobbling up, using a stick for support. “Stephanie!” he yelled again.
She waved both arms to show him that she was unhurt and turned her attention again to Tate, who had now raised himself to a sitting position.
“I think I took a rock to the head,” he said.
Stephanie reined in her emotion and forced a grin. “Won’t do it any harm. You always said Fuego craniums were made out of cement.”
“Plywood,” he corrected.
She gave him her arm to help him get up, and he leaned against her briefly as dizziness overtook him. “You probably have a concussion. We’ll take you to the hospital.”
“Not likely,” Tate said. “Let’s go. We’ve already lost too much time. Besides, Maria might have been caught in the storm, too.”
He straightened and headed tentatively back to the car, Luca and Stephanie staring after him. Luca examined Stephanie closely. “I tried to call for help, but there’s no signal up here. Not sure who I would have called anyway.”
She rolled her shoulders. “He should go to the doctor.”
“But he won’t,” Luca said. “He’s as stubborn as I am.”
She shot him a look. “Yes, but I guess we’re all guilty of that character trait. We’ll bandage him up as best we can, and I’ll watch closely in case he really does have a concussion.” She could just make out his tall frame, limping slightly on his way to the car.
Had it all been imagined, the warmth between them—a by-product of trauma? How could he still have such control over her emotions, this addict, this ruined man who had meant everything to her? She felt angry at herself for imagining feelings that didn’t exist.
Luca put a hand on her shoulder. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked.
She nodded. “Scraped up is all.”
“You look strange, like you just discovered something.”
“What would I discover in the middle of a sandstorm?” she snapped. She felt Luca’s eyes on her as she walked to the ridge to take a look, now that the storm had passed.
* * *
Tate allowed Stephanie to fuss over him with the first-aid kit because he knew she wouldn’t agree to leave otherwise, and it gave him time to get himself together. He still felt confused. One moment he was plunging through a wall of sand, and the next, lying with Stephanie at his side, stroking his cheek, murmuring something unintelligible in his ear. He was sure he’d imagined the longing he heard in her voice, the tenderness that made his breath grow short, even now, as she wiped the blood from his face and affixed a bandage to his forehead. He didn’t want to experience the strange warmth that coursed through him and sent him off balance. The strange disequilibrium eased a bit, though the pain in his leg flared anew, and now his head throbbed, too.
She avoided looking into his eyes, muttering something about hospitals and stitches. Then she got behind the wheel, though he tried to edge her out.
“I’m the only able-bodied one around here,” she said. The engine coughed to life, and they continued on. “It looks as if once we get across these dunes, there’s another road—a trail, more like. It heads in the direction of Lunkville, according to the maps I downloaded.”
Tate let her talk while he kept his eyes trained for any sign of Maria. He prayed she’d not been caught by the same sandstorm. More and more, he felt the urgency to extract them both from the mess that brought Stephanie back into his life. The violin was the key—find it, and maybe everyone really would get what they needed. He hoped it was quick. He did not understand the intense feelings that he’d experienced over the past few days. It felt like he was standing on dangerous ground, the sand shifting under his feet.
Luca tossed down his phone in frustration. “Useless until we get another satellite link.”
Stephanie approached the end of the plateau, which fed them through a narrow gap between two massive rock cliffs. “What were you researching?”
“Emailing back and forth with the retired cop who handled the music store fire.” Luca rubbed at a spot on the window. “He told me Ricardo’s last name is Williams. He worked at Bittman’s store, doing odd jobs and janitorial stuff. That must be how he saw the Guarneri and decided to take it for himself.”
Tate tried to forget the dull ache in his head. “Why set the fire, though? Why not just run with the violin?”
“He probably figured it would slow down the investigation and give him time to vanish.”
“Which he did,” Stephanie added. “For twenty plus years. Last laugh was on Ricardo when he burned down the shop but didn’t get the Guarneri.”
Last laugh’s going to be on us, if he gets his hands on it now, Tate thought.
“But Ricardo never stopped looking for it. He must have been keeping tabs on the music world, too. When he heard Bittman was on the trail, he tried to get close, worked as the pool guy even.” Luca laughed. “Bittman’s gonna have a conniption when he figures that one out.”
It gave them all a small sense of satisfaction, Tate knew, to think of one way Bittman had been fooled.
The rock cliffs pinched together until there was only a passage barely wide enough for one car. As they crawled toward the gap, trees poked through the earth with limbs twisted and shorn off by the untamed wind.
Stephanie rolled down the window, checking the clearance on the driver’s side. Tate did the same out the passenger window.
“Going to be a tight squeeze.” She pushed the hair out of her face.
“Not as tight as the Manhole.” He wished immediately that he hadn’t said it. A flush colored her cheeks petal pink, and his own face warmed. He remembered the situation in perfect detail, recalling it from time to time in his happier moments. It was their first foray into spelunking at a cavern in Gold Country back before the accident, before everything had gone bad. She’d pushed ahead into the darkness broken only by their headlamps, teasing him about being too slow, and shimmied into a hole dubbed the Manhole by cavers over the years. Stephanie had promptly found herself wedged in. While others might have panicked, Stephanie laughed until her face was wet with tears while Tate crawled around to the other side of the hole and yanked her out by the ankles. He’d called her Pooh Bear, after Winnie the Pooh’s famous “stuck” scene, for months afterward. They’d enjoyed reliving the memory perhaps more than the actual trip.
Stick the memories back in the past where they belong, Tate. There was only pain in recounting his time with Stephanie. She’d moved on, and he could not blame her.
Stephanie poked her head out the window again and eyed the sides of the car. Tate did the same. No more than a few inches clearance, but it would be enough if the path didn’t narrow any further. He reached out and snapped off a twig of a spiky shrub to examine it closer. Freshly broken, as were many others.
“Someone’s been this way recently,” he said.
Stephanie flicked a glance at him. “Eugene?”
Tate shook his head. “He was on a motorbike. I don’t think he’d have caused this much damage.”
“Maria?” Luca suggested.
“Hope so.” Tate didn’t want to think about the other possibility—that Ricardo had already passed by, killed Eugene and taken the violin. A sudden movement along the rocks made them all straighten until Tate caught site of the source. “An animal, ground squirrel I think. Wait a minute—do you hear that?”
Luca stiffened in the backseat. “There’s a car following.”
“I’ll check it out.” Ignoring Stephanie’s protest, he climbed out the window since there was not enough space to push open the door. Scrambling onto the rocks, he climbed upward to the nearest flat one, where he could get a look at the path they’d just traversed.
The vehicle was leaving the sand flats. He caught a glimpse of a dark-colored truck before it began to climb the slope. It moved slowly but steadily, vanishing into the tree-covered incline that would lead right to them.
He returned to the car and crawled back inside. “Truck. Don’t recognize it.”
“So we have a decision to make then,” Luca said. “Move forward and get to Eugene, or stop and find out who’s behind us.”
Tate rubbed at his throbbing head. “We’ve tried the waiting thing already. I say we go. The window of opportunity to save Eugene and this violin is small.”
In silent assent, Stephanie started the car forward, the sides scraping against overhanging branches. They climbed another hundred yards before they reached the pinnacle. Out the back window the truck was visible, winding its way through the same sunbaked route.
“Closing the gap,” Luca said. “Can you push faster?”
Stephanie tightened her grip on the wheel and stepped harder on the gas. Gravel pinged against the undercarriage as they traversed a hill that looked down onto another seemingly endless plateau of corrugated ground, cut through by cracks filled with dry grass and creosote bushes. There was no sign of any human habitation as they took the last turn before entering the flatlands. Stephanie rounded the corner and slammed on the brakes, but not quickly enough to avoid the improvised spike stick, a narrow strip of wood bristling with nails. One front tire rolled over the stick with a loud pop that sounded like gunfire.
The car lurched slightly, the rear wheels skidding to one side.
Tate was out immediately. “Front tire is blown. Do we have a spare?”
“One,” she said with a groan.
He looked around. A rock-strewn slope behind them, and in front, miles of sunbaked nothing. Behind, he heard the relentless approach of the oncoming truck. They had only a few minutes, not enough time to change the flat.
He felt the wild surge of reckless energy from days gone by.
“Okay,” he said. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”
SIXTEEN
Stephanie’s heart thundered in her chest as she crouched behind a rock, looking down on the road below them. Luca sat behind the wheel in their car. She didn’t like it. He was vulnerable, and though he was one of the toughest people she knew, he was injured. If the person in the truck was Ricardo, he could walk up and fire a gun into the driver’s side.
Her mouth went dry, and she tightened her grip on the soccer-ball-size rock she’d eased to the edge of the slope, praying Tate’s desperate plan would work. Her eyes watered as she peered across the bleached landscape, trying to spot where he’d gone. In spite of his leg and the head injury, he had quickly disappeared into the rock maze after he’d helped her shimmy the rock into place and tuck herself out of sight.
The truck was close now. She could see the glint of sun on metal as it approached the final curve. She leaned forward slightly, hands pressing the rock. The truck pulled to a stop.
Her fingers were slick with sweat. She blinked against the dazzle of the sun. Was it a man behind the wheel? A woman? She could not tell. Leaning forward, she braced to shove the rock down the slope if the driver turned out to be Ricardo. It would provide a momentary distraction only. She prayed a moment would be enough for Tate to gain control of the situation.
The door of the truck opened and a figure got out, hair covered by a baseball cap, untucked plaid shirt over worn jeans. Then she saw Tate edging out of hiding, just behind the driver.
Pulse pounding, she leaned forward. The sandy soil underneath the rock gave way, and the weight of stone carried it to the road below. Both Tate and the stranger looked up at exactly the same moment.
Stephanie’s breath caught. “Look out!” she shouted.
Tate grabbed the arm of the driver and yanked. The rock sailed by, across the path and down into the ravine below.
Stephanie scrambled down from her hiding place as Luca shot from the car.
“It’s Officer Sartori,” she called, too late.
Tate helped up Sartori from the ground. “Sorry,” he said. “We thought you were somebody else.”
Sartori glared at the three of them, brushing the dirt from her clothes. “You were expecting Ricardo Williams, maybe?”
Stephanie sighed. True to her word, Sartori had been researching the case in spite of the sheriff’s order. “We weren’t sure.”
“Uh-huh.” Sartori looked over their rental car. “Somebody left a little booby trap for you? Could be miners. There are still a few old-timers around, looking for that big gold strike.”
Stephanie shrugged. “Are you following us?”
“Maybe. It’s my day off. Would have intercepted you sooner, but I caught the tail end of a sandstorm.” She eyed Tate’s bandaged head. “You, too?”
“Yes.” Stephanie pushed the thought of the storm firmly away. “But we’re okay.”
“Why are you headed out here? Lunkville’s this way, but it’s nothing but a ghost town.”
Stephanie knew there was no use trying to hide information from Sartori any longer. She sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. “We got a lead that a man named Eugene is in possession of the violin and he’s come this way.”
“Eugene? Guy with a wild beard?”
“Yeah.” Luca leaned on his good ankle. “Know him?”
“Not well. Moved here about five years ago, I think. Took up at the stone house, squatting really, since it belongs to some city guy who hasn’t lived here in twenty years. Eugene’s got mental problems, but he’s pretty harmless. We don’t hassle him because he doesn’t make trouble. Just wants to be left alone.” She raised an eyebrow. “So he’s got Bittman’s violin?”
“We’re not sure.” Tate pointed to the flat tire. “Could be he left us this present. I’ve got to change it.”
Sartori shrugged. “I’ll give you a hand, but you’re going to have to follow me back to town, I’m afraid.”
Stephanie shook her head. “No, we can’t do that. We’ve got to check out Lunkville and see if Eugene is there.”
“Nope,” Sartori said. “I don’t think so.”
Stephanie felt a prickle of annoyance, but she kept a level tone. “We’ve been through a lot already, and we’re not giving up now. We haven’t broken any laws, and you’re not technically supposed to be following us anyway.”
Sartori held up a hand. “Different issue. The reason I drove up here was to give you a message. Rocky called me from the hotel and said he couldn’t get you on the phone, but he’d heard you talk about where you were headed.”
Tate cocked his head. “What message?”
“From the hospital,” Sartori said.
Stephanie felt as if the ground shifted under her feet. The word hospital unlocked the terror inside her that seemed to whiz around her head and heart, creating a buzz so loud she could hardly hear herself ask the question. “What is the message?”
Luca stepped up behind her and put a firm hand on her shoulder. Tate looked at Stephanie with a mixture of worry and fear written on his own face. Frozen in a terrified tableau, they waited for the words to come.
Sartori’s face softened. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but your brother Victor has developed a blood infection.”
“How bad?” Stephanie whispered.
Sartori shifted uncomfortably. “Seems as though he’s spiked a fever they haven’t been able to control.” She cleared her throat. “They suggested the next of kin should be present.”
Next of kin. Her head spun, and her legs began to shake until Luca guided her to the car so she could lean on the back bumper. The rest of the conversation seemed to come from a distance.
“There was a follow-up message from a Brooke Ramsey.” Sartori cleared her throat. “She said she contacted the pastor of your family church.”
Luca peppered her with a list of questions ranging from what time the call had come in to airport information. Sartori fielded the questions patiently. “I’ll help change that tire and give you all a moment.” She busied herself working with Tate to hold the lug nuts when he loosened them.
