James Grippando - Found money
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- Название:Found money
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Marilyn tried to scream but was mute, paralyzed with fear. Images flashed through her head. She saw herself as a teenager passed out in the back of Frank Duffy’s Buick. She saw Amy’s mother on her deathbed with a bullet in her head. She took a step back. Her voice was suddenly back.
Her scream pierced the night as she ran toward the dam.
The scream rattled the van, sending the decibel meters on the tape recorder well into the red zone. Jeb Stockton called frantically on the radio, but he got no response. “Damn it, Marilyn, where the hell are you?”
“Don’t lose her!” said Amy.
“It’s pure static.”
“Rusch must have her. He must have ripped off her headset.”
“Don’t panic on me. She could have just run into a low tree branch or something that knocked off the headset.”
“Keep listening,” said Amy as she leaped into the driver’s seat. The motor was already running.
“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 was standing behind a rock, his gun aimed at Rusch. “Put the gun down,” said Jeb, “hands over your head.”
Slowly, Rusch obeyed. The gun dropped. His hands went behind his head. Jeb was obviously having a hard time seeing in the darkness, particularly with Rusch’s black clothing. He stepped out from behind the rock and took five steps forward. He closed to within ten yards. “Lay on the ground, face down. Nice and slow.”
Rusch lowered himself to one knee, his eye on Jeb’s chest. In one blinding motion his hand snapped forward from behind his head, releasing a titanium throwing knife from the sheath on his wrist. The sleek blade whirled through the air and struck the target, parting Jeb’s ribs. He groaned as the wound dropped him to his knees. He fired two erratic shots, then fell to the ground.
Rusch grabbed his gun and came to him quickly, checking the pulse. It was weak. He gave a moment’s thought to finishing him with a bullet, but it wasn’t necessary. He’d let the old man suffer. He yanked the knife from his ribs, cleaned it on Jeb’s shirt, and tucked it back into his wrist sheath.
“Don’t feel bad, old man,” he whispered smugly. “No one ever looks for the knife when they think they’re in a gunfight.”
Stockton’s left arm jerked forward. A loud crack erupted as he fired off a round from a small palm-sized revolver. Rusch was hit square in the chest and fell over in a heap.
Stockton collapsed, exhausted. “Don’t feel bad, jackass. Nobody ever looks for the second gun, either.”
The gunshots echoed like thunder in the canyon, drawing Amy and Ryan to the fork in the footpath. Amy arrived first, barreling down the hill. Ryan was close behind. Breathless and scared, she stopped at the first sight of the body on the ground. The boots she recognized as Jeb’s. In the darkness, she hadn’t noticed the man in the black body suit, but finally she did. He was completely still. She felt a wave of relief till she noticed the blood at Jeb’s side. She ran to him and knelt close.
His eyes were glazed. He was barely conscious. Blood had soaked his shirt, covering his chest. He coughed, trying to speak. “Bastard, got me with a knife.”
“Who is it?”
“Damned if I know.”
Amy quickly went to the body, checked a pulse. Nothing. “He’s dead.” She pulled the hood off his head. The face was unfamiliar, but she knew it had to be Rusch. She came back to Jeb’s side.
“Did you see Marilyn?”
He shook his head.
“Which way did he come from?”
“The dam.”
Amy started at the pounding footsteps behind her. She rose and aimed her gun. Ryan stopped short and backed away.
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