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THE CLIMBING SUN told me we were heading north as we picked our way around thickets of fruit trees and massive boulders, zigzagging our way through hundred-year-old ponderosas. My shoulders were stiff from tension, and my knees began to ache. We hadn’t heard any shots from Skeeter, and I was having a hard time gauging how far we had traveled from the campsite.
Something felt hinky to me.
David seemed to be leading me higher up the mountain. I was having second thoughts about going off alone with him when he turned Buck and the roan horse around and reined in close to me. “End of the road for you.”
“What?” I asked, backing Bonnie up. David grabbed her bridle, stopping the mule in her tracks.
“Let go!” I said, trying to sound more in control than I felt.
“Listen to me. You need to turn back to camp. Take the pickup and the horse trailer and get off this mountain.”
“I’m not moving until you tell me what’s going on.”
David took off his cap and used his sleeve to wipe his forehead. “It’s complicated, and I don’t have time to waste right now.”
I pursed my lips tight.
“God, woman, you’re as stubborn as the mule you ride.” David relaxed in the saddle, resting his forearm on the saddle horn. “I thought that brat Lindy was just off hiding close to camp seeking more drama, and either Skeeter or we would find her right away. But it looks like it might be more than that.”
“Something to do with the death threats? Do you think Morgan has kidnapped her?”
“Morgan?”
“Morgan Weatherby. The half-brother of the guy who kidnapped and killed Wanda Gasby.”
“Oh, you know about that.”
I nodded. “Small-town gossip.”
“Well, then you know I need to get searching for Lindy. And Morgan,” he said.
“I’m going with you.”
“Courtney, I won’t put you in danger. Turn back.”
“You can’t make me.”
“Well, I could order you to turn back, but from the look on your face, that won’t do any good.”
“Order me? Like, what are you, the law?”
“That’s a story for another time.” David pointed to the darkening sky. “Looks like the afternoon thunderstorm is heading our way. Let’s get going.”
We had traveled only a short distance when the river came into view. People have been known to panic and drown in six inches of water. The river was definitely deeper than six inches, and I was certainly panicking.
Okay. Breathe. It doesn’t look that scary. The trees were mirrored across the surface of the moving water. A trout belly flopped as an eagle’s shadow passed over.
“We’ll cross and take a breather on the other side.”
“David, I can’t swim,” I blurted out.
“The river’s not that deep.”
Liar, I thought.
“Besides, you’re riding a sure-footed mule,” David continued. “Just hang on and don’t panic. Breathe normal. I’ll cross first,” he said, reining Buck into the water and leading the blue roan. I watched the two horses pick their way across the river. From the other side, David waved me over. I nudged Bonnie forward, and she stepped into the water without hesitation. David yelled, “Focus on me!”
As Bonnie walked farther into the river, the frigid water soaked my jeans and the splashing water made my T-shirt cling to my shivering body. By the time Bonnie lumbered up the bank, my teeth were chattering, and David had to help me out of the saddle.
“Do something every day that scares you,” David said, handing me a bottle of water and an energy bar. I gave him a scathing look. “You did great. Drink some water and eat the bar.”
I stepped from the shadow of the pines into the sun, and I immediately felt the strength of its rays begin to warm me.
“Nice of you, Mr. FBI Man, to bring me a sweet little ass,” a voice said from the shadows. “And I’m not talking about the mule.” A man dressed in camo stepped out from the trees to David’s right. A long-billed cap hid his face. Oh, crap! Mr. No Face from the town of Eagle Landing. He aimed a rifle at David’s chest and jerked his head at me. “Get over by your lover boy. Move,” he commanded. My feet felt stuck to the ground like when corral mud sucks at your Muck boots. “Too slow, woman,” he said, taking a step toward me and tossing the backpack he wore to the side.
“Don’t!” David yelled.
My legs wouldn’t move. I watched as the man swung the rifle butt and caught David in the side of the head. The horse wrangler—or was it FBI man?—slumped to the ground in a heap. The man straddled David and pulled a pair of handcuffs from a well-stocked tactical belt. I’d seen pictures of Chicago riot police wearing fewer gadgets. I couldn’t tell what sidearm he packed, but I was sure he was proficient in its use. A sheath under his left armpit held a knife. I remembered with a shudder how it had felt during filming when the actor had held a fake knife to my throat.
“Get on your mule,” the man said, tipping his cap back and revealing his face. No jagged scar, no prison tats, no blue eyes.
I willed myself forward to Bonnie and mounted up. She tensed underneath me when Mr. No Face came to stand beside us, dangling handcuffs. He ratcheted the cold metal around my right wrist and clicked the other cuff around the neck of the saddle horn. The bitter taste of bile filled my mouth when I realized I was trapped in the saddle. He pawed through my saddlebags, pocketing my cell phone.
David was sitting up now, shaking his head. A trickle of blood snaked its way downward from his temple.
After rummaging through David’s saddlebag and taking the rifle out of the scabbard, Mr. No Face waved the rifle at David. “Mount up.” My heart sank as I watched him smash both cell phones to smithereens.
“Weatherby,” David said. “Let us go. You haven’t done anything yet to warrant sharing a cell with Jason.”
Now Mr. No Face had a name—Morgan Weatherby.
Morgan adjusted the stirrup lengths on the blue roan and pulled the cinch tight before mounting up. “Get going, Mr. FBI Man,” he barked, sounding like he was ordering soldiers into war. “You know where we’re heading.” Bonnie fell in behind the buckskin, with the blue roan and his rider uncomfortably close behind me.
Mr. FBI Man.
I remembered what Opal had told Sissally—Buzz Kreuger had said an FBI agent had been responsible for Jason Weatherby’s arrest. And rumors had half-brother Morgan hiding on the mountain biding his time to exact vengeance.
At least now I was sure that David was one of the good guys.
And Morgan Weatherby wasn’t hiding anymore.
