Atonement (25 page)

He should be mad, wanted to be mad, but he couldn't dredge up the energy to allow that emotion to take hold of him. Something else filtered in.

Determination.

Con had waited this long to break through her defenses, and he'd made headway into destroying the walls. One pitiful attempt to shut him out again wasn't about to stop his progress. Nic was weakened.

Bloody hell, she was testing him, and he wasn't about to fail.

• • •

The Priest hurried through his prayers, his brain struggling to stay focused on them. Today's events left him exhilarated. He hadn't expected the rush or the euphoria that followed Deputy Walker's murder/suicide. The high lingered longer than it had after Giselle Tomberlin died.

The memory brought a wave of pleasure. Closing his eyes, he let it pulse through him. He could still hear the screams, Nicolette's pleas for Deputy Walker to relent. The Priest hadn't meant to get more involved than he was, but the thought of provoking Nicolette wouldn't leave him. He had to push her. He had to see how much she knew.

And the expression on her face when she realized the focus had shifted to her. Fabulous.

The Priest muttered a final prayer for the soul of Doug Walker. A wise man would walk away from this town and let them reel from the deaths. A wise man would relocate now before things got too heated and the FBI agent and the police learned his identity.

But his call for the final mission kept him here. Lured him to drop all caution and finish what he started.

Opening his eyes, he stared at the flickering candles. It was time to bring Nicolette to her knees. The pieces were in place. All that was left was to maneuver her to the point of no return.

He risked everything for this one sinner. But if he played the board right, the chess pieces would line up for the perfect ending. Allowing him to walk away, free and clear. The Priest leaned forward and blew out a row of candles.

The next move was Nicolette's.

Waiting until her sister was out of sight, Nic slipped out of the house and went straight for the barn. She had long since discovered her weapons in the barn where Cassy had stashed them, but she left them there. Taking her favored Sig, she loaded it, stuck it in the holster behind her back, and took along a handful of loaded clips, storing those in a saddlebag. Gathering up the tack for Whiskey, she whistled for him, hoping like hell Cassy didn't hear it and come out.

Nic quickly saddled Whiskey, swung aboard, and spurred him toward the timber that backed her property. There were trails among the trees, and she needed to get away from everyone and everything. The sidearm was for her safety, as packs of wild dogs were known to roam the area. She would have preferred the Remington, but she didn't have a scabbard to carry it on the saddle.

The bay's generous stride chewed up the ground from the barn to the trailhead. As the distance built behind her, the voices spilled out.

Each remembered statement, each question, beat at her psyche. It crumbled her walls and allowed the demons to pour in and ravage her mind. She fought the images, fought the sensations of being back there lying on the ground, watching through her scope as those men suffered a fate worse than hell.

A strangled cry escaped her lips. Swiping the back of her gloved hand over her wet eyes, Nic reined in Whiskey as they entered the timber. She collected his head to keep him at a steady walk. The horse's head bobbed in frustration at being slowed, and he tried to grab the bit, but her skilled hands dissuaded his intent, and he eventually settled in.

The mental reprieve of slowing Whiskey's gait managed to calm Nic enough for her to concentrate on her surroundings. She couldn't afford to slip into the oblivion and get caught off guard if a threat presented itself. Allowing the PTSD to control her today caused her to miss Walker among the parade crowd. Had she spotted him before he approached the mayor, she could have tackled him, gotten the gun away from him. And then both he and the mayor would still be alive, and they might have learned who was behind the suicides.

Her clenched fists on the reins transferred her agitation to the bay. He snorted and quivered, shaking his head as if to rid himself of a pesky fly.

Nic closed her eyes and found a focal point that would calm her before her roiling emotions caused Whiskey to explode. His Thoroughbred breeding showed in his thin skin and easily excitable temperament. Being thrown from his back right now would be bad.

Finding her seat, she let his movements lull her into relaxing for the first time since leaving Con's bed.

Con. The mere thought of his name warmed her.

She had hurt him when she blocked him out and turned away from him at the department. It was her defense mechanism when trying to cope with the overload of death and her connection to it. With Aiden, there had always been walls. He'd never made any attempt to change her perception; he just rolled with it and took what he could get from her. Con was different. He wouldn't settle for what she doled out. Con wanted more.

And that scared the hell out of her.

The wind picked up, rattling the autumn leaves. Dark gray clouds, laden with moisture, advanced on the setting sun like a marching army. Faint rumbles came from that direction. The broiling weather matched the turmoil inside her head.

How damn fitting.

She eased Whiskey to a halt and stared at the wall of clouds as they covered the sun, making the front line look like it was on fire. Lightning rippled among the clouds in the rear guard. Beautiful yet deadly.

Rustling from her right startled Nic and the bay. Her hand instinctively went to her weapon at her back, but she paused before removing it from the holster.

A doe picked her way over the forest floor, keeping her head low as she trod forward. Whiskey huffed. The doe's head shot up, she hesitated a fraction of a second, then tore off deeper into the timber. Her flight pressed Nic to slide the Sig from the holster.

Because she had never fired a weapon from the back of her horse, she dismounted and eased around to Whiskey's head. He nuzzled her shoulder, making the bit rattle against the metal clasps. Placing her free hand over his nose, she calmed him.

Something or someone was out there.

She took hold of the bridle and led the bay forward, making sure to keep the Sig hidden beside her thigh. Her skin tingled with charged energy. Her senses turned acute, doubling or tripling in awareness to the point she could separate the different scents of the forest and distinguish the sounds she and her horse made from something else.

Thunder rumbled closer. More wind—heavy with the scent of rain—gusted through the trees, lifting her ponytail away from her neck and playing with her hair. Over the plodding of Whiskey's hooves, she heard the whisper of something creeping through the underbrush. Adjusting her grip on the gun, Nic rested her finger against the trigger guard.

She stopped. Unprepared for her sudden halt, the bay bumped into her back. Nic stumbled forward a step then twisted around to use Whiskey's body to shield her. Untying the leather strings on the saddlebag, she dug inside, removed two clips, and jammed them inside her boot tops.

The clouds blocked out the sun and shrouded everything in premature darkness. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the sudden change, but it left her sorely at a disadvantage if she was facing down a predator. Whiskey seemed completely oblivious to anything that would threaten him.

Which meant whatever was tracking her was of the two-legged variety.

She had two choices: mount up and spur Whiskey all the way back to the house, hoping like crazy she wasn't shot in the back, or face down whoever was stupid enough to stalk her. Right now, the incoming storm was helping to disguise her movements along with her stalker's. Any minute now the rain would start, and it promised to be torrential. Each second that ticked past, the skies became darker, and the thunder grew louder. Whiskey shifted; restless, he swiveled his rear away from Nic and turned toward home. Nic jiggled his bridle, forcing him to pay attention to her. Lightning lit up the sky, and in that split second of brightness she saw the figure moving through the trees.

She swung the bay around. He fed off of her panic and shied away. “Son of a bitch.” She hobbled after him, ready to vault onto his back.

“What is your greatest sin, Nicolette?” She froze. Her lifted foot thumped to the ground, and she turned to where she'd seen the figure. The voice was unfamiliar, yet the words were not.

One-handed, she leveled her weapon, wishing like hell that she had a flashlight. “Who are you?”

Whiskey pranced left, jerking her arm and nearly ripping the reins from her hand. The frantic motions disturbed her aim, and her gun arm bobbled.

More lightning rent the air. The figure had moved closer.

Panic overrode her mind, and she fired. The bay screamed, rearing up, shaking his head back and forth. The reins slipped out of her slick hand. Off-balance, she lost her footing and hit the ground. Freed, Whiskey bolted. Nic covered her head and buried her face in the dirt, tensing her body for the moment when his hooves tore into her flesh. With a grunt, he jumped over her and ran back down the path. She searched the dirt for her weapon; her fingers brushed the butt and lost it the second her stalker grabbed her by the shoulder and flipped her over. Survival instincts and her training kicked in. She scissor-kicked at her attacker, but he twisted away before her legs could make contact. The momentum of her flying legs helped Nic roll over and onto her knees. She spat the taste of dirt from her mouth and pushed onto her feet.

Scanning the area, she couldn't find her attacker. Fat drops thumped the ground and her head. It was barely a warning before the rain gushed from the sky. She dropped to her knees and blindly felt around for her gun.

“Thou shalt not murder!”

A sharp piece of wood stabbed her finger, running a splinter under the nail. She pushed past the pain and kept searching for the gun.

“Thou shalt have no gods before Me!”

Nic followed the sound of his voice as he circled her. Water ran into her eyes, and she swiped at it.

“Thou shalt not commit adultery,” the voice said right behind her.

With a roar, Nic swung back, meeting air. Thrown forward by her actions, she landed in a puddle. Spewing mud and water, she pushed out of the hole and screamed, “Show yourself, you bastard!”

“I am the Lord your God!”

“Show yourself!”

The heavens ripped open with a powerful downpour. Nic staggered onto her feet and hunched against the onslaught. Once again the sky lit up from a triple tap of lightning. She saw the heavy branch coming at her too late.

Pain exploded in her head, and everything went dark.

Con had arrived at Nic's home to find a frantic Cassy searching for her sister. Minutes after the deluge started, Nic's horse careened into the yard, rider-less, sending both he and Cassy into a panic. He called Sheriff Hamilton, relaying “officer down.”

Now they were out on the trail running through the woods at the back of Nic's house, gambling with their lives with each lightning strike, to find Nic. Con had brought Cadno, since the dog seemed to love Nic's company, and he figured Cadno could soothe her after the day's events. The retired MWD had practically knocked Con over, begging to be put to work.

“What did you say he did while he was in the army?” Cassy asked above the howling wind.

A light bobbed from Cadno's back as he covered the ground in search of Nic. The light was more for their benefit to keep track of him.

“He tracked down the Taliban.”

And Cadno did a fine job at it, too. So his foster family said when Con picked him up.

Cassy hollered her sister's name.

They were drenched and covered in mud. The rain had eased to a heavy pour instead of the monsoon, and what leaves were left on the trees helped canopy them as they followed Cadno's trail through the timber. With each step, Con's trepidation grew.

Nic was out here somewhere, hurt or—damn it, he couldn't bear the thought of it—dead. When she left him this afternoon, she'd been distant. She'd been battling her PTSD for a long time now. Had it come to a final head? They knew Nic had found her weapons stash. A gun was missing along with three clips and ammo. That had sent Cassy over the edge. It froze a piece of Con's soul.

If she'd done the unthinkable … ? If she'd gone as far as her former lover?

“What's he doing?”

His attention snapped back to Cassy, who was pointing at Cadno. The dog had laid down and was staring at them, his eyes reflecting the light from their flashlights.

“He's found something.”

Con hurried over to his dog and squatted down next to him. The German Shepherd's focus shifted to the large branch lying on the ground just to the side of the trail. Con crawled over to where the limb laid. The rain had washed out any traces of someone having been here.

“What is it?”

Sweeping the area in front of him with the light, Con peered through the darkness at the underbrush. “I think he's got a track on her.” He paused the light on a bush. One side looked as if someone fell into it and broke the limbs. “She must have been hurt, probably by that branch. She's gone off the trail in there.”

“Why the hell would she go that way when she could try for the house?”

“Probably disorientated. Maybe a concussion. We've got to find her.” He gave Cadno the hand signal to work. The dog rose up and took off through the brush. They followed as fast as they could on two legs.