Читать книгу Black Canyon Conspiracy - Cindi Myers - Страница 10

Chapter Three

Marco didn’t look at Lauren, but he could hear the sudden, sharp intake of her breath and sense her fear like a third presence in the car. He tried pumping the brake pedal, but nothing happened. He pressed it to the floor and downshifted to first gear. The engine whined in protest, and the car slowed, but not enough.

“Hang on,” he said, raising his voice over the whine of the protesting engine. He pulled back on the lever for the emergency brake and the car began to fishtail wildly. He strained to keep hold of the wheel. Lauren whimpered, but said nothing.

They were well out of town now, empty public land and private ranches stretching for miles on either side, with no houses or businesses or people to see their distress and report it. Not that anyone could do anything to help them anyway. If they had any chance of surviving a crash, he had to try to regain control of the car.

They continued to accelerate, racing toward the curve at the bottom of the hill. He steered toward the side of the road, gravel flying as the back wheels slid onto the shoulder. The idea was to let friction slow the car more, but the dropoff past the shoulder was too steep; if he kept going he’d roll the car.

Back on the roadway, the car continued to skid and sway like a drunken frat boy. The smell of burning rubber and exhaust stung his nose and eyes. If they blew a tire, he’d lose control completely; the car might roll. He released the emergency brake and grabbed the steering wheel with both hands. “Brace yourself against the dash and lean toward me!” he commanded.

She didn’t argue. As she skewed her body toward his seat, he could smell her perfume, sweet and floral, overlaying the sharp, metallic scent of fear. He wanted to tell her everything would be all right, that she didn’t have to worry. But he couldn’t lie like that.

He came at the guardrail sideways, sparks flying as the bumper scraped the metal rails, gravel popping beneath the tires. The scream of metal on metal filled the air, making him want to cover his ears, but of course he couldn’t. He kept hold of the wheel, guiding the car along the guardrail.

Friction and a gentler slope combined to slow them, and as the guardrail ended, he was able to use the emergency brake to bring them to a halt on the side of the road. He shut off the engine and neither of them spoke, the only sounds the tick of the cooling motor and their own heavy breathing.

He had to pry his hands off the steering wheel and force himself to look at her. “Are you all right?” he asked.

She nodded, and pushed the hair back from her face with shaking hands. “My car isn’t, though. What happened?”

“The brakes failed.”

“I had the car serviced before I came out here,” she said. “My mechanic said it was fine.”

“It sat at that overlook in the park for a few days, and then at the wrecking yard for a few weeks. An animal—a rabbit or something—could have chewed the brake cable.” He didn’t really think that was what had happened, but he didn’t want to frighten her.

“But I’ve been driving the car for weeks now and it’s been fine.” She turned even paler. “What if this had happened when I was alone?”

What, indeed? He unfastened his seat belt. “I’m going to take a look.”

He had to wrench the hood open, past the broken headlight and bent bumper. He fixed the prop in place and stared down into the tangle of hoses and wires. After a moment, she joined him.

“I couldn’t open my door, so I crawled over the console,” she said. “Can you tell what went wrong?”

He leaned under the hood and popped the top over the master cylinder reservoir. It was completely dry, only a thin coating of brake fluid left behind. That explained why the brakes had failed, but why had the fluid drained?

He walked around to the side of the car and knelt beside the front tire. He reached over the tire and grasped the flexible hose that led to the brakes. It felt intact, but as he ran his finger along the hose, he found a moon-shaped slit—the kind of damage that could be made by someone reaching over the tire and stabbing the brake hose with a knife.

“What is it?” she asked, following him around to the other side of the car.

He knelt and checked that hose. “Someone punctured the brake line on both sides,” he said. “The brake fluid drained out, and that caused the brakes to fail.”

She steadied herself with one hand on the fender of the car. “The bird-watcher?”

“Maybe. Or it could have been done while we were at lunch.” Big failure on his part. He should have taken the physical threat to her more seriously.

“The parking lot at my apartment has a surveillance camera,” she said. “I mean, don’t they all, these days?”

“Maybe, but a lot of places use dummy cameras that don’t really film anything.” He’d bet her apartment complex fell into that category. “And whoever did this is probably smart enough to avoid any cameras.”

“We should call the police,” she said.

He glanced around them, getting his bearings. Drying rabbit brush covered an open expanse of prairie, only the occasionally stunted piñon providing shade. Here and there purple aster offered a surprising blot of color against an otherwise brown landscape. “This is the edge of national park land,” he said.

“Ranger territory.” She completed the idea for him and managed a weak smile. “Well, that’s something. I wasn’t looking forward to talking to the police.”

He pulled out his phone. “I’ll call someone to give us a ride, then get a wrecker to haul the car to headquarters where we can take a closer look at it.”

Her hand on his wrist stopped him. He looked down at the slender, white fingers, nails perfectly shaped and painted a soft pink. “Before anyone else gets here, I just wanted to say thank you,” she said. “You saved my life—again.”

He covered her hand briefly with his own. “It’s going to be okay,” he said. “Everything that happens brings us one step closer to stopping Prentice.”

“Thank you, too, for not freaking out about my illness,” she said. “I’m getting better at working at controlling it, but sometimes...”

“I know. It’s okay.”

Her head snapped up, her gaze searching. “How do you know?”

“I did some reading.” He shrugged. “I like to understand what’s going on around me.”

“There’s nothing understandable about this disease.”

“No, but you’re doing great. A lot of people would crack under the stress you’ve been under, but you’re hanging in there. You’re tough.”

“Yeah, I’m tough as a marshmallow.” She moved her hand away and squared her shoulders. “But I won’t let that stop me. And I won’t let Richard Prentice stop me. Maybe he’s done me a favor, getting me fired from the station. Now going after him is going to be my job.”

“I’m already on it,” he said.

“Then, with both of us on his case, he doesn’t stand a chance.”

* * *

LAUREN WISHED SHE was as confident as Marco sounded. She’d meant what she’d said about making convicting Richard Prentice her full-time job. She desperately needed the focus on work to quell her anxiety and tamp down the threatening mania, but the idea that the man she was investigating wanted her dead shook her to the core.

All she wanted was a normal life—a job and a husband and maybe a family one day. But all those things seemed so out of reach. Her own brain had betrayed her, and while the doctors and therapists had assured her that she could live a normal, productive life with bipolar disorder, she suspected them of lying to make her feel better. Or was that just the depressive side of her disorder pulling her down? She couldn’t even trust her own thoughts these days.

While Marco contacted Ranger headquarters and summoned a wrecker, she walked around to the other side of the car and phoned Sophie. “Hey, I was just on my way back to the apartment,” Sophie said when the call connected. “I thought maybe we could take in a movie or something.”

“I’m not there.”

“Where are you?”

“With Marco. My car broke down and we’re headed over to Ranger headquarters.”

“What happened? What’s wrong with the car?”

“Marco thinks someone sabotaged the brakes. We’re okay,” she hastened to add. “The car’s kind of beat up, but we’re fine.”

“Was Marco with you when it happened?” Sophie asked.

“Yes. I’m going to stay with him a few days.”

“With Marco?” Sophie’s surprise was clear.

“He thinks it will be safer. There was someone watching our apartment earlier.” She didn’t tell Sophie about the package with its implied death threat. Thank goodness Marco had taken it with them. She didn’t want to upset her sister, but also talking about the note made it too real.

“I’m sure it is safer.” Sophie sounded amused. “That should be interesting. I think he’s attracted to you.”

She shifted her gaze to Marco. Did all her friends think that he was interested in her? Then, why couldn’t she see it? He stood with his back to her, giving her a great view of his broad shoulders, muscular arms, narrow waist and admittedly perfect backside. He looked like the after photo in the advertisement for a workout program. Physically fit and totally together. The perfect match for a basket case like her—not. “He wants to get Prentice,” she said. “I’m the quickest route to that goal. It’s nothing personal.”

“I don’t know about that. He’s good at hiding his feelings, but he’s bound to have some, somewhere beneath that stoic facade.”

“You should consider staying with Rand,” Lauren said. “At least for a few days.” She didn’t want someone coming to the apartment looking for her and finding Sophie there alone.

“Not a bad idea,” Sophie said.

“Make him go back to the apartment with you to get your things,” Lauren said.

“Do you really think it’s that dangerous?”

She glanced at her destroyed car, the paint scraped from the side in a jagged, violent wound. “Yes,” she said simply.

Marco tucked his phone back into his pocket and turned toward Lauren. “I have to go,” she said. The last thing she wanted was for him to overhear Sophie’s analysis of his potential as a love interest. “I’ll call you later.”

“Someone will be here to pick us up in a few minutes,” Marco said once she’d hung up. “Everything okay?”

“Yes. I was just letting Sophie know what was happening.”

“Good idea.” He leaned back against the car and scanned the horizon. He had a stillness about him she envied, as if whenever he wanted he could quiet all the busyness and distraction that plagued her.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“That it would be hard for a sniper to position himself here. The country’s too open.”

Her knees went weak, and she joined him in leaning against the car. “You think someone might be out there, ready to shoot us?”

He shook his head. “It’s not a good location.”

She closed her eyes. This was too real. Someone—probably Richard Prentice—wanted her dead.

“I’ll feel better when we get out of the open,” he said. “Someone will probably come along soon to see if we crashed—to make sure we’re dead.”

She swallowed hard. “Can we talk about something else, please?”

He didn’t take his gaze from the horizon. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“I had six older sisters.”

“Big family.” She envied him. Sophie was the only family she had. “Do you see them often?”

“Not really. They live in California.” He fell silent for a moment, then added, “Only four of them are still alive.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“One sister died of an overdose. The other disappeared. We don’t know what happened to her.”

And here she’d thought she was the only one with troubles. “That must be hard,” she said. Not the innocuous conversation she’d hoped for.

“It is what it is.” He straightened. “Here’s our ride.”

A Cruiser identical to the one Marco usually drove made a U-turn and pulled in behind Lauren’s disabled car. Montrose County sheriff’s deputy Lance Carpenter, the local representative on the task force, left the vehicle running as he stepped out of the driver’s seat and pushed his Stetson back on his head. “Trying out for the demolition derby?” he asked.

“Very funny.” Marco shoved the car keys into Lance’s hands. “Give these to the wrecker driver—and make sure nobody touches anything around the brakes until the techs have gone over it.” He took Lauren’s hand and pulled her toward the Cruiser.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Lance asked.

“I need to get Lauren out of here before whoever cut those brake lines shows up to admire the results of his handiwork.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Lance asked.

“Wait here for the wrecker driver.”

“Should we have left him?” Lauren asked as Marco gunned the engine and they headed toward the park.

“The wrecker will be there any minute now, and I wasn’t comfortable with you standing around out in the open.”

“The idea that I have a target on my back doesn’t seem real to me.”

“The trick is to balance the awareness of danger with the need to keep from panicking.” He glanced at her. “Not easy, I know.”

“I think I’m glad I got the extra meds.”

“I want to stop by headquarters and talk to the captain, then we’ll get you settled at my place.”

“I left my bag in the car.”

“Lance will bring it.”

“You seem pretty sure of that. Do you Rangers communicate via ESP or secret code or something?”

“He’s got my back.” He glanced at her. “Now you’re with me, so he’s got your back, too.”

His words—and the certainty with which he spoke them, sent a different kind of heat curling through her—part old-fashioned lust and part the unfamiliar warmth of acceptance. Her disease had separated her from others for so long. How ironic that a threat to her life had involved her with a community of friends again.

Half a dozen Cruisers filled the spaces in front of the task force headquarters building. “Something’s up.” Marco parked along the side of the road and was out of the vehicle before Lauren had even unbuckled her seat belt.

She hurried after him, running to keep up. Inside the building, uniformed officers crowded the small, low-ceilinged rooms. “What’s going on?” Marco asked.

“You’ll find out as soon as everyone’s here.”

The captain retreated to his office, shutting the door behind him.

“Any idea what this is about?” Lieutenant Michael Dance, Abby’s boyfriend, asked.

Everyone shook their heads. “All I know is, the captain has been on the phone most of the morning,” Carmen Redhorse, an officer with the Colorado Bureau of Investigations, said. “Whatever this is about, he’s not happy.”

Twenty minutes later, Graham finally emerged from his office and surveyed the room full of officers. “Where’s Lance?”

“I’m here.” Lauren looked over her shoulder to see the deputy in the doorway. He made his way over to them and handed Lauren her overnight bag, then gave Marco a slip of paper. “The car’s on its way to the impound lot.”

“Did you take a look at the brake lines?” Marco asked.

“Yeah. They look cut to me, but we’ll know more when the techs are done.”

“If I could have your attention.” Graham stood at the front of the room and held up one hand. A hush settled over the crowd. Lauren clenched her hands into fists and fought to keep still; the tension was contagious.

The captain cleared his throat. “The grand jury has failed to indict Richard Prentice of any of the charges against him,” he said.