Woman On the Run (42 page)

“That was some excitement we had this afternoon,” Mary said. She put her case on the floor. “I was scared to death.”

“Yeah.” Julia went into the kitchen to put some water on to boil and came back holding two mugs. “I’m glad the whole thing is over.”

“Well, that’s the thing, Julia,” Mary said regretfully. “I’m afraid it isn’t over at all.”

Julia could barely hear the sound of the mugs shattering over the roaring in her ears.

Mary Ferguson was holding a gun, pointed right at her.

* * * * *

Cooper regretted leaving Julia almost as soon as he was out of town. His pickup bucked over a hillock of snow and he fought fiercely for control of the wheel. The wind was blowing the snow straight into his windshield, and the wipers could hardly keep up.

Even the wind wanted him to turn around and go back.

Pride was a funny thing, he mused. Cooper men had been choking on their pride for four generations. But pride didn’t make you laugh or warm your bed at night. Pride made a very cold companion.

So she said she wanted to go home. Big deal. Of course she wanted to go home. Anyone would. He’d watched her blend in so well in Simpson that he’d forgotten that she hadn’t been born here, that she’d left a life behind her.

He hadn’t even given her a chance to say anything. He hadn’t allowed for the aftermath of shock and fear. No, siree. He’d just coldly informed her that she’d be accompanied to the airport.

Cooper could imagine Julia now, forlorn and shaken from the day’s events. He could just see her, curled up in a small ball on that ridiculous couch with the broken springs.

Tonight, of all nights, Julia shouldn’t be left alone. He could kick himself for his behavior. He should be there now, comforting her, cooking a lousy meal for her, watching her choke it down and inventing outrageous compliments on his cooking.

The pickup bucked again and Cooper slowed. All of a sudden, he couldn’t wait to get back to her. He didn’t want Julia to spend one more second feeling lost and lonely. He tried to keep the pickup on the road with one hand while he fished for his cell phone with another to tell her that he was turning back. He switched it on and dialed her number. There was no answering ring.

He must have dialed a wrong number. Cooper stopped the pickup and punched Julia’s number again, frowning. He tried three more times, then switched the phone off.

Fear such as he had never known before seized his innards.

You fucking asshole
, he raged at himself. His pride had been hurt and he hadn’t been thinking straight.

Nobody had said that Santana had only sent two killers. Another one could be easily have been dropped off as a backup before arriving at the house. A killer could be in her house right now.

He had left Julia alone and defenseless.

While ice ran in his veins, Cooper wrenched the steering wheel of the pickup, backed into a snowbank and turned around. Cursing himself for a fool, he pressed the accelerator and sped through the swirling night.

* * * * *

“Uhm, Mary.” Julia licked dry lips. “You want to be careful with that…that gun. It might be loaded.”

“Of course it’s loaded, you fool.” Mary reached into her case and brought out a camera, setting it down on the coffee table. “And there’s a bullet with your name on it that’s been waiting for almost two months now.” She eyed Julia critically, dispassionately. “Move against that wall over there. I need a white backdrop.”

“Mary,” Julia whispered. “What are you doing?”

“Doing?” Mary stared at her. “I’m earning two million dollars, darling, what do you think I’m doing?” She waved the gun. “Now move.”

Julia shuffled in the direction Mary indicated, watching her. She sidled by the coffee table where her Tomcat was. As she got closer, Mary suddenly reached out.

“Unh-huh, Julia.” Mary held the Tomcat up, flicked open the chamber and emptied it. “A Tomcat .32. Someone very smart has been advising you, Julia. Not that it’s going to do you any good.”

How had she ever thought that Mary was a young girl? The woman must be a genius with makeup. Now that she looked carefully, Julia could see the fine lines around the eyes, the crease from nose to mouth.

“Mary,” she whispered. “Why are you doing this? What have I ever done to you? Please don’t do this.”

Mary laughed. “First of all, my name isn’t Mary, not that I have any intention of telling you what my real name is. Secondly, of course I’m going to do kill you. I’ve been tracking you since October. You’re going to buy me a charming beachfront villa and a handsome annuity. Or rather your head is.”

Mary bent over to check the lens of the camera, then walked around the living room, turning on all the lights. The whole time, her gun was trained rock-steady on Julia. “The light has to be just right,” Mary murmured.

“But—” Julia’s mind whirled, trying to take in what was happening. “They took Santana’s men away. He tried to get me, but it didn’t work.”

“Those goons?” Mary’s face grew pinched and white and Julia realized that the emotion she’d seen in Mary’s face in the café had been rage and not fear. “Two-bit hired guns. That’s all they were. And to think they almost cheated me out of my money. But with these snapshots, Santana will know who he has to pay.”

“He won’t!” Julia almost sobbed with relief. Mary—or whatever her name was—obviously didn’t know. “Santana won’t pay you. He can’t. Haven’t you heard? Santana’s dead. He died this afternoon.”

“You’re lying!” Mary snarled.

Startled, Julia looked into Mary’s pale blue eyes. She didn’t see the cold brutality of Santana or the two thugs who’d broken into her house. All she saw was the flat, blank stare of madness.

“You’re lying, just to save your own skin. But it’s not going to work.” Mary’s thin-lipped smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m going to shoot you and send Santana the snapshots. And then he’ll send me my money.”

“But he can’t! He can’t send you any money.” Julia tried desperately to get through to her. But Mary was impenetrable, utterly unreachable. The gun in Mary’s hand began its slow trajectory upwards.

Time! Julia thought wildly. She needed more time. If only she could do something—delay Mary until someone could come for her. Surely Cooper…

But she’d sent Cooper away. Stupidly, stupidly, she’d sent Cooper away. Maybe she could distract Mary’s attention. “You might as well turn around and go home, Mary, because you’ll never collect your money. If you go away now, I won’t tell anyone, I promise. No one will ever know. Just put down the gun and leave. Santana’s dead.”

The gun was aimed at her heart now, her wildly thudding heart. “Please,” she whispered.

“Please what, Julia?” Mary mocked. “What on earth can you offer me that can top two million dollars? I’m going to buy myself a new life with that money. A new life in exchange for yours.” She gave a short, harsh laugh. “Seems fair.”

“No, you’re not.” Julia tried to keep a calm tone. “You can’t buy yourself a new life with mine, Mary,” she said reasonably. “You’re not going to be able to get far in this snowstorm. They’ll catch up with you. And all for nothing, Mary. All for nothing because there isn’t anyone to give you the money. Santana’s dead, Mary.”

“You lie!” Mary screamed and pulled the trigger.

Julia was slammed against the wall and a fiery pain erupted in her shoulder. She stood, wavering, until her legs collapsed. She watched through a numb haze as Mary approached and squatted. A flare went off in her eyes and then another. It took her a moment to realize that it was the flashbulb of the camera.

Mary stood, her shoe slipping a little in the blood and a look of disgust crossed her face. “Blood,” she grimaced. “I hate blood. Now just a few more shots, darling, and then the last shot—the head shot—and we’ll be all done. Then I have to go. I’ve got a plane to catch.”

Julia watched the front of her sweater turning red and realized dimly, as if the information were being faxed to her from a foreign country, that it was her blood turning her sweater red. Julia heard a low, vicious growl penetrating the fog clouding her mind.

“Damn it!” Mary kicked at Fred. He was standing in front of Julia, hackles raised. He snarled and snapped at Mary’s hand as she tried to put the muzzle of the gun against Julia’s temple. Fred bared his teeth and gave another hair-raising growl. “Call this stupid dog off,” Mary hissed. “I’ve got to get out of here.”

“Nice doggie,” Julia murmured. “Good Fred.” There was pain now. Waves of it. Starting from far away, but coming closer.

“Well, if you won’t call him off, I’ll just have to do it from here.” Mary sighted down the barrel at Julia and closed one eye.

Julia’s head felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds. She lifted it with difficulty and stared down the gun barrel pointed straight at her forehead.

She didn’t want to die. She wanted to live. She wanted to live and marry Cooper, break the Cooper Curse and give him a houseful of redheaded girls who would drive him crazy. And she’d never even told Cooper she loved him.

Julia watched Mary’s finger tighten and thought—this is it.

There was a loud noise and a red blossom flowered on Mary’s forehead. Fred was barking and Cooper was kneeling beside her, tearing off his jacket and stuffing it against her shoulder, cradling her in his arms, shouting, “Julia, Julia!” She could feel his hands running over her, checking for injuries, then he pressed down strongly on the wound in her shoulder.

Pinwheels exploded behind her eyes and she wanted to tell him to cut it out, but the pain took her breath away.

“Julia.” Cooper lifted her carefully. His deep voice cracked. “Don’t die on me, Julia. I need you. Just hold on, I’ll get you to Doc Adams in Rupert. Just hold on. Talk to me, Julia. You won’t die, I won’t let you. Talk to me, please.”

Talk to me.

“Hey,” Julia whispered. She reached out with a trembling hand and cupped his cheek. It was warm and rough and solid, just like Cooper. “That’s my line.”

Epilogue

Four years later

“THE END.”

Julia sat back, contented, watching the blinking cursor on the screen for a moment or two. With a deep sigh of satisfaction, she saved the document, then turned the computer off and stretched, wincing. Her shoulder was hurting more than usual, which meant more snow. According to the weather reports, it was shaping up to be as big a snowstorm for Thanksgiving as had fallen four years ago.

That snowstorm had almost cost her her life. The doctors at the Rupert clinic had told her that her blood pressure had been fifty over nothing and falling when Cooper had carried her in. Though she had been barely conscious, Julia’s nightmares were still colored white—snow, bandages, doctors and nurses in white, the light in the operating theater just before going under…

She was lucky to be alive and with only a barometer shoulder to show for being shot. If Cooper hadn’t known how to apply a pressure bandage and if he hadn’t battled his way through the storm to Rupert… Julia shuddered at the thought.

As soon as she had been able to sit up in bed, Cooper had brought in a Justice of the Peace to marry them. And it had been there, in a hospital room filled with the flowers Cooper had bought, surrounded by her friends from Simpson, that Julia had joined her life to his.

It had taken six months in a cast and another six months of rehabilitation to get the use of her shoulder back. And in all that time, Cooper had forbidden her to work. After that, of course, the birth of the twins had pretty much taken care of any free time she might have had for the next couple of years.

She’d broached the idea of children on their first trip to Boston, when she could move with a degree of ease. She’d closed down and sold her condo, shipped her belongings to Idaho and had had an emotional reunion with her friends. Everyone had a standing invitation to come visit her and several already had.

As decisions went, it hadn’t been traumatic. After making love half the night in her old apartment, Julia had said quietly, into Cooper’s shoulder, “I haven’t gone back on the pill.”

“Good,” was all he said. And that was that.

Nobody expected rambunctious twin girls. For the first couple of years, work was unthinkable, but then Julia started getting restless. And now she’d begun her new career as a freelance editor—or as she called it, a book doctor. Fittingly enough, her first contract was Rob Manson’s first novel.

Manson had won the Pulitzer Prize for his article on her—“The Town That Saved Julia”.

Cooper had told him Julia’s story. Intrigued, he had traveled to Simpson to research the story, had met Alice and had elected to stay on as managing editor of
The Rupert
Pioneer
. His article had been picked up as a national news item and had swept the country. His exposé of the inefficiency of the Witness Security Program had led to a new director and new funding. “The Town That Saved Julia” had been featured on
Dateline
.

Rob often joked that Simpson was actually “The Town That Julia Saved”. In the past couple of years, several new businesses had moved into town. Rob’s brother, a software engineer in Cupertino, visited often and was thinking of establishing his new startup company in Simpson. Rob and Alice had married the year before and were expecting their first baby.