Lifeline Echoes (35 page)

He stood against the back of his brother's
truck, staring in the direction of the mountains where he knew
Sandy waited, unable to communicate, perhaps trapped, likely
injured. But it wasn't the intimidating behemoths of rock he
struggled in the dark to see.

It was her face he conjured.

Sandy's face, with the chicory eyes flashing
fire at him on a mountain road. Sandy, flirting with him at her
bar, performing a sexy song and dance. Sandy looking over her
shoulder with that half-smile, enticing him to follow her. With
eyes darkened by passion when they kissed. Her face showing her
vulnerability while she slept. Eyes that held compassion for a
defenseless baby animal. Her face, streaked with soot and set with
defiance. Her face lit by concern as she sat a vigil by his bed in
the hospital. Then as he'd last seen her, eyes filled with hurt
because she'd misunderstood his astonishment when she'd told him
about Mac.

"I know you're out there,"
he whispered into the night. "You're out there somewhere and I know
you're still alive. Sweetheart, I
will
find you."

He had to find her. Not for years had he
felt the sort of connection with another person that he had with
Sandy. Without her in his life, he might as well be dead, because
he sure wouldn't be truly alive.

Headlights sliced across the blackness of
the parking lot and Ryan stood, prepared to meet the newcomers. But
a sudden sense of misgiving kept him pinned to the safety of the
shadows.

When he recognized the MacKays, his stomach
heaved, and he was glad he'd stayed put. He watched old Brody park
directly in front of the door, as if he was somehow entitled to the
best parking. Then MacKay and his wife entered the sheriff's
office, Deputy Sherwood on their heels.

A figure slipped through the darkness to
join him.

Ryan was taller than average, but Colt Ford
had a good three inches on him. Broad-shouldered, with muscular
arms built by years of hands-on ranch work, he nonetheless carried
himself with cat-like agility. Because Colt was four years Ryan's
senior, the two had never really traveled the same circles but
they'd always been friendly on the few occasions their paths
crossed.

Ryan nodded. "Ford."

With typical reserve, Colt nodded in return.
"If DC's not looking hard at those two, he should be. Something
about them." He shook his head. "She's batcrap crazy and he's too
quiet."

"What happened?"

"We were up by the old logging roads," said
Colt. "An area that bears another look in the light. The old lady
was pretty anxious that we officially mark the area as already
searched."

Ryan's head popped up. "Go on."

Colt shrugged and shook his head again.
"It's just a feeling. But if I'm right, McGee, we don't have much
time to find your lady."

His message delivered, the taciturn man
strolled toward the building, leaving Ryan alone in the dark, with
a renewed sense of urgency squeezing his lungs.

The earliest fingers of dawn were just
beginning to creep into the eastern horizon when the first of the
returning volunteers arrived.

Ryan pulled a weary hand down his face,
wishing he could wipe away the exhaustion that was more mental than
physical.

****

Sandy was dismayed to find the truck had
listed sharply to the left while she slept. How long had it been?
Why hadn't someone found her yet?

And Ryan! Did he think she'd abandoned
him?

Yellow-orange rays of sunlight touched the
edge of the driver's door window.

In the dim light, she could see the radio
overhead but it was beyond her reach. Every time she tried to
stretch, the truck teetered and the tree outside the window
groaned. In frustration, she slapped her hand on the seat, then
froze as she felt the truck rock. She wished she could see how high
up she was. It could be anywhere from a few feet to a couple
hundred feet.

Slowly, shifting a bit at a time, she
managed to settle herself lying crossways on the seat. It was
marginally more comfortable than being bunched behind the steering
wheel. Her foot brushed something at the end of the seat. Justin's
tool belt.

She moved in centimeters, stopping every
time the tree groaned or the truck shifted. At last, she managed to
hook the tool belt with the pointed toe of her boot.

"Oh, thank you, God."

In cautious increments, Sandy worked the
tool belt up her leg until she could reach it with her fingers.
When it was finally in her hands, she explored the contents. Wire
cutters, pliers, a couple of screwdrivers, a utility knife, and a
pair of gloves.

One of the screwdrivers was just long enough
to touch the tip to the radio. She should be able to slide the
radio out of its dock.

Sandy drew in a couple of deep breaths to
steady herself. She had one chance at this. If she popped the radio
out of the dock and it landed out of reach, she might never be able
to retrieve it.

"One, two, three!" She stretched up with the
screwdriver in hand and caught the hand-held radio on the side by
the strap. It was so anticlimactic when the little radio was
finally nestled in the palm of her hand that she cried with
relief.

****

Ryan's cell phone ripped through the tense
silence that had fallen in the sheriff's office during the briefing
by Search and Rescue. Joe again. This time, Ryan answered.

"You're hard to get hold of," said Joe.

"Hey man, this isn't a good time."

"McGee, wait! I found your Allie. We had her
name wrong."

"It doesn't matter anymore. I'll give you a
call next week."

"Ryan! She moved to your hometown. Her
name's—"

From across the room, the citizen band radio
squawked. "Orson's Folly Sheriff Department, this is Alexandra
Wheaton, operating Cross MC Unit One on your frequency. Please show
me Code 60, unknown location. Over."

The voice he'd been seeking for seven years.
"Angel!" Ryan's cell phone slipped from lifeless fingers.

****

Chapter Eighteen

A cheer went up at the sound of Sandy's
voice, but Ryan was processing her message. She'd reverted to L.A.
dispatch lingo. Code 60 meant she was in imminent danger and needed
urgent assistance.

"We read you, Ms. Wheaton," responded the
ranger manning the radio. "This is Will Fremont of Search and
Rescue. Can you give us your general vicinity?"

In a daze, Ryan approached the radio. He
needed to hear her voice again.

Was it her? Could Sandy really be the woman
he'd been looking for since he'd been plucked from the ruins of the
L.A. Convention Center? Had she been here in his home town all
along? His heart wouldn't stop pounding up into his throat.

"My location is unknown," said Sandy.

Ryan sucked in a huge
breath. His gut wrenched. It
was
her.

Sean appeared at his side. "What is it?"

Ryan shook his head, in shock, unable to put
it into words.

"I'm trapped in my truck. I think I'm over a
cliff but not at the bottom. The truck slides every time I move. I
can't see any landmarks. I'm stuck in some pine trees. Be advised
that I have a head lac and I have had positive loss of
consciousness, unknown number of episodes or duration."

"Copy that, Ms. Wheaton. Stay calm."

"Angel," whispered Ryan.

"Holy moly!" Sean gripped
Ryan's forearm. "It's her, isn't it?
Sandy's
the girl you were looking
for in L.A."

Ryan nodded wordlessly. He began to shake
violently.

"We're going to get to her, Ry," said
Sean.

A topographic map of the area was spread out
on DC's desk, surrounded by the Search and Rescue leaders. DC used
a yellow highlighter to outline the road to Jackson. As he gestured
at an area on the county map, Fremont tapped another area, then
drew a large circle in red marker.

Ryan approached the radio. Before his
quaking legs could give out, he fell into the chair vacated by
Fremont.

His trembling hand mirrored his shaken soul
as he depressed the send button on the transceiver and spoke.
"Angel? Is that you?"

Silence.

Ryan huffed out a breath and tried again,
louder. "Angel, you there?"

Finally, Sandy spoke, her
words a mere whisper, difficult to hear but clear. "Oh, my. It was
you. It wasn't Mac, it was
you
." She was obviously as shaken as
he. "But it can't be. You died."

"It's me, Angel. I promise. 'O, it came o'er
my ear like the sweet sound, that breathes upon a bank of
violets.'"

"You’re not dead!" She was half crying, half
laughing. "You're not dead and you're quoting Shakespeare."

Ryan could hear the tears in her words. He
had to get her to hang on, to help them find her. He knew time
would work against them with the truck balanced over a cliff. If
she moved the wrong way or too much. . . He closed his eyes against
the images in his mind and brought his focus back to the radio.

"Not dead, Angel. Not even close. I've been
looking for you for seven years." And now that he'd found her,
losing her wasn't in the plan. "Those better not be tears I hear,
sweetheart," he told her in a mock stern tone.

"Not crying anymore," she said, her voice
stronger. "I'm just trying to get my mind around the fact that the
only two men I've ever loved are the same person."

The oxygen left Ryan's lungs with a whoosh
at her words. "Angel, you hold onto that thought. When we get you
out of there, I'm going to kiss you all over."

She was quiet for a moment, then he heard
her soft, sexy laugh. "You have to do better than that, Cowboy. I
seem to recall a trip to a chapel in Vegas being mentioned seven
years ago."

"Is that a proposal?" His heart skipped a
beat. "What kind of crappy proposal is that?"

"Sorry—can't get down on one knee at the
moment since I don't want to end up with a dang truck on my
head."

Ryan's smile widened, recognizing her spoof
of his own words to her seven years before. Panic eased its grip.
Her morale was high, half the battle. But now he had to pick her
brain to find her. "What happened, Angel? How did you end up over a
cliff?"

"I . . . don't know. I was coming to get
you. That's all I remember."

So she was probably off US-189.

Commotion and loud voices near the door drew
Ryan's attention. "Hold on a second. There's something happening
here."

Walt Blackstone held the door open and Ricky
MacKay tumbled through, landing in a heap at Justin's feet.

The boy's face was bruised and swollen. His
hands were covered in dirt and dried blood. His bare feet had left
bloody footprints on the tile. Ryan's heart lurched into his
stomach then violently up into his throat. If a man could do that
to his own kin. . .

Justin crouched and settled a steadying hand
on the boy's shoulder. "Someone get him some water. Did you walk
all the way from your place, son?"

"Yes, sir." Ricky gulped in air. "She said
she'd kill my mom if I didn't help them. But I can't do it anymore.
She burned my shoes so I couldn't go anywhere but I had to get
help. My mom's real bad off. Grandma, please help us," he cried out
just as Gloria reached his side. Then he began babbling but the
only words Ryan heard made his gut writhe with terror. "She wanted
me to help her kill Ms. Sandy."

"Someone find MacKay." DC's hand rested on
his weapon, as if itching for an excuse to use it on the animal
who'd abused this kid.

"His truck's not out there," Blackstone said
from the doorway. "Ford's truck's gone, too."

"Penny and Colt went outside right after
Brody and Alice left, about five or ten minutes ago," Gloria told
the sheriff.

As Ryan watched, his father laid both hands
on Ricky's thin shoulders and searched his face. "Where is she,
son? Do you know where Ms. Sandy is?"

The boy shook his head, then swayed against
Justin.

"He's telling the truth," murmured Sean in
Ryan's ear. "I'll be right back."

Justin cradled Ricky against him. "This boy
needs a doctor."

Ryan rubbed his jaw. Colt's words from the
night before were suddenly making sense. If the MacKays wanted the
logging trails marked as searched, they had a reason. Ryan's gut
heaved again.

Obviously, Brody and Alice were on their way
to finish Sandy off, with the advantage of already knowing where
she was.

"DC!" He waited for the sheriff to look in
his direction. "Ford said they were checking the logging roads and
Alice seemed anxious for that area to be marked as clear."

A flurry of talking erupted. DC's mouth set
into a bleak line.

Ryan felt torn between the twin needs of
racing out to rescue Sandy and staying to talk to his Angel. Then
Sean was next to him with his hand-held.

"Angel," Ryan said urgently. "Can you tune
your handset to the ranch frequency?"

"Yes."

"Do it. You'll get Sean. If you don't
connect to Sean right away, turn back to this frequency. Got
that?"

In ten seconds, Sean had her on the ranch
frequency. He handed the radio to Ryan. "Let's roll!"

Ryan climbed into the cab of Sean's truck
right behind his father. Several grim-faced volunteers jumped into
the back of the truck and Sean took off, tires shooting gravel
halfway across the parking lot.

"Sandy, we have a general vicinity for your
location," said Ryan into the radio.

Silence.

"Angel?" Panic began to swell into his
throat. Ryan swallowed, pushed it back. "Angel, you there?"

"I'm here, Cowboy." She chuckled softly.
"Just appreciating the irony of our current situation. Guess I need
you and your white horse after all."