Hayburner (A Gail McCarthy Mystery) (27 page)

Why, I wondered again.

But even as my mind indulged itself in speculation, my hands fumbled restlessly, intuitively. I touched the edge of my right hand jeans pocket with one finger. There was a knife in that pocket.

Could I do it? I moved my bound arms to the right, shifted and twisted my wrists to put as much slack as possible into the twine. The fingers of my right hand burrowed into the pocket. I could feel the smooth metal surface of the knife. Delicately, gently, I curled my index and middle fingers around it and worked it up. No room for error, here.

I tried not to think about it, tried not to imagine what a fumble would cost me. Letting my fingers move, I kept my mind away from the what-ifs.

The knife was out of the pocket and in my right hand. I thanked God from the bottom of my heart that I had thought to buy a one-handed knife.

The motion was as familiar as breathing; I used the knife every time I had to cut the twine on a bale of hay. Sweetly, easily, the blade folded out. Gingerly I maneuvered it until the sharp edge was against the twine that encircled my wrists. Taking as firm a grip on the handle as I could manage with the fingers of my right hand, I moved my left wrist to saw the twine against the blade.

The knife was sharp. In less than a minute I could feel the twine begin to give. In another second it snapped; I pulled my hands apart. Instantly I sat up.

For a second my head spun, but I blinked and things seemed to settle. I bent forward and cut the twine that bound my feet.

Time to go. I could hear rain battering the walls of the barn; great gusts of wind made the boards creak. A clap of thunder boomed in the distance.

I got to my feet. My head spun again and I swayed. Putting a hand out to steady myself, I touched the rough wood of the wall, then made my way toward the doorway.

As I neared it, I could feel the wind blowing in, spattering my face with raindrops. I shivered. My shirt was damp. No time for that now. I peered out. Despite the rain and clouds, moonlight illuminated the scene with a faint glow. A full moon, I remembered, though I couldn't see it.

I stared at the blowing rain in front of me. Tree branches tossed and flung themselves above a dirt road. I blinked. So where was my truck?

I'd parked it right there. I stared. There was nothing. Just the dark road, the rain, the blowing, black trees. The truck was white; I should see it.

It was gone. He'd moved it, I realized. Moved the so-incriminating evidence of my presence. That was why I'd been left in the barn, to be dealt with later. He needed to move the truck.

Once again, fear rose up. He'd be back. He'd be back to kill me.

I took a deep breath. Putting my head down, I ducked out into the rain and started running down the hill. I'd go to the boarding stable, find someone, find help. Rain blew into me, soaking through my shirt, through my hair. I raised my head, trying to see, and came to a dead stop.

A figure was coming up the road toward me. Completely clad in a slicker and rain hat, his features were invisible in the pouring rain and darkness. But I knew who he was. In every atom of my body I recognized my enemy.

I turned and ran back the way I had come. As I neared the barn, I saw what I hadn't seen from inside the doorway. Two horses were tied under a lean-to roof on one side. A saddled horse and one with a pack rig. Freddy and Blackjack.

I didn't think, just went with my first instincts. Slowing to a walk, I stepped toward Freddy. His eyes were big, but he held his ground. Untying him, I pulled the reins over his head with one hand and swung up.

In another second I whirled the horse to face my assailant. Through a haze of rain, I could see the slicker-clad figure lift his arm in the classic pose of a man sighting along the barrel of a pistol. Moonlight gleamed on metal. In the split second it took me to assimilate this, I dug my heels into Freddy's ribs; the horse leaped forward just as the shot cracked out.

I kicked the horse again as he bounded; startled by the noise, he needed little encouragement to run. Grabbing the saddle horn and a handful of mane, I clung on as he lunged up the hill.

Downhill was the direction of people and help, but that slicker-clad figure stood between me and safety. I ducked low over Freddy's neck as another shot rang out. Almost instantly it was swallowed up in a clap of thunder.

Freddy was bolting in earnest now. I twined my fingers in his mane; my feet fumbled for the stirrups. Rain lashed my face, ran down my cheeks, dripped off my hair. Blinded and gasping, I could barely stay with the stampeding animal. But the alternative was a good deal worse.

On we went. Upward, ever upward. Uphill, as far as I remembered, was only empty woods. Wind whipped my ears and roared in the trees around me. I tried a tentative pull on the reins and felt Freddy respond. My feet found the stirrups; thanking God they were roughly the right length, I sat up a little straighter and took a good hold of the reins. Freddy slowed. I pulled again and he came down to a trot.

Even as I checked him to a halt, a great gust of wind and rain broadsided us like an openhanded slap. Freddy flung his head and switched his tail; I tried to shake my wet bangs out of my eyes. Turning the horse around, I looked back down the hill.

Between the darkness and the storm, I could see little, only dark trees in a noisy, blowing tangle. I stared. Freddy's ears came up and he stared, too.

Then, simultaneously, lightning flashed and the horse neighed. In the brief eerie light, I saw what Freddy's more accurate senses had already registered-a horse, galloping up the hill after us.

A horse and rider, I realized. Even as thunder clapped out, I spun Freddy and kicked him back into a gallop. I recognized the pursuing horse's blaze face. Blackjack. The slicker-clad horseman was clinging to the pack rig, desperate to catch us. I already knew he carried a gun.

Freddy drove forward, propelled by his own adrenaline as much as my cue. I leaned forward over his neck, thanked God he was surefooted and bold. Despite the wild storm buffeting us up the steep hill, the horse charged as if in the front line of a battle.

I rode. Now we were in the eucalyptus grove, the tall trees groaning and creaking as they swayed over us. Lightning flashed on the ridge, showing me the forest of pale trunks and branches, writhing and twisting. I gripped the saddle horn in one hand and the reins in the other and thumped my heels into Freddy's sides.

Rain blew in my face; wind dinned in my ears. The whole world was a dark, noisy kaleidoscope. Desperately, I tried to think. What to do? As far as I knew, this dirt road led only to the clearing on top of the ridge. And if I reached it-what then? Go back, of course. By the trail. Back to civilization, to help and safety.

Swiping the water out of my eyes with one hand, I gasped as the horse stumbled. Automatically I grabbed at the horn; Freddy recovered himself in one stride and galloped on. I didn't dare risk a look back. I kept my attention forward; I rode for all I was worth. I knew he was back there, but I knew also that I could go faster than he could. Riding on a pack rig would be difficult at the best of times and an all-out gallop in a rainstorm was hardly the best of times.

It seemed to take forever. I twined my fingers in the wet, dark strands of Freddy's mane, tried to stay balanced and forward over the horse's shoulders, where he could most easily carry me. Clucking to him rhythmically, I tried to encourage him in this strange pandemonium we'd both been thrown into. Once again I thanked God he was tough.

Soon, I thought, soon we'd be there. Lightning crackled on the ridge again; I could see we were nearing the top. In another minute we crested the hill; the clearing opened up around me. In the corner of one eye, I saw the dark bulk of the huge blue gum tree. I pulled Freddy to a jerky, prancing stop.

Back, I thought, go back. But which way? Down the trail? I didn't know which route the killer had taken. I had spotted him before the trail branched off. Or at least I thought so.

If I went the wrong way, I'd meet him point blank. And he was carrying a gun.

Freddy threw his head and danced impatiently as I dithered. Eucalyptus trees moaned and squealed as the storm flung their branches above me. I blinked more water out of my eyes and tried desperately to think.

Which way to go? I stared at the wildly tossing crown of the big blue gum, barely visible in the darkness. Which way to go?

Another crackle of greenish light flashed around me, with a strange sizzling noise. The hair on my arms stood up. Instantaneously thunder boomed, deafening me. Freddy reared.

"That was too close," I gasped.

As if somehow cued, the wind increased its fury and the rain, already icy, began to sting. Hail. My God. I could hear it rattling on the eucalyptus leaves. Freddy jumped forward, tossing his head and fighting the bit. I heard another loud crack.

Not thunder. I looked up and saw him, right where the road opened into the clearing. Blackjack's white blaze gleamed in the faint light, not twenty feet from me. The horseman was shooting from his back.

Freddy plunged toward his stable mate, bulling through the bridle, ignoring my tugs. I saw the slicker-clad form on the horse point the pistol right at me. I closed my eyes.

Please help me, I prayed. And everything exploded in an overwhelming crash.

Was I hit? I was still clinging to a wildly whirling Freddy as a huge thud shook the ground. Shit. For a second I could see nothing but waving leaves and twigs. The big blue gum had dropped a branch right between me and Blackjack.

Had he fired at me again? He had, I thought. But the branch had fallen at the same time. And suddenly I knew what to do.

Wrenching Freddy around by main force, I rode around the branch. There he was. Blocking my path again. I took a deep breath and kicked Freddy right at him.

His hand came up; I prayed. He flung the gun right at my head. I ducked and the gun missed me. I was right, I thought, I was right.

Now we were crashing by him, feet away, Freddy charging forward, headed for home. I both heard and glimpsed Blackjack whirl with us. And then the rider was hurtling through the air toward me, arms outstretched for my shoulders in a flying tackle.

I saw him coming; so did Freddy. Even as I twisted, the horse leaped sideways, away from the attacker. I felt the impact on Freddy's rump, felt hands clutch at me. Freddy humped his back and lashed out with both back feet.

I heard a yell and a sharp, smacking noise and looked back over my shoulder. Blackjack, riderless, was right on our heels, and behind him the slicker-clad figure lay motionless on the ground.

I didn't hesitate. Kicking Freddy one more time, I headed down the hill at a long trot, through the blowing storm. I was going home.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Riding down the hill, thoughts coalesced. I knew damn well where I would go first. As I rode, I became aware of how wet I was, and how cold. Adrenaline ebbed; I shivered. My body ached; my head hurt. My shirt and jeans were soaking. My boots were full of water.

Paradoxically, it filled me with rage. Damn him to hell was the only thought in my mind.

I reached the barn where I'd been tied up and rode on. Past the ranch house, down to the big arena. Here I dismounted and led Freddy through the gate. Blackjack followed. I pulled Freddy's bridle off his head and turned him loose.

"Thank you," I said. Then I let myself out of the arena and shut the gate. I had some business to take care of.

Wind and rain blew into my face as I marched across the drive and up the steps of Clay's little house. I banged on the door and threw it open.

Clay was sitting in front of the TV; his head jerked around, eyes wide, as startled as if the storm itself had blown the door open and swept in. Water dripped off my clothes and hair and onto the carpet as I stepped into the room. Clay's shocked stare followed me in.

"Gail!"

"That's right," I said, as evenly as I could manage. "Surprised to see me?"

Clay said nothing; his mouth dropped half-open. Dispassionately, I noted that he didn't look particularly handsome at the moment. His lack of chin was all too obvious.

Clay seemed to gather himself. "What happened?" he asked.

 
For a moment our eyes met; Clay dropped his gaze to my soaking clothes. "What happened?" he asked again.

"What happened," I said, "is, your brother Bart tried to kill me."

"What?"

"However, he didn't manage it and he is now lying in the clearing at the top of the ridge. I don't know if he's dead or alive."

"My God, Gail."

"Don't sound so shocked, Clay. It doesn't cut any ice with me. You knew what Bart was up to."

"Gail, I . . ."

 
And suddenly my control broke. "You bastard!" I screamed. "What did you plan to do, sit here watching TV while he killed me?"

"Gail, I didn't know."

"The hell you didn't. You knew Bart was the arsonist. You knew he hit me over the head at Judith's. You must have known he planned to kill me."

"I didn't, I swear."

"Oh bullshit, Clay. Would you just for one moment drop your Mister Nice Guy pose and have a look at the truth. You suspected Bart from the beginning."