Night of Shadows (17 page)

"Shut up, idiot. You've been
paid well. Just do as I say, if you don't have the stomach for this part. Go
get one of the trucks. Get it ready, and wait for me. I'll take her along with
us — just in case I need some insurance."

As Rod left, Melinda felt the
pistol dig into her back. Then the pressure suddenly eased, while Finch wrapped
a dirty handkerchief around her mouth and fastened it tightly.

Then, her arms were yanked behind
her and tied painfully with a piece of wire.

"I can't tell you what a
pleasure this is," Finch said. "You and your sister cost me plenty. She's
in the house, isn't she? Sure she is. This time I'll finish her. But as for you
— you're going to be keeping me company for a while. We're going for a ride,
far away from here."

Finch avoided the possibility of
being seen from the house by forcing Melinda to crouch behind corrals as they
cautiously made their roundabout trip to the back kitchen door. Soon they heard
the sound of a vehicle starting up — and driving away.

Finch stood still, listening. "That
spineless, no good...He ran out on me. No matter. I'll find him. He'll pay. We'll
just have to find where they keep the keys to the other trucks."

Keeping Melinda's arm in a painful
grip, Finch reached out, twisted the knob and slowly pushed the door open. Inside,
Harriet was bent over the sink, her back to them as she washed dishes. Finch
thrust the gun sharply into Melinda's back and mouthed a silent warning: 
"Stay here."

Then, gripping the pistol, he began
creeping up behind Harriet. Realizing that he might kill her, Melinda could
stand it no longer. It was hard to shout with a handkerchief stuffed in her
mouth, but somehow she managed a muffled sound.

Harriet started to whirl around,
just in time to see Finch bring the gun down with a vicious force. She didn't
have time to cry out. It cracked against her head, knocking her instantly to
the floor.

Roy then quickly turned and trained
the gun on Melinda, as though daring her to try anything else. He stood, and
appeared to be listening for movement from elsewhere in the house. Melinda stared
down at Harriet's still body, taking note of the rise and fall of her chest. She
was alive.

Finally, Roy quietly began moving
around the kitchen, converting some towels into a gag and rope for Harriet. When
he was through trussing her up, he gave Melinda crazed look. His eyes were so
cold and devoid of emotion that they no longer seemed human.

"Your sister is the only other
person here."

He seemed so confident in that
statement that he spoke in a normal voice. Looking relaxed, he stood up from
where he was kneeling by Harriet and grabbed Melinda's arm again.

"Come on. Let's get this over
with. Let's go find her."

As he half dragged Melinda up the
stairs, her mind groped for a solution — anything. They were almost at the top
when she deliberately stumbled, and forced herself to roll painfully almost a
third of the way down the steps.

Her entire body was throbbing with
the fall. But at least it was enough of a noisy diversion that it might rouse
Joan from her drug-induced deep sleep.

 Finch cursed, and followed after
Melinda. He reached down to pull her back to her feet. And that's when Melinda
had her revenge. She swiftly turned over on her back and — pulling both feet up
— kicked him in the stomach with a force strengthened by hatred.

Her attacker screamed, doubled over,
and went hurdling backwards down the stairs. At the same time, the gun fired
harmlessly into the air. He landed at the bottom with a thud.

Melinda pulled herself upright in
time to watch him fall. She viewed his outstretched body with trepidation. Even
though he lay still, she expected Roy Finch to revive at any moment and come
after her. Tied as she was, she could do nothing else to stop him.

She sucked in her breath as she felt
beads of sweat forming on her forehead. Was Finch temporarily stunned? Or
pretending?

Melinda needed to reach that gun
where it fallen just within reach of Finch's outstretched hand. She struggled
to her feet and, with hands tied behind her back, moved awkwardly down the
stairs one step at a time.

It seemed like an eternity before
she finally reached the bottom, where she kicked the gun savagely across the
room. But she should not have bothered. At close range, she could now see Roy
Finch's head twisted at an odd angle on his shoulders.

His neck was broken, his eyes fixed
in a permanent, glinty stare. She and her sister would never have to worry
about this monster again. Melinda slid into a sitting position on the stairs, leaned
her head on her knees, and sobbed with both relief and horror.

Just then she heard the sound of
hoofbeats in full gallop and a skidding halt, followed by the rush of footsteps
on the porch. The door burst open and Mac stood there, pistol in hand.

He gazed in wonder at Melinda, as
she sat leaning one shoulder against the wall. Then Mac slowly walked closer,
to peer down at Roy Finch. He fingered the pistol in his hand, almost as a
gesture of regret that there was no need for a bullet to finish the job.

Mac stooped beside Melinda and
began to untie her hands, carefully undoing the wire. Then he removed the gag.

"I might have known you
couldn't stay out of trouble."

Melinda half sobbed and half laughed
in response.

He examined her shoulders and arms
for any sign of injury. Then he leaned over to examine a large bump on the back
of her skull.

"Looks like you've got a goose
egg there. Good thing you landed on that hard head of yours."

She put her arms around him and
leaned against his chest. She couldn't stop the free flowing tears. "I'm
sorry. I really did want to stay out of the way this time."

Mac stroked her hair. "Never
you mind. It was all my fault. I went riding off into the sunset, expecting to
catch the bad guy — and he was here all along. What fools we all were, not to
suspect Rod."

"How did you know to come
back?" Melinda asked.

"I saw the truck and stopped
him. He looked guilty as hell. So the gutless wonder finally told me what was
going on — after a little persuasion. I rode here as fast as I could. When I
heard that shot — well, you can imagine what I thought."

They held each other a long time.

"I keep blaming myself for
Preston, you know," Mac said at last. "I encouraged him to cooperate
with the feds, put himself in danger. I guess I thought if he did something
heroic, I could be proud of him again. Instead, I just got him killed — "

Melinda glared up at him, then took
his hand. "You didn't kill Preston. That man right there did. And Roy
Finch got just what he deserved."

Melinda's bitter tone, stripped of
any remorse for her part in Finch's death, startled even her. They sat
together, looking at Finch's body, as though drinking in a type of morbid
satisfaction.

Fortunately, a thumping sound
originating from the kitchen broke the dark spell.

"Harriet!" Melinda said. "She's
tied up in there. And Joan — I wonder if she heard anything? She must be
terrified, if she did."

They went their separate ways, Mac
to release Harriet and Melinda upstairs to console her sister. As it turned
out, Joannie had slept through the whole thing.

When Melinda walked back
downstairs, she saw that some of Scott's men had arrived and were busily
evaluating the death scene below.

Through the kitchen doorway, she saw
Harriet on the floor where she was outstretched and holding an ice pack against
her head. Several agents knelt beside her, assessing her wounds. The
housekeeper was clearly conscious and kept fussing at everyone, telling them
she didn't need any help.

Melinda indifferently stepped around
Finch's body, almost bumping into Scott as he appeared from the kitchen. Mac
followed close behind him.

"Let's all go into the
library," Scott suggested. "I need to debrief you."

"We're all fine here, Mr.
Bradford," Melinda said dryly. "Thanks for asking."

Scott just gave her a puzzled look
in answer.

After they were all seated at a
table, the agent asked endless questions to obtain the answers he needed in
order to wrap up the investigation. In turn, he explained where everything now
stood. He wasn't sure what would become of Rod — or Connie or Debbie, or others
among Finch's many accomplices.

Most associates, including Connie
and Debbie, had been involved only on the fringes, unaware of the full extent
of Finch's sinister activities. Many would likely see jail time, eventually. It
would be a messy, complex case, probably spanning several years.

In the days that followed, the
agents drifted away to devote their attention to other cases in other locales. Joan
spent most of the time isolated in her room. Melinda tried visiting her there
numerous times, only to be politely turned away.

Melinda understood. It was her
sister's way of coping, and she had no right to insist that Joan allow her to
share the grief. Being allowed to console her sister would have made Melinda
feel less lonely, however — and at least useful.

Melinda then valiantly attempted
taking over Harriet's kitchen duties while the housekeeper remained in the
hospital, where she recuperated from a concussion. Instead of being
acknowledged for her efforts, however, Melinda remained unseen.

At mealtimes, Mac and Joan discussed
ranch business, now that Joannie had inherited part of Preston's interests. Melinda,
in fact, noted a new maturity in her sister while she watched Joan and Mac
intently pore over the finances.

Of course, there was little that
Melinda could contribute to such conversations. And when friends appeared at
the ranch to offer their condolences to Mac and Joan, they were all strangers
to Melinda.

Preston's funeral had been delayed
until Harriet's return from the hospital a week later.

To avoid curiosity seekers and
reporters, the services were conducted at the ranch, at the family cemetery on
the lonely hillside overlooking a pastoral scene of horses and cattle grazing
in the distance.

A soft breeze rattled the leaves of
nearby dry brush, adding a natural background chorus to the preacher's final
words. Scott Bradford and several agents were there, situated a respectful
distance away.

Melinda stood with Mac and Joan,
both who remained stoic, eyes free of tears. They each had experienced their
own mourning in their own way. And in private.

Again, Melinda felt very much the
outsider during this quiet ceremony. She didn't belong here, in this
unforgiving land where the sunset now cast its familiar long shadows.

She remembered the foreboding she
had felt looking down upon the harsh terrain from the view of the plane when
she had first arrived. That felt like a lifetime ago, when she had felt such a strong
sense of purpose.

Now, at the funeral of someone
whose life had been wasted, that feeling of being driven dissolved into vast,
empty sadness.

The story here had ended, both
sadly and happily, as was often the case in life. The part she had played was
over. It was time to recapture her own identity.

It was time to go home.

When the memorial service was over, everyone
drifted away from the quiet meadow except for Joan, Mac, and Melinda. They
stood, staring at the gravesites. The fresh mound of dirt awaited its own
headstone.

"All my blood kin are buried
there now," Mac said dully.

"Not all of them."

Mac and Melinda gaped at Joan for a
moment before they grasped her meaning.

"Joannie," Melinda said. "You
don't mean — ?"

"I'm going to be an
uncle?" Mac finished.

"Something of Preston will
still be here," Joan said, smiling tightly. "This child and I are
going to spend a lot of time at Sacramento Ranch. I'm sure Preston would want
that."

Melinda realized then that, for the
rest of their lives, she and her sister would be living miles apart. Again, she
felt an aching loneliness.

She stole a look at Mac, but he
stared straight ahead — seemingly lost in some inner, tortured world he had
been occupying since Preston had been shot and killed.

That evening, as Melinda brooded in
her room, she wondered why Mac had given her no sign that he felt anything for
her other than friendship. Sure, he was grieving. She understood that. But it
was as though the emotional bond they had once shared was now permanently
dissolved.

Just as when she had first met him,
Mac spent all his time outdoors with the horses — as always, with no room in
his life for anything or anyone else.

At that moment, there was a tap on
her door. Melinda opened it and was surprised to see Joan standing there. By
mutual unspoken consent, they hugged each other for a long time.

"I'm sorry, Melinda — I'm
sorry I've been such lousy company."