Deep Hurt - Eva Hudson Page 0,53

landed with a loud metallic clank that echoed down the track. Sherwood then climbed the gate and swung one leg over, sitting on the top for a few seconds, staring toward the muddy field beyond.

She awkwardly swung her other leg over and jumped down the other side. Then she grabbed hold of the heavy bag and dragged it behind her as she stumbled toward the middle of the empty field.

Crouching low, Gurley quickly slipped across the dirt track. He reached the fence that ran alongside the field, and, still keeping his head low, headed toward the gate. Ingrid followed him. Although her eyes were adjusting to the gloom, the darkness seemed to be closing in on them fast. If it hadn’t been for the light pink sweat top Yvonne Sherwood was wearing, Ingrid might have lost sight of her all together. She strained her eyes a little harder and managed to figure out the bar manager’s destination. Two-thirds of the way across the field was a small trailer. It looked like it had no wheels. Its windows were boarded with wooden planks and the door was hanging half off.

A few feet ahead of Ingrid, a good thirty or so yards from the gate, Gurley stopped. He pulled a small pair of binoculars from a pocket.

“Can you see any sign of life inside that trailer?” Ingrid asked. “Can you see anything at all?”

“I can’t see anything happening on the inside and Sherwood is at least fifty feet away from it.”

Ingrid peered into the grayness of the night. She could just about make out a lonely figure standing completely still in the middle of the field. “What’s she doing?”

“Looking around. Waiting.” Gurley moved in closer to the fence and lowered his head. “Stay very still. She’s more likely to notice movement.”

“Is that so?”

“She’s walking again. Headed straight toward the trailer.” He slowly scanned the field with the binoculars. “No signs of life anywhere else. She’s opened the trailer door now and she’s putting the bag inside.”

Although Gurley’s running commentary was starting to grate, Ingrid wouldn’t have known what the hell was happening without it.

“She’s not climbing inside the trailer,” he continued. “She’s walking around it.” Gurley watched for a few more moments then, grabbing Ingrid by the arm, dropped suddenly to the ground. “Dammit. She’s headed back toward the gate.” He lay flat on his belly and dragged Ingrid closer to him.

“We can’t stay here. We’re too exposed. She’ll see us when she drives past,” Ingrid hissed at him.

“We can’t exactly get up and hightail it back down the track either.”

Ingrid peered through the fence into the churned up field. Running along the length of it, parallel to the fence, was a trench, two-foot wide. “Can you wriggle under this wooden bar?” She hit the bottom of the fence with a fist.

“It’d be tight.”

“I figure if we time it so that we roll into the ditch when she’s climbing over the gate and stay low, she won’t notice us.”

“You’re suggesting we roll into a ditch?”

“You have a better suggestion, then make it fast.” Even without binoculars, Ingrid could see Sherwood was striding quickly across the field. She’d reach the gate in no time.

Gurley was already slithering toward the bottom of the fence.

“Deep breath in, major.”

“It’s not my stomach I’m concerned about.”

As Gurley wriggled closer to the fence, Ingrid noticed for the first time just how big his ass was.

Sherwood grabbed the top of the gate and started to climb.

“OK, you’ve got to go now,” Ingrid told Gurley and watched with alarm as his buttocks got wedged beneath the low wooden strut. “Relax your glutes,” she told him.

“Don’t you think I’m trying to?”

Ingrid grabbed his ass and started to push.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Helping.” She shoved harder. “Come on, she’s on top of the gate now. I’ve got to get under there too.” She took hold of his hip with both hands and pushed with all her strength. Gurley’s ass finally submitted and he slid the final few inches into the field. Ingrid quickly followed behind him, rolling into the ditch and onto Gurley’s back. She shuffled backwards fast, into her own section of the trench, and was rewarded for her haste with a mouthful of dirt. She spat it out. She was grateful there wasn’t a pool of stagnant water at the bottom of the ditch. In fact it was remarkably dry. She exhaled.

They stayed exactly where they were, not daring to move a muscle, until they’d heard the Nissan chug