Silent Partner Part 7

"That's terrible," she murmured.

"Exactly what I thought. So I called Lawrence's accounting sharks in New York and told them we needed fifty grand for a new barn out here. They wired it to me the next day, and I sent it on to the girl." He patted the horse's neck again. "Her mother died, but at least she was comfortable during her last few weeks. And the girl didn't have a pile of medical bills to deal with when her mother was gone."

"Is all of that really true?" she asked. There was her natural instinct not to believe, not to fully trust even someone she felt comfortable with. The risks had outweighed the rewards too many times.

"You think I'm lying?"

"What if the accounting guys drop by to check up on the new barn? What will you do when they find out what you really did with the money?"

"They won't. At least, they haven't yet. And if they do, I'll get a message to Mr. Lawrence telling him to call off the dogs. If he ignores me, then I'll call theNational Enquirer and make a million bucks."

She didn't ask, but the implication was that he had protected himself by sneaking a photograph. "What you did for that girl seems like a big risk to take for someone you don't even know."

Tucker glanced over his shoulder. "You are a tough broad. I guess I oughta believe that your meeting with Mr. Lawrence was just business after all."

"Yes, you should." She s.h.i.+vered. It was getting colder as the sun dropped toward the horizon. "How many times have you brought a woman up here for Jake Lawrence?"

"You sound like a reporter."

"Answer me."

"More than twice, but that's all I'll say."

"How do you know he's made promises to those other women?"

"The story I told you isn't the only one I've heard. And she wasn't the only one I checked up on. And now you sound like a lawyer."

It was the second time in the last few hours she'd been accused of being a lawyer, which wasn't unusual. Her father had always encouraged her to be an attorney because he said she never stopped asking how and why. "How can you be so sure Jake Lawrence makes all kinds of promises when you aren't actually there?"

"I can't," Tucker replied, guiding the horse around a sharp rock protruding from the snow. "Are you defending him?"

"No, I . . . " Her voice trailed off.

"What's this big project Lawrence wants you to work on?" Tucker asked.

"I can't say."

"Oh, I get it. I share a little inside information with you, but now you don't return the favor. I see how it works."

"It has to do with a corporate takeover."

"What company is being taken over?"

"I really can't tell you that." She didn't want to let on that she didn't know herself. She didn't want Tucker to doubt the legitimacy of the meeting. "If I did, I'd be violating about twenty securities laws, which could get us both in a boatload of trouble."

Tucker snorted loudly. For a moment she wasn't certain if it was him or the horse.

"Here's a chance for me to make a little money," he grumbled, "and you're holding back. I'm not as much of a cowboy as you think. I've got a stock portfolio. It ain't big, but I've got one. Come on, Angela, give me a tip."

"I'm sorry, John, but I really can't say anything."

"Yeah, sure."

"Bill Colby's a scary guy," Angela commented, trying to change the subject.

"Yeah, I don't like him much. But he knows what he's doing," Tucker admitted grudgingly. "Being head of security for Jake Lawrence is no picnic."

"Why is Jake Lawrence tougher to guard than any other wealthy person?" she asked, glad Tucker had taken the bait.

"First of all, Mr. Lawrence isn't just any other wealthy person. He's probably one of the top ten wealthiest people in the world. One of the accountants in New York told me that if he's ever kidnapped, Colby has a standing order to pay up to $100 million just on proof of life."

Angela shook her head. "Lord."

"That's why you can't find pictures of him anywhere. Colby won't allow it. No pictures makes it tougher on anybody who's thinking about kidnapping or killing him." Tucker nodded back over his shoulder in the direction of the cabin. "The army Colby surrounds Lawrence with makes it tougher, too. So do the decoy teams."

"Decoy teams?"

The horse strayed slightly toward the cliff. Tucker steered the animal closer to the rock face. "Yeah. As I understand it, there are three imposter Jake Lawrences running around the world posing as him. They've had plastic surgery to make them look as much like the real McCoy as possible, and they travel with a personal army just like Mr. Lawrence does. Sometimes they're with him and sometimes they aren't."

It was fascinating, the lengths to which Lawrence went to protect himself. "Why would the teams ever be with Lawrence?"

"If he absolutely has to go somewhere, and it's an area that Colby determines is 'hot' or high-risk, especially if the trip is last minute, Colby may send one of the decoy teams in first."

"To test the waters."

"Exactly. Even if the first one makes it to the destination safely, Colby might send a second decoy in while he's slipping the genuine article into the area in an old pickup truck."

"Have any of the teams ever been-"

"Attacked?" Tucker interrupted, antic.i.p.ating her question.

"Yes."

"Yup. Colby tries to keep all information dealing with Mr. Lawrence's security very hush-hush, but I understand that we lost a decoy two years ago." Tucker's eyes narrowed. "It was a car bomb, and there wasn't much left. I just hope we took care of the son of a b.i.t.c.h's family," he said softly.

"Do you know where the incident occurred?"

"Algeria, I think."

"Algeria? What in the world would Mr. Lawrence be doing in Algeria?"

"I'm sure I don't know."

"I don't remember reading anything about that."

"Of course not. Jake Lawrence has influential friends in high places, including the press. The incident never made it into the newspaper columns."

Angela nodded to herself, thinking about how Jake Lawrence seemed to know that theWall Street Journal was considering a follow-up on Liv Jefferson's articles. "Then based on what you're telling me, I can't be certain that was the real Jake Lawrence I just met."

"That's true," Tucker acknowledged, "except for one thing."

"What?"

"Bill Colby is a control freak. If Colby is around, there's a good chance the real Jake Lawrence is in the area, too. I've tried to tell Bill that unfriendlies may pick up on that, but he doesn't seem to want to take advice from a cowboy."

"So I noticed," Angela said quietly.

"The second reason it's tough to guard Lawrence," Tucker continued, "is that he tends to p.i.s.s people off. He sticks his nose into sensitive issues, according to one of those in-house New York accountants I shared a flight with last year, into situations where he isn't wanted. Maybe that's what somebody was doing in Algeria."

Angela peered over Tucker's shoulder and saw that they were nearing the end of the narrow section of the trail. Only a hundred yards and they'd be back on safe ground. "What do you mean?"

"Well, he-"

She barely heard the bullet as it ricocheted off a ledge a few feet above their heads. It sounded like nothing more than a hornet buzzing past as it caromed off a rock with an angry whine. Tucker pushed her roughly to the ground, jumped down after her, grabbed his rifle from the saddle holster, and dragged her behind a small rock, barking at her to lie as flat as she could.

A split second later the next bullet came, striking the stallion in its ma.s.sive black neck, destroying its windpipe and blowing a softball-sized hole out the other side. The huge animal staggered backward and to the left, frothing blood, then collapsed in front of them and tumbled off the side of the cliff.

"Oh, my G.o.d!" Angela shouted, trying to burrow into the snow. "Where are the bullets coming from?"

"Ahead!" Tucker lay beside her, aiming the rifle in the direction they'd been going. "Whoever's up there probably wanted us to be on the horse when it went off the cliff."

"What are we going to do?"

"Stay put for now. I don't think they can get a clean shot at us if we stay low."

For five excruciating minutes they waited, pressed to the ground, but there were no more shots. Just the sound of the late afternoon wind wailing eerily through the canyon.

"Follow me," Tucker ordered in a low voice.

"What?"

"We're going back the way we came. There's a cave about fifty yards back. I'm gonna put you in it, then make certain whoever was shooting at us is gone."

"It'll be dark in thirty minutes. Let's wait until then," she suggested, still breathing hard.

"No good. Whoever it is might have night vision capability. We don't. I've got to get you to safety." Tucker motioned to her as he began crawling along the ground. "Come on."

"What am I doing here?" she whispered as she followed him across the snow, wondering if the next moment might be her last. She'd had a front row view of the last bullet tearing out the horse's neck, and she didn't want the same view of the next one tearing through John Tucker. Or her. Suddenly Jake Lawrence didn't seem so paranoid.

When they reached the cave, they scrambled inside, protected for the moment. The cave stretched thirty feet back into the mountain. It was no more than ten feet wide and six feet high at any point.

"You'll be safe in here," Tucker a.s.sured her as they hunched down against the wall.

"You're not leaving me," she said, antic.i.p.ating what he was about to say.

"Look, whoever shot at us probably took off, but I'm going to make sure. I don't want you with me if he didn't and I run into him," he replied, reaching inside his jacket and pulling out the long-barreled .22 that had been on the Expedition's dashboard last night. "Take this. If anybody approaches, shoot them. Don't ask questions. Just aim and start pulling the trigger."

Angela took the revolver. Her father had taught her how to handle a gun when she was young. Before he had run off the road one night on his way home to the trailer park from an Asheville bar and killed himself in the spring of her senior year in high school. "I don't like this."

"You'll be fine," Tucker said, checking the ammunition in the rifle. "Stay back in the cave, but keep checking both sides of the path, too. Like I said, you see anybody other than me, you start shooting. Here's some extra ammo." He reached into his coat and tossed a box of ammunition on the cave floor in front of her.

"How will I know if someone on the trail is the person who shot at us?"

"Believe me, no one else besides you and me ought to be up here right now. Anybody else is fair game." He stuck his head out of the cave and peered both ways. "I won't be gone long. If I'm not back in a half hour, get out of here. Go left out of the cave. Opposite the way I go. Back toward the cabin. When you get to the end of the narrow part of the path, get into the woods and down off the mountain any way you can." He hesitated. "By the way, who are you?"

"Huh?"

"I haven't p.i.s.sed anybody off enough to make them shoot at me. Least, I don't think I have. So you must have."

"No, I haven't. I'm a n.o.body, for G.o.d's sake."

Tucker stared intently at her for a few moments, then shook his head. "Sure you are," he mumbled. Then he was gone, moving along the path in the same direction they'd been headed before the shots were fired.

Angela crouched just inside the mouth of the cave, watching Tucker as he moved along the trail, sprinting ten to fifteen yards at a time, bent over at the waist, then flattening himself behind a section of the rock face that jutted out into the path. In this way he provided himself at least a small measure of protection from whomever had shot at them. "Come on, John," she whispered as he neared the trees. "Come on."

When he'd raced the last few yards and disappeared into the woods, she heaved a sigh of relief. At least he wasn't out in the open anymore. At least he had some cover.

For the next thirty minutes, Angela constantly checked both sides of the trail but saw nothing suspicious. "Get back here, John," she muttered, gritting her teeth. "Don't leave me out here alone." The sky was darkening and the temperature was falling. There wasn't even any wind down in the canyon anymore, for which she was thankful. The low moan had been unnerving.

She let out another sigh, then swallowed hard as it hit her. Maybe this whole thing was a setup. Maybe Lawrence was angry at the way their meeting had ended, and Tucker had been ordered to leave her alone to face whoever was shooting. She shook her head. That was silly. She was letting her imagination run wild.

She poked her head out of the cave once more and caught her breath. Through the fading light she saw something. A slight movement down the trail in the direction they'd been coming from before the first shot. Back in the direction of the cabin where the path widened and turned less treacherous. "Oh, G.o.d," she muttered. The .22 began trembling in her gloved hand as she saw the movement again.

She retreated inside the cave, sitting against the rock wall, head tilted back, eyes closed, fingers wrapped tightly around the wooden handle of the revolver, s.h.i.+vering. Maybe it was Tucker. Maybe somehow he had made it all the way around to that side of the mountain without finding anyone and now he was coming back for her.Please let it be him, she prayed.

She leaned out so she could see down the trail again, one eye barely beyond the cave's entrance. Through the fading light she could see someone walking on the trail toward her. He wore a long coat that fell almost to his ankles and nothing on his head. Definitely not Tucker. She ducked back inside the cave entrance and took three short breaths.

"Dammit!"

The man was walking deliberately, not trying to hide his presence. Not approaching as if he intended harm. If he'd been sprinting or moving along the rock face as though trying to protect himself, as Tucker had, her decision would have been easier. She would have been prepared to aggressively defend herself, as Tucker had instructed. But this guy might have had nothing to do with the shooting. She took another quick look. He was fifty yards away now and still coming. She hadn't seen a gun, but he could be hiding a cannon beneath that long coat.

With a low groan she stood up, hunched over at the waist so she wouldn't hit her head on the low ceiling, and scrambled to the back of the cave. There, she sat back down and wedged herself into a corner that afforded at least some protection, then aimed the .22 at the entrance. She was trying to remember what her father had taught her in the field that day as they'd fired his snub-nosed .38 at an array of labelless tin cans perched atop a rail fence.Hold the pistol firmly with both hands but don't strangle it, keep your elbows slightly bent, take a deep breath, then fire. The barrel of the gun shook in front of her, and she clenched her teeth. The next time she saw her boss, she was going to tell him exactly what she thought of him sending her to Wyoming.

Maybe the man who was approaching would stay outside the cave to protect himself, then reach around with one hand and start shooting randomly, hoping to hit her without making himself a target. Or maybe he'd continue past the cave without even bothering to investigate. Maybe he hadn't seen her. She squinted. The low light was playing tricks on her eyes, making her think someone had pa.s.sed by the entrance. She could hear herself breathing hard. Hadn't it been long enough for the guy to cover those fifty yards? Maybe he'd turned back.

"h.e.l.lo!"

Angela froze.

"I know you're in there." The voice came again, echoing inside the cave. "I saw you watching me. Don't shoot."

Why would he suspect she might even have a gun, let alone shoot? But why would he walk along the trail without protecting himself if he meant her harm and thought she might shoot him? The possibilities churned through her mind.

"I'm going to move out so you can see me," the man called. "Here I come."

A dark silhouette appeared at the cave entrance. He was holding his arms out away from his body, trying to convince her he wasn't a threat. Friend or foe? Risk versus return. She was breathing as if she'd just run a marathon. She could feel perspiration soaking her back.

She rose cautiously to her knees, the .22 trained on the man's chest.If you ever have to fire in self-defense, she remembered her father saying when they had finished target practice that first time,a.s.sume you will only get one shot. Aim at the heart, then squeeze the trigger smoothly. If you pull back too quickly, you will jerk the gun to one side or the other and you will miss. And shoot to kill, never to wound.