Moving Target (13 page)

“Close the door quietly, Ms. Drew.”

Michael Kirby stepped from the shadows into her line of vision. His left arm was wrapped around George's neck and his right hand held a gun to her temple!

G
EORGE
!”

Nancy stepped toward them, staring with horror as Kirby's grip tightened around George's neck.

“Keep your distance,” Kirby warned menacingly, “or I'll shoot her. Now take the emeralds out of your pocket.” He smirked at Nancy's look of surprise. “Yes, I know what you've got and where you've got them.”

“He knew because he was outside the cabin listening to us before you went to make the call,” George blurted out defiantly. “He even knew the knock signal. That's why I let him in.”

“Shut up!” Kirby snapped. “Put them on the table.” Pulling George with him, he moved a few steps to the table and, without letting go of the gun, picked up the pouch and slipped it into his
pocket. “Okay, ladies, now we're going to go for a ride. Don't try any tricks, Ms. Private Eye. You're going to lead. And remember, I've got this gun wedged right into your friend's waist.”

“You won't get away with this, Kirby,” Nancy said. “The police are on their way here now.”

“Right,” he replied sarcastically. “And if they're anything like the Emersonville cops, they might find the place in two days. Besides, your friend here doesn't want to see them any more than I do. She'll have a bit of explaining to do.”

“I told you before and I'll tell you again, you've got the wrong person!” George snapped.

“Give me a break,” Kirby replied. “You're the wrong person, but you just happen to have the emeralds, right?

“You didn't know that I saw you on one of the drops, did you? Wearing those big sunglasses at five in the morning. What a disguise!” He gave a sarcastic laugh. “Once I see somebody, I don't forget them. The hair, the shape, the walk. I knew it was you the minute I”—he paused to sneer at her—“just ‘happened' to find your cycling group. Convenient that you told the restaurant people that you were going on a bike trip this weekend, or I might still be looking over the Emerson coeds trying to find you. When I realized you'd kept back the emeralds on that Wednesday drop, I knew I'd have to go after you. It was good of the local press to tell me what was missing.”

“But she's not the drop person! She's telling you the truth,” Nancy said. “She's not even an Emerson student.”

“Well I'd check that out with Palumbo if I could, but we both know that he's not in a position to give me any more information. And frankly, the only reason she was involved in the first place was so he and I wouldn't have to make contact. It would have been—how shall I put it?—it would have been dangerous for us.”

“They already know you're involved with Palumbo, and they know you're the fence for the Texas robberies, too, Kirby Stanton,” Nancy said. “You're only making it worse for yourself.”

His eyes narrowed as she said the name
Stanton.
“Save your breath,” he said. “It doesn't matter whether she's the drop or not. I've got what I want. In twenty-four hours I'll be in Canada, and these emeralds are going to buy me a whole new identity. Now, open the door, Ms. Private Eye, turn left, walk through that grove of trees, and we'll be right behind you.”

“You'll never make it to Canada,” Nancy said.

“Move it!” Kirby snapped. “And no noise or your friend gets it.”

Having no choice, Nancy did as she was ordered. The van was parked on a dirt trail on the far side of the grove, hidden from the campground. Kirby yanked open the driver's door.

“You're driving,” he said to Nancy. “The keys are in the ignition. You're going to follow this
trail to a concession road. No lights and no tricks, or your friend gets it. Understand?”

Nancy's heart sank. She didn't even know a back road existed, and she didn't know where it went. The police would be looking for them at the cabin or on the county road.

Kirby shoved George roughly into the passenger seat beside Nancy and climbed into the seat behind them, placing the gun to the base of George's head. “Any swerves, any signals, any fancy driving, and I kill your friend. Got it?”

Nancy nodded. The moon shining through the tall trees gave barely enough light to see the trail. She was sure Kirby meant every threat he made, and she wasn't about to endanger George. Their only hope would be if the Moorestown police used this road as a shortcut to reach Lakeview Lodge. That hope faded quickly when Kirby had her pull off the dirt trail and turn on the headlights.

The road was poorly maintained and obviously little traveled. No oncoming lights were visible, and checking the rearview mirror, Nancy saw no traffic following them. Behind her, she could hear Kirby fumbling for something in the dark, but a quick glance in the mirror confirmed that the gun was still held at George's head.

“Here,” he muttered to George. “Put this in your pocket.” He reached over the seat and handed something to George.

Nancy looked over to see what it was.

“I don't get it,” George said, looking at the emerald drop earring Kirby had given her.

“You don't have to get it,” he snarled. “Just do what you're told.”

“I guess I'm not in a position to argue,” George said angrily, jamming the earring into the pocket of her jeans.

“You've got that right!” said Kirby. As he spoke he lifted the gun and hit George on the side of the head. She slumped over, her cheek against the door frame.

Nancy slammed the brakes. “You beast!” she yelled.

Kirby laughed and almost casually slid over behind her. She felt the cold muzzle of the revolver behind her ear and froze in place.

“Now, is that any way to talk to me?” he asked in a soft voice. “Take your foot off the brake and move this buggy down the road. Do what you're told, and nothing will happen to you.”

“You're insane!”

“Keep it moving. Your friend's going to have a little nap for the next few miles, and then we're going to dispose of her.”

Nancy gripped the wheel tightly and looked over at George. She was out cold. What else did he have planned for them?

As if he was reading her mind, Kirby responded. “About three miles down, there's a bend in the road, and around the bend there's a
small bridge over a creek. When you get across the bridge, pull over to the shoulder.”

Nancy scanned the road ahead of her. No traffic. Not even a farmhouse in sight. It was like being in the middle of nowhere. Would the police ever find them, and when they did, would it be too late?

“We're coming up to the bend,” Kirby snapped, interrupting her thoughts.

“You can't get away with this,” Nancy said, as she slowed for the curve. “Don't you have any conscience? George wasn't involved at all.”

“But she's involved now,” Kirby said. “And when they find her, she'll have part of the loot in her pocket.” He laughed. “I've got this all worked out. The police will think she was the fence, who was robbed and killed on a back road while escaping to Canada with the emeralds. Unfortunately, in their rush to get the jewels, her assailants missed one of the earrings.”

“What about the woman who
was
the drop?” Nancy asked, stalling for time.

“What about her? She's not going to come forward and confess.”

“What about Palumbo? He could cut a deal with the police that would put you behind bars.”

“Not likely,” Kirby replied curtly. “I know too much about Stephen Palumbo. If he squeals on me, he's looking at a lot more than a burglary charge.” He hit the back of the seat with his hand
and Nancy jumped. “You're too nosy,” he said. “Stop! Right here.”

Nancy pulled the van over and cut the engine. Her mind was racing. Was he going to kill George right here at the side of the road? How was she going to get out of this? Keep him talking, she told herself. Maybe someone will come along.

“What are you going to do with me?” she asked, in as cool a tone as she could muster. “Obviously I'm not involved in the burglaries. How are you going to explain my body at the side of the road?”

Kirby laughed—a hideous laugh that sent shivers up Nancy's spine. “You're not going to be left at the side of the road, my dear. At least not here. You see, your friend's usefulness is over. But you are still an asset to me.”

“I don't see how,” Nancy said.

“I thought you'd be smart enough to figure that out,” Kirby replied. “If the police really are looking for me—and I'm not sure I believe you on that—then they're looking for a single man, not for a couple headed for a vacation in Canada.”

As he talked, Nancy's hands tightened on the steering wheel. Her palms were clammy, and she could feel beads of perspiration on her forehead.

“It's time,” Kirby said flatly. “Get out. And don't try anything stupid. I'm getting out on your side, so I'll be right behind you. And don't forget I still have this.” He stroked the gun over the hair
at her neck. “And I won't hesitate to use it if I have to. Open your door.”

As if programmed, the two of them got out of the van in tandem. The minute Nancy's feet hit the ground, Kirby grabbed her arm, keeping the revolver trained on her.

“Now we'll walk around the van together,” he instructed. “You'll open the door and pull your friend over to the edge of that ditch.”

Nancy's heart was pounding. She had to do something, but what? They walked to the passenger side of the van, and Nancy reached out and opened the door. George's limp body slid into her arms, and she half carried, half dragged her from the vehicle to a grassy strip by the ditch.

“Say goodbye,” Kirby said. Nancy felt his muscular arm curl around her neck from behind. Holding her tightly in front of him, he raised the gun and aimed it at George's head. The click as he released the safety catch resounded like a thunderbolt in Nancy's ears.

T
HE CLICK OF THE
safety on the revolver jarred Nancy to action. Kirby was holding her tightly in front of him, his left arm wrapped around her shoulders in a bruising grip. Fiercely Nancy jabbed backward with her elbow. The unexpected blow caught Kirby in the stomach. He flung his arm up in the air, and the shot went wild.

Kirby doubled over in pain, and Nancy whirled around and disarmed him with a quick chop to the wrist. As he straightened up, raging, she caught him under the chin with a high kick. He staggered backward and fell, just as the lights of a vehicle rounded the bend and crossed the bridge. The police! Two officers jumped out of the black-and-white patrol car and ran toward her.

“Are you all right?” one asked while the other ran over to Kirby, who was struggling to get up, and handcuffed him.

“Yes, I'm okay,” Nancy said, running over to George. “But my friend is hurt. I'm Nancy Drew, by the way.”

“I'll call for an ambulance,” he yelled, charging back to the car.

Nancy knelt beside George and held her hand. She was still unconscious, but her breathing seemed normal. Nancy was concentrating so hard on George that she scarcely noticed the truck that pulled up behind the police car until she heard a familiar voice calling her.

“Nan!”

She looked up. “Over here! Oh, Ned, I'm so glad to see you.”

Ned, with CJ close behind, ran over to where she was kneeling by George.

“Kirby hit her in the head with his gun,” Nancy said. “We need to get her to a doctor.”

“I saw some plywood in the back of the truck,” CJ said. He ran back to the side of the road and returned soon with a long piece of plywood and a blanket.

“Excuse me, Ms. Drew,” said one of the officers. “We need to get a statement from you.”