Eighteen

Mike Valenzuela had a friend in Parole and Probation, a man he’d used as a source of information when he was in the gangs unit. It was an excellent way of keeping tabs on gang members who’d been released from prison and were back on the street, with parole obligations. Even though he was no longer on the job, it was still a simple matter to ask questions about someone meeting probation requirements. Mike had been a highly respected officer. He was trusted.

“He’s making his weekly appointments, bringing in his chits for attending daily meetings at AA,” Mike told Paige and Preacher. “He’s working two nights a week in a soup kitchen and trying to get his old job back.”

“Soup kitchen?” Paige asked. She shook her head. “Hard to imagine.”

“This will be easier for you to imagine. He’s already trying to get his community service commitment bumped down and his probation appointments dropped from weekly to monthly. And…he’s living with a woman he met in treatment.”

“Oh, God,” Paige said. “Brie said something like that might happen….”

“It’s predictable, in fact,” Mike said. “They discourage any kind of involvement during the first year of sobriety—involvement with anybody, but especially another addict. Yet it happens all the time. Paige, it’s impossible to believe he’s forgotten about you, but his focus seems to be on lightening his sentencing burden right now. And maybe, a new woman.”

“He hasn’t called or anything,” she said. “You thought he might.”

“I did,” Mike said. “If his mission was still custody or having you reconsider the relationship, I would have expected a call before anything else, the reason being a phone call could really annoy the judge, but if he sets foot in Virgin River to harass or threaten you in any way, he’ll serve time. It’s a pretty good deterrent—especially to a man who’s been in jail. It ain’t pretty in there.”

“You think we can relax?” she asked.

“Just a little, maybe. Try to be alert. I think he’ll turn up again someday. Guys like him, they nurse grudges, rarely abandon obsessions, and I don’t believe they change. But he’s pretty busy right now. It could be ten years before you have to deal with him again.”

Preacher put his arm around her, pulling her close against him. “Just the same, will you check sometimes?”

“Absolutely,” Mike promised. “Every week.”

Preacher would have expected Paige to be at least somewhat relieved; there was no question Mike had delivered good news. But he found her to be sullen. Maybe a little depressed. When the day was at a close, their special time together, and he pulled her against him, he lifted her chin and asked, “Why aren’t you a little bit happy? Is it because you can’t trust him? Wes?”

“Oh, I can’t. We can’t. But it’s the idea that I might never be really free of him, and I brought this into your life. Insanity and trouble. Maybe even danger. Oh, John…What a bad deal you got with me.”

He smiled at her, touched her lips with his. “You can’t believe for one second that’s how I feel. Paige, I don’t care if you have an army of loaded Huns on your tail. The day you and Chris came into my life, that was the biggest miracle of my life. I wouldn’t trade you for anything.”

She tightened her arms around him. “Do you know you’re the sweetest man who ever lived?”

He laughed at her. “See, that’s the thing. Until you, I was just a fisherman and cook. Look at me now.” He grinned at her. “Now I’m not only the sweetest man alive, I’m like the world’s greatest lover.”

That was the beauty of John. He could turn her mood that fast, by simply speaking his mind. If there was one thing she understood about him—he said what he felt. “You think so, huh?” she asked, smiling back at him.

“Well, let’s see if I’m getting any better. How about that, huh?”

 

Joey had been the first to arrive when the baby, David, was only five days old. Then Grandpa Sam, who tried very hard not to impose but found that he couldn’t stay away. Mike, still parked out by Mel and Jack’s, took the sofa in the RV and gave Sam his bed. Then, one at a time, Jack’s sisters and a few nieces. Day after day, nearly every resident of Virgin River paid a call, bringing a covered dish or cake or plate of cookies. Weeks of visiting and celebrating seemed to pass quickly. The only member of Jack’s family who hadn’t yet arrived was Brie, who was in the middle of one of the biggest trials of her young career—a rape trial that had become a media circus.

 

May brought a bright sun and flowers and deer in the yard. And a baby who was held so often, he barely needed the sheets changed in the cradle. Jack was starting to wonder if other women had had babies before Mel, because he had never seen a transformation quite as startling. Quite as distracting. She dropped a lot of that baby fat quickly, thanks to the miracle diet of breast feeding. The first thing to happen—her beautiful face returned to its former oval shape with high cheekbones and she glowed with happiness. Everything about her seemed brighter. Although she complained that she had a long way to go to regain her figure, from his perspective, she’d never been sexier. He worshiped her body, especially after helping her deliver their son. Her belly slowly flattened out and her breasts were full and high; her laugh was quick and contagious. And when she held and nursed his son, she seemed to shine as though there was a light within her. To Jack, she was a vision. He was dead in love.

Jack was dying. He was splitting a lot more logs and trying to avoid seeing Mel in the shower. She was having a terrible effect on him. Without that baby between them, he found himself longing for the days when he would swoop her off her feet, up into his arms, bear her quickly to the bed and fall on her, hungry. Starving. And have her meet that hunger with her own, which was impressive. He found himself fantasizing about being a little wilder, ready to revisit that heat and power they had in the beginning, before she began to swell with little David; before he felt he had to protect her from the strength of his desire.

When he kissed her these days, when she opened her mouth under his and let his tongue inside, he would groan with such depth that she knew. And she would whisper against his lips, “Soon, Jack. Very soon.”

Not nearly soon enough, was all he could think. It had turned him selfish and impatient. Then Brie’s trial ended and she arrived. She needed a rest to recover from the trial that had gone badly for her; she needed to bond with her brother, sister-in-law and new nephew. While Jack was always happy to see his sister, especially to see her recovering very well from a difficult and disappointing trial and regaining her own former confidence in life since her divorce, the one thought that came to his mind was, now it’s going to be at least another week.

 

Brie found that life had changed in her brother’s little cabin in many ways. Mel and Jack were keeping the baby next to their bed, and in the night and in the early mornings, she could hear him stir, fuss, and then the soft murmurings of her brother and sister-in-law. She should have known that Jack would be awake for every feeding, often getting up with David, changing him, taking him back to the bed to Mel.

Another new development was that RV in the clearing. In the predawn hours, she would stealthily sneak out of the cabin and sit in one of the Adirondack chairs on the porch and listen to the soft melody of the Spanish guitar that came from the open window across the yard. He didn’t know she was there, that she listened, that the music stirred her. His right hand was still a little tentative as he pressed down against the strings, but with his left he plucked and strummed with skill. He stopped often to start over. She imagined that once his strength was completely restored, his guitar music must be nothing short of magnificent.

Sometimes she would lean back, close her eyes and imagine that he played for her. Mike. She’d first met him years before in Sacramento during Jack’s last leave before he left for Iraq, Jack’s final assignment. Brie was newly married then. She had seen him again at Mel and Jack’s wedding—they almost qualified as old friends. His name was really Miguel—she knew that. Although born in the U.S., he had managed to stay close to his cultural roots, the romance of his country. You could hear it in the music. That sexy Spanish guitar.

It had been more than six months since Brad had walked out on her. Soon she would be ready for a little attention from a man. But she would be more careful this time. She wasn’t going to get hooked up to another man who lacked the power of commitment. Brie knew all about Mike—he’d been around Jack a long time and he was a consummate flirt. He probably fancied himself the great Latin lover; she had heard he’d been though two wives and a hundred girlfriends. Small wonder. He was handsome and sexy. They probably fell at his feet. She would enjoy the music and the fantasy; the man was clearly poison.

Brie was having a wonderful visit. With baby in tow, she and Mel drove around the redwoods, went to Grace Valley to see their friends, shopped in the coastal towns, visited with the locals. Mel handled the baby with such ease, wearing him in a sling around her body. And when she felt like a break, she would lengthen the straps on that baby carrier so that they fit Jack just right and pass his son to him. People in Virgin River were getting accustomed to being served a drink by a man with a baby slung around him.

On a typical dinner hour at the bar, Mel left Brie and Mike at the table and handed off her son to her husband so she could visit the powder room. Every time she passed David to Jack, his eyes would grow soft and warm, filled with love and pride as he took the baby. And then as he watched his wife walk away from him, another expression would creep into his features. The angle of his gaze lowered to her butt, and there was tension in his jaw.

“My brother,” Brie said to Mike one day as they sat companionably together in the bar. “I never thought I’d see him like this, with a wife and son. He seems beyond happy. Though every once in a while I think I see a worried look on his face. Maybe he’s just overwhelmed by responsibility.”

“I’m not sure that’s what you’re seeing,” Mike said, having just watched Jack’s face. “I have four married brothers. Men talk.”

“What do they talk about?” she asked.

Instead of answering, he asked, “How old is David now?”

“Almost six weeks. Why?”

He smiled and covered Brie’s hand. “Why don’t you come fishing with me tomorrow? You can borrow Mel’s gear and her waders. We could stay out on the river for hours.”

She pulled her hand out from under his. “Oh, thanks, but Mel and I were going to—”

“You could tell Mel and Jack that you’re going to be out on the river for hours,” he said. “Hours.”

“But—”

He rolled his eyes. “Brie, you’d have a good time. I guarantee it.”

She leaned closer. “Listen, Mike—understand something. I’m here to see Mel and Jack and the baby, not to—”

He glanced at the bar and saw that Mel was back, retrieving the baby. “We should get away from them for a few hours. Believe me, I wasn’t thinking about us. I was thinking about them.

She glanced over her shoulder at her brother and sister-in-law. They kissed just briefly over the baby’s head. She glanced back at Mike. “You think?”

“I’ve seen that look before. If you go fishing with me tomorrow, you’re not going to see that look on your brother’s face after you get back. Most of those tense lines will be gone. I’m pretty sure of this.”

“What if I don’t much like fishing?” she said.

“Just say you’re going fishing. We’ll think of something else to do. Something that takes hours.

She leaned close to him. “Will you bring the guitar?” she whispered. She was answered by a look of shocked surprise.

When Mel came back to the table, Brie said, “Mel, would you be terribly disappointed if I went fishing with Mike tomorrow? If I borrowed your gear?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s okay. Gee, I didn’t know you liked to fish.”

“Well, I’m going to get a free lesson,” she said. “If you don’t mind, we’ll be gone most of the day.”

“That’s okay,” she said. “You about ready to head home?”

“Sure,” Brie said. “What time, Mike?”

“How about ten? I’ll get Preacher to pack us a lunch.”

When the women left, Mike wandered up to the bar. “How about a coffee?” he asked Jack.

“You got it,” he said, pouring a mug.

Preacher brought a crate of glasses out of the kitchen and slipped them under the bar. “Hey, Preach, can I get a favor?” Mike asked.

“What do you need, buddy?”

“I’m going to take Brie out to the river tomorrow. A little fishing. Can I get you to pack us a lunch? Something nice—so she thinks I’m debonaire? Maybe put a bottle of good wine in the basket?”

“Sure,” Preacher said, grinning.

Jack picked up a glass and used a dish towel to wipe out any water spots. “You thinking of messing with my little sister?” he asked. “Because she’s been through a tough time and doesn’t need—”

“No, Jack.” He laughed. “I’m not messing with anyone, trust me. But I figured if I kept her busy for a few hours, maybe you could mess with the baby’s mother.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed.

Mike sipped from his mug. “I’ll keep her out there through nap time,” he said. “Maybe a couple of nap times.”

Jack leaned closer to Mike. “You’d better not screw around with my little sister. Remember, I know you and your ways with women, and this is my sister we’re talking about.”

Mike laughed. “You think I’m looking to get shot again? Buddy, all that’s in the past. I promise you, I’ll treat Brie as a sister. You have nothing to worry about.”

“In the past, huh? And what brought that on?”

“Three bullets.” He drank a little of his coffee, left the mug on the bar and stuck his head in the kitchen. “Preach,” he called. “I’ll be by to get my lunch at about ten tomorrow. Okay?”

 

Jack found it strange that he felt even less confident about winning his wife’s affection now than he had back when he’d been pursuing her. He greatly regretted that he hadn’t said anything to her about the fact that they could have some time alone together—a major tactical miscalculation. He should have gotten an answer from her, because he dreaded going out to the cabin, lusty, all steamed up, only to have her tell him it was too soon, that she wasn’t ready.

But he’d said nothing, opting for a more romantic approach, surprising her in the middle of the day, wooing her, seducing her. She had also known that Brie would be out with Mike for most of the day, and Mel was not shy. She could have suggested they take advantage of the opportunity. And she hadn’t.

How does a guy know when his wife is ready for sex, right after having a baby? He knew the postpartum bleeding had long since stopped because he was the guy who threw the daily trash into the back of his truck to take into town to pitch in the Dumpster. Those little Peripads had dwindled and disappeared, replaced by more of the neat little disposable diaper bundles. And Mel’s movements had gone from slow to spry; she had stopped complaining about soreness and there were no more bathtub soaks as of at least three weeks ago.

The closer he got to the cabin, the more thought he gave this adventure. She was having her appointment with John Stone in less than a week to be sure everything was all right after the birth—she was undoubtedly waiting for that. When he got there, he found her finishing up with David’s bath in the kitchen. “Well, well,” she said, smiling. “I don’t often see you in the middle of the morning.”

“It’s real quiet at the bar,” he said idly.

“When I’m finished here, I have to feed David and put him down,” she said. And then she cooed and smiled and made faces at the baby, consumed by his needs. “Then I’ll get to you,” she said. Again, she had her face in David’s, kissing him, making funny little noises at him.

Jack went out onto the porch. He sat on the steps and hung his head. He felt like a brute. Like a horny bull who was about to steal the milk out of his baby’s mouth. This was no way to claim your conjugal rights—by jumping on the first opportunity you saw to take advantage of your own wife.

He took a deep breath and lectured himself. Have a cup of coffee with your woman, he said to himself. Spend a little time with her, talk to her, work into the conversation in a soft and gentlemanly manner that you can’t wait for her to be ready to take you into her bed again, in that meaningful way. Ask her if she was waiting for an all-clear from her doctor, and for God’s sake, take it slow. Give her all the time she needs—everything will be better that way. Being too hot to handle wasn’t going to win any points now—she had a baby to think about.

“What are you doing out there?”

He turned to see her standing in the cabin door, wearing only his shirt. His heart was going to explode. He took in her full chest, her slim legs.

“You don’t even have your boots off. I could have sworn you showed up to get reacquainted with your wife’s body.”

He swallowed. “Is that gonna happen?” he asked tentatively. Hopefully.

“Not a moment too soon,” she said. And she turned and walked back into the house.

His boots were off on the porch, his shirt was off in the living room, his pants were down and kicked away in the bedroom doorway.

Mel lay back on the bed, barely covered by his shirt. She began to slowly unbutton it, starting at the top. Easy, boy, he told himself. You’d better find out what you’re dealing with. She did just have a baby. He lay down beside her, brought her against him and, kissing her, holding her, he asked, “Are you okay with this? You’re sure?”

“Jack, I’ll never be exactly as I was before the baby. My body has changed.”

“You’re kidding me, right? Your body is amazing to me. After what you did—I’m almost envious, in a weird way. I worship this body.”

She laughed at him. “You know the last two or three months?”

“Yeah?”

“All the things we would have done if we hadn’t been so incredibly pregnant? If we hadn’t just had a baby?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you please do all those things to me now? One at a time. Until you’re almost dead from exhaustion. Please?”

“Oh, yeah!”

She opened the shirt to reveal her naked body, the sight of which he drank in greedily. She was fuller, rounder, so lush; there was a new richness to her shape that blew his mind. “Get started, big boy. I am insane, I want you so bad.”

“Melinda,” he said, filling his hands with her sweet body. “Have I told you how much I like being married to you?”

“Shh. Just show me.”

 

Mike hadn’t asked that the wine be packed in the picnic to get Brie relaxed or talking. He’d just thought it would be a nice touch, since he was pretty sure they wouldn’t be fishing. And he was right about that. Instead, they drove through a redwood grove and down to the lower, more shallow, end of the river where the bank was wide and peppered with large rocks. He spread a blanket against a huge boulder near the river’s edge, under the canopy of tall trees. And there wasn’t much to do on a picnic besides talk, and at her insistence, attempt the guitar. His music was so rusty, he hated subjecting her to it, but she seemed not to notice his many mistakes. She leaned back against the boulder and closed her eyes, her lips curved in a half smile, listening to him play. In years gone by, Mike would’ve had her down on the blanket by now—but those were years gone by.

It was hard to imagine this tiny, young-looking woman as one of the toughest prosecutors in the Sacramento Valley. She was a little thing in slim jeans and moccasins, a light blue chambray shirt tied at the waist. Her hair was loose, a thick, light-brown mane that fell down her back almost to her waist. She had the most flawless ivory skin that would feel like silk under a man’s hands. As he played, she let her warm brown eyes drift closed; her rosy lips tilted in appreciation.

Brie shivered in the breeze and Mike put aside the guitar. He went back to the car and got his jacket out of the backseat. He took it to her, spreading it over her shoulders, and watched, his eyes warming, as she pulled it tighter around her. Then he saw her sniff the collar and he grew weak. He did not think of her as a sister.

“Judging by your music, the arm is almost fully recovered,” she said.

“Almost back,” he said, sitting on the blanket again. “I think I’m going to recover one hundred percent, or damn close.”

“And everything else is healed, right?”

“Not everything,” he surprised himself by saying. “Every once in a while I have trouble getting the right word and I worry about my brain—but I notice that more than anyone else, so I could be overreacting. And I was shot in the groin. Bad spot.”

“Oh,” she said. He could tell she didn’t want to ask.

“Nothing life-threatening,” he said. Nothing for you to worry about, he wanted to add. You don’t have to go to Jack and ask if they shot it off.

“And you’re thinking of staying here?”

“Why not?” he said with a shrug. “My friends are here. It’s quiet and peaceful. There’s no pressure.” He laughed a little. “I’ve had enough of that. I’ve lived in your world. When I was on the job, I worked with a lot of D.A.’s. You’re what—thirty? Thirty-one? And locking people up for a living?”

“As many as possible. And I’m thirty. Thirty and already married and divorced.”

“Hey, that’s not exactly a scar on your face, Brie. The way Jack tells it, it didn’t have anything to do with you.”

“How does Jack tell it?” she asked him.

Mike looked down. Blunder number two, he thought. First, the shot to the groin, then the divorce tales. He raised his eyes. “Jack said that Brad wanted the divorce. That you were devastated.”

“Brad cheated on me with my best friend,” she said. “He left me and moved in with her and I pay him alimony. Her husband pays her alimony and child support. I gave him a big check for his half of the house and you know what he said? He said, ‘Brie, I hope we can be friends.’” She gave a little laugh that carried all the weight of her anger.

“Ah, Dios,” he said. “I’m so sorry that happened. Tu no mereces esto. You don’t deserve that,” he translated.

“What is it with some men?” she asked him angrily. “Why would a guy do something like that?”

He laughed ruefully. “At least I never did that,” he said, mostly to himself. And then he wondered how he had managed to escape that indiscretion.

“I’m sure you have a multitude of things to be forgiven for,” she said.

“You know what, Brie? I made so many mistakes, I can’t even count ’em. And I know better than to think I’ll ever be forgiven. If I made a million mistakes, I had at least that many excuses. Brad might end up like me—really sorry. And really too late.”

“Cops,” she said with some disgust. “You guys.”

“Aw, come on—it’s not just cops. Although, I’ll grant you, a lot of guys with slick uniforms and a gun can make it with the girls pretty easy. But if that’s the kind of guy he turned out to be, you’re better off.”

“Are your ex-wives better off without you?”

“You have no idea,” he answered with an embarrassed shake of his head.

“Small comfort,” she said.

“Brie, you’re beautiful and brilliant and strong. A man who would cheat on someone like you, just flat-ass doesn’t deserve you.” He reached out and covered her hand with his. “You are too valuable, Brie, to be stuck with a man like that.”

She pulled her hand out from under his. “And what did you do to screw up your marriages?”

“I was completely irresponsible,” he said. “I knew how to be a lover, not how to love. Men take such a long time to become men, I think. Women have it easier—you at least grow up before you’re old.”

“You think you’ve finally grown up, huh?”

“Possibly,” he said with a shrug. “Nearly getting killed tends to get your attention.”

“What if you could start over? What would you change?”

He thought for a moment. “For starters, I wouldn’t marry so fast. Not until I found the right woman, the kind of feeling that leaves no doubt. Jack did it right—he avoided commitment until the real thing came along. So did Preacher, although I’m not sure he did that on purpose. It’s obvious they found that lifetime thing, that forever thing, though it didn’t come to either of them early. Or easily. I didn’t wait for that. I prowled and hunted, but I think the hunt was more important to me than what I would catch.” He lifted his dark brows. “I admit I was stupid. Oh, mija, you don’t know what I’d give to start over.” He leaned toward her and said, “If I had a woman like you in my life, I think I would know what I had.”

She laughed at him. “Good God, you’re so obvious. You’re coming on to me!”

Some habits die so hard, he thought. But he was close enough to smell her sweet perfume and it addled his brain a little bit. “Dios, no! I wouldn’t dare! I’m admiring you, that’s all.”

“Well, you can stop admiring me—I’m never getting within a hundred miles of another one of you.”

“Another one of—me?”

“You’ve been through two wives and a million other women. Not exactly a good résumé, Mike.”

He leaned back on his hands and smiled at her. “For a little while, I thought you liked me.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “I’m not about to be tricked by a flirtatious man.”

He shrugged. “If you are, it will be kept in confidence, Brie,” he said, smiling at her.

“This is a beautiful place,” she said. “Why are there no fishermen?”

“It’s too shallow here for the bigger fish. This is where the young people come to be alone,” he said. “Down here where the grass is soft, the trees tall, and there are a few large boulders to hide behind. The river whispers past them while they whisper to each other. That old rock you’re leaning against—it has seen some delicious things.”

“The most delicious thing it’s going to see today is Preacher’s lunch,” she said, but she smiled when she said it.

“Thank God,” he said, teasing. “I admit, I was pretty worried. I wondered—if I gave you wine and music and you began to seduce me, how would I—”

“Get out of it?” she asked, amused.

“Not exactly, mija.” He grinned. “How would I keep Jack from killing me.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Mike, it’s not personal, but Jack isn’t in charge of what I do. He thinks he is. But he’s not.”

“Big brothers,” Mike said. “Very annoying people…” Then he sobered and said, “I am sorry about the divorce, Brie. And the trial. I don’t know many of the details, but Jack said it was a terrible experience for you.”

“Worse than terrible,” she said. She pulled her hair out of the collar of his jacket and shook it down her back, looking upward. He found himself hoping a few strands would remain when he reclaimed it. “There are a lot of scary people out there to put away, some worse than others. It was a hard one to lose…one of the biggest trials of my career—a serial rapist—and I lost. He walked, and he’s guilty as hell. That’s not going to happen to me again.”

“What went wrong?”

“My witnesses, my victims ran like rabbits. I can’t prove it, but I suspect he threatened them. If I ever get another crack at him, I’m going to put him away for life. But that kind of criminal just pulls a territorial. He’s going to get out of town—it’s what they do.”

“It took a lot of strength to take that on,” he said in admiration. “You’re amazing.” He stood up and put out his hand to her. “You’re welcome to come back in a little while and break my heart, mija,” he said. “But right now, let’s go back to town. Let’s grab a cup of coffee and give the lovers another hour together.”

“Breaking a few hearts interests me,” she said, putting her hand in his to stand. But when they were both standing, she didn’t pull her hand away.

He should have let go and stooped to gather up their blanket, but he didn’t want to release her hand, small and soft but strong in his. He smiled at her. “I think the last time I had this feeling come over me when a girl held my hand, I was thirteen. You’ll be good at it, I think. Breaking hearts.” Still, she didn’t pull away, didn’t break the spell. It was he who finally let go, stooping to close up their basket, pick up the blanket. He handed her the folded blanket. “Thank you for today, Brie.”

“It was a nice day,” she said, her smile genuine. “You didn’t seem to have any trouble finding the right word.”

And, Mike thought, there are no words for what I’m starting to feel….

 

Paige walked out the bar’s back door with a plastic garbage bag in her hand, tied off tightly so as to not let a whiff of garbage escape to tempt the wildlife. She went across the wide dirt yard where she, John, Jack and often Rick liked to park their vehicles. The Dumpster sat under a big old tree and was used by everyone on the street, not just the bar. She lifted the heavy lid, but before she could toss the bag in, her wrist was grabbed in a vicelike grip and she was pulled around to the side, out of sight of the bar or the street. The garbage bag dropped to the ground and she felt something hard and cold under chin. She gasped, staring into the lethal eyes of her ex-husband, the business end of a rifle lifting her chin.

“You made this easy,” Wes Lassiter said, his voice low and dangerous. “I thought I’d have to go in after you. We have two choices. You can come with me right now, nice and quiet, or we can walk back in through that door, do a little shooting in the right places, and get my son.”

“Wes,” she whispered. “God. No.”

“You did this to me, Paige. You could always find a way to provoke me, to make me crazy. You sent me to fucking prison!

“Please,” she begged softly. “Anything…”

“Go ahead, Paige. Try me. It’s just you, right now. Or the three of us, and him out of the picture.”

She blinked once, tears squeezing out of her eyes and running down her cheeks. Instead of praying John would hear and come, she prayed he wouldn’t. If it was just her, Christopher would be all right. John would never let anything happen to him, would raise him right. She let herself be led to an old truck that sat behind the Dumpster. He pushed her in through the driver’s door, slipping in next to her.

“Wes,” she said, her voice shaking, tears running down her cheeks. “You’re just going to make this so much worse. Not just for me, but for you.”

He turned to look at her, his eyes narrowed, but even so she could see that his pupils were pinpoints. He was high. He laughed cruelly. “I don’t think so, Paige,” he said. “I’m finally going to get out of this mess.” He started the truck, cut a U-turn behind the Dumpster and drove in the opposite direction of the bar rather than past it. Paige strained, but didn’t see a single person on the street, no one on their porches. And no one saw her as far as she could tell.

She knew better than to try to reason with him. This surpassed any nightmare of her life. She knew that John wouldn’t let very much time pass before looking out the kitchen’s back door to see that bag of trash lying there, abandoned. She made up her mind—she would throw herself from the truck and if she survived it, she’d run. But not until they were farther away from town. Not until John had time to see something was terribly wrong and could protect himself and Christopher.

Wes didn’t speak. The rifle lay across his lap and he sat forward in the truck, gripping the steering wheel. That tense jaw and the narrowed eyes that she remembered too well bore down on the road as they trundled along. The shocks on the truck were bad, the seat hard, bouncing her around. They were driving down the mountain, heading in the direction of Highway 101, which could take them to any of the local cities where they bought supplies—Garberville, Fortuna or Eureka. Or even as far south as L.A. if he kept going. They only passed a few vehicles, and none that she recognized.

After ten minutes of a silent drive, he exited at Alder-point and went back up the mountain in the direction of Virgin River. This road could take them not through Virgin River, but around it. At least she knew roughly where she was. In a sudden and desperate move, she grabbed at the handle on the door and furiously tried to open it. She looked around for a lock, pushing on the door at the same time, but it wouldn’t give. She popped the little button on the door next to the window—up and down, up and down, moving the handle, pushing. Nothing.

Her upper arm was gripped hard and she turned her watering, terrified eyes toward Wes. He scowled blackly, then his frown dissolved into mean grin. “Jammed, Paige. How stupid do you think I am?”

She swallowed hard and asked, “Do you plan to leave our son without a mother?”

“Absolutely,” he said with terrifying calm. “But not until I’m sure I’m leaving him without a potential stepfather.”

“God,” she whispered weakly. “Why, Wes? John hasn’t done anything to you!”

“No?” he asked. “Only took my family away from me. Got my family to turn against me.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, that’s not what happened, Wes. I ran from you.”

“Sure you did, Paige. And if it wasn’t for that guy, you’d still be running. Running and running, and I would find you and find you. But what you did—ending it forever and sending me to fucking prison, that was his doing. We both know you don’t have the guts for that.” He turned his head toward her and grinned meanly. “He’ll come after you, you know he will.”

I’m bait, she thought. Nothing but bait.

“I wouldn’t mind a piece of that other one, either,” he said. “Sheridan.”

Something came over Paige. It seemed to rise within her from her core. You don’t have the guts for that…. The thought that this dangerous lunatic would ruthlessly, without conscience, hurt John and his own son sizzled inside her like boiling oil. Her fear slowly gave way to rage. “You’re going to burn in hell,” she whispered. But he couldn’t hear her above the noise of the old pickup.

 

When Brie and Mike walked into the bar it was deserted, but they could hear Preacher in the kitchen, and even muffled, his voice sounded riled up. Mike walked back to the kitchen to find him pacing with the phone in his hand, talking faster than Mike could ever remember; Preacher never said much, and when he did, it was measured and slow. Not so now. Before he could get a grasp of what Preacher was saying, he heard, “Mike’s back. Come on, then. Right now.”

Preacher hung up the phone and looked at Mike. “Something’s wrong. Something happened. Paige. She took out some trash and she’s gone. It’s lying out there on the ground by the Dumpster and she didn’t come back in. I’ve got Chris sleeping upstairs and can’t leave. I called Jack—he’s coming back to town.”

“Did you call Connie’s? Doc’s?”

“Yeah, she’s not there.”

“How long ago?” Mike asked.

“Fifteen minutes or less. I would’ve looked outside sooner, but I was rolling dough and thought maybe she’d slipped by me and just went to our room. I gotta go down the street, see if she’s around….”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll go, too,” Mike said. “Brie will stay here, stay with Chris.”

“It’s wrong,” Preacher said, shaking his head. “This is all wrong. She doesn’t do things like this. She always says where she’s going. She’s real, real careful.”

Mike and Brie connected eyes. Brie frowned. “Go check with the neighbors.” She slipped a hand inside her purse and pulled out a wallet. She opened it and withdrew a business card and lifted the phone off the hook. Preacher was out the back door, fast.

“What are you thinking?” Mike asked.

She leveled her steady gaze on him. “That it’s wrong, like he said. Go on, and hurry back. Maybe you can get one of the neighbors to help you knock on doors. I’ll make a couple of calls. See if I can learn anything.”

Mike went the other direction, back to his SUV. He unlocked the glove box and pulled out his revolver, just to be ready. He hooked it on his belt and caught up with Preacher down the street. By the time they got down to Joy’s house and the Carpenters’, they had two women who were willing to do the door-knocking so they could go back to the bar. “Be sure to ask, everywhere you go, if any strange vehicles have been seen, if any unusual noises were heard,” Mike instructed.

Just as they returned, Jack was getting out of his truck followed by Mel with the baby bundled against her. Rick pulled up behind the bar, reporting to work after school. They all walked in together to find Brie standing behind the bar, a very unhappy look on her face. “Okay,” she said. “The A.D.A. is contacting the sheriff and local police in the larger towns. Someone is going to try to locate Lassiter in L.A., see if he can be found. I’ve reported Paige missing. Maybe this can be cleared up with a few phone calls. Meanwhile, let’s see if we can find her around here.”

Preacher’s face fell. “Oh, Jesus,” he said in a breath. “He did this. I know he did this….”

“We don’t know that he came here, Preacher,” Brie said.

“That’s the only thing that could’ve happened. Paige wouldn’t disappear like that. Her car’s here, f’chrissakes. Her purse. Her son!

“There’s no evidence of a crime. Yet,” Brie said. She reached into her purse again, this time pulling out a Glock 9 mm. She slid it out of its holster and checked it for a full magazine and one in the chamber, then returned it, tucking it into the holster and her purse. “You men should go look around town, call the outlying farms and ranches from Connie’s and Doc’s to keep this phone clear. Somebody look in that old church, very carefully,” she said. “Mel and I will stay here with Chris, and if we have any trouble, I can take care of it. I’ll answer the phone here.”

“You’re carrying?” Mike asked, stepping toward her.

“Hmm. It was necessary,” she said. “And yes, I know how to use it. And no, I’m not afraid to do so.”

Preacher was already out the door when Jack said, “Necessary?”

“It’s not all that unusual to be threatened,” she said. “Not for a person in my job. The people I prosecute are dangerous, often violent. And…I no longer have an armed husband in the house, you’ll remember.”

“Brie…”

“Not now, Jack.”

“Yeah,” he said unhappily. The idea of his baby sister being threatened just added to the tension he was suddenly feeling. He agreed with Preacher—something bad was going on. Paige had relaxed quite a bit, but she was still very skittish about being far from Preacher—it had only been about eight weeks since Lassiter got out of jail. He went to use Doc’s phone to get Jim Post en route to Virgin River from Grace Valley, in case they had to extend their search. Jim had worked undercover for the DEA before retiring and marrying June Hudson and he knew a lot about hidden camps back in the mountains.

In an hour nothing turned up in town, nor had anyone on the ranches and farms they called seen or heard anything. But then the bad news came via phone. A couple of calls had revealed that Wes Lassiter had purchased airfare to Eureka from L.A. the day before. He couldn’t possibly have carried a firearm with him unless it had been secretly and illegally packed in checked baggage, but he had rented a car. And there had been one truck theft in Fortuna in the early hours of the morning. A farmer’s ’83 Ford, tan, went missing. There had been a rifle in the rack.

“He’s got her,” Preacher said. “That’s it, he’s got her.”

“If that’s true, they’re going to find that rented car not far from the farmer’s property,” Brie said. “Fortuna police are taking a look around immediately.”

Preacher went straight to his quarters while everyone stood around, looking at one another. Within five minutes he was back, putting a couple of vests, rifles and sidearms on one of the tables. He also had jackets and flashlights, because night would come and it would get cold and dark. He was ready to move, whether or not he had more information.

Mike went to his vehicle and came back with his own rifle, bulletproof vest and down vest. There was no reason for him to carry a bulletproof vest in his vehicle, but when he worked gangs he always had it with him, in case anything that included gunfire was going down when he was in the area. Ever since Lassiter was released, he’d been at the ready.

Jack shook his head and left to fetch gear from the back of his own truck. When he’d been throwing stuff in the back of the truck, he’d been thinking—she’ll turn up. It’ll end up she was down the street, sitting on Lydie Sudder’s porch, having tea, enjoying the afternoon sunshine. But Preacher didn’t overreact, and on the off chance something sinister was going on, Jack wanted to be prepared. Mel had said, “Oh, for the love of God! Isn’t this a little over the top?”

“I hope so,” he had said. “I really hope so.”

When he got back inside, Rick was putting on one of the bulletproof vests. “Uh, Rick. I’m thinking the women could use someone here in town….”

“Get Doc,” Rick said, pulling on the vest, very big on him because it was one of Preacher’s, and slapping the Velcro straps tight. “Doc can help over here. He’s a fair shot.”

Now, shrugging into his own flak jacket, Jack said to Preacher, “Tell me your plan.”

“I’m sorry, Jack. My head is empty. I just know I have to try to find her.”

“Right. Okay, here’s the deal. The sheriff, Highway Patrol and Department of Forestry will be getting descriptions of vehicles and Paige. They’ll have control of the roads, so we’ll concentrate on going back in the woods. We’ll look for old logging roads or broken-down brush indicating a vehicle passage. If he has that old truck, he won’t be off road—he’ll need a road to traverse. We’ll wait for Jim Post. He knows the area pretty well—maybe better than we do. We’ll concentrate on finding campsites, evidence of movement, maybe a hidden vehicle….”

“He could be far away by now,” Rick interrupted.

“No, he’s not going far,” Preacher said. “He can’t get away, not with Paige. Paige has changed since him—she doesn’t go along quietly anymore. This show-off guy with the three-million-dollar house—he’s not running back to L.A., to some cheap-ass hovel with the woman he thinks is his woman. If he’s got her, he had to kidnap her. He’s not running. He’s hiding. He’s gonna do something bad.”

“Preacher could be right,” Mike said. “Rick, we need maps of Trinity and Humboldt counties. Run over to Connie’s and get some. We’ll plot a course, select rendezvous points. That way we can get back here for new information. Jack, got a couple cases of bottled water?”

“Done.”

“Preacher, are there pictures of Paige somewhere? Maybe in her wallet?”

“I’ll see,” he said, going immediately.

People started moving again, getting things handled. About forty minutes had passed as they gathered up weapons and studied maps when Jim Post walked in, already fully dressed out—the flak jacket under his shirt obvious, wearing sidearms. He took a glance at the search rings and rendezvous points when the phone rang in the kitchen. Brie went to answer it and came back into the bar, grim-faced. “It’s not good news. Fortuna found the rented car. I’m afraid it’s got to be him. In the truck.”

Preacher went to Mel, who stood nervously jiggling the baby against her shoulder. “Mel, Chris is gonna be up from his nap pretty soon. You can keep him from getting worried, can’t you?”

“Sure,” she said. She put her small hand against his face and said, “It’s going to be okay.”

His eyes closed briefly. “It’s already not okay, Mel.”

“John?” came a small voice. There, standing in the doorway from the kitchen, was Chris with his favorite snugly toy, the one with the blue-and-gray plaid flannel leg. “What’cha doing, John?”

Preacher’s face melted into a soft smile and he went to the boy. He lifted him into his arms. “Huntin’,” he said. “Just a little huntin.’”

“Where’s Mom?”

Preacher kissed his pink cheek. “She’ll be back pretty soon. She’s off on errands. And you’re going to stay with Mel and Brie while we’re huntin’.”

 

While Wes drove, he talked. He didn’t look at Paige—his eyes were roving a little wildly, as though looking for something he’d misplaced. She wondered if it was drugs or if he was lost back in these hills, for he often seemed to be driving in circles. He’d start up a road, then either turn around or back out. But while this was going on, she listened.

She learned how much he hated his life in L.A.; the woman was just a means to an end—she had a place he could stay. There was no way he was going to check in with some state flunky every week, go to those stupid meetings every day, but he knew how to play the game. And they had random drug tests, he said. “Did you know that? They want my pee on a regular basis.” Then he laughed. “There’re a lot of places to get good pee.” And that’s when she knew—he’d managed to stay one step ahead of them for at least two months. He was using something, and if he wasn’t already just plain crazy, the drugs were helping it along.

Paige didn’t respond. She listened and watched. Not only was it dark back here in the trees on these winding roads, but the sun was lowering. Although it was May, it was cold in the forest at night and she shivered. She had no idea where they were.

“You have any idea what it’s like in jail?” He turned his face sharply toward her. “Ever see a prison movie, Paige? It’s worse than the worst prison movie you ever saw.”

She lifted her chin, thinking, Do they beat you, Wes? What’s that like? Huh? But she said nothing.

“Still can’t believe you did that to me. I just fucking can’t believe it! Like you didn’t know how much I loved you! Jesus, I gave you everything. Ever think you’d live in a house like the one I built you? Ever think so? I took you out of that dump you were in and put you in a decent place, a place with some class. What did you ever need that I didn’t give you?” And on and on he ranted. While she listened, the first thought that came was that he was so delusional, it was as shocking as frightening. He really believed that a nice house, some material things, could make the abuse tolerable.

She thought about John—kind, loving John. She remembered what he’d said about being afraid. They teach you to fake brave. Every muscle in her body seemed to tremble with her rising anger. She would be damned if she’d let this delusional maniac take that sweet man away from her, away from Chris.

And the next thing that occurred to her—he never mentioned Christopher. Not since earlier, as he was abducting her—and that was only to leverage her, not because he wanted his son. He’d never wanted a son, never wanted children at all. He hadn’t touched her sexually while she was expecting; it was as if a baby coming disrupted his focus. It was always supposed to be just the two of them.

She should have known those fierce beatings had been intended so that she’d lose the baby. It was a miracle she had Chris.

He drove up a spiraling road that ended at the top of a small rise with only a few trees. Looking down, she could see not only the road that wound its way upward, but the connecting road below. She noted a truck down there, whizzing past and disappearing around the mountain.

“This should be fine,” he said, putting the truck in Park and killing the engine.

“Fine for what?” she asked.

He looked over at her, and while his expression was mean, he put his hand against her cheek. Gently. She shuddered at his touch. He hadn’t hit her yet, and that’s what he did best.

“Why didn’t you just run?” she asked in a whisper. “If you didn’t want to face court again, or the possibility of prison, why didn’t you run? You have money, Wes. You might’ve gotten away.”

He gave a huff of laughter. “You don’t understand much about probation, do you, Paige? My passport was confiscated. Besides, the more I thought about it, about you and me, I decided it would go better like this. We’ll just end it like this.” He gave her a half smile, then reached under the seat and grabbed on to a roll of heavy duct tape. “Come on, Paige. We’re getting out here.”

 

Jack, Preacher, Jim Post, Mike and Rick lit out at about four, an hour after Paige went missing. They left a rough map behind showing the same rendezvous points as the ones on the map Jack carried. They’d cut widening circles around Virgin River. If they didn’t find anything right away, they planned to swing back through town by eight, and again by midnight, to see if Paige had turned up or been recovered by police. But none of them planned to quit before she was found. They left in two trucks, drove first north of town into the hills. They parked along a wide curve in the road and, with flashlights, went into the trees on foot, looking for any kind of trail to track.

Whenever they came across a home or vehicle, they stopped and showed a picture of Paige and gave descriptions of the stolen truck and Wes Lassiter.

When they went back to Virgin River at eight, they found Buck Anderson and his three grown sons, Doug Carpenter and Fish Bristol, Ron and Bruce, and a few other men. Everyone took a glance at the map and this time they headed toward Highway 36, winding up into the mountains of Trinity County. Brie was able to tell them that the sheriff’s department and CHP had nothing new to report.

While the majority of the trucks of men pressed on, Jack, Preacher and Jim stopped in Clear River. While Preacher and Jim talked to people on the street, Jack went into an old, familiar haunt of his—a little bar served by a waitress he’d been seeing before Mel came into his life. He viewed sentimentally the way her eyes lit up when she saw him enter. Charmaine was a handsome woman, older than Jack by about ten years, and one of the most kindhearted women he knew.

“Hiya, Bub. It’s been a long time.”

“Charmaine,” he said with a nod. “I’m not here on a social call. Woman from our town has gone missing,” he said, flashing a picture. “We suspect an abusive ex-husband, recently released from jail. The woman, her name is Paige, is my cook’s girl.”

“Aw Jesus, Jack, that’s awful.”

“Everyone’s out looking. Can I get you to spread the word to anyone who happens in here for a drink?”

“You bet I will.”

So Jack described the missing truck, the ex-husband, and explained they weren’t positive of the connection, but it was likely he had her—Paige was afraid of him and wouldn’t have gone off. Her car and purse were left behind.

“I’ll tell anyone who’ll listen,” she promised.

“Thanks.” He turned to go and then turned back. “I’m married now.”

She gave a nod. “I heard that. Congratulations.”

“We have a new baby. A son. About six weeks ago.”

She smiled. “It worked out, then.”

He gave a nod.

“You wouldn’t have been worth a damn if it hadn’t.”

“That’s the God’s truth. Anything you can do about this, Charmaine, I’d consider it a personal favor.”

“I wouldn’t be doing it for you, Jack. We all help one another out in times like this. Bet it’s cold out there, even though it’s almost summer. I hope she’s okay.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Me, too.”

When he left, a man in a denim jacket who wore a shady brady on his head slid down from the other end of the bar, sidling closer to Charmaine. “What was that?”

“You want to talk now?” she asked with a smile, giving the bar a wipe. “You probably heard—a woman from Virgin River’s gone missing. They suspect her ex-husband, just out of jail, maybe driving a stolen ’83 Ford truck. Tan.”

“That a fact?” He finished his beer, put down a ten dollar bill, touched his hat and quit the bar.

 

Paige understood what was happening now. Wes sat her on the ground, her back up against a tree, and with duct tape, bound her hands in front of her, her ankles together, and put a strip across her lips. “That looks good on you, Paige,” he said. “You can’t talk back for once.”

He positioned a couple of flashlights on her to bring her into sight in the dark. Then for the better part of an hour, sat on the ground not far from her and talked about the disappointments of his life, from the unhappy childhood he’d suffered to the short jail term, which to hear him describe it could’ve been years. He had many complaints about their marriage—apparently in his mind, the strife had been entirely her fault. She drove him to abuse with her needling, her dissidence. But he spoke slowly. He had the calm and stoic composure of a suicidal man.

He had decided that Paige would draw John in search, and perhaps Jack, as well; they weren’t far away from the town, which was why it had seemed he was driving in circles. Up here, he would see their vehicles approach. When Wes was done talking, he left the truck on the top of the hill in plain view, close to where she sat, flipped on the flashlights and went into the trees from where he could watch the approach of any rescuers. He planned to shoot John, then Paige and himself. “I’m done with this charade,” he said. “You win.” He smiled. “Sort of.”

Though Paige, tape across her lips, couldn’t respond, he couldn’t stop her from thinking. And what she thought was, you have no idea about John. John and his friends. They’re not only stronger than you, they’re smarter. And then she closed her eyes and prayed, Please let them be the most clever they’ve ever been.

 

By the time the moon was rising, the search party was up to more than twenty men, some of whom were grumbling about the wisdom of searching the dense wood for Paige at night when she could already be in San Francisco or even headed for Los Angeles. And if she were being held in the wood, it could be impossible—she might be lost in the vast acreage and never found.

“Are you worried about not finding her, Preach?” Rick asked him.

“I’m worried about finding her too late,” he said.

They had traversed mountain roads, old logging roads, paths and trails, shone strong flashlights into ravines and gullies, but there was nothing. In the back of Jack’s truck were harnesses and ropes in case they saw something down a hill and had to rapell down the steep glide to get close, but so far that had not been necessary. Most of them were fighting exhaustion, but Preacher was driven, and as long as he was driven his friends hung in there with him.

 

A man who had no name other than Dan had been having a drink at a bar in Clear River when he overheard the details of the search in the area and he thought he’d seen the truck earlier. There was probably more than one old tan Ford around these hills, but there had been a man and woman inside; the man was gripping the wheel pretty intensely, glaring through the windshield, driving nervously. Dan was a trained observer and he had taken note of that before even hearing of the suspected abduction.

Dan was a known illegal grower in the area. He’d gotten a little friendly with other growers over time; they were a real tight-knit group. Slow to trust. They could sniff one another out easily—they bought the stuff growers bought, they carried chicken manure to their grow sites in the back of trucks, pulled wads of stinky bills out of their pockets, but they never showed one another their sites or plants. After about three years, he’d gotten into their circle.

Most of them lived with their grow, but Dan preferred hired help. That gave him the freedom to move around at will, rather than being stuck in one place. It also allowed him to set up a lot of grow sites all around the three counties. And live somewhere else, away from all those folks he’d worked so hard to get tight with.

Dan didn’t offer to join the search—they might have a problem with that. Nor did he mention he’d poke around on his own. But he’d been in that Virgin River bar a few times and had seen the woman, the cook’s girl. The owner’s wife, the local midwife, had done him a favor a while back; a woman who worked for him had surprised him with a baby coming and he thought he’d better get some help. Turned out to be a damned good thing he had. Without Mel Sheridan’s help, that baby wouldn’t have made it. That was not to mention that he’d rear-ended the midwife not so long ago and they’d been real civilized about it.

He’d spent a lot of time roaming back here in these mountains and knew his way around. He decided to have a look in places maybe no one else would think of. If anything turned up, maybe he could return a favor. Anonymously.

He knew exactly where to hide his truck off the roads, exactly where the abandoned logging roads and hidden trails were. He didn’t always wear a sidearm, but on this mission he did. If the woman had indeed been taken by a dangerous ex, it could get ugly. The night was dark, but he knew where he was going and kept the flashlight on dim, pointed down. From time to time he’d see that search convoy whir by in a fleet of trucks, so he knew they weren’t looking where he was looking and that alone kept him going.

That young woman, the cook’s girl, she seemed a nice young woman, about the same age and size as Dan’s own wife. Ex-wife now, but he really couldn’t imagine what he’d have done if she’d been taken from him like that. He’d probably go crazy.

The moon was rising when he came upon the truck and the woman. One look told him something bad was going down. What was the point in leaving a woman tied up against a tree, flashlights illuminating her, the vehicle in sight, unless it was some kind of trap. He thought maybe she was dead and booby-trapped, but then he saw her move. She lifted her head, shivered and leaned her head back against the tree. Maybe she was alive and booby-trapped, and that made him sick to even think about it. As far as he could see, there was no one else there. He peered into the truck windows and bed—no one.

He tucked the flashlight into his belt and backed soundlessly down the dirt road. All the way down, until he could curve around to the left and start back up. The most obvious place to look would be right in front of her. Once he reached the bottom of the trail and prepared to start up, he was faced with two major challenges. One, he couldn’t use a flashlight and it was darker than Hades. And two, he couldn’t trip or slip in the dark and make a noise, in case he was right, and there was someone watching her.

He planned to cut a wide perimeter around the woman, and if he found nothing, no one, he’d move closer to her and assess. Look for some trap attached to her.

He’d barely begun the climb back up when the moon, high and full, cut a brightened path, for which he was incredibly grateful. Every time that nighttime breeze sifted through the branches of the tallest pines, creating a whispering and groaning effect, he’d cautiously place a foot. A couple of times he cracked a twig, and when that happened, he froze and listened. He was stone still; he didn’t even breathe.

He wasn’t very far up the hill when he could see there was someone at the top, hiding behind a tree. He heard the distant approach of vehicles and lifted his head. Under the cover of the engine noises, he rapidly made his descent back to the road. He chose his place under the cover of forest to stand in the road and, whirling his flashlight, flagged them down.

Jack lowered his window. “What the hell…?”

“This is it,” Dan said quietly. “Pass this hill slowly so it looks like you’re moving on, and up there on the left, there’s a wide space in the road. Take your trucks off road up there, come back on foot and I’ll take you up. Kill the flashlights. They’re up there,” he said, giving his head a jerk toward the hill. “Let’s do it.”

Preacher leaned forward. “She okay?”

“I think so, so far. Come on, come on, let’s not get his attention. Pass the hill.”

Jack threw the truck into gear and drove on, the man by the road directing the second truck with his flashlight.

Dan waited a few moments and then he could hear them coming on foot. When there were five men gathered around him, he said, “He’s got a plan. The woman is bound and in plain sight and I caught a glimpse of him in the trees, hiding. I couldn’t see him, but I bet he’s got a weapon on her, waiting. This old road goes to the top where he’s parked the truck. Someone can follow me up the back side of the hill—but there’s no path. Anyone here good at stepping light and soundless?”

“I am,” Jim said.

“I’ll keep your back—I’m pretty good,” Mike said.

“All right, we’ll circle up. You boys, take this road up nice and easy. Maybe one flashlight, dimmed, on the ground. Give us a head start—we don’t have a road. With any luck, we’ll meet up there.”

Before he could lead Jim and Mike around to the backside of the hill, he found his jacket grabbed up in Jack’s fist. “Why you doing this?”

“Hey, I was in the bar in Clear River when you came in,” he said defensively. “I know the hills back here pretty good. You don’t think I—”

Jim Post put a big arm between Jack and Dan and said, “Let’s do this. C’mon. We’ll sort it out later.”

And with that the team separated—Jack, Preacher and Rick up the road, single file, Preacher in front, moving a little too fast, Mike, Jim and Dan rounding the foot of the hill to go at Lassiter’s back. The climb was easy for Preacher’s group, not so swift for Jim and Mike, being led up an overgrown hillside with no path.

Once Preacher reached the top of the hill, he spotted the old truck. He stopped in his tracks and crouched, sneaking up on it, Jack and Rick close behind him. And not far from it, he saw her sitting against a tree, her chin dipped down to her chest. She could be dead or asleep.

The second Preacher saw Paige up against that tree, her name came out of him in a stunned whisper. He started blindly toward her. Jack whispered to him not to go and grabbed for his shoulder, but missed. The second Preacher’s footfalls began hammering toward her, she lifted her chin, her eyes wide with fear, and the next thing he knew there were a pair of arms around his ankles and he was on his way down. Midway there was a gunshot, a sharp, knifelike, stinging pain across his left biceps, and he hit the ground like a boulder, rolling with Jack.

There wasn’t a second shot, but there was a disturbance in the trees. Rick stayed behind the truck, his weapon at the ready with nowhere to aim. The sounds heard in the trees suggested Lassiter could be on the run, hopefully only to be caught on his way down by Mike and Jim.

Preacher kicked out of Jack’s tackle and belly-crawled toward Paige with incredible speed. He got behind the tree and reached long arms around, grabbing her arm harder than he ever had, and pulled her, still completely bound, to safety behind the tree with him. He put his fingers first on the tape that covered her mouth. “It’s gonna hurt, baby,” he whispered, then gave a sharp, quick yank.

She pinched her eyes closed tightly and held bravely silent. Then she said, “John, he’s been waiting. He means to shoot you and me.”

Preacher pulled his Swiss Army knife out of his pocket and made fast work of the bindings around her wrists and ankles. “Crazy son of a bitch,” he whispered, while slicing through the tape. He peered around the tree; someone was definitely on the run down that hill. Maybe even already caught and trying to fight his way out.

She touched his shoulder, the very top of his arm. Blood ran down his arm. “You’re hurt,” she whispered.

He put his finger to his lips and they froze, listening. The noise in the trees had weakened to a rustle; the night was otherwise silent.

A tense minute passed, then there was a shout. “Hey! Your bad guy’s down! We’re bringing him out!”

Paige whispered, “That’s not Wes.”

Preacher peered around the tree again. He saw Jack lying on his belly, his rifle up and trained in the direction of the trees. The man who’d led Jim and Mike up the hill had lost his shady brady, but he hauled Wes by the belt at his back, neatly folded in half, unconscious, through the trees. Wes dropped in a flop; the man wiped off his forehead with a hand. Then he shook his head. “Complicated,” he said. Preacher helped Paige to her feet and, keeping her behind him, cautiously approached.

“What the hell did you do?” Jack asked, getting up on his knees, then his feet.

“Ah, shit. I should’ve known you couldn’t hold off till we could get up on his back. Didn’t I tell you to wait? Till we could get up that hill?” He crouched, pulled handcuffs off the back of his belt and, yanking Wes’s hands behind his back, cuffed him. Jim was next out of the trees, holding two rifles, his and their guide’s. Right behind him was Mike, both of them panting.

Jack looked down at him. “He dead?”

“Nah.” He still gripped his flashlight. “But he’s gonna have a headache. Pretty good thing he didn’t see me—I can’t be in this. For obvious reasons.”

“You’re going to be counting on a lot of people covering you. Someone might just accidentally tell the truth.”

“Well, shit happens. Won’t be the first time I’ve had to relocate. But I’m telling you—life’s good right here, right now. I’d rather be left out of this.”

Wes Lassiter lay facedown on the ground, unconscious. Mike Valenzuela stepped toward Dan, still trying to catch his breath.

“You whack him?”

“Well, your man there provided diversion, and I couldn’t see good enough to shoot him….”

“You carry handcuffs?” Mike asked.

Dan grinned. “Yeah. You know. Kinky sex—you should try it.”

“Think I will,” Mike said.

Dan looked at Jack. “What if we made a trade here? Flashlights?” He pulled a rag out of his pocket and wiped his prints off his flashlight.

“Not this one,” Jack said. “I used this one to deliver my son.” He smiled. “I couldn’t find a midwife.”

Dan laughed. “I figured I owed you one. At least one. But seriously—I shouldn’t be in this.”

“Take mine,” Jim Post said, and this made Jack just slightly more attentive. Jim tossed Dan the flashlight, received the replacement by a toss.

Dan touched his forehead. “Lost my damn hat,” he said. “You’ll be okay now. He’s going away forever. No more trouble on that. I hear kidnapping’s huge.” He turned and moved down the hill, through the trees.

Silence reigned for a few moments while the sounds of his descent down the hill faded. The man on the ground began to squirm and moan. Preacher growled and pulled back a foot, but caught himself and didn’t kick him with a boot behind which there was two hundred fifty pounds of pure rage.

Jim Post tilted his head toward the departure of the man who traded flashlights. “You know him?”

“No,” Jack said. “He came into the bar for a drink with stinky Bens in a big wad. Then he took Mel out to a grow site to deliver a baby and I thought I’d lose my mind, it scared me so bad. Next time I saw him I told him that just can’t happen.” He shrugged. “He said she wasn’t in danger, but it wouldn’t happen again. Now this.”

“This,” Post said.

“The craziest part of our relationship so far,” Jack said.

“Well, he was making that climb a little faster than we were,” Jim said. “He must’ve heard you make the top of the hill, because he dropped his gun and took off up the hill at a run, through the growth. I heard the shot, then the struggle. He was taking a big chance there. If this guy was any better with a weapon, he could’ve turned on our man. Our friend.”

“He’s a good friend of mine,” Preacher said. Paige came around him and Preacher lifted his good arm to drop it over her shoulders, the other dangling at his side, blood running down it.

Jim made eye contact with each of the men and Paige, one at a time. “I hit this guy in the back of the head, okay? We all good on that? Because your cowboy buddy there—I think he’s not what he appears to be.”

“Shouldn’t the law decide that?” Jack asked.

Jim Post had been undercover in these mountains, in the cannabis trade, when he met and fell in love with June. “Leave that on me, okay? I still know a couple of people. Let it go. We owe him one.”

“At least one,” Paige said.

 

Wes Lassiter awoke from his head injury in the hospital, cuffed to the bed, with no idea who had struck him. He claimed no memory of abducting his wife and was, of course, a victim, not a perpetrator, in his eyes.

But there were many witnesses—from Paige to the search party to the man who found him pointing a gun at the location where Paige was bound and held, Jim Post. A witness testimony that would, strangely, never be required. The assistant district attorney promised they wouldn’t accept any plea agreements—for numerous probation violations from possession, breaching an order of protection, kidnapping and attempted murder—but in the end he did. Twenty-five years without parole for kidnapping, the other felony charges to be sentenced later with possible parole on those—but he would be a very, very old man before it became even possible for parole. If he’d gone to trial, it was possible for him to get life without parole. Paige and the town of Virgin River were extremely grateful.

Often Paige would awaken in the night with a cry on her lips, shuddering, trembling, shivering in fear. John would pull her close and say, “I’m here, baby. I’m here. I’ll always be right here.”

She would calm. She was safe. “It’s really over,” she would whisper.

“And we have the rest of our lives,” he always whispered back.