Nathan Rusch was angry, not about to be outrun by a woman ten years his senior. He had come down from his hiding spot in a matter of seconds, chasing down the wooded path that led to the dam. Her sixty-yard lead had closed to less than twenty. He’d tried to make verbal contact, but his shouts on the dead run had only made her scream.
His lungs were beginning to burn. The hills and thin mountain air were taking its toll. He wondered if the drug Sheila had given him back at the hotel this morning wasn’t still affecting him, making him fatigue faster. Lucky for him she’d lacked the nerve to kill. Unfortunately for her he didn’t have the same qualms.
He stopped at a fork in the footpath, unsure of which way to go. A canopy of trees completely blocked out the moonlight. He’d lost sight of Marilyn. He listened for footsteps cutting across the woods. All was silent, save for the water flowing beneath the damn.
“Freeze!” The voice had come from behind — an older man’s voice.
Startled, Rusch wheeled quickly. Jeb Stockton was standing behind a rock, his gun aimed at Rusch. “Put the gun down,” said Jeb, “hands over your head.”
Slowly, Rusch obeyed. The gun dropped. His hands went behind his head. Jeb was obviously having a hard time seeing in the darkness, particularly with Rusch’s black clothing. He stepped out from behind the rock and took five steps forward. He closed to within ten yards. “Lay on the ground, face down. Nice and slow.”
Rusch lowered himself to one knee, his eye on Jeb’s chest. In one blinding motion his hand snapped forward from behind his head, releasing a titanium throwing knife from the sheath on his wrist. The sleek blade whirled through the air and struck the target, parting Jeb’s ribs. He groaned as the wound dropped him to his knees. He fired two erratic shots, then fell to the ground.
Rusch grabbed his gun and came to him quickly, checking the pulse. It was weak. He gave a moment’s thought to finishing him with a bullet, but it wasn’t necessary. He’d let the old man suffer. He yanked the knife from his ribs, cleaned it on Jeb’s shirt, and tucked it back into his wrist sheath.
“Don’t feel bad, old man,” he whispered smugly. “No one ever looks for the knife when they think they’re in a gunfight.”
Stockton’s left arm jerked forward. A loud crack erupted as he fired off a round from a small palm-sized revolver. Rusch was hit square in the chest and fell over in a heap.
Stockton collapsed, exhausted. “Don’t feel bad, jackass. Nobody ever looks for the second gun, either.”
The gunshots echoed like thunder in the canyon, drawing Amy and Ryan to the fork in the footpath. Amy arrived first, barreling down the hill. Ryan was close behind. Breathless and scared, she stopped at the first sight of the body on the ground. The boots she recognized as Jeb’s. In the darkness, she hadn’t noticed the man in the black body suit, but finally she did. He was completely still. She felt a wave of relief till she noticed the blood at Jeb’s side. She ran to him and knelt close.
His eyes were glazed. He was barely conscious. Blood had soaked his shirt, covering his chest. He coughed, trying to speak. “Bastard, got me with a knife.”
“Who is it?”
“Damned if I know.”
Amy quickly went to the body, checked a pulse. Nothing. “He’s dead.” She pulled the hood off his head. The face was unfamiliar, but she knew it had to be Rusch. She came back to Jeb’s side.
“Did you see Marilyn?”
He shook his head.
“Which way did he come from?”
“The dam.”
Amy started at the pounding footsteps behind her. She rose and aimed her gun. Ryan stopped short and backed away.
“Easy,” he said. “I’m on your side. I think.”
Amy jerked her gun, directing him toward Jeb.
“Other guy’s dead. He stabbed my friend here. You’re a doctor. Help him.”
Ryan went to his side and checked the wound. It was a clean hole from an incredibly sharp knife. Air and foamy blood appeared around the edges with each expiration. “Thankfully it missed the heart. But definite signs of pneumothorax.”
“Numo-what?”
“A sucking chest wound. I think the knife punctured a lung. This man needs a chest tube. We have to get him to the ER.”
“I can’t just leave Marilyn. What if this dead guy has a partner out there somewhere? She’s wearing a wire. They’ll kill her if they find it on her.”
“Who is they?”
“The people who would have killed you if Marilyn hadn’t intervened. They may have killed my mother.”
For Ryan, it was a relief to hear that someone other than his father might have killed Debby Parkens. Jeb groaned. Ryan dug Norm’s cell phone from his coat pocket. “I’ll call Medevac. Somebody has to wait here with him.”
“You’re the doctor,” she said. “I’ll find Marilyn.”
Jeb raised his arm, as if he wanted to say something. Amy leaned close but couldn’t hear.
“What’s he saying?” asked Ryan.
“I don’t know. He’s delirious.”
“I can’t leave him. He’ll go into shock. But don’t you go charging off by yourself. This is too dangerous.”
“Sorry,” said Amy. “You’re the one with the Hippocratic oath.”
Before he could speak, Amy darted down the path in the direction of the last scream. Low-hanging branches slapped her in the darkness. She was running on pure adrenaline, rounded a sharp turn, then stopped short. She had reached a clearing. The dam was straight ahead. A moonlit view of the canyon stretched beyond. The powerful sounds of rushing water rose from the depths. She took a step forward and nearly lost her footing. The gentle slope of the trail was at an end. It was a steep drop to the dam and observation deck, accessible only by a walkway of makeshift steps cut into the mountainside.
“That’s far enough.” It was a booming voice from the side.
Amy froze. Joe Kozelka stepped out from behind the rocks. He had sent Rusch to do the job, but this assignment was far too important to rely totally on a subordinate. He had to follow, arriving quietly by boat off big Lake Cheesman, which stretched for miles behind the dam.
His gun pressed against the base of Marilyn’s skull. He was standing right behind her, using her body as a human shield. Amy turned her gun toward him, but Marilyn was in the way.
“Drop the gun,” he said.
Her arms stretched out before her. The gun felt heavy in her hands. But she didn’t move.
“I said, drop it.”
Amy squeezed her gun.
“Don’t listen to him,” said Marilyn.
“Shut up!” He wrenched her arm behind her back.
Marilyn cringed. “Don’t give up your gun, Amy. He’ll kill you.”
“Lose it,” said Kozelka. “Or I shoot her right now.”
Amy couldn’t move. She tried to take aim, but her hands were unsteady. She knew how to use a gun, but only because her mother’s death had made her afraid of them. She had always tried to learn about the things that frightened her. This shot, however, was beyond her capabilities.
Marilyn squirmed. “He’s bluffing, Amy. He can’t shoot me. I’m too important to him.”
“Drop it!” Kozelka was seething, nearly screaming. “I swear I’ll pop her right here. Right in front of you. You want to see another woman with a bullet in her head, kid?”
The words were like explosives — not just for Amy, but for Marilyn, too. On impulse, she fell back against him with all her force, knocking them both off the ledge. Together, they tumbled backward, head over heels, rolling out of control toward the observation platform.
Amy charged down the steps after them, but they were rolling too fast down the steep embankment, gaining momentum. They slammed against the rail at the edge of the platform, Kozelka taking the major blow. The wooden beams split on impact. Splintered chunks of wood fell two hundred feet down into the canyon, into the churning river water far below. Marilyn grabbed a railing to stop her fall. Kozelka grabbed the other, but his weight was too great. The bolts ripped from the footing. His body sailed over the edge, but he caught the bottom of the platform in a desperate lunge. He barely had a grip. His hand was slipping. He struggled to pull himself up, but couldn’t. He looked down. The fall was straight down. He could barely see bottom.
Amy ran to the platform and grabbed Marilyn. “Are you okay?”
She dabbed some blood from her nose. “Yeah. I think so.”
Amy peered over the edge and looked down at Kozelka. He was flailing at the end of the broken railing, like a hooked fish, trying to pull himself up. From this height, the fall alone would be deadly. Just below them, in a magnificent display of overkill, tons of running water shot from the open outlet tunnel that cut through the canyon wall.
Amy handed Marilyn her gun. “Keep an aim on him. If he tries anything funny, you know what to do.”
Marilyn took aim. “What are you doing?”
Amy braced herself against the railing and leaned over the edge. She extended her hand toward him, but not all the way. It was just out of his reach.
Marilyn’s voice shook. “Amy, get away. He’ll kill you.”
She ignored her. “You’re going to die, mister. Unless you tell me the truth.”
He groped desperately for her hand, but he couldn’t make contact. He was out of breath, barely able to speak. “What. Truth?”
“Tell me, you bastard. Did you kill my mother?”
“No.”
“You ordered her killed, didn’t you!”
“No. I had nothing to do with it.”
“You’re lying! Don’t play this game. Tell the truth and I’ll help you.”
“I am telling the truth. I didn’t kill your old lady. I didn’t have her killed. That’s the truth!”
Amy nearly burst with anger. She wanted the confession, but she couldn’t just let him fall. Mercifully, reluctantly, she lowered her hand.
Kozelka was suddenly rigid. His eyes were two narrow slits. “Don’t look now, kid. But Marilyn Gaslow is about to shoot you in the back.”
Amy gasped and turned quickly. Kozelka freed one hand and grabbed a fallen branch from the cliffside the size of a baseball bat. He was about to crack Amy’s skull, as if betting that his beleaguered ex-wife wouldn’t pull the trigger. She did. Twice. The booming gunshots ripped through the canyon.
His head snapped back in a violent explosion. Amy’s heart was in her throat as she watched him fall away, a long and graceful descent into the gaping canyon, the blood trailing from his massive head wound like a fatal red jet stream. She looked away before his body splattered on the rocks in the stream below. Shaking with emotion, Amy slid back onto the platform. Marilyn scooted toward her, dropped the gun, and pulled her close.
They held each other in silence, overcome with shock and horror. Marilyn stroked her head. “It’s okay. That bastard has had it coming since I was fifteen years old.”
Amy’s voice quivered. “He said he had nothing to do with my mom’s death.”
“I heard.”
“It had to be him. How could it not be?”
“Just because he denied it doesn’t mean he’s innocent.”
“I was looking him right in the eye, Marilyn. He was barely hanging on, scared for his life. So scared, he was believable. I don’t think he killed Mom.”
Their embrace tightened. Amy was looking past Marilyn, peering over her shoulder into the night sky. The clouds had cleared. Stars were everywhere, exactly the way they’d looked the night her mother died. The patterns began to swirl against the blackness, then finally came into focus. Amy felt a chill, struck by the sudden realization.
Marilyn said, “I don’t know what to think.”
“I don’t either,” she said quietly. “Except the unthinkable.”