Midnight Jewels (34 page)

"Look, if you can't offer any really helpful suggestions, maybe you'd better just keep quiet and let me drive." Mercy's mouth was dry.

"You're getting tense," he observed.

"What a brilliant observation. We're a real pair, aren't we? You're falling asleep as the bad guys close in, I'm totally traumatized, and we're both shaking like Aspen leaves in the wind."

"Drifter's Creek," Croft said succinctly.

"What?"

"Just get us to that little ghost town we came through on the way up here. Drifter's Creek."

"What are we going to do there? Panic?"

"Only if all else fails. Just get us there, honey. I think we've got a little time. Whoever's coming after us doesn't seem to be in a hurry yet. Probably just wants to keep us in sight until we're closer to the main road."

"Why?"

"The accident will look more accidental if it happens on the main road."

"
Accident
? Oh, God, Croft, do you really think—"

"They wanted an accidental drowning, at least in my case. But barring that, this plan probably struck them as equally useful. And it would definitely be better if it happened on the main road. That way there won't be anything to connect us with Gladstone. If it happens on this road, someone might wonder how we happened to be on it at this hour of the night. Not that the inquiry would go much farther than that. If worse came to worse, Gladstone would probably just tell the truth. We were a couple of houseguests who had a few drinks, left the party early and went over the edge of a convenient cliff."

"I wish you'd stop using the past tense." Mercy came around a bend and found herself on a short, straight stretch of road. She increased her speed as much as she dared. The Toyota seemed to be hitting every pothole and rut in sight.

"The trick to this kind of driving," Croft said patiently, "is to brake going into the curve and accelerate coming out of it."

"Croft, this is not a good time to give me lessons in anything, especially driving." She rounded another bend and saw the first tumbledown buildings of Drifter's Creek looming up in the glow of the car's headlights.

"Kill the lights," Croft said quietly.

"Are you kidding?" She was startled. "I won't be able to see a thing."

"Then stop the car and let me take it from here."

"But Croft, you're in no condition to drive, you said so yourself. If you think I'm going to let you drive us out of these mountains without the lights you must have taken one too many karate chops on the head."

He didn't respond, but his bare foot was suddenly on her side of the car. He used it to yank her foot off the gas pedal as he reached over and flicked off the lights. The next instant he was slamming on the brakes. "Get out. Now." He was already crowding her out of the car as he moved over into her seat.

"Damn it, Croft." But she stopped arguing. Shoving open the car door, Mercy scrambled out into the chilled night air and dashed around to the passenger side. Croft had the car in motion before she had even closed the door. "What are you going to do?"

"Hide the car over there in the trees."

Mercy glanced in the indicated direction. All she could see was a mass of dark limbs and branches. "There's no room for the car in among those trees."

"There's room." He steered the car carefully off the road. The wheels dipped into a ditch and then the Toyota pulled itself up on the far side.

"I assume you have better than average night vision?" Mercy didn't bother to hide the sarcasm.

"Better than average," he agreed.

She glanced at him quickly but could barely make out his profile. He was concentrating on his driving, easing the vehicle over the rough terrain.

The trees loomed closer, a dense, solid looking cluster of shadows. Then the car was nosing its way into the duck darkness. There was a swishing sound as a limb grazed the windshield. Mercy stared straight ahead. She could see a little, but not nearly enough to drive into
this maze. Croft was driving very slowly, but he seemed very sure of what he was doing. She remembered her earliest impression of him: A creature at home in the darkness.

Croft brought the car to a halt and switched off the engine. "That's as good as it's going to get. Can you open the door on that side?"

Mercy unlatched the door and opened it carefully. "Yes. Just barely. Boy, is the rental agency going to have a fit."

"Why? I haven't scratched the paint." He was climbing out of the car as he spoke, closing the door behind him.

"You must have scratched the paint. You just drove through all those trees. You can't have avoided scratching the paint." She didn't know why she was pursuing such a stupid, meaningless accusation. It had to be a reaction to stress.

"We'll worry about it later," he said placatingly.

Mercy knew by the tone of his voice that he was humoring her. He was very sure he hadn't scratched the car. She peered through the shadows at where he stood near a tree. He stood very still, listening, apparently. It was hard to see him. If she hadn't known he was there she probably wouldn't have seen him at all. The realization gave her a new case of shivers. Then she remembered Croft's uncertain condition.

"How do you feel?"

"Like hell."

Not reassuring. Mercy fought a sudden urge to scream or cry. "Are we going to hide here in the trees with the car?"

"No. The car's too big. I've done the best I can to conceal it, but there's a good chance whoever's following us will find it. Come on."

"Where are we going?" Mercy eased her way around the Toyota until she was standing near him. When she looked up into his face all she could see was the colorless gleam of his eyes. The eyes of a ghost.

He took her arm and started leading her through the grove of trees. "Into town."

Mercy started to ask for more details, but the questions went out of her head when she caught a brief flash of light in the darkness. "Whoever it is, he's almost here." She couldn't tell if Croft was still trembling because her own nerves were performing a high wire act.

Croft glanced back along the road that wound down the mountains from Gladstone's estate. Headlights appeared for a second and then disappeared. Mercy was right. They didn't have much time. He felt her shivering under his hand and wondered critically which of them was in worse shape. He moved out into the open, yanking Mercy along with him as he started toward the nearest of the old shacks.

This was all his fault, he told himself fiercely as he loped toward the leaning building. Mercy was in danger because of his stupidity. He felt her stumble over a pine cone she hadn't seen lying in her path and quickly jerked her back to her feet. He had to remember she couldn't see as well in the dark as he did. Few people could.

His night vision was just one of the odd assortment of physical talents with which he had been born and had spent years honing. Useless talents, for the most part. All they were good for was getting him into situations where he was likely to get himself or someone else killed. If he had been born nearsighted, with a tendency toward a beer belly and a
dislike of too much internal speculation and analysis, he would have had a completely different life. He might have found happiness working on an assembly line or in an accounting office. He was good with details.

But, no, he hadn't been that lucky. He had found himself endowed with a keen sense of mind-body coordination and a connoisseur's appreciation of violence. Most unfortunate of all, he had been cursed with enough intelligence to understand just how dangerous that made him, both to himself and others.

"You want us to hide in one of these old shacks?"

Mercy was panting, not so much from the exertion of the short dash across the open field, but from her own adrenaline. Croft had seen the syndrome before. It took training and willpower to conserve the wild rush of energy adrenaline caused. Mercy was holding up amazingly well. He was aware of a new level of respect for this woman.

"I'm going to put you in that one over there by the creek. It's set back behind the others. Not likely to be one that will be searched right away."

"Searched! You expect whoever's in that Jeep to look for us here?"

"If they spot the car in the trees they'll start looking for us. There's a good chance they won't spot me Toyota, though. They'll just keep driving, thinking we're still ahead of them on the road."

"You don't sound too sure of that possibility."

He smiled ruefully, in spite of himself. "Sometimes you're too perceptive for your own good, Mercy."

"I've had the feeling lately that hanging around you is the cause of the problem." She came to an abrupt halt as he stopped to push open the door of the old cabin. There was a squeaking sound as the rusty hinges groaned under the unfamiliar exertion. "I'm not going inside, Croft."

He heard the deep conviction in her voice and felt the resistance in her body as he tried to draw her over the threshold. "You'll be safer in here than you will be out in the open, especially if they've got guns."

Mercy was staring into the black shadows inside the cabin. "I'll take my chances out in the open with you."

"No you won't. I have to be free to move. I can't look after you and handle whoever's in the Jeep at the same time." He would try sweet reason first, Croft decided. She was a smart woman. She was just a little nervous at the moment. He tried to make his voice sound reassuring, but the knowledge that time was running out made it difficult to be patient.

"I'll feel trapped in there, Croft." She swung around, her eyes wide and pleading in the starlight. "I won't be able to stand it. I'd rather be hiding in the trees. I want to be able to run."

He heard the fear in her words and wanted to gather her close to tell her she didn't have to be afraid, that everything was going to be all right. But there wasn't time to treat her terror with sensitivity. His hands closed roughly around her shoulders and he gave her a small shake.

"Listen to me, Mercy. I'm having a hard enough time holding myself together. I can't spare even a few minutes to explain why it's better for you to be hiding in here rather than out in the open. Just take my word for it that you can't outrun a bullet. Now, I don't want to hear another word from you. That Jeep will be here in a matter of seconds. Get inside, get down on the floor and stay there until I come back for you."

"But what are you going to do?"

"What I'm good at doing. Playing ghost. Get inside."

She shook her head. "I don't want to go in there, Croft."

There was no point arguing further. Croft opened the door further with his bare foot and hauled Mercy over the threshold. She started to struggle and then went limp in his hold.

He knew she had decided not to fight him. He pulled her close for an instant, pressing her face into his shirt.

"You'll be okay here, Mercy. Just stay down and don't make a sound, understand?"

She nodded against his chest and said nothing. When he released her and moved to the door she still said nothing. He doubted if she could see anything more than the bare outline of his body in the darkness of the old shack, but her head turned to follow his soundless movement. He was slipping outside into the cold night when her voice came softly.

"Croft?"

"What is it, Mercy?" He could hear the Jeep's engine clearly now. His attention was focusing on it, not Mercy's small, tense voice.

"Be careful."

"I'll be careful. You be quiet. Very, very quiet." He let the old door swing shut.

The Jeep roared around the last bend and raced into sight on the road that curved through what was left of Drifter's Creek. The headlights cut a bright swath through the darkness, momentarily throwing a handful of the empty, weathered shacks into stark relief.

A couple of minutes later the Jeep was through the town and charging into the next series of curves that led down to the main road. Croft stood in the shadows of the general store and watched the vehicle disappear. He wasn't going to count any chickens before they hatched. Sooner or later whoever was driving would realize the road ahead was empty. The next realization would be that the only place a car could turn off the road was Drifter's Creek.

The Jeep would be back soon.

Another wave of debilitating shivers went through Croft. He wrapped his hands around his upper arms and forced his mind to steady itself. At least he seemed to be Over the bouts of nausea, thanks to Mercy's first aid treatment. The aching
tiredness was getting worse, though, and he was still getting brief flashes of dizziness. He had to stimulate his internal resources. He needed a good dose of adrenaline to keep him moving.

Croft leaned back against the wood boards of the old store and closed his eyes while he concentrated on focusing what remained of his energy and willpower. He had to stay on his feet and in command of the situation. Mercy's life depended on how well he could pull himself together. She had saved his life earlier this evening. The least he could do was repay the debt.

Mercy, sweet Mercy. He had to do this for her.

Slowly he turned his attention inward, finding the quiet place in his mind where strength and energy swirled together in a calm pool. Another bout of shivers went through his nerves, distracting him for a few seconds, but Croft fought his way through them.

The night air was fresh and invigorating. It stirred ancient hunting instincts and revived old senses that most of the modern world had long since forgotten. Croft inhaled deeply.

He soon found himself on the familiar mental path, following the serene spiral of energy to its focal point. This was where he went when he meditated. This was the place he had found when he had finally acknowledged the potential for violence that lay in his own mind. He had known then that unless he found a counterpoint to that lethal element in his nature he would be destroyed by the raw, destructive energy it produced.

Long ago Croft had come to the conclusion that in some ways he was a throwback to a more primitive era. Violence came all too easily to him. It seemed to be built into his genes. His reflexes and instincts would have made him a good survivor, a valued member of society perhaps if he had
been born in a different time and place. A part of him had always understood the primitive ways of survival.