Page 19 of Resonable Doubt

  "I won't paint a rosy picture. If there's a confrontation, it could be dangerous. We won't have time to be worrying about you." They were already moving toward the door.

  "I can take care of myself."

  He cocked a bushy eyebrow at her.

  "I know these mountains," she explained.

  "I sure as hell hope so. We don't. That's what Ross was for."

  "Tyler said to douse the lantern. I don't think anyone followed me from the creek, but it's better to be safe."

  Jones clipped a radio handset to his belt, motioned to Falson to turn down the light, then spun on his heel to leave. Breanna followed him out the door, then Jones slowed his stride, letting her take the lead. "You're running this show," he said.

  "Hell," Jacobsen grumbled. "I could get lost out here five feet off the road."

  Breanna pointed toward the peak of Hungry Hill behind them. "Keep that mountain in sight. If something happens and we get separated, head directly for it and you'll even­tually hit the road."

  Both men pinpointed the location of the hilltop.

  "This way," she called over her shoulder, crossing the road. Jones leaped down the bank behind her. "It gets so dark down here, you can't see anything," she warned. "Feel your way and be careful. A sharp branch can go clear through you."

  The descent here wasn't as steep as the one she and Tyler had tumbled down earlier, but it was every bit as dark. Breanna heard Jones grunt and knew that he had run head­long into a tree. Jacobsen swore a second later and brush snapped. When they reached the creek, she turned to wait for them.

  "How far from here?" Jones asked.

  "About a half mile. It would be easier to see if we walked along the creek. Is it safe, do you think?"

  "Let's keep in the brush," he decided. "If we stay close to the open, we'll have enough light."

  Breanna wove her way into the trees. She picked up her pace to match her heartbeat, thud-thud-thud-thud, be­grudging every minute, every second that kept them from Tyler. There was no sound ahead of them, only deathly stillness.

  "Mr. Jones, do you think... they'll kill him?"

  "It depends on how much they know."

  "Meaning?"

  "If they realize who he is, they'll probably hold him as a hostage. If they think he's a civilian who's discovered their operation, they'll dispose of him."

  Her throat felt as though a baseball was stuck in it. "Will Tyler tell them, do you think?"

  There was a long pause before he replied. "No, he won't tell them."

  Now her heart was pounding even faster than her feet could hit the ground. The sound of it filled her head. Was Tyler's still beating? Her breathing became shallow, fast.

  "I can't understand what they were doing in my barn," she said, holding back a limb for them.

  "Dammit, Jacobsen, keep up with us. Under your barn," he corrected, sweeping past her so that Jacobsen could get through. "Ingenious, isn't it? An abandoned mine that isn't even documented." He grunted and she heard a branch crack. "Careful, it's a sharp one."

  "So there's a shaft under there? I suspected that! But the entrance has caved in. How do they get in?"

  "They boxed in a stairway between the tack room and the next stall. You probably didn't notice, but the interior has been altered. Are we nearly there?"

  "A little farther. So that's why the barn seemed smaller," she exclaimed. "They're actually making counterfeit money in The Crescent Moon!"

  "Enough to break Fort Knox. They have a press run by a portable generator, with a gas motor. How far is it now?"

  "We're almost there. It's about five hundred yards up­stream. I left him on the hillside."

  Breanna's mind reeled. Suddenly so many things made sense, the footsteps she had heard that afternoon in the stall and the low hum of an engine the other night. No wonder each noise had ceased the moment she spoke. They had heard her and shut down until she left.

  Jones grasped her arm to stop her, then took his radio from his belt. She saw a tiny red indicator light blinking. He pulled the antenna and flipped a switch. Soft static buzzed. "Yeah, Jones here."

  "We got trouble, boss. Ross is down in the mine. And they didn't take him in through the entrance."

  "Damn!" Jack grimaced. "What the hell do you mean, Falson?"

  "There must be another entrance," was Falson's reply. "Has to be. They have him down in there and they didn't go through the barn."

  Breanna turned to Jacobsen and whispered, "How do they know Tyler's in there?"

  Jacobsen replied, "Bugs. You know, listening devices?"

  "Oh." Breanna squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. Of course. The tiny microphone she had found in the blind! Piece by piece, it was all fitting together. The man in the manzanita, wearing the headphones. Why hadn't she guessed immediately? She remembered Tyler saying her suspicions of counterfeiting were clear into the twilight zone. How true that was. A tremulous smile touched her mouth, and tears brimmed in her eyes. Would she ever laugh like that with Tyler again?

  "Son of a..." Jones keyed his mike. "Is Ross okay?"

  "Sounded okay."

  "All right, over and out." Jack clipped the radio back to his belt and put his hands on his hips. "What the hell do we do now? There's another entrance. Morgan, you sure that old entrance is completely closed off?"

  "Positive." Fear inched up Breanna's spine, fear for Ty­ler. If there was another entrance, the counterfeiters could come and go without being seen. Which meant they wouldn't hesitate to kill a hostage. They had escape insur­ance. "Mr. Jones, we have to find that other entrance. Fast."

  "Go to the head of the class," he said with a grim laugh. "Where? That's the question." He pivoted, looking at the woods around them. "God, it's so dark, we'll never find it."

  "Oh, yes we will. Come on." Breanna elbowed her way past him, aiming for her cabin.

  Jones slipped on a rock trying to catch up. "Hey, slow down! How can we find it? Clue me in."

  "I've been studying those old maps. I think I can make an educated guess where another entrance might be, that's all."

  "It'll be like finding a needle in a haystack," he said with a snort. "I can't waste time on wild-goose chases, lady."

  "And neither can I. Everything that matters to me is in that mine, Mr. Jones. My cousin, my dog and—and Tyler. If there's another entrance, I'll find it." Breanna glanced over at him, unashamed of the tears that had spilled onto her cheeks. "It's my fault Tyler's down there in the first place."

  Ten minutes later, Breanna and the two agents crawled into Tyler's blind on their bellies, inching up beside a man with a radio set. Jones elbowed his way to the equipment, listening intently to the radio receiver. "What d'ya got, Jackson? Anything new?"

  "Not much. Ross is trying to get them to talk."

  Jackson. Breanna stared at the younger agent as Jack in­troduced them. "Breanna, this is Mike."

  Jackson nodded, then looked at his boss. "They've been giving him a ration about her. He doesn't know for sure if she's safe."

  A grim smile twisted Jack's mouth. "Ross is tough. He won't run at the mouth unless he doesn't see any other way out. Whoa, listen "

  Voices were coming over the main receiver. Tyler. Breanna heard him talking and leaned nearer. The agents had done a good job of installing their hidden microphones. The transmission came over the air with very little static. A knifelike pain twisted through her at the sound of Tyler's voice.

  "Cue in on this," Jack whispered to her. "Tyler'll try to tell us where they brought him in if he can."

  Breanna moved closer to the radio.

  "I should have known something like this was going on here," Tyler said. "I never dreamed—"

  "Shut up, unless you wanna say something worth hear­ing. Quit stalling, Ross. Why wait until they drag the girl in here? I'll be in a foul mood by then. And believe me, you don't want me in a foul mood with your lady."

  Jones took Breanna's hand and squeezed it. She clasped his fingers. Chuck. Just the thought that
Tyler was at Mor­row's mercy made her cringe.

  "I told you, she's not my lady. How do you think I stayed single all these years? Love 'em and leave 'em, that's my motto."

  "Yeah? That's not what it sounded like in town the other day. We'll see what you say when she's here."

  Tyler laughed. "I got no beef with you fellas, really I don't. You do your thing and I do mine. Live and let live, you know? I'm telling you, I'm just a photographer. I carry a gun in the woods to protect myself."

  "Sure, a nine millimeter semiautomatic? Right, Ross. Got any used cars you wanna sell me?"

  "I tell you, Morrow," Tyler said, "you're dead wrong. I gotta hand it to you, though, that back door down there is really something. I'll bet we passed it a dozen times and

  never even guessed it was there. I should have known"

  "I thought I told you to shut up. You got a bug down here? Is that it?" The click of a gun hammer came over the air. The sound was unmistakable and Breanna stiffened. "You rotten son of a bitch. Answer me! If I find a mike in here, you're gonna be one sorry bastard." "Hey, easy... easy..."

  There was the sound of a scuffle. Breanna's heart shot clear up into her throat and stopped beating. Air came out in a gush when she heard Tyler say, "Whoa...hey, let's not play so rough. I won't say another word."

  "Where's Breanna?" Morrow demanded. "I should've known it meant trouble when the little bitch wouldn't leave. Her and that damned dog of hers, sniffing around. It at­tacked Dane twice, one time in the barn, then out in the drive after that. Smart little sucker. I'm glad Rawlins bashed his skull in. He's been nothing but a thorn in my side ever since he got here. Where is she, Ross? It'll go easier on her if you talk."

  There was another scuffle. "Now talk, Ross. Where's that cute little friend of yours, huh? I'll bet you tell me anything I want to know once I've got this gun held to her head."

  Breanna was shaking. Not even Jones's tight grip was a comfort. Oh, God, Tyler. Did Morrow intend to shoot him?

  "I don't know where she is. I lost her in the woods. How many times do I have to tell you?"

  A long silence followed and then Morrow's low chuckle came over the air, distorted by a spurt of static. "Tell me something. She good in the sack?"

  Breanna's stomach heaved. She heard Tyler reply, "What makes you think I've slept with her?"

  "You think I was born yesterday?"

  "Let's put it this way. If I had slept with her, I sure as hell wouldn't discuss it with scum like you."

  "I'll bet she's a firecracker," Morrow mused.

  "Just in case you're thinking she means something to me, Morrow, think again. I haven't known her that long. She's a nice woman, but not leverage."

  "So you do admit you're a Fed."

  "I didn't say that."

  Morrow snorted. "You don't have to. So... she was just part of your job, huh. Didn't mean a thing to you?"

  "She's a nice lady," Tyler repeated. "And I wouldn't want to see her hurt."

  "Yeah, yeah, you talk a good game. We'll see if you mean it when they drag her in here. They'll find her, you know. And then you'll talk, Ross, you'll talk." Morrow laughed again. "Maybe we'll all have a little fun. A party. You wanna watch us have a party, man? Rawlins here, he's the slickest fella with a knife you've ever seen."

  There was a long silence and then Tyler snarled, "Touch her, Morrow, and there won't be a prison on earth that'll keep me from killing you."

  "Oh-ho-ho, so the cool cop loses his temper?" Morrow clucked his tongue. "You threatening me, Ross?"

  "I'm promising you."

  "And the lady means nothing to you? That's interest­ing."

  "It's called common decency. Something a horse's ass like you wouldn't understand."

  "Sure is a pretty little gal. Be a shame if her face got all messed up, now wouldn't it? You wouldn't like that, would you?"

  Their voices seemed to be getting farther away. Breanna glanced at Jack. "They left the mike," Jack explained. "Damn, I wish he could have said more. The back door down where?"

  They had passed it a dozen times, and never even guessed it was there? Where, Tyler? What were you trying to tell us?

  "Down," she whispered. "Jones, he said down there. That means below the barn!"

  "But where?" he challenged.

  Her pulse was hammering so fast and hard that her ears rang with it. The copse? It had to be. Breanna turned to stare at Jack. "Of course! Down by the bathing hole. It would explain everything. How that man appeared, then vanished into thin air. The footprints in the brush, with none going in or out. Coaly having such a fit every time I went there alone."

  Jones looked at her as if she had lost her mind.

  "I know where it is. Come on, Jones. Bring a flash­light."

  "No flashlights. Jacobsen, you and Jackson stay here while we check this out."

  Jones dogged her heels down to the stream, then stood back with a puzzled look on his face while Breanna strode purposefully into the brush. The grassy bank. It was dead ahead of her, silvery with patchy moonlight. A chill of un­derstanding shivered into her mind. She remembered how

  Coaly had sniffed the sharp incline after her clothes had been stolen.

  "So that's why there weren't any footprints. My feet sank into the grass. Don't you see? If someone had climbed that bank, he would have left tracks! And tonight, when I was talking to Dane. Morrow came from this direction."

  "Would you try to make some sense, please? What are you talking about?"

  Breanna took a halting step toward the bank. "It's here. The door, Jones, it has to be here." She extended her arms, searching the tall grass with a patting motion. "Come on, help me. There has to be a..."

  Her fingers ran into cold, smooth metal and she froze. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she tried to pry it up. It moved.

  "I knew it," she whispered raggedly.

  She turned to grin at Jones, so excited that she wanted to shout. Her smile froze on her lips. A man stood behind Jack, moonlight reflecting off the gun he held in his hand.

  Chapter Sixteen

  "Don't move, mister," the gunman snarled. "So much as twitch and the woman gets it. Understand?"

  Jack stiffened and slowly raised his arms. "Hands com­ing up, friend. Don't get trigger-happy."

  "Open the hatch," the man ordered Breanna. "You just couldn't let it be, could you? You should've got the hell outa here while the gettin' was good. But, oh, no, you had to keep snooping around."

  Breanna curled her fingers around the metal once more and pulled. A familiar creaking sound filled the air, then a black opening yawned at her feet.

  "Three steps," the counterfeiter said. "Fall and you're dead."

  Her legs felt quivery and she sent up a silent prayer that they wouldn't give out under her. One She groped for something solid to hang on to and her palms met with damp earth walls on either side. Two She heard Jack's boot settle on the step behind her. Three Searching with her sneakered foot, she found the dirt floor and moved forward. The floor of the tunnel sloped sharply. She felt Jack grip her shoulders. His fingers bit into her flesh. Before her was a blackness so impenetrable that it was like walking into death's arms.

  No, Jack, no, she prayed. No heroics. Just do what he says. But even as she thought that, she knew Jack would make his move. He was a federal agent. She was a citizen. It was his job to protect her and if they once got down into this shaft, he'd never get her back out of it, not alive.

  Breanna expected it when Jack shoved her forward, so she was ready for a headlong dive. She hunched her shoulders for the impact and rolled. She slithered on her belly a few more feet, then sprang into a crouch, staring back at the shaft of moonlight and the silhouettes that were struggling for the gun.

  For the life of her, she couldn't tell which figure was Jack. One man grunted and doubled over. The other one dived for him. Their arms were extended upward, etched in stark re­lief against the silvery backdrop of light. The shape of the revolver wove to and fro as their hands f
ought for its butt.

  In horror, Breanna watched as one combatant slowly gained control, forcing the pistol down. Then the muzzle exploded with a darting tongue of orange fire. The shot re­verberated in the tunnel, each echo louder than the last.

  "Oh, God..." a voice croaked.

  Breanna's stomach lurched. Jack!

  "Run... Morgan," he moaned. "Oh, Lord..."

  Breanna coiled on the balls of her feet to leap forward. She bit back a scream. Jack was sliding down the wall, holding his stomach, his head lolling forward on his chest. And the other man was raising the gun, pointing the barrel at Jack's head.

  "No!" Breanna reached out a hand.

  "Run!" Jack cried. "Ru—"

  A second shot rang out. The timbers above Breanna groaned. Dust and small clods of dirt pelted her face. Then there followed a silence so eerie that the air pulsated. She froze, arm still extended, her lips parted in denial. Jack's silhouette slid to the floor, completely motionless.

  The counterfeiter whipped around and ascended the steps to jerk the door shut. Breanna crouched there, too stunned to think. The hinges creaked and total backness swooped over her. She heard the rasp of metal. Dear God, was he locking her in?

  Run! her brain commanded. She whirled and stared into the nothingness behind her. She had no idea where the tun­nel led, but terror made her legs move. With her arms held wide, she groped blindly, bouncing off one wall, staggering to find the other. It got bigger once you descended the steps, then? Six feet wide, she guessed, more than her arm span. She would have to stay on one side and feel her way along. She chose the left.

  Stay calm. Think! Don't run in a panic. Use your head.

  Breanna closed her eyes, summoning all her senses. She counted every step she took, forcing herself to measure the length of her stride. She had to know how many paces she took and exactly how long they were.

  He knows his way, she thought, but you have the advan­tage, Breanna. Keep your head. This is just a mining tun­nel, like any of a dozen you've been inside.

  Her left hand met open air. She fanned her arm. It was an opening, about three feet wide. A passage off the main shaft? She felt ahead. Yes, the main corridor that she was in stretched on ahead. Her heart slamming, she turned, praying that she hadn't stepped into a dead-end chamber.