AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Climbing into the tan Dodge Charger that was as invisible as he was, Jaeger drove out of the parking lot and headed for the highway.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE DISTANCE FROM THEHILTON TO THEREDROCKINN WAS ABOUTfour blocks. With emergency vehicles cramming the street, running was the fastest way to get there. Tess plunged ahead of Brock, pushing her way through the onlookers that thronged the sidewalk. Wise, kind Ruben. His was the strength that held the ranch family together. Always calm and patient, always there.
Please, Tess prayed as she ran.Please don’t let him die!
Ahead, she could hear shouting voices and see flashing lights—two police cars, a hulking fire engine, and an ambulance—that was where Ruben would be if he was alive, or even if he wasn’t. She fought her way closer, through the milling crowd. Where the door to the motel room had been there was nothing but a scorched and gaping hole. But the units on either side, apart from shattered windows, appeared mostly intact. Had there been people inside them? Were they hurt?
A uniformed policeman stopped her at the yellow tape. “Get back, miss. This is a crime scene.”
“Please!” Tess insisted. “The man in that room was my foreman, my friend. I have to know whether he’s alive.”
“All right. But only for a minute. And don’t get any closer.”
Brock had caught up with her. He stayed at her side as she passed into the taped-off area. Two medics were lifting a stretcher off a gurney to load it into the ambulance. Tess glimpsed a familiar, weathered face. The eyes were closed, the skin streaked with soot and burns. Pushing closer, she caught the paramedic’s arm. “I know him. His name’s Ruben. Ruben Diego. Is he alive?”
“He’s unconscious.” The Navajo paramedic kept working as he spoke. “He was on the ground, like maybe the blast blew him backward. Superficial burns. Shock. Concussion. Get back. We need to get him to the ER.”
“What hospital?”
“Yavapai Regional. Willow Creek Road.” He climbed in next to the stretcher. The door closed behind him. Seconds later the ambulance, lights flashing, siren screaming, was pushing through the heavy traffic. Still stunned, Tess stared after it.
“Come on.” Brock tugged her arm. “We’ll take my car.”
They ran back the way they’d come. Brock’s SUV was in the hotel parking garage. They both knew the way to the hospital.
“This is my fault.” Tess was fighting tears. “If only I’d been there—”
“If you’d been there, you couldn’t have done a damned thing,” Brock said. “You’d probably have been killed. And this wasn’t your doing, Tess. It was mine. Whoever rigged this explosion had to be the same bastard who blew up my mailbox. Now two fine, innocent men have paid for my past sins.”
“But this bomb wasn’t meant for you. And I can’t imagine it was meant for Ruben. It was meant for me.”
“Yes, but only because of our connection. I know we’ve tried to be careful, but there were people who saw us together and already knew you were important to me.”
Brock gunned the engine to fly through a light that was just turning red. “But how could this monster know where you were staying? Hell, I didn’t even know. Did you tell anybody?”
Tess searched her memory, struggling to calm her churning thoughts. Suddenly the conversation came back. “Oh my God!” she gasped. “Brock, I did mention the motel and the room to one person. It was Jim!”
* * *
In spite of its cheerful decor, the ER waiting room fit Brock’s idea of a purgatory, where friends and families waited to hear the fate of their loved ones. Survival or death? Recovery or a disabled life? Eternities seemed to pass while they waited, scared and uncertain.
Some rodeo injuries were being treated behind the forbidding double doors. Brock had learned about them just by listening. A cowboy had been trampled by a saddle bronc. Sitting across the room, his young wife struggled to distract two crying children. An older couple, their son tossed by a bull, held hands in an effort to comfort each other.
For Tess, there was Ruben, who might or might not live.
She sat next to Brock, staring down at her tightly clenched hands. Brock ached to lay a comforting arm around her shoulders, but she was lost in grief and guilt. She would never stop blaming herself for having mentioned the motel and room number to Jim.
Jim Carson.So damned likable with his shy grin. So pleasant and helpful. But every time something had gone wrong, he’d either been there, or he’d known about what was happening—like who had begun picking up the mail, and where the Cessna would be left in Vegas. He’d probably put the rattlesnake in the trailer and pulled down that barbed wire fence. He could also have been the one to mail the news clippings from Tucson and Phoenix and leave the unposted one in the mailbox.
Brock cursed himself. Why hadn’t he guessed sooner? How could he not have figured it out? If his theory about a team of three people was right, then Jim would be the go-between—the connection between the money person and the criminal. The picture made perfect sense. The only question was what to do about it.
Confronting Jim would be a bad idea. Without solid proof, he’d deny everything, warn his partners, and destroy any chance of the truth ever coming out. Keep him close—for now that was the only solution. Pretend to trust him, but watch his every move—especially any phone calls or other attempt to pass on messages.
A nudge from Tess alerted Brock. The doctor, who looked young enough to be in high school, had come out through the swinging doors. He was walking toward them, his expression unreadable.
Tess sprang to her feet. “How is he?” she demanded.
