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.”
“You think we can relax?” she asked.
“Absolutely,” Mike promised. “Every week.”
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?”
“Well, let’s see if I’m getting any better. How about that, huh?”
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.
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.
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.
“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?”
“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.
“What are you doing out there?”
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.
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.”
She laughed at him. “You know the last two or three months?”
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.
“Judging by your music, the arm is almost fully recovered,” she said.
“And everything else is healed, right?”
“Oh,” she said. He could tell she didn’t want to ask.
“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!”
“Well, you can stop admiring me—I’m never getting within a hundred miles of another one of you.”
“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?”
“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.”
And, Mike thought, there are no words for what I’m starting to feel….
“Wes,” she whispered. “God. No.”
“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.
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.
“Did you call Connie’s? Doc’s?”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll go, too,” Mike said. “Brie will stay here, stay with Chris.”
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.
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.
“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?”
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.”
“I hope so,” he had said. “I really hope so.”
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.”
“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.”
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.
She lifted her chin, thinking, Do they beat you, Wes? What’s that like? Huh? But she said nothing.
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.
“This should be fine,” he said, putting the truck in Park and killing the engine.
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.
“Hiya, Bub. It’s been a long time.”
“Aw Jesus, Jack, that’s awful.”
“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.
“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.
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.
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.”
“I’ll keep your back—I’m pretty good,” Mike said.
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.”
“The craziest part of our relationship so far,” Jack said.
“Shouldn’t the law decide that?” Jack asked.
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.
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.