Found Money - James Grippando [140]
“Can you drive this?” asked Jeb.
She slammed it into gear. Tires spun and gravel flew as the van shot from the turnout. It leaned left, then right, squealing around corners at three times the speed limit, barely gripping the road.
“Guess so,” he said, holding on for dear life.
She skidded through the last turn, which was sharper than expected. Amy momentarily lost control. The headlights seemed to point in every direction, then finally locked onto the Mercedes straight ahead. A man was running away from the car. Amy steered the van around the back of the Mercedes and slammed on the brakes. The van fishtailed, nearly knocking the man to his feet.
Jeb jumped out, gun drawn. “Freeze! Hands over your head!”
The man raised his hands. Amy hit the emergency blinkers for better light. In the intermittent blasts of orange light, she could see it was Ryan Duffy.
“What did you do to Marilyn!” she shouted.
Ryan kept one eye on the gun, the other on Amy.
“I never saw Marilyn. I just heard a scream and ran over here. The body was already in the car when I got here.”
“Body?” Amy’s voice was filled with panic. She hurried toward the Mercedes.
“Don’t look,” said Ryan.
It was too late. The sight of the body sent Amy back on her heels. “Who is that?”
“It’s a woman I met in Panama. She was supposed to meet me here tonight. Apparently somebody got to her before I did.”
Jeb moved toward the Mercedes, took a quick look for himself. “You’re lying. You killed that woman.” He took aim at Ryan’s forehead, cocking the hammer on his revolver.
Ryan swallowed hard. “What the hell are you doing, old man?”
“Pat him down, Amy. Check for a gun.”
Ryan said, “It’s inside my jacket. Check it, please. You can tell it hasn’t been fired. I didn’t shoot this woman.”
Amy cautiously stepped forward, unzipped the jacket, and pulled out the pistol.
“Bring it here,” said Jeb.
She handed it to him. His gun aimed at Ryan, he sniffed the barrel for fresh powder and checked the ammunition clip. It was still full. “He may be telling the truth.”
A scream echoed from somewhere near the dam. All three of them froze, trying to pinpoint the exact location. It had been deafening and shrill—the kind of scream Amy had heard in her nightmares about the night she’d found her mother.
Another scream followed, even louder than the last. It seemed to have come from beyond the hill, along the hiking path that led to the dam.
“It’s Marilyn!” Amy grabbed Ryan’s gun from Jeb, then turned and ran toward the opening in a stretch of woods at the edge of the parking lot.
“Amy, wait!”
Ryan watched as she faded into darkness, then looked desperately at Jeb. “If one of us doesn’t go after her, she’s going to end up like that woman in the car.”
Stockton tightened his aim. “Just stay right there!”
Ryan thought fast. Even in the heavy ballistic jacket, he could probably outrun the old man. On impulse, he turned and ran in Amy’s footsteps.
“Stop!”
Ryan only ran faster, never looking back.
66
Nathan Rusch was angry, not about to be outrun by a woman ten years his senior. He had come down from his hiding spot in a matter of seconds, chasing down the wooded path that led to the dam. Her sixty-yard lead had closed to less than twenty. He’d tried to make verbal contact, but his shouts on the dead run had only made her scream.
His lungs were beginning to burn. The hills and thin mountain air were taking its toll. He wondered if the drug Sheila had given him back at the hotel this morning wasn’t still affecting him, making him fatigue faster. Lucky for him she’d lacked the nerve to kill. Unfortunately for her he didn’t have the same qualms.
He stopped at a fork in the footpath, unsure of which way to go. A canopy of trees completely blocked out the moonlight. He’d lost sight of Marilyn. He listened for footsteps cutting across the woods. All was silent, save for the water flowing beneath the damn.
“Freeze!” The voice had come from behind—an older man’s voice.
Startled, Rusch wheeled quickly. Jeb Stockton