Dark Paradise (76 page)

sleeve. The knife's arc reached its apex.

Lightning split the sky above them. Then the ominous high-pitched crack

of a rifle shot split the air, and for a second that sound was the only

thing that moved in the universe. The world was held fast in a

freeze-frame as they shot echoed and careened from peak to peak.

The force of the hit knocked Sharon's body sideways.

She fell to the ground, limp, lifeless, shot cleanly through the head.

Her knife bounced over the edge of Bald Knob and down the mountain.

J.D. hauled back savagely on the reins and swung out of the saddle. He

hit the ground running, tripping, stumbling, and dropped to his knees

beside Marilee. She looked up at him through glassy eyes, blinking

slowly against the rain that fell steadily in her face.

"Oh, Jesus!
 
Oh, Jesus, baby, hang on," he said breathlessly. He tore

off his slicker and threw it over the lower half of her, dug a

handkerchief out of his hip pocket, and pressed it hard against the

bloody hole in the hollow of her left shoulder. "Hang on, honey. Hang

on."

Marilee stared at him, feeling pleasantly warm and oddly disembodied, as

if she had no arms or legs. She couldn't feel her shoulder, only the

heavy pressure he applied to it.

J.D. looked as if he were the one in pain. His face was a mask of

anguish, pale and taut, his gray eyes rimmed in red. His mouth quivered

as he worked to make her comfortable by pulling off his hat and jamming

it beneath her head for a pillow.

"Stay with me, baby," he mumbled, leaning over her, stroking her wet mop

of hair back from her face. "Oh, Jesus, baby, please stay with me."

She wanted to ask him if that offer would be good later, but she

couldn't form the words, and humor seemed inappropriate at the moment.

Turning her head slightly, she could see Sharon Russell lying dead

twenty feet away, her eyes and mouth open and expressionless, the back

of her head gone.

"Who shot?" she asked weakly.

"I don't know," he mumbled. "Del, I guess. You shouldn't try to talk,

sweetheart. Just be still."

She managed a wry smile as she turned her face up to him once more.

"Quit bossing me around, Rafferty."

"Boss you around," he grumbled. "I ought to take you over my knee for

poking around up here."

"Sadist," she said through her teeth as the first stab of pain went

through her. J.D. winced with her. "I'll tell you right now, cowboy, I

don't go for that kind of thing."

The cloth beneath his hand was soaked red. Blood oozed up between his

fingers as he adjusted the position of his hand and pressed down harder.

"Dammit, Marilee, be quiet for once in your life," he ordered, terrified

that it was her very life leaking out between his fingers

For once she took his advice, too aware of the weakness stealing through

her, too aware of the labored quality of her breathing. J.D. leaned

over, sheltering her from the rain, murmuring soft words of comfort,

stroking her forehead and cheeks, showing her things he might never say.

She loved him. At that moment, when she knew her life might slip away,

everything else became simple and clear. She loved J.D. Rafferty. At

that moment everything else was inconsequential - their differences, the

fights, the wall he had built around his heart. None of it mattered.

A day late and a dollar short, Marilee. Isn't that just like you?

She had a genuine talent for screwing up. Too bad that wasn't worth

anything. How proud her family might have been of her.

She glanced once more at Sharon, wondering what her family would think.

Did Bryce know his cousin was a killer?
 
Did his depravity go that far?

"J.D.?" she whis crying. "There's a videotape. Back at my place. And a

book with court reporter's notes. Make sure Quinn gets them."

"Hush," he said, the word barely crawling out around the rock in his

throat. He touched her cheek with trembling fingers. "You can give it to

him yourself," he said, his voice hoarse and raw at the thought that she

may not be able to.

"Just in case." She closed her eyes for a moment, concentrating on the

fire that seemed to be spreading down her whole left side. It burned

bright, then eased. She let out a breath in relief. "J.D.?"

"What?" he murmured, giving up on the effort to silence her. He wanted

to hear her voice. He wanted to hear it every day for the rest of his

life, and the fear that he would not have the chance was like a ball of

acid in his chest. Tears pressed hard against the backs of his eyes.

"Del is a hero," she whispered. "You tell him I said so. Be proud of

him, J.D."

Then she closed her eyes again and the world faded to black as she

whispered, "I love you."

J.D. stared down at her, panic tearing through him.

"Marilee!
 
Marilee!" he shouted her name at the top of his lungs as the

rain pounded down on them. "Marilee!
 
"

She didn't move. She didn't open those huge blue eyes.

She lay limp and quiet, her blood warm beneath his hand. And J.D. bent

over her, to shield her from the rain, tears scalding his cheeks as he

pressed his lips to her forehead and whispered, "I love you. Please

don't die. I love you."

Bryce paced along the bank of windows in the living room, moving

gracefully and soundlessly across the thick carpet. Outside, the rain

that had begun the day before continued, turning the mountainscape

shades of gray. Bryce paid no attention to the weather.

He had more pressing matters on his mind. He had yet to find Samantha.

She had not returned to her home in New Eden. She had not gone back to

the Mystic Moose. She had simply vanished.

He didn't like the feel of this situation at all. He had expected her to

have second thoughts after their love making; he had not expected her

to flee the state. Aside from being concerned about her well-being, he

was annoyed.

There were plans in the works. The first of his plans for Samantha to

take the world by storm. Even as he paced, Brandon Black, the fashion

photographer, was on a jet bound for Bozeman. They couldn't very well

put into motion the wheels of Samantha's success without her.

He scowled and paced some more, working to hold his temper. Interference

in his plans was something he did not tolerate with good grace. Sharon's

vanishing act only added to his pique. She knew better than to leave

without consulting him.

She was punishing him, of course. Her jealousy was becoming an

unmanageable, unpredictable beast. Her little fits had been an

irritation while he had been involved with Lucy. But her attitude toward

Samantha was intolerable, The fact that both women were missing

simultaneously made him vaguely uneasy.

He checked his watch, slipped his hands back into the pockets of his

royal blue linen trousers, and marched on.

Ben Lucas sat on one of the leather sofas, sipping scotch and watching

him with amusement crinkling the corners of his dark eyes.

"You've really got it for this girl, haven't you?"

Bryce flicked him a glance. "Is that so hard to believe?"

"Not at all. She's a knockout. It's just that you have certain . . .

tastes . . . a small town girl might find shocking."

He flashed the Redford smile. It had a sharp edge to it, a hint of

warning. "What Samantha doesn't know won't hurt her. She's an innocent.

I suppose that's a strong part of her appeal. I have every intention of

protecting her, teaching her, eventually she'll learn about the real

world in small doses."

"And thank you for your tutelage?"

"That's the plan."

The lawyer raised his eyebrows and his scotch.

Bryce narrowed his gaze at the subtle challenge. "You don't think I can

pull it off?"

"I didn't say that. I learned long ago not to underestimate you,

friend." Lucas stretched lazily and crossed his Cole-Haan loafers. "I

plan to enjoy the show."

"It will be dazzling," Bryce said with a grin that faded quickly.

"Provided Samantha turns up to participate."

"Maybe she and Sharon ran away together," Lucas suggested, biting on a

smile. "A new twist on the old triangle."

Bryce scowled at him. "That isn't even remotely funny. Sharon has become

a loose cannon of late. A situation I won't allow much longer. If I find

out she's laid a finger on Samantha, I'll kill her."

The lawyer smiled an evil smile at the prospect. "Can I watch?" he asked

sardonically as a doorbell sounded in a distant part of the house.

"I could probably sell tickets," Bryce muttered. "My dear cousin has

made enough enemies to fill a stadium."

The housekeeper trundled in, wringing her hands in her apron, her face

pinched with concern. "Mr. Bryce-"

"I told you I'm not seeing guests, Reisa," Bryce snapped. "I'm very

busy."

"I believe you'll see us, Mr. Bryce," Sheriff Quinn said, stepping into

the room behind the housekeeper. He towered over her. His shoulders

filled nearly half the archway into the room. The rest of the space was

taken up by the men on either side of him. "I'm Sheriff Dan Quinn.

This here's Agent Paul Lamm, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, and Agent

Bob Ware, wildlife agent for the state of Montana. And these," he said,

holding up a fistful of papers, "are warrants."

"Warrants?" Ben Lucas unfolded himself from the sofa, rising with his

drink still in hand.

"Search warrants, arrest warrants, like that," Quinn explained

nonchalantly. Inside his uniform he was sweating like a horse. He was

arresting one of the most powerful men in the state, a man who,

according to the evidence unearthed by Marilee Jennings, was guilty of a

whole lot of sins. "Mr. Evan Bryce," he said as he moved purposefully

into the room with the two wildlife agents.

"You are under arrest for suspected violations of the Lacey Act and a

whole bunch of other state and federal wildlife regulations. You are

also under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder as related to the

death of Miz Lucy MacAdam."

Bryce gaped at him as the bottom dropped out of his stomach. "This is

outrageous!"

Quinn tipped his head and scratched his yellow hair.

"No sir, it's a fact. You have the right to remain silent. You have the

right to an attorney-"

"I'm his attorney," Lucas interjected.

"Well then," Quinn said, nodding, "let's cut to the chase and take a

ride downtown."

J.D. walked down the hall of the New Eden Community Hospital with his

hat in his hands. His boot heels rang on the hard polished floor, and he

scowled at the prospect of drawing attention to himself. He hated this

place, the smell of it, the look of it, the air of weakness and despair.

It all closed in on him like a blanket drawn over his head and he felt

he was smothering. Stopping outside the door to Room 102, he

deliberately filled his lungs with air, then pushed open the door and

stepped inside.

Marilee had her bed tilted up. An IV dripped clear liquid into her

veins. The bag of blood that had hung in tandem with the IV solution the

last time he had stopped in had since been taken away. She wasn't hooked

up to any bleeping, blinking machines, a memory that still haunted him

from his mother's last days. Her color was sallow except for the vibrant

purple smudges beneath her eyes, but she was managing a weary smile for

Nora Davis, who sat on a stool beside her. They were watching a soap