Home To Texas - Ransom My Heart Part 12

"Okay," she agreed.

He could see her hand meet his over the handle, and he let the jug go. Everything out but him, he thought. Everything-There was no doubt about the sound this time. The jug exploded first, spraying them both with the precious water, and then the bullet that had gone through the thin plastic ricocheted off a rock somewhere, a distinctive whine that cut into the echoing report of the shot itself.

"Keep down," he ordered.

Sound played tricks in rock canyons, so that he couldn't tell exactly where that one had come from. Maybe it was just a lucky shot. Maybe they hadn't been aiming for the jug at all. Maybe whoever was shooting at them hadn't seen Samantha crawl out, wouldn't know there was anyone alive down here. He knew he was making up positive scenarios because otherwise the deadly accuracy of those two shots was pretty scary. First the tire and then the water. Two shots and two targets taken out.

Whoever was shooting might decide just to wait them out. Pick them off if they moved. Maybe he and Samantha should play dead until night and then try to get out. Even as he thought that, he realized it wouldn't work. Whoever was shooting at the car wouldn't give them that chance.

Whoever it was would eventually come down here--before night. It was the money they were after, and even if they believed the occupants of the Land Rover were dead, they'd still make the descent.

He struggled to turn his aching body in the cramped s.p.a.ce of the damaged car, trying to get his legs under him.

Finally he managed. He braced his boots against the crushed driver's-side door and, reaching up, put his hands on the outside of what had been the pa.s.senger seat. He surged up and over the bottom of the opened pa.s.senger door, ignoring the pain, and fell awkwardly on top of Samantha and the two cases.

There were at least four shots this time, maybe more, ringing out in quick succession, the exact number disguised by the echoes and by the whining ricochets. He crawled up over Samantha, pressing his body down over the entire length of hers. Covering her. Protecting.

A sliver of rock stung his forehead, and he put his left cheek down against hers and at the same time, held his right hand, fingers spread, beside their faces, trying to shield them both. He could feel her heart racing beneath his. Too fast. Terrified. He didn't blame her. He was pretty d.a.m.n terrified himself.

Finally the noise of the ricochets stopped. Waiting in the silence that followed was worse. He still believed the upturned Land Rover was between them and the shooter because every bullet had seemed to strike it first.

He turned his head very slowly, looking to his right, trying to find cover somewhere on the slope of the far side of the ravine, the one opposite the roadway they'd plunged off. There wasn't much. Some scattered boulders, far smaller than the one that had caught the car. Plenty of yucca. Clumps of needle gra.s.s and p.r.i.c.kly pear. He angled his chin down slightly, looking toward the back of the car, and found something, the best cover he probably could hope for in this country.

There was small pile of tumbled rocks, probably dislodged in the same slide that had sent the boulder down the slope. Piled on top of one another, they were just big enough to offer shelter for one person.

When he turned back to explain what he wanted her to do, he found himself looking down into Samantha's eyes.

He was still lying on top of her, and all at once he became aware of her body beneath his. Aware of the fact that this was $amantha's body. Unbelievably, he reacted. His sudden arousal was uncontrollable. So d.a.m.n hard. Just like five years ago. Just like forever.

He knew she would have to feel what was happening.

With their positions, it would be impossible for her not to.

Her eyes held his, widening slightly as she felt the change, the knowledge of his reaction in her eyes.

And there wasn't a d.a.m.n thing he could do about it, he realized. Unless he had a death wish, there was no way to separate his body from hers. No way to keep her from understanding that nothing was different about the way he felt or about the effect she had on him. Another veneer he'd worked hard at creating was stripped away in an instant.

Something was changing in her eyes. Some emotion moved behind them. A question, maybe. Or disbelief. Revulsion.

He couldn't identify it, couldn't think of anything to say in explanation. There was no explanation for what was going on except the obvious one--he wanted her, desired her. Still loved her, he had already admitted to himself, just as much as he always had.

"I've heard danger is an aphrodisiac for some people," she said.

"You got an itch, Chase?" Her voice was very soft, but he remembered, and he understood that what she had asked wasn't meant to be an invitation.

It was what he'd said to her the night she: had come to the ranch.

"You just got an itch, and you picked me out to scratch it." That comment had been prompted by desperation, an attempt to get her out of his house before he broke his word, destroyed whatever honor he thought he still had.

She hadn't understood why he had said it, of course, and she couldn't know that he had never gotten over how he felt about her. Or know that sometime in the last five years he had even stopped trying. Stopped subst.i.tuting. Stopped hoping.

I've got an itch, he acknowledged. The same one I've always had. Only now... He arched his back, easing his hips upward, trying to lessen the contact between his aching need and the slender body that lay just beneath his.

"There's cover," he said instead of answering.

"Behind us. A pile of rocks. Not much, but it's our only chance."

She held his eyes for a moment longer, maybe trying t reconcile his

body's unexpected reaction to the lack of emotion he had forced into those instructions. But finally she gave in, forced to ignore what had happened because he was. Denying the reality of it.

"Why are they shooting at us? They're the ones who sent us here. We're trying to follow their instructions. Do you think that means something has happened to Amanda?

Why wouldn't they just--"

"This isn't the kidnappers. Not the people who have the baby. They

wouldn't want to play games. They'd just want to deal and then get out as quick as they can."

"You think... You think it's somebody else?"

He could see the relief of that thought reflected in her strained

features."That's the only thing that makes sense.Which means we have to get out of here. Take the money with us.""Why can't we stay here," she argued."Stay behind the car. We're more protected here than--" "Because he'll come down.""You've got a gun. Shoot him.""He's got a rifle. And we don't know where he is. He can wait us out.

A couple of days if he has to. And we can't lose any more time."

Chase didn't even realize he'd slipped into the singular.

One shooter, he'd already decided--the man who had recognized him in the shop.

"In the meantime he can keep us pinned down until he can work himself into a position where he can see us. Maybe get behind us. Then the car's no protection."

"But..."

"He wants the money, Samantha, and he'll kill us with as little emotion as you'd kill a roach to get to it. That's a h.e.l.l of a lot of money for clown here. I know it doesn't seem like much to you, but to most people in this country it's a fortune. Worth a couple of murders, at least."

"Okay," she said, nodding agreement. He could see the realization of their situation finally reflected in her eyes, but she had guts, he would give her that. Once she understood what they faced, the agreement to do what he'd suggested had been unflinching.

"You'll have to take the smaller of the cases. I'll get the other. I'm going to create a diversion at the front of the Land Rover, try to focus his attention up there. If it works, you should have time to make a run for the rocks. Keep your body down, as low as you can, keep the suitcase between you and him, and keep moving."

"Okay," she said again.

"And Samantha."

"Yes."

"If anything happens to me, give him the money. Tell him who you are and convince him to call Sam. Tell him Sam will be glad to pay another million if he'll just make contact with him. Make it worth his while to deal."

"What about Amanda? If I give him the ransom, what happens to Mandy?"

He didn't know what to tell her because he still didn't know anything about the kidnappers. She believed the 'leader's promise that he would take care of the baby, but there was no way to really know how a delay would affect them. Amateurs, he thought again. That one fact screwed up any surety he might have had about how they would react.

Chase she questioned his silence.

"Sam can send someone else in after you get back. Get the word out that somebody interfered with the exchange, that we were trying to deal in good faith. Make them an offer. Make it in Melchor Mfizquiz. Make it up here. Spread the word. Somebody will respond."

"They won't ... hurt her if we don't show up?"

"They want the money. They'll wait." I hope, he added silently. For your sake, sweetheart, I hope to h.e.l.l they'll wait.

"The important thing is that if you have to go it alone, you let him know who you are. Who Sam is. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," she said.

"Now I'm going to move around the boulder and toward the front of the Land Rover. Get the bag and get ready.

You'll see the clump of rocks partway up the slope well behind the car. When I give you the signal, sweetheart, make the run. Low and fast."

"Chase," she said, and unable to resist, he looked back into her eyes.

"Just one more thing," she said softly. He waited, wondering what else she wanted to say to him. Maybe the last thing they would ever say to each other. Was she finally going to ask him for an explanation of what had happened five years ago?

"I'm not your sweetheart," she said instead.

"I'd appreciate it if you'd remember that."

More of his stupid dreams, he thought, thinking she wanted to say something to him about the past. More of his fantasies about his importance in Samantha Kincaid's life. She didn't want anything from him, not even an explanation.

Just someone to get her baby back.

"Yes, ma'am, Mrs. Berkley," he said, unable to prevent the edge in his voice. He couldn't seem to reconcile the woman she'd become with the girl he remembered. The girl he had loved. Who had been in love with him. The girl whose memory he'd lived with a long time. Fantasy, he mocked himself. Nothing but fantasy.

He eased his body away from hers, careful to stay in the shadow of the overturned Land Rover as he crawled around the boulder on his hands and knees. Once at the front of the car, he could see part of the ridge the road ran along and the rock face behind it. He could even see the disturbance where the wheels had gone off, sending them down into the arroyo.

He reached behind to get his gun out of the back holster.

The movement was a mistake because it pushed his left shoulder against the car. The pain blindsided him, blurring his vision until he was afraid he was going to pa.s.s out. He waited for a moment for his head to clear and for the agony to ease before he tried to complete the movement he'd begun.

Nauseated, covered in a cold sweat despite the heat, he finally managed to wrap his right hand around the grip.

Ignoring the pain that was gradually easing to a sickening throb, he raised his eyes to scan the ledges and outcroppings on the side of the hill above the road. Nothing moved.

He hadn't seen anything to shoot at, but he knew he had to try something. Somebody was up there. Waiting. Just waiting.

He pushed up onto his knees, exposing as little of his head as possible, but making sure the shooter would at least see some movement at the front of the Land Rover, so his attention would be focused there.

"Now," he said to Samantha. He moved when she did, raising his body from behind the protective barrier of the car and squeezing off a shot that echoed in the rocks just as the others had. The tone of the revolver was different from the high-powered rifle and under its sound, he could hear Samantha moving. He didn't turn to watch. His eyes continued to search the rock face, ready to shoot if someone popped up to draw a bead.

Nothing happened, and when he finally turned for a quick look toward Samantha, he could see her crouched safely behind the pile of rocks, the suitcase on the ground beside

her.

"I'm coming there," he said, keeping his voice low. He knew she could hear him because she nodded, although her eyes were on the face above where the road ran, so he went on.

"As soon as I clear the back of the Land Rover, you start up the rise behind you. Don't look back, just climb as fast as you can and then dive over. Got it?"

Again she nodded, but her eyes were on his now. Despite the distance, he could feel the intensity of her gaze. He smiled at her, trying to be rea.s.suring.

"Remember what I told you."

"Chase."

"Don't be scared. He's going to be paying attention to me rather than

to you. I'm the one he needs to take out.""That's not exactly comforting," she said."I'm going to be right behind you. Just get over the top of that hill.

Don't look back."She nodded again, her eyes still on his face."It's okay," he said."Nothing's going to go wrong.""Promise me something," she said.He laughed, trying to make it sound rea.s.suring, dismissing."Come on, Samantha. We don't have time for this.I'll promise you anything you want once we're on the other side.""Now, Chase. I need you to promise me something now.If anything ... happens to me--" "Nothing's going to happen to you," he interrupted. She had repeated the euphemism he'd used. If I end updead was what she meant. Only he wasn't going to let that happen.And he sure didn't want to talk about the possibility."Shut up, Chase, and just listen to me," she said sharply.

"We both know that's a possibility. If you get out of this ... and I don't, I want your promise. Get Amanda. No matter what happens, you have to get Mandy. And you take care of her. Promise me."

He should be the logical one the shooter would go for, but there was no guarantee, of course, that it would play out that way. She understood that as well as he did. Take care of Mandy. It seemed to him that should be Sam's place, or her husband's, but they weren't here to make that promise. Just him. Take care of Mandy.

"I don't know a d.a.m.n thing about babies, Samantha," he said instead.

"You can learn. Anybody can learn. PromiSe me, Chase." "Sam and her daddy might--" "No. You promise it. I don't go over until I have your word that you'll get her back and then ... if I'm not here, that you'll look after her."

A rock fell from somewhere high on the ridge above the road, and they turned to watch it bounce downward. Somebody was moving up there. Repositioning, maybe. They were running out of time, Chase thought again.

"You got it. You got my word," he said softly. Anything to get her out of here.

She smiled at him, her relief obvious, and then she nodded.

"You ready?" he asked, fighting the need to tell her how much he loved her. The need to tell her something that would make what had happened almost five years ago make some sense. She might not need an explanation, but he needed to make one. But there wasn't time. Not here. Not now. So instead he began to move, and so did she.