Courage Dares (5 page)

The back of the utility van was independent from the cab, with one small dome light allowing Mary to see inside. It had been stripped bare and smelled strongly of dead fish. The chipped and rusty metal appeared sturdy enough to enclose them in what could easily become their tomb.

Wes forced both Mary and Connor toward the front, where he shoved Connor down onto the cold metal floor and tied his legs. He then bound Mary's arms behind her and pushed her on top of Connor. She landed with her head on his chest.

They tossed the last of her supplies in with them and shut the doors with a loud clang, leaving Wes to guard them in the yellow glow of the dome light. He sat down on her equipment, leaning negligently against the back of the van, his gun held loosely in one hand as he lit a cigarette with the other. The front doors slammed and the motor started.

As they backed up, Mary heard the sound of sirens.
Had they missed the police by just seconds?
She fought back tears.

The van groaned and creaked as it bounced over the parking lot's three speed bumps, then entered the street with a squeal of tires and a rattle of protest from the old frame.

The sirens— at least two cars— wailed past them and stopped.

She felt Connor wiggle underneath her and she raised her head, bringing it closer to his mouth as he spoke her name.

“Why’d you tell them so much?" he demanded, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Why didn’t you resist?”

Mary glanced at Wes. The rattling of the old vehicle easily covered their lowered voices.

"I saw no reason to wait until they shot you," she replied. "Resisting almost got you killed. You aren’t happy waving a red hanky before a bull, you have to use a blanket.”

“If it’ll make them mad enough to make a mistake, then I’ll wave a king-sized sheet.”

“Not if they kill you first. Judd told Wes to shoot you."

"He did?"

"Yes."

"I didn't hear that. Huh!"

"Well, he did."

He didn't answer for a second, probably needing time to regroup. "If only you could’ve delayed them longer."

"I tried," she whispered back. "Were you willing to die to take that chance?"

"Yes."

She shivered. "Well, I wasn't." If Connor died saving her, she’d never forgive herself.

"We had a better chance there than anywhere they might take us. Each moment they secure more control, our options decrease. Just a few more minutes would’ve made the difference."

"But I didn’t know that."

"If you'd have run when I first fought with them—"

"I wouldn't have gotten far," she defended herself. "A fourth man waited at the bottom of the stairs."

"Ah! I thought there might be another. I didn't see him."

"You came out too late. He’d gotten into the driver's seat."

"I wonder if there's any more." He paused, his chest rising slowly, then dropping quickly with a deep sigh.

As aggravating as he was, she still wouldn't trade him for anyone else at the moment. If only he wasn't so belligerent.

With her hands tied behind her, Mary couldn’t protect herself from the jolting of the van. Were they going fast enough to be stopped for speeding? She hoped so. She shifted slightly, cold, uncomfortable, discouraged, and sick with fear. The smoke filling the van added to her discomfort.

A new thought struck her. "I'm worried, Connor. They're going to think I killed my neighbor. The police, I mean."

"That's nothing to worry about. If the police look for you, they'll find Judd—as long as he's with you."

"But Ira set it up to look like I—"

"You've got me as a witness, you know."

"That's right." Unless they killed Connor first. But she wouldn’t think about that. Couldn’t dwell on it. If she did, she’d be paralyzed from the start, of no use to either of them.

She could hear the thump of his heart, hammering against his chest—slower than normal, almost lazily. Like that of a cross-country skier. Or a marathon runner. Strong and steady. She took comfort in it. A man to be reckoned with. His presence kept her mind from descending into the darkness and staying there.

She had been close to losing her sanity after her father's death. Very close. Her mind had gone back into that shadowy land to protect itself. Only Robyn and Alison's friendship had saved her.

She didn’t want to go into that dark land again, for fear she’d never return. She turned, seeking a more comfortable position on Connor’s muscular chest. It brought them face to face, her lips just below his, touching his cheek. It was easier to talk, so she stayed in that position, tasting the saltiness of his skin, finding strength in his nearness.

Connor groaned as Mary shifted her weight once more. If she bounced on that part of his anatomy much longer, he wouldn’t be able to add to the population. Yet he wanted her to stay there, so he pulled up his knees to protect himself.

Through the bulk of her sweat shirt he could feel firm muscles and bones. The womanly curves of her body against him stirred his senses. Even his ribs—still sore from his fight with Ira— preferred her weight on them.

"Better?" he asked.

"Yes. Thanks."

Her lips brushed his cheek as she spoke, and he turned his head, just that much more, so that his mouth came close to hers as he answered. He stopped trying to untie Ira’s knots. All he had succeeded in doing was tighten them.

"Your welcome. You realize, don't you, that as soon as they get the chest, they'll kill us? And then my mother."

She pulled back slightly, as if affronted, her long hair swishing damply across his neck like a soft caress. Connor shifted to bring their lips close once more. Being near Mary was the only pleasant thing about all this.

"Why should they go after her?" she asked, her voice strong with skepticism.

"Kidnapping and murder lead to the death penalty— or at least a very long sentence. These guys didn’t wear masks.”

"Weren't they wearing masks when they broke into her house?"

"Yes. But I tore Wes’ off and knocked his gun out of his hand. They ran, but I almost got him."

"You tried to... to shoot him?" She pulled away. She sounded shocked, and Connor wondered what she thought he should’ve done.

"Of course."

"What kind of man are you— to even think of killing someone? It makes you no better than them."

He went on the defensive. "Lady, they had just beaten my mother, ransacked her home, and threatened her with death. I could've shot them both. That's why I left my gun with her. Just in case she had to use it."

"Would she?"

"Of course."

Connor felt Mary pull back a few more inches. He didn’t want to lose her trust now he had it, but he wasn’t going to give ground on this. It was too important.

"I don't believe in using force." She sounded like she had said it so often she couldn’t abandon her position.

This time he drew away, knocking the back of his head against the vibrating wall— then yanked it away as the pain from his wound throbbed in protest. "You can't give in to criminals. If we didn't have the police, the crooks would run the country."

"We should let the law take care of things,” she replied, her voice becoming defensive. “They almost got there in time."

"Almost. But when no policemen are around, we must handle it ourselves. If I get one of their guns, you've got to help me."

"But—"

He pressed his point, determined to get her ready to resist, both mentally and physically. "You saw how quick Ira killed. There won't be time to decide if you will or won't."

"But I don't know how to use a gun."

"Point it and squeeze the trigger."

She shuddered. "Why push them into violence?"

"They don't need a push. Remember your neighbor.” He had to make Mary see that self-defense wasn’t violence. Violence was something done by others to innocents such as Mary.

"As soon as they have what they want," he added, "they'll kill us both."

"I’m afraid you’re right."

"Positive. I'll get you out of this. That's a promise." He wasn't going to give up. He had been a winner all his life.

Playing to win was the only way he knew—driving through to the target. He had never reached any goal by standing aside to see what the other person’d do first. He certainly wouldn’t do that now.

"Someone probably noticed the van. Maybe the police can trace it," she said hopefully.

"I hope so. Time is our only ally, right now. Once they have the chest, we're history. Buy us all the time you can. Just don't give them the chest.”

They were quiet for a few moments and Connor wondered what direction they were traveling. Without windows in the van, he couldn’t see signs or lights. Only feel the pavement’s roughness— which had increased, as if the road wasn’t as well maintained. Also water hissed under the tires, so the pavement must be wet.

Why did Mary have to be so set on talking her way out of things? With her background, growing up in the Middle East— He stopped on that. The Middle East. She had probably seen enough people killed— including her mother— to make her abhor violence.

Connor could understand why she might want peace at any price, but these devils weren't the kind you talked to. "Might made right" to them. The only sure way to escape was to kill all of them. He edged himself closer to her, reluctant to allow any space between them. Her presence helped fuel his resolve.

The truck slowed down and made a sharp turn to the right, bouncing over rough ground, throwing Mary up and down. Then it jerked to a stop, whacking the back of his head against the wall again. White pain flashed through his eyes, shooting stars with lightening. Next the back doors were unlatched and Wes jumped out.

Outside, rain cascaded down, the heavy drops mixed with slush flakes that descended in a blanket of cold. Judd untied Connor's feet and allowed him and Mary to jump out and walk around while Wes and Ira collected Mary's gear.

"Okay, Ramone," Judd yelled, calling forward to the driver. "Put it in the barn."

Connor filled his lungs with clean air while sizing up their surroundings. He absorbed every detail he could, knowing their escape might hinge on some item he did or didn’t see. They had stopped at an old farmhouse, its gate less fence broken and useless, the paint peeled from the siding. No other houses were in sight. A huge thicket of blackberry bushes eight to ten feet high spread over the yard and outbuildings— including a collapsed garage and a small barn with part of its roof missing.

Mary walked close to his side, picking her way through the tall grass, her slender frame bowed like a wounded soldier who needed his buddies to carry him home. Her fragile loveliness shook him deeply. He must protect her at all costs.

The driver sauntered up to them and Connor got his first look at the fourth man. Short, dark-complexioned, with black, curly hair— Ramone was the vermin who had taken such pleasure in beating up Connor's mother.

A chill traveled down Connor’s spine as Ramone turned evil eyes on Mary, his overly handsome face marred by the greedy desires of a predator. A cigarette hung slackly from his lips and a lecherous grin twisted his face as he motioned them forward.

Connor swallowed hard against the helpless rage boiling up in him. He put himself between Ramone and Mary, following her into the building. Time was running out.

Three candles sat upright in tin can holders and Connor glanced around the dirty kitchen with disgust. He could almost feel Mary cringe at the dried hamburger on the counter.

Used paper cups and plates overflowed a cardboard box on the floor next to two empty five gallon buckets. Cigarette butts littered an old porcelain double sink tarnished with red rust stains arrowing from top to bottom, while newspapers and scraps of trash covered the cracked and curled linoleum floor. Black mold covered two walls, the musty smell permeating the room.

Luckily, most of the windows were still intact. The few broken panes had been covered with cardboard. The temperature hung at just above freezing— the same inside as out— but at least they had shelter from the rain.

"You need to untie my ropes," Mary said, her voice high and frightened. "Please. I've no feeling in my hands."

Judd nodded at Ira, who untied them both. "Wes, take McLarren down to the river for water. Keep your distance— and your gun ready."

"Should I go along?" Ira asked.

"Nope. He won't try anything as long as we've got Mary. Besides, you know what it's like out there."

Connor felt uneasy about leaving Mary, but eager to survey the area out back. They wouldn’t be gone long. He picked up the five gallon buckets and followed Wes out the door.

Connor’s departure chilled Mary's mind. Loneliness rushed over her like a wave of snow avalanching down a mountain, engulfing her in its mighty power.

She hugged deeper into her clothes, seeking warmth. One wooden chair remained in the room, so close she could touch it, but she stood stiffly. Then Ira pulled out his knife and a small whetstone, and she shuddered.

The dirt in the house invaded her mind as much as the cold. She needed things clean and neat and orderly. She couldn’t bear the sight of filth. Was it because of the abandoned houses she had hidden in as a child, their roofs collapsed by mortar shells?

Images returned of that first night. She had crawled into a hole under a stairway and huddled there amidst the dirt, listening to the rustle of rats, kicking at them as they boldly tried to bite her. She had cowered from the sound of footsteps.

She had even run when she’d first seen her father two days later, not recognizing him in the dim light.

"Mary." Ramone spoke, his voice sickly sweet. "Come here"

"What?" Returning to the present, she stared blankly around.

"Over here." He pointed to her sleeping bag, unzipped and thrown open on a filthy mattress near the wall.

She started to take a step, but faltered, the evil anticipation in his eyes sickening her. "Why?"

"Time to play."

She glanced at the bag, then back at Ramone. "No!"

"Oh, yes. I make the rules here, girly."