Deep Down Dead Page 8

  ‘You didn’t need to kill him.’

  ‘He went for his gun, he was going to—’

  ‘And I taught you better than that. You could have disabled him – taken out his gun hand, if you’d wanted to.’

  I thought about Sal, about the hateful things Tommy had said about her, and how he wasn’t at all sorry for what he’d done. In that moment I’d hated him, despised him; felt white-hot fury pump through my veins.

  I stared back at JT. Knew there was no point me trying to explain my actions. My mentor was real strict on his eighth rule: Force only as necessity, never for punishment. So I nodded and said, ‘I could have.’

  ‘But you didn’t.’

  I’d let him down. I heard the disappointment in his voice. Saw the sadness in his eyes. I felt like a wayward child being scolded. ‘No, I didn’t.’

  He touched my face, gently raising my chin so I had to look him in the eyes. ‘Then your training’s finished. As of right now, we just need to be done.’

  I saw it then. The way he looked at me, it was stone cold. Whatever he might have felt for me before was now gone. I knew the problem wasn’t that I’d shot Tommy, or even that I’d taken away JT’s chance to collect on the bond percentage. It was because I’d broken his rules, every damn one of them. And it seemed he couldn’t forgive me for that.

  I pulled away from him, blinking away tears. Whispered, ‘Okay, sure.’

  His sigh was barely audible.

  I’d never felt more alone.

  11

  I had walked out of JT’s life that night. Hadn’t allowed myself as much as a glance in the rear-view mirror. We were done, that much had been clear; no sense in kidding myself things would change. And the more I thought on it, the more I believed he’d never had any real feelings for me; that’s why he’d always dodged the subject. All he ever cared for was his job.

  For a long while I’d been angry. Angry at him, but angrier at myself. I vowed I’d never let myself fall hard that way again. I’d have no contact. Move on. And for ten years I’d held firm on that vow. Right up to the moment I kicked in the door at that godforsaken ranch house in West Virginia and saw him tied to a chair in the centre of the room.

  He kept on staring right at me.

  My heart pounded against my ribs. I couldn’t look away.

  I heard a crash from the front of the house. A reminder. Focus. This was a job. Nothing more. It was all about the here and now – about collecting JT from Merv and taking him back to Florida. About getting the bond percentage so I could pay those final demands on Dakota’s medical bills. I’d no time for any trips down memory lane.

  Pushing aside the remains of the door panel, I climbed through the gap and into the room. As I approached the chair and JT, the splintered wood crunched beneath my boots.

  I looked JT straight in the eye and said, ‘Robert James Tate, I’m authorised to take you into custody and deliver you back to the State of Florida for your summary judgement.’

  He chuckled, like what I’d said was real funny, and glanced down at the rope securing him. ‘You gonna liberate me then?’

  I didn’t reply. Instead I used the knife I’d taken from Gunner to slice the top coil of rope binding JT to the chair. Reaching around him, I tugged the rope free.

  ‘Get up,’ I said, taking hold of his elbows and pulling him to his feet.

  Damn he was big: six foot three and a whole lot of muscle. He towered over me, standing so close, I could feel the heat of his body. Too close. I stepped back.

  He smiled. ‘Just like old times.’

  Personally, I preferred to leave the old times right where they were buried: back with ancient history and a good six feet of dirt. Unfortunately, it seemed the present had developed a nasty way of digging up the part of my life I wanted to keep hidden. ‘We need to get out of here.’

  He held out his hands, still bound by a thick weave of rope. ‘Would you mind?’

  Yes. I would. ‘You’re a fugitive. That rope stays.’

  He shrugged. Even in the dim light I could see that the years had been kind. He still had that shaggy-cut, dirty-blond hair, now with a touch of grey at the temples. Aside from that he looked as fit as he ever had.

  I picked up the rope now lying slack across the chair. If Gunner and his boys were getting restless I’d need to rope and tie them. I glanced back at JT, my expression serious, professional. ‘Follow me. Don’t try to run.’

  We climbed through the busted door and into the hallway. I could hear movement in the front room, like something heavy was being dragged across the floor. Could be they were moving furniture, blocking our exit, setting up for a fight.

  I trod light as I could along the hall. JT kept close and quiet, just as I’d asked. We reached the doorway to the front room. Keeping my back pressed against the wall, I peered inside.

  The shabby furniture hadn’t moved; there was no barricade. The pup was still out cold. Gunner was cussing, secured by the plasticuffs. It was Weasel-face who had moved. He was leaning against the wall now, a few yards away from me, and was using his left hand to help his balance while the right hung lose behind his back. The scuffing sound must have been him dragging his beat up leg across the floor. It would have been agony with that busted knee. I wondered why he’d done it.

  As I stepped into the room, Weasel-face grinned. His mistake: that’s a warning sure as a poker player’s tell. I saw the muscles in his right arm tense, noticed the knife from his belt was missing. I didn’t hesitate, didn’t think. It was him or me, and I was going to make damn sure which. I threw my knife, hard and straight. It buried itself up to the hilt in his right bicep. Yowling, Weasel-face dropped the hunting knife.

  If these guys were friends of Merv’s looking for a fast buck, they were gonna be real disappointed. I’d be telling Quinn how they had been more Wild West than modern-day professionals. Holing up in a house with their fugitive, refusing me access when I’d been invited to collect, now that just wasn’t how business got done. Yet, still the thought nagged me – whatever kind of hicks they were, the way they’d attacked me made no kind of sense.

  I looked at JT. ‘Who the hell are these people?’

  He shook his head. Looked away.

  Gunner was safe, the plasticuffs and the shoulder wound saw to that. The pup was no threat right now, but soon as he woke, the others might send him after us. Weasel-face was bleeding and looked real pale. He’d gotten my knife out of his arm, but he wouldn’t be going anyplace in a hurry. Still, I needed to be sure.

  I strode across the room and kicked both knives out of Weasel-face’s reach. ‘Go join your friend,’ I said, nodding to the pup.

  Weasel-face glared at me. Said nothing.

  I heard footsteps behind me. JT. He towered over Weasel-face. ‘Do as the lady asks.’

  Cursing and puffing, Weasel-face dragged himself across to the pup. I tried not to take too much offence that he’d obeyed the command of a shackled man rather than the woman who’d just whipped his sorry ass. I bound him and the pup together nice and tight with the rope they’d used to hold JT. Kind of poetic justice, I thought.

  I glanced at JT. ‘Let’s go.’

  He nodded, but instead of following me to the door he walked over to where Gunner sat. Gunner’s lips curled back in a snarl. Crouching down, JT reached into Gunner’s shirt pocket and removed a pack of cigarettes and a silver Zippo. ‘Mine, I think.’

  I recognised that lighter.

  ‘We’ll find you. And that bitch,’ Gunner spat.

  JT leant closer to him. ‘Like I said before: you tell your boss I’ve got information. I’ll trade, if he gives his word this can end more civilised.’

  Gunner laughed. ‘You can go to—’

  JT slammed both his fists into the side of Gunner’s head. Surprise flitted across the man’s face, then he dropped, unconscious, to the floor.

  Outside, we ran across the hard-baked earth to the truck. I unlocked the doors as we approached. Opening the driver door,
I called to Dakota. ‘You okay, sweetie?’

  She sat up, grinning. ‘I killed the boss monster and saved the Platinum Planet. I’m on level thirty-nine now.’

  ‘Good job. Now can you jump out real fast and scoot around to the front seat?’

  Her gaze shifted, focusing on the figure just behind me. Her eyes widened. ‘Is that—’

  ‘Honey, into the front.’

  This time she did as I asked, but I was uncomfortably aware of the glances she kept taking at JT.

  I opened the door to the travel cage behind the driver’s seat, and nodded to JT. ‘Get in.’

  He frowned. ‘Why’s the kid here?’

  ‘It’s no business of yours,’ I said, nodding towards the open door. ‘Don’t make me gag you.’

  JT stared at Dakota. Then, shrugging, he met my gaze. ‘Whatever you reckon you gotta do, Lori.’

  He climbed into the security cage with its tight-woven wire mesh and Plexiglas divider between the cab and his seat. I’d invested in this particular truck because it was the best for fugitive transport. I’d heard the horror stories of prisoners getting free during transit and strangling the driver, and the less violent but disgusting experiences of fugitives peeing on or spitting at the bounty hunter riding in the front. The Plexiglas screen prevented both kinds of problem, and with Dakota along for the trip, I was even more thankful for it. Not that I thought JT would do any of those things. But the fact was, I wasn’t prepared to take the risk.

  Sat inside the security cage, JT held his roped hands out to me. ‘You going to remove this now?’

  ‘Sure.’ I took the back-up set of plasticuffs from my belt and snapped them around his wrists. Not so tight as to chafe, not so loose he could slip out of them. Once they were secure, I undid the rope and smiled. ‘Better?’

  He nodded. ‘Played real nice.’

  Pretending to ignore the compliment, I reached across and belted him in, adhering to passenger safety and all that. Last thing you need in this game is a civil action against you for putting your fugitive in danger during transport, and we had a hell of a lot of miles to cover. ‘What’s that you said to the guy inside – about information you’ve got for Merv?’

  He shook his head. ‘Don’t matter.’

  It mattered to me, but right then my priority was to get us out of there. I slammed the door and climbed into the driver’s seat. Dakota was still playing on my cell, her thumbs hammering the touchscreen as she shot up alien spaceships and the like.

  ‘Belt up, honey.’

  She glanced up at me and frowned. ‘What happened, Momma? Your lip’s bleeding.’

  I touched my mouth, felt the dried blood against my fingers. ‘Nothing, sweetie.’

  Dakota turned and looked at JT, her eyes narrowed. She leant closer to me and whispered, ‘Did he do it?’

  I forced a laugh. ‘No. A little trouble with a naughty dog is all.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Does it hurt?’

  ‘I’m fine, really.’

  She nodded. So trusting. I felt like shit for lying to her.

  As Dakota fastened her belt I took the cell. The battery was almost out, the icon flashing red on the screen. Damn. Less than five percent left. At least, finally, I’d gotten a signal. One bar. I texted Quinn: 01:08 Tate acquired. On way back.

  Firing up the engine, I smiled at Dakota and shifted the gear into drive. The next thirteen hours could not pass quickly enough.

  12

  I sped away from Yellow Rock Ranch, bumping down that dirt drive and out on to the highway with my foot flat on the gas pedal and the speedometer needle fixed at bat-shit crazy. I wanted miles between us and that place, and plenty of them.

  The highway was pitch-dark, the only light coming from the truck’s headlamps. Still I pressed the gas as hard as I dared, clinging tight to the wheel and trying to stay focused on the road. It was tough. Dakota wouldn’t stop staring at JT.

  ‘Eyes to the front, sweetie,’ I said. ‘Don’t look at him. And plug the cell into the charger, okay? It’s nearly out of juice.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘But, Momma—’

  ‘Plug it in. It’s not good to keep staring at that little screen for hours, anyway. It’ll make you sick.’

  Dakota looked back at JT. ‘Hello, Mister. I’m Dakota.’

  Glancing in the rear-view mirror, I watched for his reaction.

  JT smiled. He raised his bound hands to his forehead in a strange kind of salute. ‘Well, hello yourself, kiddo. It’s real nice to meet you. But I’m thinking you look a little young to be a bounty hunter like your momma here.’

  She thrust out her chin a little ways. ‘I’m nine. That’s plenty old enough.’

  He looked at the mirror, met my gaze. ‘Nine years old, huh? Is that right…?’

  I stared at the road ahead. Pushed the Silverado harder; the engine roared. I knew he was watching me. Could feel his eyes on the back of my neck.

  I turned the volume of the radio higher. An old Tammy Wynette tune played. As she sang about standing by your man I glanced at JT again. Sometimes standing by is the opposite of what should be done. Some things can’t be fixed; they’re just too broken.

  Dakota sighed. Twisting further round in her seat she smiled at JT. ‘So, how old are you?’

  ‘Honey,’ I said, my tone serious. ‘Stop.’

  She leant closer to me. ‘He doesn’t look so bad. What did he do?’

  I gripped the wheel as I swung the truck around a hairpin bend. The highway was a little wider here, but I was mindful that to the right of us the ground fell steep away for a good eighteen feet. ‘That’s no concern of yours.’

  JT cleared his throat. ‘I tried to take a bad man to jail.’

  I glanced at him in the rear-view mirror, caught his eye. ‘Be quiet.’

  Dakota frowned. ‘But you said he was a bad man, Momma. How can he be a bad man if he tried to take a bad man to jail, isn’t that what you do?’

  ‘What I do is different, honey.’

  She tilted her head to one side. ‘How so?’

  Shit. ‘Enough with the questions.’

  JT smiled. ‘Your Momma was always like this when she was younger. Never answered a question straight. Always firing back a question of her own or using that smart mouth of hers to out-talk you.’

  I stepped harder on the gas, jerked the truck around the next bend. Felt a touch of satisfaction as the movement lurched JT off balance, his shoulder banging against the side of the Plexiglas cage. Glared at him in the rear-view mirror. ‘I said for you to be quiet, too.’

  Dakota ignored me. ‘How do you know what my Momma was like when she was young?’

  JT chuckled. ‘You’re real curious aren’t you kiddo?’

  ‘Enough,’ I said. Keeping one hand on the wheel I used the other to take hold of Dakota’s shoulder and push her back to face the front.

  She wriggled out of reach, turning back to JT. ‘So tell me more about—’

  ‘I said no more talking.’ I looked sternly at Dakota, tried again to catch hold of her shoulder.

  JT banged on the Plexiglas. ‘Lori! The road.’

  I turned. Saw the bobcat as it leapt out from the trees on the higher ground to our left, its eyes illuminated by the beams of our headlamps as it darted across the highway.

  ‘Shit.’ I yanked the wheel hard right, missing the animal by inches. The truck lurched across the blacktop, wheels screeching as the vehicle swung right-left-right. I wrestled the wheel, trying to get back control.

  We were going too fast. The hill was too steep. The bend too tight.

  I tugged the wheel. The truck’s front end turned, but the back swung wide. Ahead the road continued on, but our momentum carried us sideways. The back tyres dropped off the blacktop, first one then the other. The wheel bucked beneath my hands. I couldn’t hold it. The front of the truck slid off the highway. The tyres hit dirt, rocks, whatever was between the road and the riverbank and for a moment time seemed to slow. Then gravity took us, plun
ging us backwards until we hit a tree.

  The truck pitched on to its side. The force flung us right, twisting us round until we were facing down the mountainside again. Five milliseconds of flight before the seatbelt ripped at my neck.

  ‘Momma!’ Dakota shrieked.

  I heard the crack as my baby’s head hit the side window.

  In the light from the headlamps I glimpsed the river below us, the water flowing black in the moonlight, white foam dancing along the surface. Then the truck flipped on to its back. The roof hit the bank. The windscreen shattered. The belt bit into my stomach. My knees hit the steering column and I cried out in pain. I heard JT groan behind me. Dakota stayed silent.

  The truck kept moving, sliding like an upturned beetle down the bank with rocks and tree roots pummelling the roof. We hit something solid. The impact stalled us, and for a moment I thought it was over. Then we flipped again.

  My life didn’t flash before me, and I didn’t see a bright light. Only one thought repeated in my mind as I waited for the ground to hit.

  Please. Don’t let her die.

  13

  His voice woke me. So distant at first I thought I was dreaming. Remembering. My neck ached, my pulse thumped at my temples. I heard his voice again, closer this time, more urgent.

  ‘JT?’ My voice sounded strange, my breath loud and rasping in my ears.

  ‘Lori. Are you hurt? Can you move?’

  The air tasted of burnt rubber and gasoline, acrid on my tongue. I coughed. ‘You can’t be here. You’re not real.’

  ‘Open your eyes, Lori. We have to get out. The kid’s hurt.’

  Dakota? I opened my eyes.

  First darkness. Then spots of light ahead of me: headlights illuminating branches. I blinked, my vision clearing. Shit. I remembered: the argument, the bobcat, losing control, the shattered windshield. Falling.

  I reached out, pressed the interior light on. The truck was lying on its side, passenger side down. Dakota was slumped against the door, an airbag lying flaccid around her. ‘Oh, shit. Baby?’

  No response.