Framed in Death Valley Page 9

  The sound of shifting gears caught her attention. She managed to turn her head, and over his shoulder, she saw the car reversing, pulling free from the wrecked van with the sound of shearing metal that set her teeth on edge.

  Horror nearly overwhelmed her. The nightmare was not over. He was still coming for them. She saw through dazed eyes that the car was turning now, correcting course, locking on their location.

  She had no more breath left to scream as they ran for the ruined buildings perched at the top of a shallow slope. Despair roiled through her along with the fatigue. She didn’t see what difference it would make. How long could they hide in a place that was no more than a series of exposed, disconnected segments of wall, without even a roof? Their pursuer would not give up, she was sure now, but her body craved shelter, anything that would protect them from being crushed under the wheels of the oncoming car. Helpful or not, the crumbling walls offered the faintest hope and she would grab at it.

  Exhaustion began to strip away her speed. All her power of concentration was not enough to override her physical limitations. Her legs trembled. “Beckett,” she tried to call out, but she could not make a sound.

  He seemed to sense her struggle anyway. In one quick movement, he swept her up and kept going.

  She wanted to protest, but it was as if her muscles had diverted all their power into keeping her heart pumping and her lungs working. Onward they hurried, Beckett’s boots digging into the flaked rock. She closed her eyes to keep from being overwhelmed by dizziness.

  She felt him setting her on her feet at the base of the plateau where the borax plant stood in all its decaying glory. The walkway up to the top was buttressed on either side by worn stone walls. They raced through the low split-rail fence and up the walkway. From the parking area below, brakes squealed and the car skidded to a halt, spitting a shower of gravel into the air; the stones prickled the back of her neck.

  Beckett hustled her forward behind the nearest wall and then deeper into the shadowed interior. Inside there was a smell of desiccated earth. Dust swirled under their feet. With only a sliver of moon, the stones reflected the weak starlight. How many times had she brought guests to these ruins, thrilled to share with them the fascinating facts about the early mining history of Death Valley? Now the derelict structure was their one slim hope of survival.

  Beckett stumbled over a jagged row of broken bricks, caught himself and plunged them deeper into the pitch dark. He muffled a cry when his shoulder impacted a protruding shard of brick. They had to move slower now to avoid breaking their ankles, ducking under pale archways to prevent cracking their skulls. She had never been able to adjust well to night vision, for all the evening hikes she and Beckett had taken in their happier days.

  You gotta allow your eyes to get used to the dark, he’d say, and inevitably she’d answer with, This is as good as they get. He would laugh, tuck her arm under his and lead her back to the comfort of their little cabin.

  Now she clung to his hand, stumbling after him like a blindfolded person navigating an obstacle course. She could hear nothing but her own harsh panting, the hammering of the blood through her veins. Her mouth had gone sand dry.

  He kept pulling her along through passages she could barely see, over obstacles that tripped her up. Something scuttled under her feet. A tarantula? A rat?

  They hurried to the far edge of the ruins where an old iron stove stood sentinel, its long, slender gooseneck chimney thrusting into the starlit sky. He stopped and they squatted there, the cold metal pressed against her lower back, momentarily screened from their pursuer. She tried hard to get her breathing under control so the dizziness would subside.

  He bent close to her ear. “Do you have your phone?” he whispered.

  “Yes.” She could only make out the barest gleam of his face, the feel of his mouth near her temple.

  “Take this.” From his back pocket he pulled a water bottle he’d stuck there after dinner. He unscrewed the cap and offered it, but her hands shook too much, so he held it to her lips until she sipped. The water was warm, but it revived her. She waved him away, determined to grasp what he was saying. He capped the bottle and shoved it in her sweater pocket.

  “You need to get out of here. Duck under the fence and run toward the road. Call Jude as soon as you think it’s safe enough.”

  She thought she’d misheard him. The temperature seemed to plummet ten degrees as a chill enveloped her. Run away and leave him there? “What are you going to do?”

  “Draw his attention and buy you time.”

  She shook her head. “No, Beckett.”

  He was peering around the edge of the stove. Below they heard a door slam. Kenny was coming for them. Time was running out. Beckett stared into the darkness, probably trying to gauge next steps.

  “Beckett.” She tugged on his sleeve until he turned to face her again. “I’ll call for help right now.”

  “He’ll hear you.”

  “We can split up, maybe knock him out or something, or try to get back to the van.”

  He didn’t answer, merely shook his head and pointed her toward the fence that outlined the self-guided walk around the mine. “Go as fast as you can. If you can’t flag down a car along the road, start walking. Get away, far away. Call Willow to come and get you.”

  The trembling in her limbs started up again. “Kenny’s probably armed. He’ll kill you.”

  “If he manages, it’s going to be the hardest thing he ever does in his entire miserable life.”

  His tone was flat and hard as granite, and it scared her more than his words. “No,” she said, using her “put-my-foot-down voice,” trying to grab for his hand. Her stern tone was offset by an ill-timed wash of tears. Why now? Beckett wasn’t her soul mate anymore, but she could not stand to think of harm coming to him.

  His smile was almost undetectable in the darkness. He touched two fingers lightly to her belly for the briefest of moments. “Muffin’s been through enough tonight.”

  Baby or no baby, he was not going to distract her with sweet talk. “Listen to me. Please. This isn’t smart.”

  His chuckle was soft, almost inaudible. “Nobody ever accused me of being smart.” He kissed her on the forehead.

  “Beckett,” she said, trying to hold on to his shirt to keep him from going.

  He pressed another kiss to her hand. Without thinking, she turned so that her fingers were cupping his cheek. She felt rather than heard his sigh, the soft of his lips nuzzling her palm. For a moment, perhaps it was a trick of the starlight, she thought he looked younger, as he might have been before that tragic high school wrestling match.

  “Go,” he said, one more time before he vanished into the shadows.

  * * *

  Beckett crept back toward the center of the ruins, filling his palm with stones as he went. Sheltering behind a rusted ore cart, he listened. At first there was nothing except the sound of the wind riffling the bits of detritus along the base of the old structure. Then he caught sound of a cautious footfall. The noise ceased abruptly. Kenny was tracking him too.

  Palming a couple of stones, he waited two counts. He hurled them in the direction of the old twenty-mule-team wagon perched to the side of the ruins, a source of fascination for scores of travelers every season. The rocks landed in a quiet patter, but it was enough. The footsteps stopped. Beckett counted silently to five and then launched a second stone, which pinged off the rear wagon wheel.

  A tiny light flicked to life, enough that Beckett caught a second of Kenny’s profile before he smothered his phone against his chest. Found you. Wary as a cat on the hunt, Kenny moved several feet away from Beckett, skirting the ruined wall, still unaware of Beckett’s position. The sight of Kenny standing there after he’d nearly killed them sent a hot streak of anger ripping through him.

  Because of Kenny, his pregnant wife was running through the desert, wh
ere a host of additional threats might harm her. The land surrounding the borax works was riddled with potential hazards: snakes, heat... She could fall, become dehydrated, lost... The list ballooned in his mind along with the ire. Jaw tight, he kept his thoughts from those scenarios and forced himself to breathe slowly through his nose. He had to keep it together and deal with Kenny.

  Kenny moved a step forward, close enough that Beckett caught the smell of cigarettes.

  Everything in him wanted to hurtle out of his hiding place and crush Kenny into the sandy ground. Instead he bent and picked up another rock. All he had to do was play the diversion game long enough for Laney to get away. Just like firefighting... Move the victim to safety and then deal with everything else.

  Give her another few minutes. When Kenny took a step to his right, Beckett readied his rock. He intended to land the rock on the other side of the wagon to mimic movement, but as soon as the pebble left his fingertips, Kenny jerked the light in Beckett’s direction.

  Before Beckett could work out what to do next, Kenny lunged, the knife flashing in his hand. There was nowhere to hide.

  Beckett had one second to grab at Kenny’s outthrust wrist to keep the blade from ripping into his abdomen. They went over backward, banging into the half-buried rocks, rolling over and over. Dust filled Beckett’s mouth and stung his eyes as they struggled.

  Kenny dug his elbow into Beckett’s chest. Beckett’s muscles locked tight as he held fast to Kenny’s wrist, but he knew he could not sustain the effort indefinitely. Kenny was younger and stronger, and he had not just run at breakneck speed to escape a car bearing down on him. Painstakingly, he freed his leg just enough. With a sudden motion, he rammed his knee into Kenny’s stomach. The breath whooshed out, followed by a grunt, and the knife spiraled away into the darkness. Both men scrambled up.

  Kenny panted, bent at the waist, head angled to keep Beckett in sight.

  Beckett’s breath was ragged too as he squared off. “No knife now, Kenny. Got any guts without it?”

  Kenny swiped at a dribble of blood on his chin. “Just as much as you had when you killed my sister with your bare hands. Did it make you feel like a man to kill her, tough guy?”

  “I didn’t...” Beckett broke off. It was a waste of effort trying to explain the truth again. Eyes on his opponent, he circled around until he could flick a glance toward the wide flat of desert beyond. Had Laney gotten away? He saw no sign of headlights on the road, but maybe she must have been able to place a call to Jude with his satellite phone, and maybe one to his cousin. Willow would only be twenty minutes away with the tour group by now. Maybe she had already started back.

  Kenny eased off a few steps. Retreating? Beckett didn’t think so. Kenny flicked a glance at his phone, reading the screen before his gaze locked on Beckett.

  What was going on? He remembered Rita’s attention to her cell phone after she’d returned from the horseback ride. “Getting a text from your pal Rita?”

  Kenny’s chin went up. “Who?” Too late.

  “You know her, don’t you?” He was deciding on his next question when Kenny put his head down and barreled toward him like a freight train. He wheeled back, sliding on the uneven surface, and went down on one knee. It was the opening Kenny needed to slam him backward. Beckett’s shoulders hit the rail fence. Wood fractured under his weight, and he tumbled through, cartwheeling down the slope until he landed at the bottom on hard-packed ground.

  He was up again in a moment, hands fisted, ready for Kenny’s next assault. Pain throbbed in his ribs, and he felt dizzy, but he shook the feelings off. “Come on down here, Kenny,” he shouted. “We can go another round. As many as you want.”

  But Kenny didn’t follow, staring down at Beckett. Was he pulling a gun? There was no place for Beckett to go. A gun would mean game over for him...but not for Laney. He tensed as Kenny cocked his head as if he was waiting.

  Something was wrong. There was a detail he’d overlooked. What was it? What message had Kenny gotten on his phone? “What are you waiting for?” he hollered. “Don’t want to get your clothes dirty?”

  A scream cut the darkness. Beckett’s soul split in two as he realized it was Laney.

  Kenny laughed, tipped his face up to the sky and chortled.

  Beckett finally understood his own stupidity.

  While he had been trying to buy time, so had his opponent.

  Kenny had not come alone.

  TEN

  Laney’s scream echoed across the flat ground, shrill and sharp. The hulking shadow some fifty yards behind her seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, materialized from the sand itself.

  It was not Beckett; the silhouette was too short, too wide. She did not think it was Kenny either, from how Beckett had described him. There was no shouted offer of help, no attempt at introductions from the stranger, just the relentless, steady progress of the heavy booted feet. No engine noise indicated he’d emerged from a car, and the long, lonely road wasn’t the place people went for walks. Miles from anywhere, or anything, it was completely deserted.

  Beckett had told her one time that dogs could ascertain the sum of a person’s character after one brief encounter. She didn’t need more than a glance now to know that this man meant to harm her. Whoever it was, his intent was clear. Catch her. To kill her? Her stomach coiled tight.

  Frantically, she scanned ahead. Nothing but a solitary two-lane road. On one side the shoulder flattened out into the endless expanse of dry earth without so much as a bush or a tree for concealment. On the other, more flat acres that eventually rose up to meet the rippling foothills that would be burnished gold in the daylight. At the moment they were inky outlines against a darker sky.

  She fought her rising panic. There had to be an escape, but where should she run? She’d been paralleling the road, dialing the phone as she went, but her fingers shook too badly and she had not yet been able to complete the call. Should she stop now and try again? But what about the man? Compromising, she texted Jude and Willow as she kept moving.

  Kenny at borax works with Beckett. Went for help. Heading east. Somebody following me. Scared.

  Jude would be able to figure out her general location, but what about Beckett? Had he been able to overcome Kenny? To escape?

  Kenny’s probably armed. He’ll kill you.

  ...it’s going to be the hardest thing he ever does in his entire miserable life.

  What if Kenny had already succeeded? And then he’d sent his compatriot to finish his terrible mission. The thought lodged in her throat, constricting her windpipe.

  Fear began to work its poison, paralyzing her limbs and nibbling away at her reason. Her body was depleted, exhausted, muscles too tired even to keep up a brisk walking pace, but still she forced herself to hurry on along the road. Something warm oozed into the back of her sock, blood from her heel scraping against her shoe.

  Ahead stretched the obsidian sky, washed with stars. No sign of Willow’s vehicle or any of the National Park Service personnel who had nightly patrols. Not even a single tourist in search of the ultimate stargazing.

  The man crunched along behind her, shoulders erect, unhurried, yet closing the distance between them anyway. Still no sign of any approaching cars.

  Figure it out, she commanded herself. Should she make for the foothills, where she might find a place to hide? But they were so distant, and her speed had dropped to little more than a fast hobble. There would be no outrunning her pursuer. Option B? Fight.

  Laney was not particularly athletic, nor competitive. Her foster parents had suggested she join the high school basketball team, but while her skills were decent, she had never acquired the thirst for winning like the other girls. Could she actually defend herself physically? A day ago she wouldn’t have thought so, but now it was the only way to save her baby’s life.

  What weapon could she possibly find to aid her on this
desolate patch of desert? She patted her pockets with clammy palms. There was nothing in there but a cell phone, and the lighter she always carried and...bug spray. She recalled the directions saying something about avoiding the eye area. Her fingers closed around the slender cylinder.

  Was it even good anymore? Had it expired?

  But she’d have to let him get close enough, and if it failed...

  She swallowed hard. Again she scanned for another idea, any other possible way to escape, evade or at least delay. There was not one ray of hope in the yawning emptiness all around her. Hardly able to draw breath, she took the spray from her pocket and eased the cap off. One try, one chance to save herself and her baby.

  Since her speed was already ebbing away, it was a small adjustment to slow a bit more. Now she could clearly hear him advancing, heavy steps crunching into the soil on the shoulder of the road, his breathing noisy. She let him close the gap even more, sending up a silent plea to the Lord for her and her child. Closer he came. The hair on her neck prickled.

  Closer.

  Still he hadn’t said a word.

  She allowed him two more steps before she whirled around, holding the canister chest high. Perhaps he would think it was pepper spray or mace.

  The man, she now saw, was heavily bearded, long hair snaking to his shoulders. He was somewhere in the neighborhood of his late sixties, she thought. He did not look startled that she’d spoken, nor interested in the weapon she held. “Who are you?”

  “Kenny’s uncle, Leonard.”

  “What do you want?”

  “You know.” He paused and spit on the ground.

  “My husband didn’t kill Pauline,” she blurted.

  He let out a hard laugh. “Course you’d lie for him.”

  “I’m not lying, and neither is Beckett.” She forced steel into her tone.

  He went silent then. Goose bumps stood up along her skin.

  She kept the spray aimed at him. “What do you intend to do, now that you’ve caught up with me?”