Who Wants to Be a Sex Goddess? (27 page)

She touched his arm and turned toward the nearest shore. The lake was shallow here, tapering to a rock-strewn crescent of beach that gave way to dense forest. They crawled out and collapsed on the stones, gasping and coughing.

Then Dillon grabbed her arm. Pulled her to her feet. “The trees,” he said between chattering teeth.

They stumbled into the forest, dropped onto a bed of pine straw. “Thank God,” he said and pulled her close. They lay together, forcing air in and out of their lungs.

“We've got to—” she began.

“I know.” He pushed to his feet. Before she could follow, a rifle butt came down on Dillon's head, and he fell to the ground. The blow didn't knock him out. He staggered to his feet, lunged at his assailant.

“Dillon, no!” she screamed. This time the rifle butt swung into his bad knee. With a yelp of pain, he went down. And stayed there. Crouched in a ball, hugging his knee with both hands.

Andy reached for him.

“Don't,” said a voice above her.

She looked up, past the rifle, to the man who held it. She thought it would be Katherine Dane. Then she remembered that brief moment when she'd mistakenly wandered into the eternal orgasm room. And it all made sense.

Eureka,
she thought, just as Bernard Bliss clipped her chin with the rifle barrel and she thought no more.

A
ndy saw spots of light behind her closed eyes, heard a buzzing of voices. She knew she'd been out for only a second, but jeez, she felt like it had been eons. She slowly opened her eyes, just enough to peer through the lashes. Bernard Bliss stood in the same place he'd been standing when she went down for the count. Only now he was backed by three of the navy-uniformed security guards.

Shit. Bliss, she could handle even frozen to the bone. But the three thugs were too much even for her. Dillon had raised himself to one knee, but she was pretty sure he wasn't going to be able to make it to his feet. Bernard had known right where to hit him to inflict the most damage.

Anger seethed inside her. The emotion was enough to make her take on all of them at once. But her brain told her that she'd be too stiff to move fast enough.

Maybe Talbot and the troops were on their way to the rescue. A glimmer of hope flickered for a second and died away. If Dillon had warned them where he was going, they would be here by now. And they weren't. She and Dillon would have to fight their way out of this themselves.

Bliss nodded to one of the guards, who stepped forward and nudged her in the ribs with the tip of his rifle. She groaned.

“Get up,” said Bliss. “I didn't hit you that hard.”

She struggled to sit up, making it look harder than it actually was. All the while, her mind was registering details. Four men, four rifles. It was pretty nasty odds. She glanced at Dillon. If she only knew how badly he was hurt. How much she could depend on him. But she'd better not count on that.

And was this all of the bad guys? If the whole security team was out there, they were up the creek. As it was now, they were in plenty deep shit.

“Get her up,” said Bliss impatiently. One of the security guards leaned over. His rifle tipped away, and Andy saw the only chance she might have. Praying that Dillon could respond, she lunged up, grabbed the guard's head in both hands, and head butted him.

He fell over with an “oof.” Andy just managed to roll out of the way before he hit the ground. Dillon threw himself at Bliss's legs. Bliss stumbled backward. The rifle bucked up and discharged into the air, before falling to the ground. The report was deafening.

Ears ringing, Andy managed to feint to the right as the two remaining guards aimed their rifles at her. She got off a back kick to the neck of one of them. He fell into the second guard, and they both went down.

For a second all four men were sprawled on the ground.

“Run!” yelled Andy.

Dillon scrambled to his feet and snatched up Bliss's rifle. Andy grabbed his other arm and pulled him into the trees. His breathing was jagged as he hobbled along beside her. She could hear Bliss giving orders for the guards to spread out. She crashed through the trees, dragging Dillon along. Deeper and deeper into the woods.

The incline grew steeper, the trees denser. Dillon was slowing down, growing heavier, and she knew he must be in serious pain. Andy kept pulling him along, hardly aware of where they were going, just away from their pursuers. The ground became rockier and steeper, until without warning, she ran into a palisade of rock. It completely blocked their way. She frantically scanned it for an opening, anywhere they might be able to fend off their attackers. For a while, anyway. Hopefully, Talbot's men had heard the shots and would come to investigate.

Dillon tripped, fell to his knees. Let out a grunt of pain. She whirled around. He was braced on one hand; the rifle lay on the ground beside him. She leaned down and snatched it up. Then she reached for Dillon.

He tried to push to his feet, but fell back with a groan. “Go on without me,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Are you nuts? Get up!” Andy tugged at him, but he shook his head.

“Go on, get out of here.”

She scowled down at him. “
From Here to Eternity
. Very altruistic, but this isn't a fucking movie, and I'm not leaving you. Get up. Now.”

Out of pure exasperation, she pointed the rifle at him. He muttered something that she was sure would be censored on the big screen, but pushed to one foot. She pulled him the rest of the way up. He had to hop to keep his balance. When he shifted his weight to his bad leg, the knee gave.

“Come on, baby,” Andy said. “You just have to make it to that outcropping of rock.”

There
was
an opening, a slight fissure between two massive shards of granite. They squeezed through and found themselves in a narrow, wooded crevice. Walls of stone and trees rose sharply to each side and ended at a point behind them. The fissure had been a portal, not into open woods, but into a blind valley. The woods were thirty feet above them. They were trapped.

Andy pushed Dillon against the side of the rock, and he slid to the ground. She took a minute to check out the weapon. She'd used real weapons on the firing range, but was more comfortable with the dummies that were used on the set.
Just pretend. Aim and squeeze.
She braced herself and waited for the first attacker to come through the opening.

Nothing happened for what seemed like ages; then she heard the crackling of leaves and twigs. She aimed the rifle at the opening.

“This way,” hissed Dillon, who'd eased himself behind her. “I think I may have found a way out.”

She shook her head. She'd have a better chance taking them one by one as they came through the narrow opening.

There was a rustle in the trees to her right. A bevy of birds rose into the air. Someone was up there. And she and Dillon were goldfish in a bowl.

“Let's go,” she said and pushed Dillon ahead of her. The narrow passage was filled with detritus, and the trees were so thick above them it seemed like night. Andy tried to look everywhere at once, ready to drill the first person she saw.

Dillon was moving slow, but he didn't tell her to leave him behind again. She could hear him panting. An occasional grunt escaped him as he tripped, stumbled, or slid, but all the time leading her into deeper cover.

She didn't know how he was doing it. Her legs were burning, despite the wet, clammy clothes that clung to her, weighing her down and sending waves of shivering through her body. Branches smacked her in the face; rocks tore at her bare feet. She skid in rotten leaves, tripped over roots that jutted out of the ground. She was breathing hard when they reached a small glade of level forest. They fell into each other, leaned against a tree while they gasped for breath.

They were breathing so hard that neither of them heard the crack of twigs, the rustle of leaves, until they were surrounded by Bliss's henchmen.
How? Where?
The rifle still hung from Andy's hand, but she didn't have the strength to lift it. They were caught. And unless she was wrong, they were going to die.

The last to appear was Bernard Bliss, empty-handed, out of breath, beads of sweat lacing his forehead. And Andy flashed on the first night she'd seen him—up on the dais, his forehead glistening with perspiration—and she wondered how someone who seemed so inconsequential could turn into someone so deadly.

Dillon shifted beside her. She willed him not to do anything stupid. Like grab her gun and try to shoot their way out of this. Even she wasn't dumb enough to try that one. She spent most of her life in fantasy land, but she knew the difference. She wondered if Dillon did.

Bliss shook his head at them, his eyes little black beads of disgust. “Nowhere to run,” he said, his placid voice sounding sinister in the hushed stillness of the forest. He held out his hand. After a moment's hesitation, the guard to his right handed him his automatic. Then reached over and eased the rifle out of Andy's limp fingers.

He seemed almost sympathetic, and for a second, hope flared. “He's going to kill us,” Andy said, flashing on all the great “oaters” that inevitably ended up with the hero surrounded.
Sow the seeds of distrust.
“Because we know he murdered Imogene Southwaite.”

“Shut up,” said Bliss. And Andy felt a thrill of excitement. It might work. Two of the guards looked at each other. They hadn't known about Imogene Southwaite.

“Why do you think we're out here, being held at gunpoint?” That was Dillon, and Andy had to catch herself before she looked at him in astonishment. “What lie did he tell you?”

One of the guards shifted on his feet.

“They know why they're here,” said Bliss. “Apprehending two murderers. Oh, yes. We've been watching you. We're taking you back to camp where you'll be turned over to the authorities.”

Okay. Maybe she'd spoken too soon. She turned to the guards. “We won't make it back to camp. He'll shoot us, say that you panicked and opened fire. Want to go to jail?”

“For a lifetime?” added Dillon.

Damn, she could swear he was beginning to enjoy this.

Except that it wasn't working. There was another rustle in the trees behind them. Goddammit, thought Andy. There were more of them. Well, at least maybe, with all these witnesses, they might actually make it back to the compound alive.

“Take them,” said Bliss. Two of the guards moved forward.

The trees rustled again, followed by a bloodcurdling scream. Everyone looked up as a figure cannonballed from the trees. It soared over Andy's head, tucked in a tight ball as it flew toward the stunned guards. Then simultaneously, both legs shot out to the side in a Chinese split. Each foot connected to a head, and the two armed guards went down. Andy threw herself against the unarmed guard.

Bliss's rifle went flying, and then Bliss, as the camouflaged attacker landed a roundhouse kick to the ribs.

He screamed and dropped to the ground, just as one guard rose to his feet. He was stopped by a double kick to shin and groin.

Andy kneed the second guard in the chin as he tried to get up. Dillon had the other one in a headlock. He let go, and both guards stumbled away and fled into the woods with the third guard limping after them. Bernard Bliss had already disappeared.

Dillon was standing with his weight on one foot, looking stunned at the person who stood astride, hands planted on her hips, a look of satisfaction on her face.

Andy grinned. “Aunt Mac! You're alive!”

“O
f course I'm alive,” said Mac, pushing a wild mass of auburn curls away from her face. “Why wouldn't I be?”

“We were afraid they'd killed you. I'm so relieved.” Andy hurled herself at her aunt and threw her arms around her.

Mac patted Andy's back, then extricated herself from Andy's grip. “Why were those baboons after you? And what was Bernard Bliss doing with them?”

“Isn't that why you ran? You found out about what they were doing and had to flee for your life? Where have you been? How did you know I was here?”

“Hold on,” said Mac. “One thing at a time.” She turned to Dillon and stuck out her hand. “Mac Houston. Andy's aunt.”

Dillon looked at the hand, looked at Mac. Slowly he stretched out his hand, and Mac pumped it. “You've had a rough time of it from the look of you. We'll have you fixed up in no time, but we'd better get out of here before they decide to come back with reinforcements.”

“Dillon Cross,” he said belatedly. “Nice to meet you.” Mac was already helping him back the way they'd come.

Andy smiled at him as they passed, but he didn't look at her. His face was colorless down to the lips. He was obviously struggling with pain, not to mention surprise at being rescued by a tactic straight out of a Tarzan movie. Andy hurried after them.

They were already approaching the wooded crevice. Andy couldn't believe they hadn't managed to run farther than that. It had felt like miles. “Wait,” she said. “What if they're waiting on the other side?”

Mac shrugged. “Hank'll take care of it.” She guided Dillon through the opening, supporting him with one muscled arm as he slowly made his way over the broken ground.

“Hank?” asked Andy, following close on her heels. “Who's Hank?”

“Watch out for this loose shale,” she told Dillon. “You'll see in a minute,” she said over her shoulder.

As soon as they were through the fissure, Mac stopped and leaned Dillon against one of the boulders. “Take a breather. It's only a little bit until we reach the road. Then you'll get a ride.”

“But,” said Andy, then stopped as a massive shadow rose out of the forest. A high-pitched, “eek” escaped her throat.

Mac snorted. “There you are. Did you see where they went?”

“Jumped in a Land Rover and beat it down the mountain,” said the deepest voice Andy had heard since Lurch in
The Addam's Family.

“Good,” said Mac. “Andy, meet Hank. And this is Dillon Cross. Beat to shit.” She grinned at Dillon. “Hanging around Andy can be dangerous work.”

“Glad to meet you both,” said Hank. “Let me give you a hand, Dillon. It isn't far.”

Andy stared as he lifted Dillon away from the rock. He was at least six feet four, with golden blond hair that flowed to his shoulders. An unkempt beard framed his jaw. He was wearing a plaid shirt and jeans and had two cameras hanging around his neck.

She turned to Mac for an explanation, but Mac merely grinned back at her and said, “All in good time,” and took Dillon's other side to help him through the woods.

They reached the dirt road in less than ten minutes. And there parked off to the side was a black SUV. They eased Dillon into the backseat and waited for Andy to climb in beside him. Mac pulled two blankets from the cargo area, tossed them into the backseat, then climbed in beside Hank. Hank patted her knee before he backed the SUV out onto the road.

Another ten minutes went by in silence as Hank maneuvered them up the winding dirt road and Andy tried to assimilate what was happening. Dillon lay back against the seat with his eyes closed. They climbed higher and higher until Hank turned off the road onto a narrow, winding cart track that plunged deep into the woods. Minutes later, they came to a stop on the side of a mountain with a breathtaking vista of miles of wooded hills. An impressive log house stood in the clearing along with several outbuildings.

Mac and Hank took Dillon up the steps to the wooden porch and went inside. They continued down the hall, Dillon between them. Andy stopped in a large, airy living room. Only slightly rustic, the wooden floors were polished and covered by area rugs woven in Navajo designs. A big leather couch sat facing a huge picture window that looked out on the view. The walls were whitewashed and covered in framed photographs of wildlife and nature panoramas.

Mac came back into the living room, carrying a pile of clothes, and motioned to Andy to follow her down a hall that ran toward the back of the house.

“Guest bedroom,” she told Andy as they entered a large room with a pine four-poster bed and another picture window that looked over an equally breathtaking view. Mac went into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

“Stay as long as you like. There's plenty of hot water. My clothes shouldn't look too awful on you. Maybe a little big in the beam, but hey, not any worse than that getup.” She looked pointedly at Andy's soggy shirt and khakis. “What were you thinking? No, don't tell me. A disguise, right?” She shook her head and pushed Andy toward the open door. Then she was gone.

Andy, feeling more than a little overwhelmed, stripped out of her clothes and climbed in the oversized tub. She didn't climb out until her skin was pink.

When she finally came into the living room, dressed in Mac's black stretch pants, a light blue mohair sweater, wool socks, and suede Birkenstocks, Dillon was sitting on the couch. He was propped up by a pile of handwoven pillows; one leg was stretched out along the seat. The jeans and sweater he was wearing made him look like the Incredible Shrinking Man.

There were several bottles of pills lined up on the coffee table, and Mac was attempting to apply an ice pack to his knee.

“I know this is the last thing you want after your adventure in the lake, but it's for your own good. Coffee's almost ready. And the pills will help.”

Andy could smell the brewing coffee, and she suddenly felt like crying. She was safe. Mac was safe. Dillon was safe. But how had it all come together like this? She had a million questions to ask Mac. And just as many things to tell her. But what did it all mean? People were trying to kill them. Had probably killed Imogene Southwaite and God knew who else. Dillon was some kind of agent. And Hank? Who the hell was he? It was the most convoluted plot she'd ever worked with. And even if she managed to figure it all out, who on earth would ever believe her?

She walked over to the couch, placed her hand on Dillon's shoulder. He looked up. His eyes were slightly unfocused, but there was color in his cheeks.

“You okay?” she asked.

He nodded. “You?”

She nodded. She wanted to kiss him, but for the first time in her life, she was shy in front of an audience.

“He'll be fine. I gave him a couple of painkillers and some anti-inflammatories. He'll be right as rain in a few. Come help me with the coffee.”

A few what? wondered Andy as she followed Mac into the kitchen. A few hours? A few days? Months? The kitchen was another big room, with big windows, and a big wooden table running down the center of the room. Everything big for a big man.

“Who is Hank exactly?” she asked.

“He's a nature photographer. This is his house.”

“Those are his photos on the walls?”

“Sure are.”

“But how did you get here?”

“It's a longish story. Let me deal with the coffee and we'll have a long chat.”

 

“It was simple really,” said Mac, looking at Andy over her coffee cup. She and Andy sat at the kitchen table. Dillon was zonked out on the couch, and Hank had taken his camera and wandered off into the woods. The two of them were alone. The kitchen was warm and cozy, and it was easy to forget frigid waterfalls and maniacal killers.

“My life was kind of blah, you know, not that much work for an aging stuntwoman.” She held up her hand. “I know I'm not old, but I'm also not twenty anymore. I've pretty much been relegated to car chases.”

“But a lot of people depend on you.”

“I know. But getting other people work isn't exactly the same thing as working yourself. I was missing the excitement. I'd seen Dr. Bliss on TV and thought, what the hell. So I signed up for Terra Bliss. Thought it might shake up some things.” She smiled. “And it did, in a roundabout way.”

“You found the lake, too,” said Andy. “I knew you did.”

“Of course. Exercise bikes and treadmasters are a little tame for my blood…and yours, too, it seems. So I climbed over the wall and there was the great swimming hole of life. I met Hank when I was there one afternoon. He was taking photos.” She wrestled with a reminiscent smile.

“Of the wildlife?”

“That and a few of me.” She snorted. “In the wild so to speak.”

Andy laughed. It felt good, especially since a few hours ago she'd thought she'd never laugh again.

“One thing led to another, so I went AWOL. Which I felt a little bad about because by that time I'd figured out that they were using posthypnotic suggestion to fleece their richer clientele. But hard to prove, you've got to admit.”

“Yeah, but it's more than that.”

“I started figuring
that
out when I saw you swimming at the lake last week. I was floored.”

“You saw me? Why didn't you come down?”

Mac glanced toward the door. “You were, uh, busy.”

“Oh, that day.” Andy felt the blood rush to her cheeks.

Mac nodded. “Don't worry. You still had on your clothes. At first I didn't believe it was you. I came back the next day, and the next, but you didn't come. So I called Galena to see what the hell was in the air. I got the basic hysterical story from her. Didn't make a whole lot of sense then. But once I saw what you were wearing today, I figured it out. They sent you incognito to make sure I wasn't the victim of…” She dropped her voice to a spurious rumble. “Foul play.”

“Mom saw the article about Imogene Southwaite and tried to call you. When they said you'd left, she got worried.”

“Galena needs to get a life. She's beginning to take the movies too seriously.”

“We were all worried.”

“Our whole damn family is nuts,” said Mac. “I told them I wouldn't be back until August. And I told them to call you and tell you I was fine and to go home. Betty said you had to give up your vacation.”

“Acapulco.” And Andy realized she didn't miss it at all. “But I never got the message.”

“Why am I not surprised.” Mac nodded toward the open kitchen door. “No matter. It doesn't look like the trip was a total waste. Dillon's hot, if a little beat up. And he isn't an actor, which should get Betty and Galena off your back.”

“Not an actor. Worse.”

Mac raised her eyebrows.

“He's an agent.”

Mac's jaw dropped. “You're kidding. What's he doing here? Looking for talent among the ruins?”

“Not that kind of an agent. A James Bond kind of agent.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Then all this murder business is true?”

“It certainly looks like it. Or why try to kill Dillon and me? Not that we can prove it. Their word against ours.”

“Oh, we have a little more than that,” Mac said and gave Andy a satisfied smile.

“Like what?”

“Pictures. We've been hanging around waiting for you to show up again. Then when we heard about the death of that attendant, and that the police were hanging around, we became vigilant. Then suddenly, this morning, there you were about to be pushed over the falls. Nice dive, by the way. Anyway, while I was hotfooting it down the mountainside to save you, Hank was shooting the whole thing. Got Bliss pushing you over the falls, and the meatheads with the metal and everything in between.”

Andy jumped up. “That's fantastic. Wait 'til I tell Dillon.”

“Sit down. Dillon won't be back from the land of nod for several hours. I want to hear what happened at your end to make them out for your blood.”

“I haven't figured that out. I showed up with these stupid glasses that blinded me, a wrinkled suit, and a bun. Dillon figured out right away that I was a fake. But I don't think anyone else did. I broke into the business office and rifled the files looking for info about you, but came up empty. But while I was there, Dillon broke in and nearly caught me. That's when I started thinking he was more than just a poor dumb slave.”

“I bet he looks good in a kilt. Sorry. Go on.”

“Well,” said Andy. “I knew he was something more than a goddess slave. But he wouldn't share information. We've kind of been working at cross purposes ever since.”

Mac nodded.

“But then Katherine Dane invited me to join her meditation group. And I remembered reading in the files that you and Southwaite had both been members. So I got suspicious. It took me a few days to figure out what she was doing. The hypnotic suggestion thing. And I don't know how I managed it. Just luck, I guess.”