Rachel Running on Empty Pt. 07

Rachel Running on Empty Part Seven

by G. Lawrence

Tragedy on the frontier

This is not an erotic story, though it does have romance. It features family drama along with adventure and elements of fantasy. And, as her family has discovered, Rachel can be frustrating, willing to go to any lengths once she sets her heart on a course. Life for our hero is never easy. This is part 7 of 8.

Recap: Tensions in the small Nevada town of Juniper Springs have been growing, though Rachel, with her memory damaged by a government experiment, has managed to avoid trouble. But trouble is coming. In many respects, this is a Wild West story, with townspeople vs outlaws and an outsider willing to take a stand.

Warning: Chapter 14, Desert Graves, is a grim and violent episode. Some readers may wish to skip forward to the dramatic conclusion in Chapter 15 and the happier Epilogue. I have watered this chapter down a little for this website from the original novel, but the content is still strong.

There is something I must mention even if it sounds like a spoiler alert: At no time is Rachel ever a victim in this episode. She has a plan, she's listening to the numbers, and might be a little crazy, but she is not the hunted. Rachel is the hunter.

* * * * * *

Chapter Thirteen

Fatal Decisions

With Jesse taking over cooking on Monday nights, Peter found the opportunity to drive Rachel to Wells for dinner. Unlike Juniper, Wells had a small airport, a school district, and a golf course. In more ancient days, the small town had been a haven for covered wagons traveling to California along the Humboldt River.

"What would you like? The Smoke House has good steaks."

"Cheeseburger," Rachel said.

"Reynaldo's has great Mexican food."

"Cheeseburger."

"Okay, cheeseburgers," Peter agreed.

They sat on an outdoor patio enjoying the early August evening. The beer was cold. Cowboy hats and leather boots were the dress code. Before Peter could mention dessert, and maybe a place to spend the night, his phone rang.

"Yes, Dad," he unhappily answered. "Really? Now? Okay."

Rachel had no problem following the conversation.

"Dad needs me back in Juniper. I don't know why. He hardly ever goes that far north unless it's something important."

"Even Juniper needs law enforcement," Rachel confirmed.

"Me and Rafe usually switch off on that, but he's at the Te-Moak shindig in Elko."

"I haven't been to Elko yet. You weren't invited?"

"Dad and I aren't popular on the reservations."

They drove the thirty miles back to Juniper, the road empty except for the occasional freight truck. When Peter pulled up outside Casper's Ghost, they saw several expensive automobiles in the parking lot.

"Oh, shit," Peter mumbled.

"I won't take that as a good sign," Rachel said.

Peter escorted her inside, going toward the back. The saloon was crowded with more business suits than usual. The men stood up as Peter and Rachel approached.

"Pete, good to see you again," a well-dressed middle-aged man said, reaching to shake hands. He wasn't fat, but thick. Prematurely bald. Brown eyes and graying hair with a Cuban cigar wrapped in his pudgy fingers. Rachel guessed him as white, but wasn't sure.

"Thank you, Mr. Mason. May I introduce my date, Katie Smith?"

"A lovely creature," Mason said with a bow.

"Katie works as a cook at the Golden Shovel," Peter mentioned.

"Can't find an honest job, young lady?" Mason responded, making it sound like a joke.

Rachel didn't answer. The bold man made her feel uncomfortable.

"Katie, you haven't met my father. Sheriff Leonard Cassell," Peter said.

Peter's father was a big man. Broad-chested, and in uniform. He had Peter's deep brown eyes and light wavy hair, but not his mirth.

"I've been hearing stories about you," Cassell said, waving for everyone to sit in the booth. Sam rushed over with more beer, looking nervous.

"What stories are those?" Mason asked, running his eyes up and down Rachel's figure.

"She walked into Bourbon Harry's with $10 and walked out with $13,000," Cassell said.

"$13,300," Rachel corrected.

"How did you do that, Katie?" Mason asked with a sly grin.

"Math," Rachel replied. The men laughed.

"Haven't I seen you someplace before? You look familiar," Mason said, rubbing his flabby chin.

"I don't think so."

"Were you ever a dancer at the Palomino? In Vegas?" Mason questioned.

"Do you mean a stripper?" Rachel said, mildly shocked.

"Gentlemen call them dancers," Mason replied.

"What do you call them?" Rachel asked.

There was a momentary silence around the table.

"The little girl has a mouth on her," Sheriff Cassell remarked, not with approval.

"She should, when she's being insulted," Peter said. He got up, reaching for Rachel's hand.

"Sit down, son. I was only kidding," Mason said. "Sorry if I offended, Miss Smith."

"We can spare a few minutes," Rachel agreed, sensing Peter's father was unhappy with her. Sam brought buffalo wings to the table and ran off without saying anything.

"How's life at the Golden Shovel?" Mason said. "Doing good business?" It took Rachel a moment to realize he was speaking to her.

"I have nothing to compare to, sir. I've never worked in a casino before."

"Where have you worked?" Cassell asked.

"Mostly coffee shops."

"Ever work using a social security card?" Cassell inquired.

"Presumably," Rachel replied.

"We haven't found a record of it," the sheriff said.

"Why would you be looking for my records, sir?"

"Like to know who my son's running around with," Cassell replied. "Women who float into small towns with no money and no job history raise questions."

"Dad, I said to drop this," Peter intervened.

"Haven't picked anything up. Not yet. Just asking," his father replied.

Rachel sipped her beer and reached for a buffalo wing.

"Well?" Cassell said.

"Well, what?" Rachel replied.

"What's your explanation?"

"I don't have one."

"Dad, I said that's enough," Peter complained even stronger.

"You haven't done due diligence, son. For all you know, she's a Federal agent sent here to undermine our way of life."

Rachel laughed so hard she spit up some beer.

"Federal agent? If I was--" Rachel began to say, and then thought better of it. Mason and Cassell were looking at her with suspicion.

And then Peter noticed something suddenly different about her. Rachel was staring at Mason with a strange intensity. The gaze so powerful it had a palpable presence. Her breathing was steady. Controlled. The eyes so focused they almost seemed to change color. After the briefest moment, she turned her attention to his father with equal force. The men appeared startled, shifting uncomfortably. It only lasted a few seconds. Rachel broke off eye contact, nibbling on the buffalo wing. Peter wondered what it meant. Sheriff Cassell didn't care.

"I want an explanation," Cassell demanded.

"An explanation?" Rachel said, tossing her napkin down as she jumped from the booth. "I'm a short-order cook in a godforsaken dustbowl out in the middle of nowhere. And I know who you are. I know who both of you are."

"You're wasted in a kitchen, girl. I've got friends in Reno. A feisty young thing like you can make real money there," Mason suggested.

"How much does a stripper make taking off her clothes in Reno, Mr. Mason? $300? $400 a night? Sorry, think I'll pass."

Rachel stormed out of the saloon, the men watching her go.

"That's a high-strung filly you got there, boy," Mason said. "But I've got to admit, she's got one hell of an ass."

* * * * * *

"Pamela?"

"Sheila? What inspires such a late call?"

"Something you should know about, but I don't want to get your hopes up," Sheila replied.

"Have you heard from Rachel?"

"Not exactly."

"What, exactly?"

Pamela was home in her Brentwood mansion. She'd spent a lot of time there the last month following up with private detectives. She assumed Sheila was still in her office at WHD, running the global corporation Rachel had made possible.

"Before those problems with Johnny and Allie, Rachel was laying the groundwork for a new matrix. She was submitting papers to Harvard in hopes of earning a doctorate, but some of the necessary foundations are proprietary. Harvard arranged with WHD for permission to use them in their research."

"I'm not following you."

"Harvard has just gotten a new series of submissions, apparently from Rachel, but we have no confirmation. And no location for her."

"Then she's alive?"

"We believe she is."

"Then she did run away again? After promising not to?"

"Don't jump any guns, Pammy. I spoke with Rachel during the custody hearing. Win or lose, she had no intention of going anywhere. She was so happy to be with you and Rory again. And that boy."

"Tom Harper, and he's no boy."

"I've got my best people on this. We're going to get answers. There's something else. The papers Harvard is getting, it's not Rachel's usual work. Sections are disjointed. Portions ramble. References are missing. That's not like her at all. She's always been concise. To the point. We'll get to the bottom of that, too."

After Sheila hung up, Pamela gave the problem a moment of thought, and then she called Bob McLane.

* * * * * *

Rachel realized conditions at the Golden Shovel were deteriorating. She hadn't been personally harassed, but customers were being confronted by strange men in the parking lot. Mr. Beggs was having trouble finding a band for the Saturday show. His older employees were hanging on, but the newcomers quit. Some were surprised that Rachel was still there, given her relationship with Sheriff Cassell's son.

There was no Saturday lunch crowd, and only a small group for dinner. The stage remained empty. Joanna was the only card dealer.

"This may be the end," Joanna said when Rachel came to visit her blackjack table.

"Can you find another job?" Rachel asked.

"Not here in Juniper. Probably not anyplace in Elko County."

"Do you need money? I have extra."

"Honey, I'm not going to take your money, and Jay would never stand for it. He's a proud man."

"No show tonight," Beggs said, coming up to them. "We're going to lose what audience we have left."

"I can sing," Rachel offered.

"You're so shy you can hardly talk," Beggs differed.

"I sang in the church choir. It's not like singing in public."

"Yes, it is," Beggs said.

"It isn't to me, if you keep the lights low."

"Let her sing," Joanna said. "It's not like things can get worse."

Rachel went up on the small stage, sitting at the piano.

"Do you know how to play?" Joanna asked.

"I'm not sure. I think a friend taught me."

"Just do your best. It's not like you'll get fired."

Rachel didn't want to depress the crowd, but she wasn't in a happy mood. She played "Eleanor Rigby" a bit faster than the Beatles had, following with "Mr. Tambourine Man" and Leonard Cohen's version of "Hallelujah." Songs of things lost. Much as the town was feeling. The casino grew quiet. Many texted friends to hurry over and catch part of the show. The bar was staying busy.

"No one's going to mistake her for a professional, but there's something there," Beggs observed.

"It's coming from her heart," Joanna said.

An hour later, Rachel was still at the piano, seemingly in a world of her own. Realizing she must be tiring out, Joanna went on stage to wrap it up.

"One more," Rachel pleaded.

"Okay, just one," Joanna agreed. Everyone realized it was the last song and stopped to listen.

"Michael Bublé wrote this one a long time ago," Rachel announced, singing the words with extra care. She wasn't in a hurry, repeating the chorus and changing some of the lyrics before finishing;

"And I feel like I've been living someone else's life

It's like I just stepped outside

When everything was going right

And I know why you couldn't come along

It was not meant to be

Though you believed in me

I feel so alone, please let me go home

I miss you, you know, but I've had my run

Baby, I'm done

I gotta go home

Please let me go home."

Rachel finished the song looking exhausted. Tears were running down her cheeks. She slid off the bench to the floor where Joanna caught her.

"LeRoy, need some help here," Joanna called.

They carried Rachel to the kitchen, getting her a glass of water and a shot of bourbon.

"I remember," Rachel said.

"What do you remember?" Beggs asked.

"Everything."

"Then you can go home now?" Joanna said.

"No. I've hurt too many people. I don't have a home anymore."

* * * * * *

Church was poorly attended the next morning. Father Harp was in Elko, so Reverend Jaime filled in, speaking on sin and the price of redemption. Patty sat next to Rachel, but Miles was missing. Everyone was feeling the tension as services ended.

"There they are again," Rachel said, pointing at a black van patrolling the highway. "I've seen them stopping people on the street. Flo's diner isn't getting any customers. Charley might have to close the market."

"They won't hurt you. Don't pay any attention," Patty said.

"But they might hurt someone else? Why did Miles miss church?"

"He's busy. Got called away."

"I haven't seen Peter in a couple of days. And he hasn't left any messages."

"Pete is busy, too."

"Patty, what's going on?"

"It's best not to ask questions. Isn't Pete finding a place for you in Twin Falls?"

"He's been talking about it."

"Take my advice, honey. This is a good time to be living in Twin Falls."

"It won't be with him."

"Did you guys have a fight?" Patty asked.

"I wouldn't call it a fight, but I won't be dating him anymore."

"Why is that?"

"There's someone else. Someone I love, though I'll never see him again."

"That sounds complicated."

"I like Peter, but we had no future before, and even less now."

Patty rushed off just as Reverend Jaime emerged from the chapel. He watched the black van drive by, three men watching the worshippers leaving. The vehicle stopped while a man in the passenger seat took pictures.

"And the seventh angel poured out his vial into the air," Jaime recited, gazing at the strangers. "And there came a great voice out of the temple of heaven, from the throne, saying, It is done."

"And there were voices, and thunders, and lightnings," Rachel continued. "And there was a great earthquake, such as was not since men were upon the earth."

"Are you afraid, sister?" Jaime asked.

"Not for myself."

"I will stay with those who stand guard, but I fear not all will find blessed days."

"How can this Mason person have so much power? I don't understand."

"He has money, an army, and lawyers."

Rachel saw Joanna leaving the general store with her baby and ran to catch up. Joanna was carrying her hand-sewn grocery bag embroidered with a silver hawk.

"Yogurt and apple sauce," Joanna said, reading Rachel's question.

"Not going to work today?"

"Maybe later. Mason's lawyers are coming to the ranch. They want to make another offer."

"Will Jay sell?"

"No, but it would be rude not to have a sit-down. We have enough trouble already."

"What trouble?"

"Don't worry, we can handle it. I enjoyed your show last night."

"I don't know what came over me. I've never done anything like that before."

"You're a better cook than a singer, but it's good to have extra talents. I need to run now. If I don't see you tonight, we can have lunch tomorrow."

"Can I help? I'll carry your bag."

"It's two miles."

"I don't mind."

"Katie, you are such an innocent. Get out of this place before that changes."

Joanna secured Little Bear in her carrier pouch and crossed the highway, going north through the woods toward her home. Rachel went to the Golden Shovel, though she wasn't scheduled to work. The casino was quiet.

"No hiking this morning?" Beggs asked.

"Everyone is acting so strange. It makes me worry."

"It's above your paygrade, Katie. No one is going to bother you, so relax."

"I'm not good at relaxing," Rachel replied.

Rachel helped out in the kitchen, trying to stay busy. When she heard a cowboy asking about the sexy girl singing songs the night before, she ducked into the storage room. It wasn't the first time.

A little after three o'clock, Jay Silverhawk suddenly burst into the casino. Only three employees and two patrons were present.

"LeRoy, have you seen Jo?" he asked.

"Joanna? No, I gave her the day off," Beggs said.

"Wasn't she in town this morning?"

"Yes, I saw her over at the store."

"What did she say?" Silverhawk questioned.

"I didn't talk to her," Beggs replied.

"I did," Rachel said, emerging from the kitchen. "She was headed home. She said there was a meeting with lawyers."

"She missed the meeting, and she's not answering her phone," Silverhawk said.

"I'm sure she's okay. Let's get some folks together," Beggs suggested, starting to make calls.

"Did Jo say anything about a side trip? Take the baby to Elko for a check-up?" Silverhawk pressed.

"No, nothing like that," Rachel said. "She bought a few groceries and headed back."

Silverhawk ran out as quickly as he came. Beggs sent his cook and the busboy to form a search party, leaving him alone with Rachel.

"I was afraid of this," Beggs sighed, going behind the bar to mix a whiskey soda. And one for Rachel.

"She's okay, isn't she? She walks that trail all the time."

"Let's hope so," Beggs replied.

Not having a phone of her own, Rachel went to the back office and called Peter. It went to voicemail.

Rachel joined the search party, returning after midnight without any clues. She was tired, and worried. When she went to use Beggs' computer, she found the casino closed. She managed to lay down at the Blue Bell for a few hours, though numbers kept invading her mind. And then she realized what they were saying.

* * * * * *

Rachel tried to rest, but finally realized sleep was hopeless. It was the middle of the night. She wanted to call her mother one last time. To speak with Rory. To hear Danny laugh. But that would hurt too much. Rob her of her resolve. Despite that, there was one voice she needed to hear, if only for a moment.

"Tom?" she asked.

"Rachel?"

"Yes, it's me."

"My God, where are you?"

She could tell he'd been asleep. He sounded groggy.

"That's not important now."

"Where have you been? Why did you run off like that?"

"I didn't mean to. I got on a bus and just rode until it stopped."

"You shouldn't have done that. It was very unfair."

"How have you been?"

"Why should you care? I thought we'd made a commitment. We were going to face these problems together. And then you ran away without saying a word. What am I supposed to think now?"

"I'm sorry. I--"

"You hurt a lot of people. Rory is worried sick."

"I know. You see--"

"I don't see."

There was a pause. Tom heard Rachel breathing harder.

"I'm sorry. The math was never good," she said.

The phone hung up.

"Rach? No! No! Goddamn it!" Tom yelled. He tried to call the number back, but it was blocked.

* * * * * *

The next morning, Rachel saw Silverhawk driving his jeep away from the coffee shop. It made her curious, and she was mildly hungry.

"Good morning, Flo. Tea and scrambled eggs," Rachel said, sitting at the counter. She noticed six people sitting in the booths. Three of them were strangers.

"Not good. Did you hear about Joanna?" Flo asked.

"Yes. Jay doesn't have any news?"

"No good news. The Sheriff won't take a missing persons report. Says it's too soon."

"That's not right. Joanna wouldn't just run off."

"Everybody knows that."

"If the Sheriff won't help, someone should call the FBI," Rachel said. That caused heads to turn. Flo took a step back.

"Don't say that, Katie. Not out loud."

"Why not?"

"Just don't."

Flo rushed back into the kitchen. Several customers got up and hurried out. Two of the strangers stayed behind, watching.

By lunchtime, with no updates, Rachel went to the Golden Shovel. A sign on the door said there was no food service.

"Mr. Beggs, is the stove broke?" Rachel asked, finding him behind the bar. There was one person, in the corner, playing a slot machine. She had never seen him before.

"Cutting back for a while. I'll give you a week's severance pay. This may be a good time to move on."

"Move on? With Joanna missing?"

Beggs turned to organize the whiskey bottles on the shelf, putting the most expensive brands in a box on the floor.

"This isn't right. I'm calling the FBI," Rachel said, marching to the back office. Beggs caught her just as she picked up the phone.

"You can't do that, Katie. Not here. It will be traced back to me."

"Traced? Traced by who?"

"I think you know."

"But Joanna is missing."

"It's terrible. I love that woman. But I have a family. Employees to think about. I can't invite that kind of trouble."

"I'll buy a phone at the store and make the call myself," Rachel decided, starting for the door. Beggs stopped her.

"Katie, you've got friends here. But not that many friends. Get on the bus while you still can."

Rachel marched across the street, followed by the strange man who had been playing the slot machine. She bought a disposable cell phone at the general store.

"Hello? FBI? Yes, this is Katie Smith. I've been waiting on hold long enough," Rachel complained, making sure everybody could hear.

There was actually no one on the other end of the line. The screener had said it was too soon to file a report and hung up.

"Her name is Joanna Silverhawk. Her baby is Grace Silverhawk. They were kidnapped yesterday by a hoodlum named Mason," Rachel eagerly reported. "He has a gang here. They've been harassing people. Yes, I have proof. Okay, I'll be there."

There was silence as Rachel ended the call. Many were staring at her.

"I'll be taking a bus ride in the morning," Rachel said to no one in particular. "How far is the FBI office in Elko?"

She didn't wait for an answer, wandering out on the street. She noticed the black van parked down near the bridge, and a dark blue sedan outside the clinic.

By mid-afternoon, Rachel heard loud knocking on her door at the Blue Bell. It was Patty.

"Katie, pack your things. It's time to leave," she said, pushing in.

"What's going on?"

"You don't have a job here. You can get a job in Twin Falls. Or someplace else. Anyplace else."

"I'm not leaving."

Patty couldn't find a suitcase, but there was a leather shoulder bag. She opened a dresser drawer, pulling out socks and underwear.

"I have my car. We'll find you an apartment."

"What will Miles say?" Rachel asked.

"Miles?"

"Miles is working for Mr. Mason, isn't he? Aren't you? Is that why you want me in your car? To take me for a ride?"

"How can you think that?"

"It's a simple question."

Patty dropped the bag on the floor, glaring in disbelief, and then ran out the door.

* * * * * *

"Mrs. Benson?"

"Tom Harper?"

"Yes, ma'am. I hope you don't mind me calling. Rory gave me your number."

"Of course I don't mind. I know how much Rachel cares for you. We have a report that she's been in contact with Harvard. We don't know the circumstances."

"I heard from her last night. Or rather, this morning."

"What? Where is she?"

"She didn't say. Ma'am, I'm afraid I screwed up. I screwed up really, really bad."

"Tell me."

"She called around 3 a. m. I was asleep. She was trying to tell me something, but I was upset with her for leaving. I said things I shouldn't have. She apologized and hung up."

"Have you run a trace?"

"I tried. It went nowhere. I've got to fix this, I just don't know how."

"We're tracking every lead. It probably won't help but take your phone to my cousin at WHD. I believe you've met Sheila. They have the best tracking equipment in the world."

"I'll do that right now. I'm so sorry about this," Tom stressed.

"Thomas, let me explain something. Rachel knows how you feel about her. When you get back together, everything will be forgiven. If that's what you want. Is that what you want?"

"Yes, ma'am. From the moment I met your daughter, I knew she was the one for me. The only one. Even if she gets a little crazy sometimes. I want her back so much."

"I shouldn't speak out of school, but Rachel opened her heart about you. Her love is yours for the asking, but I don't recommend barking at her again."

"No, ma'am. I won't."

"We'll talk again soon," Pamela promised, hanging up. And then she called Sheila.

* * * * * *

Patty returned just before dinner accompanied by Miles. It was still daylight.

"We need to talk," Miles said, standing at her door.

"I need to get ready. I have a long bus ride in the morning," Rachel replied.

"Please, it's important," Patty pleaded.

"Let me get my purse," Rachel reluctantly agreed, accompanying them across the highway to Casper's Ghost.

Unlike the rapidly deserting town, Rachel noticed the saloon was doing good business. At least twenty patrons were in the booths or at the bar. Half of them were strangers.

"Hi, Sam," Rachel called out upon entering.

"Hey, Katie," Sam said, quickly turning away.

Miles led Rachel to their usual booth, nearly pushing her in.

"You need to get serious here," Miles said.

"About what?" Rachel asked.

"About shooting your mouth off," Miles complained. "You need to know that Pete and I grew up together. He's my best friend, and he's crazy about you. No one wants to see you get hurt."

"Too bad Joanna wasn't that lucky," Rachel said.

"We don't know what happened to her," Miles insisted.

"It's been thirty hours and no word. Mr. Silverhawk has been looking everywhere."

"Let's give it more time. She'll probably show up," Patty said.

Miles ordered a pitcher of beer. Peter arrived a few minutes later.

"Katie, sorry I couldn't get here sooner," he apologized, sliding in next to her.

"You didn't return any of my messages," Rachel said.

"You don't own a phone, and the Blue Bell's service is too public," Peter explained.

"Why aren't you looking for Joanna?" Rachel asked.

"I have been. We've got two cars between Elko and Jackpot keeping an eye out," Peter replied.

"Have you asked your father?" Rachel hinted.

"Leave Dad out of this. He's not a kidnapper," Peter answered.

"Then you think she's been kidnapped? Isn't that what everyone is dancing around?" Rachel said.

The table grew quiet. Then Jay Silverhawk burst through the door, startling everybody. He gazed at the room before marching to their table.

"You won't get away with this," Silverhawk said.

"Get away with what?" Peter asked.

"This."

Silverhawk threw Joanna's hand-sewn grocery bag on the table. It was wet with apple sauce and crushed yogurt containers.

"I said no to Mason's demand and found this hanging on my gate," Silverhawk said.

"No one here went after your wife," Miles denied.

"Don't give me that bullshit. You couldn't get me, so you got her instead. But it won't do you any good. If you kill me, my brothers get the land, and they won't sell, either. It belonged to my father and his father. No white man is going to steal it from us."

Silverhawk grabbed the bag back, shaking it until the dripping liquids splashed everyone in the booth.

"Listen to me clearly, Cassell. If I lose loved ones, you will, too," Silverhawk threatened, making a point of staring at Rachel.

Peter jumped up to push Silverhawk back. And then pushed him again.

"I'm not stupid enough to hit a cop. Not in front of witnesses," Silverhawk said, backing away. "But don't think this is over."

He stormed out. Peter sat down.

"See how this works?" Peter said. "For all we know, Silverhawk is behind all of it."

"Or his tribe," Miles said. "Some of them weren't happy about him marrying a Catholic white woman."

Rachel studied the group around the table, and the many faces watching them from various parts of the saloon.

"You make a good point," she conceded.

"We do?" Patty questioned.

"Yes. When I speak with the FBI tomorrow, I'll tell them your theory. Along with my theory about Mr. Mason."

"You can't do that," Peter said.

"I can and I will. I'll be giving the FBI the proof I found."

"Proof?" Miles said.

"I spent the whole day following Joanna's trail. It's obvious what happened," Rachel insisted. She made Peter stand up so she could get out of the booth.

"Thank you for the beer," she said.

"Where are you going?" Patty asked.

"To get some rest. The bus to Elko leaves early."

"Katie, don't," Peter said, grabbing her arm. "Let's leave tonight. Both of us. Twin Falls, or Salt Lake City. Wherever you want."

"My friend is missing, Peter. She has to be found," Rachel said, shaking loose. She started to go, then turned back, pausing to stare into his light blue eyes.

"Thank you, Peter. Thank you for caring about me," she said, getting up on her toes to give him a gentle kiss on the cheek. "But we're over now. I'm sorry."

Rachel dashed across the highway to the Blue Bell, but only stayed for a moment. She grabbed her shoulder bag, made sure no one was watching, and slipped out the backway into the desert.

The sun had just set, the night warm with summer. She diverted off her usual trail, then cut over a hill and through a gully to Grubby's cabin, coming up from the other side. He was sitting on his porch smoking a pipe, a shotgun in his lap.

"FBI?" he said.

"Yeah, I've been warned about that."

"Did you actually talk to the FBI?"

"No."

Rachel went in the cabin without asking permission. Grubby followed.

"I'm afraid your friend is probably dead," Grubby guessed.

"The math isn't good," Rachel agreed.

Rachel sat at Grubby's computer, rapidly entering a sophisticated series of codes. Grubby noticed the strange gleam in her eyes. They were fixed. Cold. Determined.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Stealing a drone."

"What the hell are you going to do with a drone?"

"I'll use it to record my murder," she replied.

Grubby got out his whiskey jug and two shot glasses.

"I caused trouble in town today," Rachel explained. "I told everyone I have proof of the kidnapping."

"Do you have proof?"

"No. But if the same men who took Joanna come after me, I might find out where she is."

"What you'll find is a grave."

"I'm sure we can assume that," Rachel said.

"No, I mean a real grave. It's already been dug."

"Where?"

"I can show you."

"Can I buy a gun? One that's unregistered?"

"All my guns are unregistered," he answered.

He opened a secret cabinet in the wall. There were several guns and a money box. Rachel knelt down, selecting a short barrel 9mm Ruger.

"You know how to fire that?" Grubby asked.

"My mother taught me. Where is this grave?"

It was an hour's walk from the cabin to a dirt road off U. S. Route 93. They brought flashlights but rarely needed them, there being a full moon.

"Found this yesterday," Grubby said, entering a dusty clearing surrounded by thin trees and cactus. "Didn't know what to make of it. Until now."

Rachel found a shallow pit, a shovel stuck in the sand. There were several mounds.

"These other piles are old," Rachel said. "They haven't buried any bodies here recently."

"But they're getting ready to bury a new one."

Rachel studied the ground, walked the quarter mile up to the highway, and returned. Then she took out her phone, pressing a button. Ten minutes later, there was a buzzing in the air, and a faded blue light.

"Is that the drone?" Grubby asked, not able to see it.

"State of the art optics. The audio is so sensitive it picks up animal sounds," Rachel confirmed. "The data stream is going back to your computer. And someplace else."

"Where would that be?"

"They can't make you tell if you don't know."

Grubby couldn't mistake her resolve. Or her icy demeanor.

"You're kind of scary, girl."

"I won't be when they grab me. I'll be helpless and confused, just like they expect."

"What are you saying?"

"I may be dumb about a lot of things, Grubby, but I've been a pretty girl my whole life. I know men."

"You're about the prettiest girl Juniper has seen in years, but being pretty won't save you from Mason's thugs."

"I know the math isn't good," she confessed. "Did you bring my sandwich?"

"Hell of a time to get hungry."

"This isn't where I wanted my last meal."

She took a ham sandwich from a plastic bag, ate a few bites, and climbed down into the pit, feeling the walls with her hands. Then she dug a niche in the side, put the gun in the bag, and lightly buried it.

"That won't help if you're already dead," Grubby warned.

"It's a gamble," Rachel admitted.

They went back to the cabin, Rachel working on her programming until the evening grew late. Grubby couldn't make out half of what she was doing, but the work was performed methodically. Without hesitation.

"Guess what they say is true," Grubby remarked, making more coffee.

"About what?"

"About you being one of the smartest women there is."

"I'm not so smart. This is going to prove it."

"Then don't do it. We can saddle up Hank and Sarah. Go over the mountains to the reservation. Get a bus or a plane to Tahoe."

"I ran out on my mother after promising not to. And my baby. I'm not going to run out on Joanna and her daughter. If there's a chance they're still alive, I need to help them."

"You're one hell of a brave girl, Pebble. Kind of nuts, but brave."

"2 Timothy 1:7."

"I don't do much churching."

"For God hath not given us the spirit of fear, but of power, and love, and a sound mind. Grubby, I believe in His miraculous power. I may die tonight, but I'm not afraid."

Rachel looked at the time. It was getting late.

"They may come after you next," Rachel warned.

"I'll hear them first, and no one knows these hills like I do."

"Thank you so much for being my friend. Please be careful."

Then she gave him a hug and disappeared into the desert.

* * * * * *

Pamela was having dinner with Rory and William at Marciano's. It had been a month since Rachel disappeared, and every clue they'd found had turned into a dead end. The phone buzzed.

"Pamela!" Sheila shouted.

"Sheila?"

"It's Rachel. It's not good," Sheila said.

"Wait a minute," Pamela paused, looking at her children. She set the phone on the table with the speaker on. "Rory and Billy are here. Go ahead."

"I have someone else on the line. You need to hear this. Go ahead, Mr. Barnes."

"Mrs. Pamela Benson?" Grubby said.

"Yes, this is Pamela Benson."

"I'm Grubby Barnes. I'm a friend of Katie. That is, your daughter, Rachel. Do you still love her?"

"I love her with all my heart, Mr. Barnes. What's happened?"

"She's in bad trouble, Mrs. Benson. Real bad. The worse kind there is. Did everything I could to talk her out of it."

"This is Rory Benson, Mr. Barnes. Rachel's my sister. Her brother is here, too. Where are you? How can we help?"

"Nevada. Elko County. Have you heard of Brick Mason? Or the Commission?"

"No," Rory answered.

"The Commission is a financial group," Sheila explained. "Rumor has it they're making a big play in northern Nevada. And using intimidation to get what they want."

"Worse than that, Miss Marbury. People are dead," Grubby said. "Katie's friend Joanna disappeared, and probably got murdered. Katie is causing big trouble over it. They're going after her next."

"Oh my God," Pamela said.

"Katie thinks if she gets herself kidnapped, she can find out what happened to Joanna. And Jo's baby. She's missing, too. Nothing I can do will stop her."

"That's the way Rachel is when she sets her mind to something," William said. "Where is she now?"

"At the casino in Juniper Springs," Grubby replied.

"We'll get our people going right away. And we'll contact the police," Pamela promised.

"You need more than people, Mrs. Benson," Grubby said. "The sheriff here is in Mason's pocket. Acts as his protection. Local FBI ain't no good. They've been looking the other way. Mason can rustle up thirty, maybe forty men with a snap of his fingers. All of them with guns, and they ain't afraid to use them."

William picked up his phone.

"What are you doing?" Rory asked.

"Calling for help," William said, waiting impatiently for the line to connect.

"Tom?" William said.

"Bill?" Tom replied.

"Rachel's in Nevada, and in trouble. Can you meet me at the Santa Monica Airport? We need to hurry. I'll have a jet ready to go. Oh Tom? Bring your AR-15 and all the ammunition you can find."

"The AR-15?" Tom said.

"It's that kind of trouble. If you have friends who can help, I'll pay whatever they want. They'll need guns, too. Lots of guns."

William jumped up and leaned over to speak into Pamela's phone.

"Mr. Barnes, I'm on my way. Where can I meet you?"

"Golden Shovel. Just off Route 93 'bout 30 miles north of Wells."

"Wait, I'm going, too," Rory said, getting out of the booth.

"It could be dangerous, Ro," William cautioned.

"Then it's good I'm a nurse."

"Children?" Pamela said.

"We love you, Mom. But this is for Rach," William said. "She's always been there for us. Now it's our turn to be there for her."

Rory kissed her mother on the cheek and followed William to his car on the run.

"Pam, still there?" Sheila asked.

"Get on top of this, Sheba," Pamela said. "Whatever it takes. Whatever it costs."

"I know what you're saying," Sheila agreed.

"Mr. Barnes? Thank you for this. It won't be forgotten," Pamela promised.

"Mrs. Benson, I'm mighty fond of that little girl. Just tell me what you need."

"I'm connecting you with my private security. His name is Bob McLane."

* * * * * *

Chapter Fourteen

Desert Graves

The problem had never seemed so clear, nor the solution. She didn't have much time. Days had shrunk to hours, perhaps even minutes. An early grave did not mean her theories would die, too.

Rachel used her key to get in the back door of the Golden Shovel, the casino having closed long before. She connected Beggs' computer to the Harvard website. The drive she inserted held a free flow of ideas, possibly disjointed. Perhaps crazy. Targets, methods, procedures, timelines. She was confident they'd sort out the rubble.

There was one last message. One that made her cry.

Dear Mother,

By the time you read this, I will probably be dead. The math is not good. Please know that I did not run away deliberately. When I woke up in the hospital, I couldn't remember the last ten years. I was confused and got scared, so I ran. Much of my life has been spent running, and now when I should run away, I can't.

I know Allie and John will be good parents to Danny. They will provide him with a better life than his damaged mother could have. Give my love to Rory. I miss her so much. Thank William for me. I know he cares. And speak with Mr. McLane. I fear I have disappointed him. He was always my friend.

Have Rory tell Mr. Harper that I wanted to love him. I am so sorry I didn't give him the chance he deserved. It was unfair, and that is on me. Please know that you enriched my life, and I love you so very much. I'm sorry I couldn't be a better daughter. Always, Rachel.

"Katie?" Beggs said, sticking his head in the door. "What are you doing here? Don't you know there's trouble brewing?"

"What kind of trouble, Mr. Beggs?"

"The kind that makes people disappear."

Rachel took a final look at the computer screen and pressed the send key before getting up.

"I'll be leaving. Thank you for the opportunity. I enjoyed working for you."

"Don't go now. Wait until morning."

"No. I think this is a good time," she said.

She stepped out the front door just after 4 a. m. It was a clear night. Warm and dry. She caught her breath and started toward the motel. They emerged from behind the high cactus on the north side of the driveway. As she expected.

"Look what we have here, Bradwell," the leaner of the two said, a tall skinny man in his 50's with a shaggy white beard.

"Damn it, Gus, don't say my name," his shorter buddy protested, not so much fat as thick, with craggy cheeks and a bulbous nose. The deep-set eyes were hard to see.

"She ain't gonna tell no one," Gus said.

"Come with us," the heavier one demanded. Both were dressed in long gray coats and cowboy boots.

"What do you want?" Rachel asked.

"We're going for a ride," Bradwell replied.

"I'm going home. My next shift starts at eight."

"Your last shift is over," the other said.

"Don't be silly, Mr. Gus. I can outrun you."

Suddenly something was flying through the air. Waving overhead. Rachel looked up as a lariat came down on her. The rope tightened, pulling her arms against her sides.

"Go ahead, run," Gus said, yanking her off her feet.

Rachel fell on the gravel driveway, tearing the knees of her jeans, and was dragged a dozen feet. Bradwell pounced on her with a pair of handcuffs, pinning her face down. Rachel didn't resist as the handcuffs locked behind her back. He rifled her pockets, taking her phone.

"Got her. Not even a fight," Bradwell boasted.

Rachel whispered so softly they couldn't make out the words.

"What are you mumbling, bitch?" Gus asked.

"Acts 16:30-31," Rachel replied.

"Won't do you no good," Gus mocked.

"Not in the way you think," Rachel answered.

"Load her in the truck," Bradwell ordered.

She was carried to an old Ford pick-up and put in the front seat. Gus drove. Bradwell squeezed in on the other side. Rachel had no doubt that if she'd been a man, they would have finished her quickly and thrown her dead body in the back. But they weren't in a hurry to do that. Men like pretty girls, she remembered.

"Couldn't mind your own business, could you?" Bradwell said.

"Joanna is my business. So is her baby," Rachel replied.

"And now you'll get what they got," Gus informed her.

Rachel sensed their reaction to her situation. Handcuffed. Wearing a loose blouse. At their mercy. She licked her lips and adjusted her posture, taking a heaving breath. There was a noticeable tension.

"I have friends. They will pay you a ransom," Rachel offered.

"You don't have the right kind of friends, and that's just too bad for you," Bradwell responded.

"Are we going far?" Rachel asked.

"Nice little spot. Secluded. You can scream all you want," Gus said.

"I don't do much screaming," Rachel replied.

"We'll see about that," Gus goaded.

"North? Are we going to Idaho?" Rachel questioned.

"Not that far," Bradwell said.

The truck slowed fifteen minutes later, twenty miles short of Jackpot, and then drove a quarter mile west on a dirt road into the desert.

"You don't need to do this," Rachel said, beginning to sound desperate.

"We got our orders," Gus replied.

They stopped in a clearing near a group of mounds. Tall cactus loomed in the moonlight. A few scraggily trees. Leaving the headlights on, Bradwell jumped out holding a shotgun. Gus dragged Rachel from the cab, pushing her toward a pile of dirt. Rachel saw a shovel. And a pit.

"Is this where you buried Joanna?" Rachel inquired, knowing they hadn't.

"You aren't going to be neighbors any time soon," Gus replied.

"Why? Where are they?" Rachel asked.

"What does that matter to you?" Bradwell said.

"Joanna was my friend."

"Don't matter. She won't be telling anybody," Gus said. "We buried the stubborn bitch up at the lake."

"The Cassell lake house?"

"Not the house. Storage shed back of the hill," Bradwell clarified.

"Why there?" Rachel asked.

"Didn't have time for more," Gus explained.

"But not me?"

"Sheriff's son gots a thing for you. Can't bury you where he and his Pop go fishing. Besides, more privacy here," Gus replied.

He shined his flashlight toward the dirt mound only a dozen feet away, then pointed the beam down into the hole.

"Please don't do this," she pleaded, beginning to tear up.

"Get in the pit. Less blood that way," Gus instructed.

"I'm not getting in that pit," she protested.

"We can make this a lot harder on you, and we'd enjoy it," Gus threatened, stepping forward with his fists clenched.

"Gussy, Sheriff said no rough stuff. His son--" Bradwell warned.

"Sheriff ain't here," Gus said.

"Leave her be," Bradwell insisted.

Rachel backed up against the pit, able to look down. The bright headlights of the truck kept the area in strange shadows.

"What the hell?" she said. "You call this a grave? Look how shallow it is. You guys are pathetic."

"What are you saying?" Gus growled.

"I'm saying this hole looks like it was dug by girls. Weak, wimpy, faggy girls."

"Think you can do better?" Gus asked.

"Better than a stupid lazy ass moron like you," Rachel replied.

Gus grabbed her throat, smacked her face, and dragged her to the trench. Then he removed the handcuffs.

"What the hell are you doing?" Bradwell said. Gus pushed Rachel into the pit and threw her the shovel.

"Start digging," Gus ordered. "If you beg nice, maybe I'll put a bullet in your head before filling up the hole."

Rachel stood in the pit, just deep enough to hide her knees, and held the shovel in disbelief.

"You don't really expect me to dig my own grave, do you?" Rachel indignantly protested.

"Looking forward to it," Gus said.

Rachel took a deep breath and started digging, throwing out small amounts of sand. Gus and Bradwell retreated to the truck, opening a bottle of Wild Turkey. They were having a good time. The isolation felt quiet.

"Get a move on there, we don't have all night," Gus prodded.

Rachel shoveled harder, grunting. Building up a sweat on the warm night. She paused to free a button on her blouse. And another, her shirt falling halfway open. The moisture glistened off her skin in the headlights, keeping the men enthralled. Before long, she appeared winded. She lowered the shovel, slowly sinking to her knees.

"Running out of steam, little darlin'?" Gus said. "Who's the wimp now?"

"How did Joanna and her baby die?" Rachel asked.

"It was her fault. We were only supposed to hold her for a few hours. Throw a scare into Silverhawk," Gus said. "She fought so hard, bad things happened."

"We didn't do nothing to the kid," Bradwell mentioned.

"The baby?"

"The whining brat," Gus said.

"Where is Grace?" Rachel asked.

"Left her in the forest on top of the ridge," Bradwell replied. "Maybe wolves will adopt her." The men laughed.

Rachel wasn't sure where the drone was. Exactly. Only that it had been following them since the casino parking lot. She looked for the faint blue light. The buzzing was nearly inaudible, sounding like crickets. She stood up and turned in what she believed was the right direction.

"You're saying Little Bear is still alive? In the woods above the Cassell cabin by the lake?" she said, pronouncing the words carefully. Even if the drone's audio couldn't pick up her words, the camera would read her lips.

"Not that it will matter to you," Gus said.

Rachel wanted to probe the side of the grave, hoping the plastic bag was still there, but there wasn't time. Gus suddenly walked over, stood above her with a nasty grin, and put the barrel of his gun to her head. He cocked the hammer.

"Any last words?" he asked.

Rachel held her breath, waiting. She thought of her mother, and her baby. Rory. Tom. William. Jackie. Sheba. Mr. McLane. They were good memories.

"Well?" Gus said.

"Well what?" Rachel replied.

"What have you got to say?"

"Nothing special," Rachel said.

Gus frowned, looking annoyed. He didn't pull the trigger.

"Not going to be that easy for you, bitch," he sneered. "Keep digging."

Gus went back for another swig of whisky. Rachel dug more sand from the trench.

"Does Pete know you killed Joanna?" Rachel asked.

"Don't know that anyone spelled it out for him, but he ain't stupid," Gus supposed.

"Do you kill a lot of people? Is Mr. Mason your boss?"

"He pays well enough. Why do you keep asking so many damn questions?" Bradwell asked.

"I need to know your secrets," Rachel answered.

She sunk down on her knees, facing the truck, hunching over so they could only see her face and chest. She felt to her right, digging in the dirt wall with her nails. Nothing was there. She reached further, wondering. Fearing. Hoping. Something is wrong, she thought. I should have found it by now. Gus finished another gulp of the Wild Turkey, and then checked the magazine on his pistol, nodding to Bradwell.

A smooth substance flicked the tips of her fingers. Plastic. There it was, right where she'd left it. She gave the bag a tug, pulling it free. Bradwell seemed to take a brief interest, then gulped more whisky. Gus wasn't paying attention.

"Why does Mr. Mason want all this land?" she asked.

"Ain't none of our business," Bradwell replied.

"It doesn't seem worth the trouble," Rachel pressed. "The town has been dying for years. What makes it valuable now?"

"You're kind of nosy for a dead girl," Gus complained.

"I came here to die," Rachel said. "I abandoned my baby. I abandoned my family. I turned my back on a man who loved me. And I failed Joanna. So you see, my life doesn't matter anymore, but I've found a way to seek redemption. Isaiah 14:22."

"More Bible crap?" Gus said

"I have blotted out your transgressions like a cloud, and your sins like a mist," Rachel whispered. "Return to me, for I have redeemed you."

"Enough of this bullshit," Gus said, coming forward with his gun ready. "I've had it up to here with your goddamn--"

Rachel slipped the pistol from the plastic bag, took deliberate aim just as Pamela taught her, and shot Gus through the left eye. He staggered for a moment and then dropped to the ground with a groan.

Bradwell was startled when he heard the shot, but wasn't sure where it came from, the sound echoing off the flatlands. He straightened up, looked out into the desert, and then down at Gus. He only focused on Rachel at the last moment, just as she shot him in the groin. He grabbed his crotch and fell, his knees squeezed together.

Rachel climbed from the pit, keeping the pistol ready, and approached cautiously. Gus lay on his back, appearing unconscious, though looks could be deceiving. Bradwell was curled in a ball, moaning and feeling for the shotgun. It was still propped against the truck. Rachel set Grubby's pistol on the hood and lifted the shotgun.

Bradwell saw her coming. He rose unsteadily to his knees, reaching for the.45 Colt automatic in his shoulder holster. Rachel was only ten feet away, the shotgun calmly pointed.

Rachel wasn't thinking anymore. Thinking wasn't going to change anything. The numbers had made her path clear. Bradwell looked up, seeing a terrifying glint in her nearly black eyes.

"Don't," he said, clutching his wound with one hand and holding the other out to show he was unarmed.

"At least you didn't die screaming," Rachel said, pulling the trigger.

The blast struck Bradwell low, obliterating the original wound. He rolled back against a cactus, getting caught in the thorns. Rachel was knocked on her butt by the recoil. She looked back at Gus, keeping watch, and crawled next to Bradwell's body.

The Colt.45 was still in his shoulder holster. She put it in his hand, raised his arm, and fired a round into the dark sky, leaving residue on his hand. Then she went back to Gus. The breathing was labored. He was probably dying, but not fast enough. She pulled him into a sitting position and fired a bullet through the wounded left eye. The body lurched back. Finally, she put the shotgun in Gus's hands, pointed it into the desert, and had his dead finger pull the trigger.

With luck, she thought, it will look like they were fighting over me and killed each other. She tore her shirt open to support the story.

Knowing there was no place to hide the pistol she'd gotten from Grubby, she wiped off her fingerprints, slipped it into Gus's pocket, and found her phone.

* * * * * *

Rachel needed to catch her breath. She wasn't feeling any strong emotions. This wasn't the time. What she needed was focus.

After a moment of staring into the desert, she used the phone to contact the drone, still flying overhead. It was as she hoped. The video showed her being kidnapped and taken to the remote location. The audio was so clear she could hear her kidnappers' confessions. She stopped the video just as Gus was coming toward her for the final time. As she knelt in the grave looking helpless and afraid. She deleted the part where she raised the gun and killed them both.

The video originally had two destinations. One went to Grubby's computer for back-up. She hoped he had headed for the hills like he promised. The second was sent to Sheila Marbury at WHD. Sheba would know how to handle the media. But now that plan needed to be amended. Jay Silverhawk had to know his daughter was still alive, and where to look. She sent the confessions to his phone.

The abductors were dead, but Rachel knew she wasn't out of the woods yet. She locked the handcuffs behind her back again. The left tightened more than she intended, but she could slip her right hand free if necessary. When found, she needed to look like an escaped kidnap victim, not a murderer.

She walked back to the highway on the rough dirt road. Hopefully, a trucker or family of tourists would find her and take her to Twin Falls. From there she'd call the FBI. The real FBI, not the one cowering from Mason's influence. She felt very fortunate to still be alive.

A vehicle approached. Rachel stood where she could be seen, sure a woman in handcuffs would cause the driver to stop. Too late, she realized it wasn't a trucker or tourist. It was the sheriff's car. She considered fleeing, but there was no place to go.

"What have we got here?" Sheriff Cassell said, getting out of the driver's side. Rachel stood still, like a deer caught in the headlights. Then the situation became more complicated.

"Katie? Katie, what's going on?" Peter said, emerging from the passenger side. Rachel started backing up, but Sheriff Cassell rushed to grab her arm, pulling her toward the car.

"Peter? Peter?" Rachel said, her eyes begging for help.

Peter looked shocked. Rachel's face was bruised. The knees of her pants torn. Her elbows were scraped from being dragged. And her shirt was ripped open. She cringed in desperation.

"Dad--"

"Something's going on over there," Cassell said, pointing in the distance where the pick-up truck's headlights were still beaming.

"Dad, we can't--"

"Pete, go check it out. That's an order, son," Cassell insisted.

Peter looked at Rachel, then to his father, and then back at Rachel.

"Peter?" Rachel said.

Cassell's son started down the dirt road toward the clearing, his head hung low.

"Almost got away, didn't you?" Cassell said, putting Rachel in the back seat before getting in the front. "Where are Gus and Bradwell? Did they get in a fight over you?"

"Something like that."

"I'll need to make this quick. Can't have Pete see it."

He took out his gun, laying it on the seat. His phone rang.

"Yeah, it's being taken care of," Cassell said. "Listen, I don't much like you pushing me. You're getting what you asked for. More than you asked for."

Someone on the other end of the line was arguing, keeping Cassell distracted. Rachel worked her right wrist out of the loose handcuff and slid forward. The headlights showed the deserted highway clearly. There was no sign of Peter.

"Who is that, sir? Are you speaking with Mr. Mason?" she asked.

"Little girl, you need to be quiet," Cassell lectured.

"Yes, sir," Rachel said, steadying herself.

"Fine, we'll get the old man, too," Cassell said. "Will that make you happy?"

Apparently it didn't. There was more arguing. Cassell grew agitated.

"Look, I already have one body to deal with thanks to those goddamn idiots you sent. And now I'm about to have another," Cassell complained. "Silverhawk is your problem."

Rachel glanced out the window. Even if she was able to push the door open, she wouldn't get very far. Not on the flat desert floor under a full moon.

"Listen here you goddamn bloodsucker, I've gone the extra mile," Cassell insisted. "Now if you don't mind, I need to--"

Rachel tried to think of another solution, but didn't see an alternative. She silently reached over the seat, picked the sheriff's pistol up, and put the barrel to his head before pulling the trigger. The recoil sent the gun flying, she wasn't sure where. Rachel found herself drenched, forced to wipe bloody debris from her eyes.

There were no clever things to say. No quotes from the Bible. She climbed from the car and considered running but knew that wouldn't work. She'd killed three men, and there was one witness.

Peter was still in the clearing inspecting the bodies when she approached. If he'd heard the gunshot, he probably assumed his father had taken her out into the desert and killed her. He looked sad.

"Katie?" he said, looking up as she emerged from the darkness. "Katie, my God."

Rachel was bathed in bright red blood. Handcuffs dangled from her left wrist. She went to Bradwell's body, picked up the Colt.45, and stood in the headlights of the truck. Peter noticed her strange detachment. There was a glassy look in her eyes.

"Your father was a foolish man," she calmly said.

"Dad's dead?"

"Very dead," Rachel confirmed.

She expected Peter to reach for his gun, but he just stood there. Rachel walked to her grave, staring down, and then turned to face him. She felt the numbers urging her to act. According to the plan, there could be no witnesses.

"I don't want to hurt you," she sighed. "I was prepared to die here, and I still am. But you'll need to shoot me."

"Katie, I can't do that. But I will need to read you your rights," he replied, reaching for his handcuffs. Rachel almost laughed, waving her arm to show the handcuffs she already had.

"My name isn't Katie. It's Rachel Montgomery. In a few hours, the whole world will know I was kidnapped by Mason's men and murdered on his orders. Aided and abetted by a crooked sheriff. After you kill me, you better start running."

"I'm not going to kill you."

"Joanna only gets justice if I'm the victim. Mason only goes down if he's held responsible. If you kill me, a kidnapped woman in handcuffs, any story you tell will sound like a lie. If I kill you, it's self-defense."

Rachel raised the pistol and shot Peter in the leg, the recoil knocking her down. He collapsed next to the truck, a hand gripping the bumper.

"Katie, stop!" Peter shouted.

She fired again, and again, but her hands were shaking. One shot hit the truck, the rest went wild.

"I don't understand what's happened here," Peter said, squeezing his wounded thigh.

Rachel got back on her feet, still holding the Colt. The bullet may have splintered his femur. If he didn't make a tourniquet soon, he could bleed out.

"I'm going to kill you, unless you kill me first," she said.

"I'm not going to kill you."

"You were going to let Gus and Bradwell put me in that grave."

"No, I didn't know anything about that."

"You left me with your father, knowing he was going to execute me." Peter had no answer for that.

Rachel raised the.45 and fired again, blowing a hole in the pick-up's windshield. The recoil nearly knocked her down again.

"Stop," Peter pleaded, seeing a strange, deranged look in her frantic eyes. He drew his pistol, holding it in both hands. "Please don't make me do this. Please."

She cocked the gun to shoot again, aiming dead center. Peter fired, the bullet hitting her low in the ribs on the right side. She spun to the ground, the pistol falling a dozen feet away.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I know," Rachel replied, hands clutched over the wound.

Peter couldn't stand on the injured leg. Rachel couldn't stand either. She waited. Dawn would break any minute.

Peter lowered the gun, just staring at her. Rachel reached in her back pocket to reactivate the drone, and then slipped her right hand into the handcuffs. The video would find her in the grave. Nothing Mason's lawyers said would mean anything compared to that image.

"What are you doing?" Peter asked, his voice weak.

She crawled toward the grave and looked down into the pit. It was where she expected to be found. She rolled on her side, falling in. It hurt. She couldn't stop the blood flowing from her wound, though the rough bottom of the grave was putting pressure on it. She tried to lift up, not wanting to die any slower than necessary, but couldn't move. She'd given every bit of energy she had.

* * * * * *

The rented SUV was racing north toward Jackpot. Grubby sat in the backseat giving directions. William was driving, Rory at shotgun. Sitting next to Grubby was Tom holding an AR-15 semiautomatic rifle.

"Slow down. It's up here on the left," Grubby said.

"How do you know?" Rory asked.

"She sent a video to my computer."

"Someone got here ahead of us," William said, spotting a stopped car on the road.

"That's either the sheriff or his deputy," Grubby said. "Keep the rifle ready and be prepared to use it."

"Are you sure Rachel is out here?" Rory asked.

"We better hope so," Grubby said.

They halted next to the squad car, William and Tom jumping out. Grubby followed more slowly.

"It's Sheriff Cassell. What's left of him," Grubby said. He stepped back. "Katie! Katie! Are you still here? It's okay. Your brother and sister are with me."

There was no answer. William reached in the car and picked up a bloody Glock 40 off the seat.

"Where would she have gone?" Tom asked.

Grubby pointed to lights shining a quarter mile off the road, barely visible through the cactus. They got back in their car, driving cautiously. The pickup truck's headlights still illuminated the clearing.

"Jesus Christ," Rory muttered, seeing two dead men sprawled on the ground. There was another man, wounded, lying against the truck. She grabbed her First Aid kit and jumped out, kneeling next to him.

"Hurry. In the hole. She's hurt bad," Peter mumbled. Rory rushed to the pit, gasping.

"Billy! Billy!" she screamed.

William came running, then caught his breath. It was Rachel lying at the bottom, soaked in blood. Tom removed the gun from Peter's reach, keeping an eye on him.

"Bring the First Aid kit over here," William said, crawling down. It wasn't a deep hole. He lifted her out slowly.

"She's been shot. One of those fuckers shot her. We've got to get her to a hospital," Rory said, searching the kit for bandages.

"Not around here," Grubby warned. "I've got a hunch Mason's boys will be along any minute. Not a hospital in the county where she'll be safe. And that youngster you're pointing a gun at is the sheriff's son."

"That's goddamn great. What are we going to do?" Rory said.

"Can she make it to the airport?" Grubby asked.

"I don't think so. She's losing a lot of blood," Rory guessed.

"Head for the casino in Juniper," Grubby advised. "Katie has friends there. Then call for help, if you know any."

Tom saw the handcuffs on Rachel's wrists and looked at the deputy, wanting to shoot him. Instead, he dug through Peter's belt for the keys. Peter realized what he was after.

"I didn't want this," Peter said, handing them up. "I love Katie."

"Hell of a way to show it, son," Grubby said, holding the shotgun.

"Get those things off her," Tom said, throwing the keys to Rory.

"What do you want done about this kid?" Grubby asked.

"Leave him," William said.

"We can't do that," Rory rejected. "We'll drop him off somewhere."

"There's a fire station on the way back. We can leave him there," Grubby said.

"Mr. Barnes, I suggest you take this deputy in the truck," Tom decided. "We'll take Rachel to Juniper. If you can meet us there later, that's fine. If not, we appreciate your help. It won't be forgotten."

"You don't need to give me nothin'," Grubby said. "I love that little girl. You take good care of her."

Rory and Tom settled Rachel in the backseat. Rory held pads over the wound hoping it hadn't torn vital organs. William drove up the dark dirt road carefully, and then accelerated when they reached the highway, whipping past the death car.

"How's she doing?" William called out.

"Still breathing," Tom said, holding Rachel's head.

"She's tough, Billy. You know how tough," Rory said. "We'll get her through this."

* * * * * *

Well, the worst of the worst is over. Rachel was wounded and alone, at the mercy of criminals, but Tom and the Benson family have arrived, and that will change everything.