Lifeblood (20 page)

“Why bother?” Hank said. “There’s nothing more dangerous here than a deer or raccoon. I doubt many people even know about this place.”

“No coyotes? Mountain lions? Snakes?”

“Well, I guess there could be. But I wouldn’t make one of them mad by shooting at it.”

“I’d rather have the gun with us.”

Hank shrugged. “Is it legal?”

“Probably not. I’m probably not supposed to have it under the car seat.”

Hank looked dubious.

“I usually never take it out of the garage. I didn’t think about the gun laws when I put it in the car. We had guns at the farm. Even my mom was a good shot.”

“Okay.” Hank started toward the trail. “If you promise not to shoot my toes off in the middle of the night.”

She checked the safety and slipped the gun into a side pocket of her cargo pants. It felt heavy. “Wait up.”

They made their way across the ledge yet again. The shadows were becoming long and sharp when they arrived at the oak.

Rachel looked at her watch. “I thought it was later.”

“We’re in a canyon. It gets dark quicker.” Hank was laying out pieces of blue and gray fabric, and plastic stakes.

Rachel surveyed the raw beauty of the area. When she turned back, Hank was popping up the tent. She pulled up the flap, unzipped the netting and peered inside. “Plenty big enough for two. I didn’t know you did stuff like this. Were you a survivalist or something?”

Hank snickered. “Tents are for sissies. Survivalists don’t use tents.” He had begun scouring the area for bits of kindling. “Those two filets you were drooling over at the store will fit very nicely on the grill.”

On a flat rock several feet from the tree, Rachel set up the Coleman stove. The sky was still blue, but dimming.

She cut up lettuce, tomatoes, and green onions into two paper bowls. “When should I put on the steaks?”

Hank didn’t answer.

She was turning to look for him when someone grabbed her from behind.

Chapter Thirty-nine

Rachel spun around, eyes wild.

“Jesus, Rachel! Take it easy.”

“Omigod! What were you doing grabbing me like that?”

“Being incredibly stupid. Thanks for holding off on the knee.” He gazed at her a moment, then brought his mouth down on hers. “That’s more what I had in mind.”

“I do think I like that better.” She traced his cheek with her finger. His eyes looked very dark and deep. She brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, then stood on tiptoe to kiss him again.

“Now, what were you calling me about?”

“I was asking if you had unrolled the sleeping bags,” she said, taking his hand and drawing him toward the tent.

999

“Better than I’ve ever imagined,” Rachel said, firelight fluttering across her face. It wasn’t late, but the air was cooling. A thumbnail of moon floated in the narrow gap between the cliffs like a white sail on a boat on deep blue water.

“Really?” Hank smirked. He had built a small fire while Rachel had grilled the steaks.

She chuckled. “Well that, too, but I was talking about the steaks.”

“It’s amazing how much everything improves with fresh air.” Hank pulled a sleeping bag from the tent and wrapped it around her, then lay down with his head in her lap.

“There’s something I need to tell you. I thought we’d be driving longer, and I could tell you in the car, but there wasn’t time, so I guess I have to do it now.”

He sat up. His face a map of worry, he stared into her face. “Okay.”

At first the words wouldn’t come out. Then they spilled out in a rush: “I’ve been arrested. For something I didn’t do. I swear it.”

“Oh.” Hank lay down again, balancing his head on her thigh.

“It was awful. Worse than horrible. I could lose the garage, Hank. I even bought a bottle of vodka. Vodka, of all things. What was I thinking? Thank God I didn’t drink it. I had to put the garage up to get bail, but I got a loan from a bank vice president who owed a favor to a gangster, who’s a friend of my dad’s.”

Hank sat up again, a worried look darkening his features. “What did you do?”

“I got a loan from a bank president who owed—”

“I got that part,” Hank cut in. “What did you do to get arrested? Or what did they say you did?”

“The people at Jefferson Medical Center said I stole a bottle of prescription medication. Something called OxyContin.”

He pulled her close and wrapped the sleeping bag around both of them. “How did it happen?”

He shuddered a little as she spun out the story. “You watched an operation? A real one? While they cut someone open?”

“It wasn’t as gory as you think. Hardly any blood.”

“Still, why would you want to do that?” he asked.

“I was invited. I thought it might be neat to do something most people haven’t done.”

“They haven’t done it for a very good reason.”

“And I wanted the use of the scrubs, so I could get into that ward on the fourth floor.”

“You seem a little obsessed with that ward.” He caught her look and added, “I’m not criticizing or anything. I’m just pointing it out.”

“I keep thinking it has something to do with those kids—the ones I found in that van. Two weird things at Jefferson: that ward and those kids. Doesn’t seem a huge stretch to imagine they may be related.”

She didn’t tell him about the medical record she stole, or that someone had broken into her apartment and taken those papers. She had told him enough for one day. The rest could wait.

As the sky darkened more, a few stars appeared, trailing the moon.

999

Rachel woke to something poking her from outside the tent. Hank was still asleep, snoring lightly. She frowned. Whatever it was poked again. Rather than dress, she wrapped herself in her sleeping bag and unzipped the tent’s netting. Pushing through the flap, she looked up and gasped.

Two eyes looked back at her.

A mule deer lowered its head and, still peering at her, backed up a step.

The sky was just beginning a gray glow along the canyon edges. Shrubs and rocks were black silhouettes.

She put her head back through the tent flap and whispered, “Hank! A deer.”

He rolled over.

She turned back to the deer, which had now come a step closer. She went to the backpack they had left leaning against a rock, unzipped it and took out an apple. It was a big Gala apple.

The deer watched, flicking first one ear, then the other, as she carved the apple into eight pieces and held out a slice on the flat palm of her hand, the way she had fed her mother’s horses as a child.

The deer shifted its weight from one foot to another, then raised its head, picking up the scent of fresh-cut apple. It moved forward, stopped, moved forward again. When it was close enough, it stretched its neck and gently took the apple slice.

They continued in that tableau until the deer had swallowed the last bit of apple. Then it turned, and with only one backward glance, disappeared behind a rock.

“I should have brought a camera.” Hank was at the door of the tent. “You look like a little kid.”

She sighed. “I’ve been in the city too long.”

“So where’s breakfast?”

She picked up an apple and threw it at him.

Hank wrestled her to the ground until they were both laughing. He kissed her on the nose.

“Who are you and what have you done with Hank?” she giggled. “Hank is Mr. Grumpy in the morning. At least until he gets his coffee.”

Hank rolled to his feet. “Three eggs over easy.” He ducked and ran back to the tent.

999

After breakfast, they hiked the narrowing canyon to a barely discernable trail that led upward, through pines that were soon joined, then passed, by tall firs.

Their reward was a view that gave new meaning to the word vast.

“This has to be the very top of the world,” Rachel said, her voice hushed. “We must be able to see all the way to Kansas.”

“On a really clear day, Mexico, maybe, but not Kansas. We’re looking south.”

“You are so literal.” Rachel tickled his ribs until he staggered and fell, pulling her down to him. “Did you know about this place or did we find it by accident?”

“I sorta knew. I hoped I remembered it right. Last time I was here I was about ten.” He tried to sit up.

She pushed him back down.

“Rachel….”

She rolled on top of him and kissed him, hard, then rolled off, put her hands behind her head and gazed at the cloudless, silvery blue sky. A solitary bird was spiraling upward. She turned on her side and traced her fingers down Hank’s arm. “You still want to set a date?”

But they were soon too busy to talk.

999

It was mid afternoon when they made their way back down to the campsite. Rachel reached it a few yards ahead of Hank.

At first, everything looked fine.

Chapter Forty

The shot came from above. It passed Rachel’s ear, and chips rocketed away from where it plunged itself into a rock. A fragment grazed her cheek.

Her mind struggled to catch up with events. “What the hell?” The words were more a genuine question than a scream.

“Rachel! For God’s sake, get down!” In two long leaps Hank covered the space between them.

She had already dropped into a crouch.

“Get behind a rock!” he ordered in a low voice.

She began to crawl, then stopped. “But where? I don’t know where the shot came from. Maybe it’s just a lousy hunter.” Her mind spun to a halt as she heard another shot and more rock chips sprayed into the air.

“He’s up over there.” Rachel jabbed a finger toward the path that led to the car, and scrambled away from the rocks into the open.

Hank lunged after her. “What the hell are you doing?”

She began inching her way toward the tent. “My gun.”

“No!” Hank’s face was pale and alarmed. “Don’t be an idiot. You can’t have a gun fight with some berserk maniac.”

“I can try. It’s better than being a sitting duck, for God’s sake.”

Was the tent’s netting zipper stuck or was it just her clumsiness?

“You’re a clear target, Rachel. Get behind something!”

She was still fumbling with the zipper when another shot thumped into the dry ground. Flakes of clay-like dirt were sliced away from where it plowed into a hole a few feet from her leg. Another crack, another bullet zinged into the arid soil, this one near her elbow. The shooter was either a bad shot or was too far away for much accuracy.

It all seemed to happen at once: Hank’s yell, his body landing across her shoulders, flattening her to the ground, and the sound of the gun firing again.

She wasn’t sure what had happened until the blood began to pool on the ground near her chin.

999

“You okay?” The question was a reflex. No way he was okay.

Hank seemed to try to answer. Then his weight on her back went leaden.

Another shot exploded but failed to strike either of them.

Rachel clawed at the jammed zipper and it finally gave way. With all the strength she could muster, with Hank’s weight draining her effort, she pulled herself into the tent.

She had rolled out from under him, had grasped his shoulders and was hauling the rest of him into the tent when the next bullet hit with a thump.

His body shuddered with the impact and he groaned.

Blood was oozing from somewhere near his belt. Grabbing her backpack from where it lay in a corner, she slipped her hand inside to where she had put the thirty-eight the night before.

She had to crawl over Hank to get to the ripped net at the tent door.

You were wrong, Hank. I am going to have a gun fight with a berserk maniac. I have no choice.

999

Drawing open the tent flap just enough to accommodate the gun barrel, Rachel aimed at a spot along the trail. Even if she could spot the gunman, she knew her accuracy with the thirty-eight this far away would be poor at best. If she shot now, the bullet would go wild.

Wouldn’t it be worth something to warn the madman off? To prove she wasn’t defenseless?

No.

He had watched her, knew where she was. He thought all he had to do now was keep firing at the tent and the chances of hitting her or Hank inside weren’t bad. He was half right.

She squinted and scanned the brush around the path but couldn’t find their attacker.

“Come on, you son of a bitch,” she whispered.

Then she did see him. Almost indistinguishable from a shrub but moving sideways. That must be where the trail turned. Camouflage cap and shirt, melting into the landscape. A rifle pointed down his right leg toward the ground.

Gripping her gun with both hands, Rachel planted her feet apart, and pushed the muzzle through the tent flap.

She thought she saw him take aim, and it required all the control she had not to pull the thirty-eight’s trigger.

A bullet tore a hole in the corner of the tent. Rachel glanced behind her. This shot had exited without hitting anything.

“You bastard!” she hissed.

Struggling to control the rush of sheer anger, she tried to think.

She moved a little farther back and to the side of the tent flap. Gaze riveted on the place where the small trail left the main path and headed into the canyon, she took a couple of deep breaths.

Her eyes began to hurt from straining to see someone who almost matched the landscape. Had she lost him?

Then he moved into the open. Rifle raised, aiming toward her. And terrifyingly close. Only a little above and nearly halfway along the short trail that would bring him to the canyon bottom. How had she missed him at the turnoff?

But he was in the open. Within range. And she had a clear shot.

She squeezed off two shots and saw him run to the left, off the trail.

He was harder to see now, crouching behind a shrub.

Rising, he stumbled farther off the trail, turned and brought the rifle into position again.

She fired.

He flopped backward.

She sank to her knees. “Thank God.”

Then the tears began.

Chapter Forty-one

The moment of relief didn’t last.

From behind her came the sound of a low moan. The awareness that Hank was injured, maybe way beyond serious, roared back into her consciousness.