Lucidity, p.13
Lucidity, page 13
“I don’t care if he’s the freaking Antichrist. He’s dead meat once I get hold of him.”
Shep ran a hand over his curly hair. “Car?”
“His old pickup’s still behind the house. He may have had an alternate, but I didn’t hear a start-up.”
“Tracks?”
“Everywhere,” Parker grunted. “His, mine, hers, now yours. Can’t tell what’s fresh, barely the directions. Bigfoot could’ve been out there for all I know. The damn rain’s melted the top layer of snow, distorted them all.”
“I could bring in backup.”
“No time! There’s no doubt in this guy’s mind. He had a file on his hard drive, recognized her immediately. If he had enough inside info to know what she was, he may know what’s coming and how close the asteroid is. He certainly showed Violet no mercy. Why would he…” His throat tightened, and he couldn’t force the words. If that deranged fuck harmed one hair on Carly’s head, he’d bathe in his blood. “I need to find her, Shep.”
Shepherd was watching him, the surprise on his face morphing to understanding. “Yeah, I can see that. All right, looks like he’s got a few acres of this podunk little paradise. Any other cabins on or near the property, tool or storage sheds, places he could take the girl?”
“No. I’ve been around it on wheels before.”
“Friends, hunting buddies, women with low standards?”
“He’s a loner.”
Shep glanced uneasily at his feet, his voice low but distinct. “Local trash-dump sites? Quarries? Bodies of water?”
Mother of God. He was asking about places Vic might use to dump a body. Parker couldn’t process that thought. He shook his head, peering at his partner. “A lake, about five miles away. But I can’t accept that. Why take her all that way? He must’ve had a reason for not killing her right off. We’ve gotta get to them before he changes his mind.” Dragging a resisting Carlotta around would’ve slowed him down. Or she could be slipping away somewhere in the snow as they spoke. The thought of it numbed his heart, as if he too were dying. Right here. “What if he’s got a series of tunnels or another bunker?”
“Then we’ve got our work cut out for us. Let’s get to it.”
“I know what you’re thinking, Ms. Phelps. They say it in all the movies, don’t they? You’d like to tell me I’ll never get away with it, right?”
Vic turned his baseball cap around and shrugged. “That may be the only thing we’d agree on. I’ve got no illusions about what’s coming. I know very well that Munroe won’t wait for the big rock to kill me.”
So he knew about the asteroid. The Temple members must have been circulating information among themselves—and sharing photos of the One Hundred. Carly watched, petrified, as he wiped the knife’s blade against his flannel sleeve.
“In the time I’d waste dodging Munroe, I could take out one more of your people. Maybe two.” Retrieving the gun, he rubbed the barrel thoughtfully against his cheek. “So I’ll probably have to double back and do him before he gets me.”
Her cry of protest was little more than a muffled moan behind the gag, and the hole grew darker, tomblike, through the layer of sudden tears.
“Ah, there now, I’ve gone and made you cry. I’m sorry for it, really I am. Munroe’s a good man. Probably a stand-up patriot, and it’ll pain me to take him out. He just doesn’t know what he’s about.” His gaze settled on the shadow Parker’s shirt cast between her breasts. “Seeing you in that window, it’s easy to understand a fella losing his way.”
Carly screamed a sound that did not carry and flailed out with bound feet. Parker couldn’t be harmed. Not for the choices she’d made. It wasn’t fair, wasn’t right.
Vic nodded in silent understanding. “It’s good to know. I mean, that you people are, at least, still capable of human feelings. Some of us weren’t sure, with the change to your genes and all. I’ll be sure to share that with my brethren. And don’t worry. I’m very good. You won’t suffer at all. Now.” He moved closer, the smell of stale eggs foul on his breath. “Unless you’ve got the power to stop me, witch, I’ll be moving on with God’s plan.”
Parker’s heart pounded in his ears as they raced out into the weather. The snowfall was becoming more aggressive, pellets of punishing ice that glazed and filled the patterns their feet punched into the snow.
Luckily, Shep had always been a natural at tracking. If he couldn’t find Carly, it probably couldn’t be done.
And that was the fear that drove Parker, that made him forget all about the impending disaster. That nobody could find her now, that he might already be too late.
“Take me to the hole in the woods.” Shepherd palmed a .45, right on Parker’s heels as they launched into a dead run. “We’ll fan out from there.”
As they frantically made their way through the trees, Parker tried to focus, to clear his mind of the fury that had made reason impossible. Fucking witch hunt, here in the twenty-first century. How could people be so blindly ignorant? Nobody who knew Carly or Violet could believe them capable of harm. All they wanted to do was help, to believe in the better side of human nature.
Parker had no such faith. After so many years of violence, he had very few ethics left. But he believed in truth, and he’d sworn to keep her safe. He never reneged on a promise. Whether the One Hundred needed her or not, he did. He had no intention of losing her now.
Vic had to know he’d come after him. Political and religious persuasions be damned—the man had taken his woman. This went beyond the civilized. The bastard wasn’t so far gone he didn’t know what that meant. “Shep? Tell me about the murder.”
“The Cushing girl?” Shepherd huffed beside him, regulating his breathing. “Professionally handled. I’d say she didn’t linger. She might’ve been attractive, but hard to tell now. Unassuming lady but, apparently, well-liked. Her boyfriend was the county sheriff’s favorite suspect, naturally. I doubt it. I talked to the guy. He was pretty much in pieces.”
“So she was killed last night.” Not long after spending the afternoon with Carly. Finding both of them within killing distance must’ve made Vic a happy little maniac. “Anything weird about the crime scene?”
“You mean other than an innocent young woman being sliced open? No. Manager found the body jacked in one of the bathroom stalls.”
No help there. They pounded the path, steps in sync, Parker’s desperation making cold clots of his breath in the air as they neared the tunnel’s exit. He’d been right. He had no gift for imagining. Try as he might, he couldn’t visualize that vibrant young girl reduced to the broken body of a dreamer who believed in magic, left mutilated and alone in a stone-cold room. Or maybe he just didn’t want to.
It wasn’t gonna happen. Not again. Not to Carlotta. That ghostly image of her on the fanatic’s computer was not going to be the last time he saw her smile. “He didn’t dispose of the Cushing girl’s body. He must have been proud of what he’d done.”
“Or he was rushed, or interrupted. We all know the drill. Speed, surprise and efficacy of action. Fifteen miles from here isn’t very far. He wouldn’t want to risk being recognized or having his truck seen. These guys are paranoid, even after they’re out of the game. Shit-eating sonsabitches, never comfortable in the light of day. This it?”
Parker slowed his pace as they neared the hole. He’d left it open after viciously shoving aside the hollow stump overhead. “This was where I emerged from the tunnel. Now, where he went from here—”
“Crafty old buzzard. Knows his business.” Shep nudged the dead tree with his toe. “Put something natural, something inconspicuous on top. Without decent tracks, only special equipment would’ve sniffed it out. We wouldn’t have found it in a week of searching.”
“Meaning, he could have her in another hole anywhere, under anything. Tree, rock, more under the house…”
Shepherd muttered a string of curses that should’ve put a preacher’s kid to shame as he scanned the misshapen tracks in the snow. “We’ll do what we can, Munroe, but you’ve got to be prepared—”
“To bring her safely back. That’s the only way this ends, understand?” Parker snarled. He glared helplessly into the hole. “He’s close, Shep. Gotta be. And she’s still alive. I know it.”
“Then we’ll need to stay calm and rational,” Shep said softly. “I say we split up. Cover more ground that way.”
The gun-gray sky seemed to press like the weight of the world on Parker’s shoulders. “You stay with this. I’ll take the area directly around the house. The little rat bastard must’ve left some kind of clue, slipped up somehow, said something.” He was rambling, and he didn’t care how it sounded. “What kind of bullshit did he spout? He was antsy without the booze. Came out here to practice with his gun. Hinted he’d worked underground for a cause or two, that he wasn’t comfortable running a business, would be more at home… What was it? The woodpile. That was it. He talked about living under that gigantic woodpile by the house.” Shouting back at Shep, Parker charged back through the woods. “I’ll start there, then search the B&B for other tunnels. You call me if you see anything, Bolt. And pray,” he murmured to himself, “that I’m not wasting what little precious time we have.”
Shep watched him retrace their steps, hauling ass back to the house as if his life depended on it. He hoped Munroe was right about the woodpile. He’d never forgive himself if he was wrong. And there’d be no time for making a second choice.
Sadly shaking his head, he reached for his phone. It was obvious how much his partner had come to care for Carly. Goddammit. Bad timing, wrong girl. This would bust the big guy up. Shep had seen the body in the theater and had no illusions about the outcome here. This trail was, literally, a dead end.
There was no point in delaying the call for searching assistance. Oh, he’d try. He’d give it everything he had, follow what clues he could, as he’d promised his friend.
But he was pretty sure the cadaver dogs would have better luck.
His old man had always warned him that only a fool bet against the house—and he’d spent years gambling with his congregation’s money to prove it. Odds were Carlotta Phelps already slept peacefully in the arms of whatever god she’d worshipped.
And who could say? Knowing about the asteroid now and all the destruction that might entail…maybe she was one of the luckier ones.
Vic tilted his head, examining the curve of her neck, and Carly winced as a trickle of warm blood ran down her neck.
The blade was so sharp she hadn’t felt the cut.
“I can only hope I’ve made a dent in your little coven, Ms. Phelps. Carlotta,” he added, smiling. “I was rushed and careless yesterday. Not up to my usual standards at all. But that girl, plus the one they haven’t found yet, should make a difference. And don’t you worry. Nobody will pay much attention to a little stench coming from an old outhouse. Your eternal rest should remain undisturbed.”
Carly squeezed her eyes closed, tears seeping from beneath her lids. She’d failed. At everything. Trying to use a useless gift for something noble, making a difference for an unsuspecting world—and Parker. The one man she wanted, the only man who’d ever accepted her just as she was, and she’d never see him again, never even know if he survived.
Drawing in a deep, sobbing breath, she hoped Vic was as skilled as he’d claimed, so that the end, at least, would be quick. And thought that she might be insane after all, as she vaguely wondered what dream she might dream once this one was cut short.
The knife curved and hesitated. “I wonder, Ms. Phelps, exactly what you’ll have to say, how you’ll account for your sins, once you meet your Maker.”
“How ’bout we say hello to yours first?”
A familiar voice sliced through her terror. Her eyes sprang open as her spine sagged forward, and the dense shadows gave way to the angelic luster of a pearly white shape just beyond Vic’s shoulder.
Parker.
Stooped, muddied and barefoot, he’d found her, somehow, without making a sound. Carly screamed again, a high-pitched squeak of renewed hope, as Vic’s body went stiff.
Parker eased forward, one step, then another, his favorite pistol in hand, his gray eyes cold, dead black. “Doyle. You can drop the weapons now. Or after you’re dead. Guess which I’d prefer?”
With the savage snarl of a trapped animal, Vic twirled behind her, the knife beneath her ear, his .22 at her temple. Parker adjusted his aim with one narrowed eye, shoulders slumped beneath the low ceiling.
Hesitating.
She knew him. Parker was nothing if not confident. But he didn’t want to risk the shot. He was afraid of hitting her instead.
In the next heart-stopping instant, he proved her wrong. With his body taut and rigidly tense, he crooked his trigger finger.
And the renowned pearl-handled pistol clicked—but did not fire.
Bits of sound, glimpses of images. Parker’s eyes went wide. Vic chuckled behind her, ever so softly. Cursing, Parker let his gun slip, his hand quickly curling to his back for another. Vic grunted, angling his weapon away from her head and balancing it, barrel forward, on her shoulder.
Dear God. He was going to shoot Parker instead.
The terror that had kept her cold and numb drained away. She couldn’t let this happen. If the world was worth fighting for, so was her world.
She acted without thinking. Snapping her neck back from the nearly forgotten blade, she landed a solid head-butt against Vic’s face. For that split second of surprise, she was free, and she let herself go limp, sliding down his body into the cool mud and twisting her hips so that she faced her assailant—just as a shot resounded in the eerie peace of the underground tomb.
Chapter Sixteen
Shepherd watched, intrigued, as Parker stood with his back against the bathroom door, Carly’s phone held like a weapon in his hand. His body was one unflinching, immovable barricade. That profile belonged on Rushmore somewhere. He could crack walnuts with the set of that chin. And the deadly determination in those eyes might’ve been enough to bring down an asteroid without help.
Very impressive. If he swung that way, he’d be ready to jump Munroe’s bones himself about now.
“She’s fine,” Parker muttered in response to Shep’s concern. “She’s gonna be fine. It’s only natural to want to wash away all that smell and filth and fear.”
“A good scrub-down doesn’t take this long, y’know. Carlotta’s been in there quite a while.” Shepherd blinked innocent eyes. “Maybe I should pop into the shower, just to be sure she’s okay?”
“Not if you were hoping to get out alive,” Parker growled. “I’ve got it covered. A few soapings and she’ll be fine. Just fine.”
Shep nodded, barely resisting the perverse impulse to grin. Of course the girl would be fine. She’d seemed more distraught by the news of her friend’s death than what had happened to her.
Carly’s reaction had even moved him. She’d covered her face with trembling hands, swaying erratically, as if to some faint, macabre music only she could hear. Both he and Munroe had remained still, helpless to think of anything that would console her. There was horror in that silence. No weeping, no sign of tears. Silence. Women, he thought, knew suffering in a way men could never comprehend.
But they were also tougher than men thought. She would survive.
He’d never seen Munroe as shaken up as he was now, though. And that was okay. He had a feeling it’d do the big fella some good.
With deliberate force, he punched a needle into his friend’s tightly folded arm. Because he knew he wouldn’t do it himself. “Antibiotic. Bullet bit your shoulder, but it’s just a flesh wound. You might wanna stitch it up,” he said, nodding at the impressive first aid kit he’d retrieved from the munitions hole. “My needlework’s a little rusty.”
“Later.”
The blood from his shoulder had already dried on his vest. Shep shrugged, pretending nonchalance. “You must be slipping, Munroe. I’ve seen you come out of half a dozen firefights without a scratch. And you get shot protecting a civilian from some decrepit loner?”
“She isn’t just a civvie. She’s special, remember?”
Yeah. She definitely was. Turning his satisfied grin away from the threat of violence, Shep focused on their muddied prisoner who sat sullen and handcuffed on the sofa of his own vacant suite. Perched on the padded arm, he finished his perfunctory exam of Uncle Vic’s bruised face with some satisfaction, wiping the last trickle of blood from his nose with a wet towel. “Too bad we can’t save the taxpayers the cost of putting you out of your misery. But we need info. You’ll live, old man. And consider yourself lucky I don’t let my partner finish working you over anyway.”
“Wasn’t him. It was the bitch.”
“What?”
“It was that horror of a mutant bitch that done it.” Vic scowled and spit a plug of pink saliva onto the floor. “Rose up outta the mud and flew at me like one of the Furies once Munroe went down. Kicked me right in the nuts and tried to scratch my eyes out with the plastic cuffs.”
Shepherd blinked at his partner. “Our little love guru did this kinda damage?”
“Kicked his sorry ass.” Parker’s lips trembled with barely repressed pride. “I had to pull her off him, and she did not go gently.”
They’d returned to one of the unoccupied suites of the bed-and-breakfast against Parker’s wishes. He was all for whisking her away to another safe house immediately, away from all memories of this nightmare. But Carlotta Phelps, who hadn’t so much as wept or whimpered, had insisted on showering as soon as possible, and her guardian had relented.
He might as well get used to it. Shepherd had a feeling she could talk him into anything.
Shep tested Uncle Vic’s cuffs one last time, giving them an unnecessary wrench. His hard feelings weren’t just about the mindless attack. This was personal. Yeah, he’d go to hell and back for his buddy. Durn near had on more than one occasion. But he didn’t appreciate being out in the wet and cold, getting his uberexpensive athletic shoes hopelessly muddied in the search. “How’d you figure it out, Munroe? There’s no telling how many holes this guy had dug out there.”
