Chapter 25

Picturesque, my ass. If Avery saw another white-water anything, she thought she just might start screaming and never stop. At the moment, she was feeling malevolent toward pine trees too. Hated every one of them. She wasn't real fond of John Paul either. He had tossed her over the cliff like a discarded candy wrapper, and on the way down she had vowed that, if he survived, she'd kill him, just for the sheer joy of it.

She knew she was being irrational. She didn't care. Her bad mood intensified when she cut her leg on a jagged rock. If they'd been in the ocean, the blood pouring from her cut would have sounded the lunch bell for the neighboring sharks. Trying to stay positive as she fought to stay afloat, she told herself to be thankful there weren't any sharks around. And her leg didn't hurt all

that much compared to the searing charley horse in her calf that nearly caused her to drown. John Paul hauled her onto the

bank, half carried her into the trees so they wouldn't be seen, and then dropped her. She landed with a thud on her backside.

He dropped beside her. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" Since she'd taken in more than enough water to fill a backyard swimming pool, she was too waterlogged to answer the absurd question. Shoving her hair out of her eyes, she glared at him.

"It wasn't as bad as the first jump, was it? I don't think that drop was more than twenty feet," he said.

"You pushed me over a cliff."

Actually, he hadn't pushed her. As he recalled, he'd thrown her so she wouldn't hit the rocks jutting out from the base of the

cliff. He didn't think it would be a good idea to mention that now, though. "Did I have any other choice?"

She wasn't ready to admit that there really hadn't been any other alternative. Their guns were useless against a high-powered

rifle, and Monk was hot on their trail.

"I don't want to talk about it."

He grinned. "Cup half empty, sugar? Where's that optimistic attitude?"

"At the bottom of the river."

He stood and offered her his hand. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

She didn't know if she had enough strength to even stand. She was so tired and cold and wet. Suck it up, she told herself.

"Right," she said as she grabbed hold. When he jerked her upright, she fell against him. He put his arm around her and held

her tight while he made up his mind which direction they should go.

"Aren't you tired?" she asked.

"Yeah, I am."

She looked back toward the river. "Maybe he'll give up now."

John Paul shook his head. "That isn't gonna happen. He's a professional. He's taken the contract, and he won't stop coming

after us until…"

"He succeeds?"

"Or until I kill him."

"I vote for the second option."

They both heard the sound of children's laughter.

Avery pulled away from him and started running toward the noise. "I hope they have a phone."

"Doubt you can get a signal."

She actually smiled. "There's that negativity I so love. You had me worried, John Paul. For a minute there you were…"

"What?"

"Cheerful."

"The hell I was."

He sounded as though she'd just insulted him. She was laughing as she ran toward the sound. The reason for her sudden good humor was either joy or hysteria. A family of five was setting up tents near a little stream.

After a brief explanation, everyone piled into the father's minivan and headed toward a town the man remembered he'd driven through on the way up the mountain.

Thirty minutes later they reached the sleepy little community of Emerson. Downtown consisted of four streets. The father

stopped the van in front of a two-story stone building. The second they got out of the van and closed the sliding door, the

father sped away.

"I think maybe you scared him," Avery remarked.

"The faster he can get his family away from us, the safer they'll all be."

There was a police station, which was surprising, considering the size of the town. Sharing the same building, the police station was squeezed in between the volunteer fire department on one end of the building and Bud's Burgers on the other. There were three doors facing the street with signs above each one. They walked through the middle door into a wide hall. Swinging doors were on both sides. One connected to the restaurant, and the other to the fire department. The police station was directly ahead.

The aroma of hamburgers and onions and french fries filled the air, but the smell didn't spur Avery's appetite. It actually made

her nauseous. The lack of food, running for miles and miles, the cold, and the terror had taken their toll. She felt all used up. Getting from the door to the counter was suddenly more challenging than surviving the currents. Her feet felt as though they weighed a hundred pounds, and it took every ounce of stamina she had left to move at all.

John Paul could tell she was having trouble. She seemed to wilt before his eyes.

"You okay?" he asked as he put his arm around her waist.

"I feel like rigor mortis has set in," she said. "I'm not dead, am I?"

Smiling, he said, "You're still breathing."

He looked through the glass window and saw the police chief sitting behind his desk. There was a stack of papers on the

blotter, and he was poring over them. Every couple of seconds he would glance up at a television mounted to the wall behind

the counter. Dressed in navy pants and a white shirt with the name Chief Tyler on the pocket, the middle-aged man was

frowning as he picked up a sheet of paper.

A woman in her late sixties stood behind the counter with her back to the door. Her hair was as white as Avery's face. She seemed mesmerized by the program on the television.

John Paul could hear her talking as he pushed the door open. "Didn't I tell you something bad was going to happen? Didn't I tell you, Bud?"

"Yes, Verna. You told me."

"And didn't I tell you he brought this on himself?" she asked. "Tearing out all those beautiful trees and digging away at the mountain just to build himself a fancy monument. It looks like Mother Nature decided to get even, didn't she?"

The chief wasn't paying much attention. "Yes," he drawled as he continued to scan the sheet of paper in his hand.

"If you ask me, he's the villain. I feel sorry for his wife."

"You mean ex-wife, don't you?"

"That's right. He got rid of her so he could move on to a younger model. It's criminal, if you ask me. Poor thing. He got her

used to living the high life, and then he yanks the rug right out from under her."

The chief was clearly exasperated. He dropped the paper on the desk and looked at the television. " 'Poor thing'? Didn't you

see that interview they did with her last month? They had to bleep out every other word she said. I think he was crazy to ever marry her."

"But how is she going to get along now?"

"She can get a job and work like the rest of us. Nobody put a gun to her head when she signed that prenup," he pointed out.

John Paul and Avery had been listening from the doorway. They walked inside as Verna was telling the chief it was all a terrible shame. The chief spotted them, did a double take, and stood.

"What happened to you two?"

"It's a long story."

"I'll be happy to listen," he said.

Avery pulled away from John Paul and walked over to the counter. Verna gasped, and her brown eyes widened as she approached.

"My name's Avery Delaney," she said.

"You're soaking wet. What in heaven's name happened to you? You look like something my cat dragged in."

Avery didn't know where to begin. She saw John Paul shake the policeman's hand and sit in the chair he offered. She decided she'd let him do the explaining.

"May I use your phone?" she asked. "I need to call the FBI."

Verna's eyes now looked as if they were going to pop out of her face as she called over her shoulder, "Bud? The lady wants to call the FBI."

"Let her use the phone," the chief said. He was leaning into the desk, listening intently as John Paul explained the situation.

Verna placed an old-fashioned black phone on the counter. "There are showers on the second floor above the fire station and

nice clean cots too. While you make your call, I'll go get a couple of blankets for you folks. Your lips are trembling. You're

gonna get hypothermia if you aren't warmed up soon."

"Thank you," she said. "You're very kind."

Avery picked up the phone and then put it back down. Exhausted, she couldn't remember the phone number to the pen. She

closed her eyes to think about it. Was it three-nine-one or nine-three-one?

Maybe she could call Carter. What was his private number? Then she heard John Paul ask the chief if he had ever heard of a property called Land Between the Lakes.

"Everyone in Colorado has heard about that property."

"How far away is it?"

"Quite a distance from here," he said. "And with all the Lookie-Lous out there, you won't be able to get close. By now, the police have the area sealed off. The best way to see it is on television."

John Paul didn't know what he was talking about. He glanced at the screen.

Nine-three-one. That was it. Avery picked up the phone and started dialing. The receiver was halfway to her ear when she happened to look up at the television. She froze, the phone number once again forgotten.

A local newscaster announced that they had new footage of the disaster from a hiker just outside of Aspen who had captured

the explosion with his video camera.

"The judge's decision was announced at eight-fifteen this morning, granting ownership of the mansion to Dennis Parnell. For

those of you who just tuned in, we repeat, late this morning, the Parnell mansion known as Land Between the Lakes was ripped apart by an explosion."

The phone crashed on the floor as Avery collapsed.

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