Page 13 of I’ll Be There (Montana Fire #4)

“Apparently, he’s onto our grand plan,” Micah said, working the wheel, the tires screeching as he brought the truck around, onto the road. Reuben and Pete slammed against skinny Romeo in the back. He grunted, pushed them away.

“Time for us to get serious,” Conner said. “Pull up next to him.” He opened his glove compartment and pulled out his own conceal and carry Glock 26.

“Seriously? You had that when we crossed the border?” Micah said. “We could have been arrested.”

Conner glanced at him. “Plausible deniability?”

“I’m going to plausibly deny you when we get back.”

More of a gravel road than a highway, the road kicked up dust as the Honda zagged down it.

Micah was fighting to keep the truck steady on the slick gravel. Conner leaned out the window, aimed for the tires. Squeezed off a shot.

Missed.

The truck jostled him into the window and he grunted.

“Give it to me,” Reuben said from behind him. He rolled down his window.

Conner came back in and Reuben grabbed the gun. “Trust me.” Then he leaned out the window, took a breath, and squeezed the trigger.

The back tire popped, and the Honda fishtailed.

“Nice shot,” Conner said.

Shooter righted the truck and ground the tire down to the rim.

“Determined little bugger,” Micah growled.

“Not so little. The guy kicked the tar out of me,” Conner said.

Reuben leaned out the window again. “Steady, Micah,” he said in his low baritone.

He squeezed off another shot.

The tire exploded, and without the sway of the other wheel, the fishtail action launched the Honda. The truck flipped, over and over, landed hard in the ditch, and rolled into the scrubby pine, wheels up.

Oh. Now he really wanted to swear. Conner stiff-armed the dash as Micah hit the brakes.

The stink of gasoline and burned rubber soured the air as they piled out. Romeo made it there first, was kneeling by the driver’s window. “Bad news.”

Pete came around the front. “Ouch—”

No, no —Conner shoved Romeo out of the way, landed on all fours.

Apparently Shooter hadn’t been wearing his belt, had made it halfway out of the windshield.

Conner turned his face away, his gorge rising.

Pete, however, reached over to take the man’s pulse, ever the EMT. He shook his head.

Micah opened the door on the other side, climbing into the cab.

“What are you doing?” Reuben said.

“Looking for—yeah, I got his cell phone. Wallet and—oh, look at this—a small pile of passports in the glove box.”

Micah crawled back out of the truck, the exhaust still firing, stenching the air.

“This thing can’t blow up, can it?” Romeo asked, backing away.

“This isn’t the movies, kid.” Micah handed Conner the cell phone. “Check his last few calls.” He flipped open the wallet.

“A receipt for the Knights Inn Motor hotel,” Micah said. “Another for a burrito at McDonald’s. And...here we go. A Mister Donny Whistler of Winnipeg.” He pulled out a driver’s license. “But wait, that’s not all. Here’s one for Danny Washburn, Detroit, Michigan.”

Conner opened the phone. “The screen is locked.”

And that’s when he heard it—the familiar crunch of tire on gravel. They stood in silence as a gray Chevy Colorado with Minnesota plates pulled up behind Conner’s truck, came to a stop.

Conner watched, every thought vanishing as Seth, the National Park security guard, got out and walked over to the edge of the road.

Seth stood there a long moment, looking at Conner, the overturned truck, and his cohorts in crime. Finally, “I thought I told you to stay put.”

Somewhere, someone was crying.

Or perhaps the sound could be categorized as more of a moan, fractured now and again by a great gulp, shaky and febrile, before settling back into the hazy, guttural, almost feral sound. It reverberated through the darkness, found her soul, settled there with claws.

Liza couldn’t escape the beast now, the scent of him—dirty, wild, with rancid breath.

Teeth finding bone. The tearing—almost in slow motion—of claws serrating her arm, separating flesh, ripping tendon, piercing muscle.

She pressed her hands over her ears against the moaning, the sound a pulse of horror in the cavernous room, finding her bones, racking her body.

Make it stop.

The beast picked her up, began to shake—

Please—make it stop.

“Liza!”

The light flickered on, even as the door hit the cement wall.

In a second, the animal retreated into the crannies, the shadows.

But Liza couldn’t break free from the moan. From the hold she had on herself, bearing down against the terror that threatened to escape.

Destroy—

“Liza!”

Hands on her, touching her head, her shoulder, wrenching her hands away from her face.

Then—Grace Sharpe staring down at her, so much concern on her face it rushed Liza back to—

The ice arena.

Not a cliff where she lay as dead, or nearly so, in Montana.

“Are you okay?”

She bit her lip—so hard she tasted blood, but nodded, please, yes . “I’m—uh...” But her hands shook—her entire body, in fact, trembled. “I—the door locked and...”

“You blew a circuit. I saw the darkness and reset it—but I had no idea you were locked in here. I’m so sorry. I went to the courthouse to meet Ivy. I should have checked on you. Are you...are you having a panic attack?”

Liza managed to push herself up to a sitting position. She appeared crazy, even to herself. Now, judging by Grace’s face, yeah, she had completely overreacted... Talk about blowing a circuit.

“I—I’m a little freaked out by the dark.

” But the explanation seemed so frail against the truth, so.

.. “Actually, every time I close my eyes, I see...the...” She folded her hands together, forced herself to be calm.

“I’m still having nightmares about the attack.

I’m not sleeping well, and...maybe I’m just tired. ”

“Oh, Liza.” Grace touched her hands. “You must be so stressed. Planning a wedding is overwhelming enough—to not be sleeping...you must be exhausted.” Then she looked at Liza with such compassion, Liza couldn’t help it—

She pressed her hands over her eyes, took a breath, and fought a shaky sob. “I...just want it all to be over. To be married already and not have to be so afraid all the time. I keep thinking that if Conner is there, maybe...maybe I’ll be able to sleep.”

Grace nodded.

“But see, that’s the problem. He’s a smoke jumper and he’s gone—most of the summer.

And I know that he wants me to move out to Montana with him, but I just don’t think I can.

Being there, being alone while he gets called out?

I...but then I suggested staying here this summer, and.

..I don’t know. I hate being away from him. ..”

Now, shoot, she was crying. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m not a victim—I’m a survivor. I hate being weak.”

Grace stared at her as if stricken. “You’re not weak, Liza. And you are a survivor. But you were traumatized. It’s reasonable to be freaking out about going back to Montana. Have you talked to Conner about this?”

“That’s the problem. He was so undone by the attack. Barely left the hospital, camped out for a month during rehab. And then...I don’t know. I think he feared something happening to me again and...maybe that’s why he proposed.”

“You don’t really think that.”

“I think Conner would do anything to keep the people he loves safe.”

“And you proved your words. People he loves. Person he loves. You.”

Liza sighed. “I know. I just wonder...maybe I’m not ready to get married.

He has a life in Montana. Mine is here. And that’s the problem.

Maybe we’re too old to get married. Maybe we’re too set in our ways.

All these disasters—maybe it’s God telling us to pack it up.

Stop trying so hard to make something happen that isn’t. ..isn’t right. Perfect.”

“Stop. It doesn’t have to be perfect to be right.”

“I know. But I was perfectly fine before I met Conner—”

“Of course you were. But you’re even better with him, right?”

Liza drew in a breath. “He...he makes me feel brave. And beautiful. And he...he wants me.”

Grace smiled.

“Not like that—or not just like that, but...he wants me.”

“Of course he does. That’s the point. He wants you. And you want him . And mutually, you’re better people because of the fact that you are wanted. Needed. Cherished.”

Grace took her hand. “God loves marriage. He uses it to symbolize the bride and the church...His relationship with us. How He desires us, and how we respond to Him. We come to Him, but He runs after us . God is constantly meeting our needs, even as we surrender to Him. Trust Conner enough to tell him your needs.”

“He needs the Liza he knew—capable. Independent. Strong.”

“If you don’t let him see the Liza you are now, you’ll never allow him to be the husband he should be to you. The one who protects you.”

“I don’t need protecting—”

Grace raised an eyebrow. “Marriage is about protecting each other. He protects you—physically, emotionally. And you offer him the protective comfort and support he needs to do that. But you do need to be honest with him, Liza. Let him show you how much he loves you by showing him the Liza you are now.”

And that was just it, wasn’t it? He’d fallen in love with a different Liza than the one who would meet him at the altar. She simply didn’t know if he could love that version of herself.

Frankly, she didn’t think she could love it, either. Perhaps that was the problem. She didn’t like the Liza she’d become.

Once upon a time, she trusted herself, listened to herself. Didn’t feel brittle, jumpy, and, well, exhausted.

She wanted herself back.

“I’ll talk to him when he gets back from Canada,” she said finally. “You’re right. He should know the woman he’s about to marry.”

“I think he’ll surprise you with the fact he already does.”

Liza made a face.

“C’mon. I know what will help. Coffee.” Grace held out her hands.

Liza let Grace help her up. Looked around the room. “Grace, I hate to say this, but...I know you went to tons of work, but I can’t have my wedding reception here. It feels like...like a tomb.” She rubbed her hands on her arms. “I know we’re running out of time, but can’t we do better than this?”

Grace took a breath. Found a smile. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Coffee for you, then, too,” Liza said and wove her arm through Grace’s.

“Let’s ask around at the coffee shop, see if anyone has any ideas.” Grace held the door open for Liza, then turned off the lights as they left. “I’ll come back for the twinkle lights later, after we figure out what we’re going to do.”

The sky had turned a brilliant, joyous blue overhead, wept clean of the storm from last night, the smell of spring hueing the breeze—lilacs, wild roses, lilies. Liza got in on the passenger side, Grace at the wheel.

“By the way, when I met Ivy at the courthouse, she said that she could call the clerk and put together a wedding license for you if Conner can sign and file it by five o’clock. I tried calling him— a few times—but no answer.”

“They probably don’t get cell reception up in Canada.” Liza glanced at Grace, grinned. “Or maybe they’re having too much fun to answer.”