But the hit man wasn’t the only one she had to worry about. There was the deputy. And the sheriff.
If the deputy was still out there, she was taking her own sweet time about showing her face. But maybe she was just a careful kind of girl. Maybe she was trying to figure a way to move in without getting her ass blown in half.
Maybe the sheriff and the deputy were flanking Kate this very minute.
Yeah. Could be. She’d better get to moving.
Kate gripped the shotgun. Just one more minute. One more minute and she’d start moving.
Damn. It was just too bad that the old Dodge Dakota didn’t have an air bag. Forget a bullet notching her ear-if she had had an air bag, she’d be fine right now. Give her a little bit of cushion and it would have taken more than a head-on collision with a Chevy junker to put a hitch in her getalong.
Kind of like the Saudi, in fact. Because Black Hawk helicopters didn’t come with air bags, either, and crashing one of those babies nose-first into a sand dune was just a little tougher than this.
Kate still had the scars to prove it.
But she’d had Vince Komoko to get her through the Saudi. And he’d been so beautiful then. So good. A-one all-fucking-American.
Kate remembered bouncing around in the back of an Iraqi truck, busted bones grinding against bruised flesh while she screamed her head off, a couple of Republican Guards trying to loosen the zipper of her flight suit but it hurt so bad and she had to scream, and Vince was busted up too but he went after those guys just like John Wayne.
That gave the soldiers something else to do. They beat the shit out of Vince. Kate watched them do it, every inch of her screaming in pain because there were lots of bumps in that desert and the truck driver seemed determined to hit every one. . hell, you’d think desert sand should be smooth but it wasn’t. . and she’d never forget what Vince did for her out there. Not just saving her ass from rape. Taking that beating, he’d given her hope. Showed her that they could tough it out, no matter what. Make it through anything with their dignity intact.
Vince had shown her that, and she’d learned the lesson. Together, they’d survived. That was important.
But there was more to life than simple survival, more than just drawing breath. Kate knew that. You had to make something of your life, or survival meant nothing.
If you ended up all alone with two million dollars for company. .
If no one cared about anything but your money. .
If the only person you wanted to give it to wouldn’t even answer her phone. .
A tear spilled from Kate’s eye, washing a clean trail on her bloodstained face.
Maybe you couldn’t help but be alone when you died.
Maybe. .
No. Kate knew it was silly to think about that. She wasn’t going to die. She was just a little busted up. Just bleeding a little. Jesus, she was sure happy that she wore her hair long-it would cover the notch the deputy’s bullet had clipped from her ear.
It’s nothing, she told herself. Only a flesh wound. Once it scabs over, no one will notice it at all.
No one will notice because you live alone, girl. A cabin out there in the middle of the big lonesome. No one visits. Your phone doesn’t ring. You have really long conversations with your horses, but they haven’t learned to hold up their end of the deal.
You’re a solo act from here on out, remember?
And she asked herself-if you were dying, who would you call? If you had two million, who would you leave it to?
Was there anyone, anywhere?
Vince Komoko was stone-cold dead. .
But maybe there was someone else. This other guy. Jack Baddalach. He was out there somewhere. And he was alone, just like she was.
He was waiting for her. Counting on her. The way she’d counted on Vince in the Saudi. The way Vince had counted on her to drop everything and come to Pipeline Beach, Arizona.
Because she was a Montana girl, and you could count on a Montana girl, especially if her name was Kate Benteen. Anyone knew that. Because Kate Benteen got things done. She was a war hero. An Olympic champion. A rodeo rider. A movie star.
And she was damn good with a gun to boot.
Kate stared at the motel. It seemed to be a million miles away.
Aw, Christ. That was a lot of bullshit. The motel was maybe a couple hundred feet away, tops. All she had to do was get up, get her ass in gear. .
She’d do that.
Because Jack Baddalach was waiting for her.
Counting on her.
Baddalach. . Man oh man, but that pug sure knew how to kiss.
And maybe that was what she needed. Some seriously sensual motivation to get her rear in gear.
Yeah. She’d bail the boxer’s ass out of trouble, tune in that oldies station, steal another kiss. .
Maybe two. .
Yeah.
Kate got up.
Something battered the door. Once. . twice. . but the deadbolt held firm.
Gunfire exploded outside. Jack sidestepped as a bullet whipped past his ear, missing him by inches.
The door flew open.
Wyetta Earp stepped into the room, her pistol held high. Jack’s empty hands rose automatically.
Wyetta took one look at him and started to laugh.
“What the hell happened to your hair, cowboy?”
Jack shrugged. “It’s kind of a long story.”
“Then we don’t have time for it.” She stepped toward him, the pistol steady in her hand. “Where’s Komoko’s money?”
Jack had no place to hide and he knew it. The room didn’t have a back door, and Wyetta had a gun. But instinct told him he had to move, so he backed up.
“Stand still.” Wyetta cocked her pistol. “You give me an answer, or you’re dead.”
“I don’t know,” Jack said. “You think I’d be here if I did?”
Wyetta smiled. “C’mon now, cowboy. Don’t treat me like an idiot. You and your girlfriend came here tonight for a reason. And I’ve got the feeling it wasn’t just because you wanted to get into a gunfight with me and my deputy. I know what you came for, same way as you know what I came for. Just hand it over, and I promise that the end will come quick.”
“Okay,” Jack said, “you’ve got me.”
“That’s smart, cowboy. Let’s get this thing done.”
“The money’s in Benteen’s room.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No,” Jack said. “Really. It’s under her bed. .”
Kate’s foot found the brake pedal just in time to prevent the bullet-riddled truck from crashing into the side of the Saguaro Riptide Motel.
She dropped the stick into neutral and set the emergency brake. So far, so good. She still felt kind of woozy, but she was going to be okay.
Because she was thinking straight. She’d known, standing in the junkyard, that it was a long walk to the motel. So she’d climbed behind the wheel and driven there instead.
And here she was, ready to come to Jack Baddalach’s rescue.
She stepped out of the truck, the Benelli shotgun in her hands, her eyes scanning the darkness for a sign of Wyetta Earp or her deputy.
She saw the deputy soon enough.
The deputy was dead.
Kate had parked the truck on top of the woman.
Oh, man. She’d never run over a cop before.
Nothing she could do about it now, though.
She stepped over the deputy and started around the side of the motel.
Her foot struck something hard.
She looked down and spotted the Heckler lying there on the ground.
That meant that Baddalach didn’t have a gun.