The Waterfall (25 page)

“Madison.” Lucy cleared her throat. “Here's the situation. I can't come down there and get you, not without equipment. I wouldn't do you any good. And I don't have the strength to pull you up by myself. Plato's here, but he's injured. You can either wait for Rob, or you can try to work your way up a little higher, then I can help.”

“I can't. My arm hurts.”

“What about your other arm? Use it and your feet. Find hand and footholds. Steady yourself.”

Barbara sniffed. “Of course, you're too much of a coward to go after her yourself.”

“You know, Ms. Allen,” Plato said, dropping down beside her. He was a bloody mess. “Seeing how you've shot me twice today, I wouldn't do or say one damn thing that's going to piss me off. Right now, consider yourself lucky I'm good with pain.”

“You wouldn't shoot me. You're a professional. You only shoot to kill.”

“I'm right-handed. You shot me in my right arm. Holding a gun in my left hand—who knows?—it could just go off and put a bullet in your bitching leg.”

“I loathe your kind,” Barbara said.

“Yeah, you hold that thought. What's your pal Mowery up to?”

Barbara snapped her mouth shut. She wished it would stop raining. It was so damn cold.

“That's it,” Lucy was saying, still hanging over the falls. “One step at a time. God, I'd give anything to be there instead of you.”

“Tell her to pretend her injured arm got cut off,” Plato said. “That's what I did with my leg when I got hurt.”

Lucy glanced at him dubiously. “Thanks, Plato. She's doing fine.”

Barbara could feel the cold of the rock seeping into her, the dankness of the day. She held herself stiff against shaking and shivering. In another minute, Lucy was pulling on the rope with all her might. Plato transferred his gun into his right hand, his wince of pain barely detectable. He edged over to the tree, grabbed the rope with his left arm and pulled, adding his strength to Lucy's.

Madison came up and collapsed into her mother's arms, sobbing. “J.T.,” she said. “I told him to run. Is he all right? Oh, God, this is all my fault!”

“It's not your fault, Madison. You're
fifteen.
”

Plato touched Lucy's shoulder. “Go ahead. Cops'll be here in no time. Find your kid.”

Barbara sighed. Of course, of course. Lucy would abandon the daughter for the sake of the son. Of course.

 

Sebastian had the situation under control, if not to his liking. He was tucked behind a nice, fat sofa inside the house Barbara Allen had rented. Darren Mowery and Jack Swift were out on the screened porch, discussing her.

“Barbie made up the affair with Colin just to get back at you,” Mowery said. “And you fell for it. Makes you feel kind of stupid, doesn't it?”

“Where is she now?”

“My guess, she's making Lucy's life miserable. Hates her guts. Totally obsessed with her. Amazing. Miss Super-Professional with a deep, dark secret.”

“You used her. You manipulated her.”

“Don't feel sorry for her.”

“I don't,” Jack said.

“Sebastian Redwing hasn't done you much good, has he?”

“If I'd told him the truth from the beginning—”

“Yeah, well. You didn't.”

Sebastian didn't plan on letting them leave. He'd already disabled Mowery's car. A clump of mud in the exhaust pipe did the trick. Now, he would wait. So far, Mowery hadn't made a move against the senator. If he did, Sebastian would act. If he saw his window of opportunity, he'd act. Otherwise, he'd wait for Larry and the Capitol police to get there. Whichever came first was fine with him. With the situation stable, he had no intention of lighting a fuse.

Then J.T. came screaming up out of the woods. “Grandpa! Grandpa!” He pounded up the deck steps. “She's got Madison!”

Sebastian reacted instantly, shooting out through the sliding glass door onto the deck. He had to get to J.T. before Mowery did, even if it meant he'd lost his advantage. He grabbed J.T. The boy was hysterical, traumatized, gulping for air. He clawed Sebastian's arms. “J.T.,” he said. “It's okay. I've got you.”

“Madison—we have to save her. Barbara's going to kill her. She hung her over the waterfall. She'll cut the rope. Sebastian!”

Sebastian stayed between the boy and the screened porch, where he knew Mowery would be quickly calculating his options. “Listen to me, J.T. Go back down the road. Run your ass off, you hear me? Your mother will be looking for you.”

Being Lucy's son, he argued. “Grandpa—”

“I'll take care of your grandfather. Go, J.T. Trust me. Your mother will be there.” That much Sebastian knew. Lucy would be there for her kids.

“Well, well, well,” Mowery said behind them. “Daddy Redwing.”

Sebastian stayed focused on the boy. He grabbed J.T. up and dumped him off the deck, several feet to the ground. J.T. scrambled to his feet, and yelled, “Grandpa! He's got a gun!”

Jack Swift pushed away from Mowery and leaned over the rail. “Run, J.T. I'll be fine.
Go.
”

J.T. hesitated, then darted into the woods, down the hill, moving fast. He was twelve and energetic, and he knew the woods. Sebastian had done his job. J.T. wasn't in Mowery's hands.

“What?” Mowery said. “You two think I'd shoot a kid?”

“I know you would,” Sebastian said, turning to Mowery. The minute he'd heard J.T., Sebastian knew Mowery had him. He had a gun, a Glock. “It didn't used to be that way.”

“Sure it did, you just never noticed. And I wouldn't shoot a kid in the back. In the head, as part of a business arrangement, only if necessary. I'm not a fucking monster.”

Jack Swift, gray and breathing hard, collapsed against the deck rail. “I can't—if anything happens to Madison or J.T. I don't think I could go on.”

Mowery snorted. “Enough votes, you'll go on.” He walked over to the senator and put the Glock at his temple. “No whining, okay? I need to think.”

“Darren.” Sebastian didn't move; he was centered, focused. Plato was right. This was work he knew, even if he'd come to hate it and distrust himself. “You're on a dead-end road. I've disabled your car. The local police are probably here by now. The Capitol Police are on their way. Everyone's coming. Let Jack go and get out now while you can.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you're good. You know my first priority is saving the senator and his family. This is your best chance to get away.”

“Sebastian, in case you haven't noticed, I'm the only one here with a gun. Suppose I just shoot you both and take off?”

“If you'd wanted to shoot me, you could have come out to my place in Wyoming and shot me in my hammock.” Sebastian sat on an Adirondack chair and stretched out his legs. “You don't just want me dead, Darren. You want me ruined, the way I ruined you. You want me to suffer, the way you've suffered.”

“I want the senator dead. I want Lucy and her kids dead and you held responsible, ridiculed, run out of business.”

“Well, Darren. If you shoot both the senator and me, you have no hostages left. Then what? You're still on a dead-end road with no car.”

“Up on your feet.”

Sebastian did as instructed. He wondered where Lucy was, what had happened to Plato if Madison was dangling from Joshua Falls and J.T. was tearing through the woods on his own.

Mowery got Swift to stand beside Sebastian, then he marched them both off the deck. Sebastian wasn't too worried. He figured he had about ten minutes to figure something out before J.T. found Lucy, and all hell broke loose.

 

Lucy charged down the path from the falls, slipping in the wet pine needles, oblivious to her fatigue, the pain in her side from running.

“Mom!”

“J.T.” She sank onto her knees, caught him in her arms as he almost ran over her. “Are you all right?”

“Sebastian,” he croaked. “Grandpa. Mom!”

She realized he was incapable of talking. He was out of breath, in shock. “It's going to be okay, J.T. The police are on their way. Come on.”

She half carried, half pulled him up the path back to the falls. Plato, pale and bloody, had two guns on Barbara Allen, his and hers. Madison was shivering next to him, cradling her arm in pain, not looking at the woman who'd nearly killed her.

Lucy knew that, for her children's sake, she had to appear to have command of the situation. She urged J.T. down next to Madison. “Sit here by your sister. Don't move. Don't look at Barbara.”

“Mom, that man had a gun pointed at Grandpa,” J.T. said breathlessly. “And Sebastian—he—he was right there.”

“Don't think about it. Just think about breathing.” She put her palm on his chest. He was wet and cold with rain, terrified. “In, out. Come on, J.T. Think about it. Breathe in, breathe out. Slow and controlled.”

But he whimpered like a lost puppy, and her heart broke. Madison, gray-faced, fell back on a bed of hemlock needles as she dealt with her terror and the pain of her injuries.

Lucy steeled herself against her own rush of emotions. She had to think. “Plato, I need to borrow one of the guns.”

“Better idea.” His voice was soothing, steady, professional. “You stay here, I go with the gun.”

She shook her head. “You won't get three steps before you pass out.”

He smiled feebly. “Bet I get six steps.”

“Plato…”

“Go, kid.” He flipped her Barbara's gun, barrel first, and kept his. “Mine's high-tech. You'll shoot up the woods with it. You know how to pull the trigger?”

“I think so.” She felt the weight of the gun in her hand. “I've seen a lot of movies. Is there a safety or anything? Do I have to cock it?”

Plato looked at her with his bloodshot eyes. “Just pull the fucking trigger.”

Lucy nodded. “I will if I have to.”

“And trust Sebastian.” Plato cleared his throat; he was weak, in need of medical attention. “He does things in his own time, and in his own way. Trust him, Lucy.”

“If he's renounced violence—”

“He's renounced gratuitous violence. If Mowery's got a gun on him and a senator, we're not talking gratuitous. Lucy, if Sebastian can't go through a brick wall, he'll go around it. He'll find a way.”

She blinked back tears. “I hope you're right.” J.T. shivered violently. His lips were purple, and dark circles had formed under his eyes. “Mom, don't go. I'm scared.”

Lucy looked at her son and daughter. Their father was dead, their grandfather was being held hostage. If something happened to her, Madison and J.T. would end up in Costa Rica with her parents. She couldn't be reckless or take unnecessary chances. It wasn't a question of courage. It was a question of responsibility.

She had to trust Sebastian, the way she'd had to trust Madison to get herself into a position from which Lucy could pull her up out of the falls.

“I love him,” she said to Plato. “Sebastian. I love him.”

Plato leaned against his rock. “I don't know which one of you has it worse. Sebastian, loving you, or you loving Sebastian. You're both a couple of stiff-necked pains in the ass.”

Lucy smiled and bit back tears. “I'll go down and meet the police, make sure they get the rescue squad up here.”

He nodded, satisfied, too spent to talk.

“J.T. can come with me. You up to it, kiddo?”

He sniffled and put his hand in hers, and she kissed her daughter and told her it wouldn't be much longer. “Hang in there, okay?”

Madison didn't open her eyes. “Sure, Mom.”

Barbara Allen didn't say a word, didn't acknowledge Lucy's presence or her own imminent arrest.

Plato was sinking fast. He managed one last smile. “Tell your local yokels to hurry it up. I'm about ready to push Ms. Barbara here over the falls and call it a day.”

In spite of his fatigue and terror, J.T. kept up with Lucy. She took the path to the dirt road, assuming the police would come that way instead of along the brook path.

When they emerged onto the dirt road, J.T. gasped and tightened his grip on his mother's hand. Then she saw, too. Just down the road, Jack and Sebastian were walking a few feet ahead of another man who she presumed was Darren Mowery.

“That's him,” J.T. whispered. “That's the man—”

Lucy bent down to him. “Go back and tell Plato.”

Plato was in no condition to help, she knew, but he could hold onto her son. J.T. hesitated. She gave him an encouraging hug, and he summoned his last reserves of energy and ran back up the path.

Mowery must have heard them or sensed their presence. He half turned to her. “Put the gun down, Lucy, or I shoot Sebastian.”