by Linda Ladd
By the time she was done, the sun had come out briefly and lit the forest like a new-car showroom. She was sweating profusely and took another moment to stoop beside a creek she'd been following. She dipped her burned hand into the water and bathed her flushed face, drank thirstily, then filled Joey's empty bottle with fresh water. Then she struck off in earnest, beginning to feel a little better about her chances.
Now they were on her turf, and they no longer had the element of surprise on their side. They'd find out that she wasn't quite the sitting duck anymore, not like she'd been when they'd burst into her home. And they sure as hell wouldn't take her baby without a fight.
Dmitri allowed young Misha to take the lead as they fanned out in the dense undergrowth where the woman had left a trail. The entire situation was completely out of hand. Kate Reed was making them look like greenhorn amateurs, vanishing into thin air, and none of his men, other than Yuri and himself, were adept woodsmen and trackers.
After she had given them the slip at the river, they'd returned to the cabin to dispose of Mike Reed's body. Dmitri had ordered Andre and Nikolai to ditch him somewhere no one would find him. While they'd weighted him with stones and sunk him in the river, he and Yuri had gathered supplies from the house so the whole team could head back upriver where the girl had escaped. Yuri had finally picked up her trail on the opposite bank of the river, and they'd tracked her until dark, then spent an endless night listening to Misha complain about the hardship. His nephew was a spoiled boy.
At dawn they'd struck out again and had been trudging through dense, impenetrable ground cover ever since. Andre and Nikolai walked behind him, talking about how they were going to visit Disney World after this job was done. They were debating whether to go in the fall or winter after the tourists had thinned out. They wanted to visit Pleasure Island where the nightclubs were, then fly out to Las Vegas. Dmitri wished they'd shut up and think about Kate Reed; he was sick to death of hearing about their love affair with America.
Off to the right, a little ahead of Misha who walked point on the left, Yuri moved swiftly along as if on a short stroll instead of an all-day hike. He was more than proficient in the woods, expert at tracking deer, and eventually he would find Kate Reed's trail. She was lucky to have escaped them the first time, but getting through this kind of untamed wilderness with a tiny baby was another story. Nevertheless, his admiration for her was growing by leaps and bounds. He found himself resisting the idea of executing her the way Vince had ordered.
Instead, incongruously, incautiously, he had been harboring the idea of finding her, interrogating her first to determine if she was as guilty as her husband. He had a feeling she was as fascinating in person as she was resourceful in evading them. He was actually looking forward to meeting her. The idea of capturing her, holding her against her will, had begun to excite him. He'd had women whenever he wanted them but never any kind of serious relationship. Mostly he'd contented himself with the expert services of high-class call girls out of Moscow, and he'd invariably choose strong, athletic women like his Alina had been. Like Kate Reed was.
Dmitri wondered how Kate Reed would act once he had her under his control, if she'd beg as her husband had. No, he didn't think she'd plead for mercy. And he didn't think she'd last much longer out here in the wilderness alone. She was a clever woman for sure, but she had to be exhausted, couldn't have gotten much sleep, not after all she'd been through. They'd catch her before the day was out, and not a minute too soon, since he'd heard the sound of search helicopters since early that morning. No doubt someone had alerted the authorities to gunfire on the river.
“Over here, uncle,” Misha suddenly called out from a distant stand of cedar trees. “She pushed through here not long ago. The bracken's bent over and broken where she lay down in it."
All of them, including Yuri, shifted course, moving at an angle toward his nephew's position. “Beat the bushes for her. She could be hiding somewhere in all these briars,” Dmitri said in a low voice to the two men behind him. “Spread out and keep quiet."
Dmitri moved cautiously toward Misha, thinking the thick ground cover hid countless places the girl could use to ambush them. She might have gotten her hands on a gun somehow, perhaps from the cabin, but he didn't think so, or she would have fired on them a long time ago. They were getting close now. Her tracks were appearing more often, her trail easier to follow as she tired. His eagerness leapt, and excitement rushed through his blood. The time was at hand, he knew it; he could almost taste it.
“There, on the branch, Nikolai, a piece of her clothes,” Andre said softly, pointing with his gun to a tangled thicket close to Nikolai's position.
As Nikolai pushed his way through the prickly thorns and tangled vines, moving cautiously, Dmitri thought it an odd path for the woman to choose. It didn't take him long to figure out why. When Nikolai let out a bloodcurdling scream, Dmitri crouched down and jerked the Beretta out of his shoulder holster. Andre already had his gun drawn as he approached his partner but began to shriek, too, as Nikolai ran toward him, his hands beating at his head and shoulders. It was then that Dmitri heard the ominous buzzing and saw the dark cloud of yellow jackets swarming after the two hysterical ex-policemen.
Dmitri and Yuri quickly backed away as the men tried to outrun the stinging horde in a headlong dash toward the creek they'd forded about fifty yards back. Both were yelling at the top of their lungs, and Dmitri cursed under his breath as Yuri joined him, his gun out and ready.
“She's begun to set traps,” Yuri commented, pointing out the obvious. “Reed was right. She knows the tricks of the woods."
“Yes, she's quite a woman."
Yuri gave him a surprised look as Dmitri slid his pistol back into his shoulder holster. The woman was clever, all right, a fitting adversary. He wet his lips. He couldn't wait to get his hands on her.
Kate stopped and listened. Miles away, through the vast empty woods, she could hear a man screaming, maybe two men. She smiled coldly. They'd found one of her little surprises. She suspected they'd blundered straight into the yellow jackets, just as she'd intended. Good, she hoped they were stung so badly they swelled up like blowfish. In any case, the delay bought her some time. Time she desperately needed because now she knew for sure they were coming after her. If they were close enough to hear, they were close enough to catch up to her.
Trudging on, she made good progress, keeping to the ridge where she could peer down over the forest floor where they'd have to come after her. Occasionally she'd climb outcroppings of rock or wade for awhile down one of the small creeks meandering toward the river. Joey had slept for the most part, but when he was awake, she'd take him out of the sling and hold him backwards against her chest so he could kick and look around. She kept up an amazing pace, considering the condition of her knee and seared palm, but the cloudy day made the grueling hike cooler and less exerting.
A long time after she'd heard the men yelling, Kate stopped and sat on a large flat rock to rest her leg. She rubbed her aching knee. If only she'd had on her leg brace when she'd been surprised at the cabin. Some mornings she did put it on when she expected to have to load and unload the canoes at the bait shop. Without it now, her knee was beginning to feel as bad as it had that first time she'd gone down on it, during her last competition at the Olympics. She'd been almost to the finish line when she'd fallen.
It had been a day like today, cloudy and windy, but extremely hot with a thunderstorm brewing. She could remember the taste of ozone in the humid air. She had been ahead from the start, and she'd kept her lead. But as she'd neared the stadium where the race ended, the sky had darkened to the color of charcoal briquettes and a veritable floodgate had opened on the marathon runners. She could remember distinctly how the thunder had boomed suddenly, rolling like a giant's roar over the crowd....
The fans, so cheerful and eager to root her on until the crash of thunder, took off like frightened rabbits for sheltering trees or bus-stop overhangs, as the disma
l gray gloom spoiled their fun. The next bolt of lightning struck somewhere off to Kate's right, so violently that the ground shook beneath her feet.
Jerking her head, she expected to see a tree toppling to the ground. She never saw the oily puddle on the macadam, hidden by the mist and rain, until her right foot slid across it, turning her ankle and sending her off balance. She tried to stop her fall but couldn't, and went down hard on her bad knee.
Sheer agony ripped up her leg. Her vision blurred and her stomach knotted as shouts sounded in front of her. Somehow she saw a bunch of photographers running toward her through the downpour. Groaning with pain, she got herself up into a sitting position but she could feel her bone scraping against something. She held her knee immobile, grinding her teeth to stop from screaming. She looked behind her. No one else had crested the hill.
Kate clamped her jaw. She wouldn't quit, not when she was so close to the finish line. She managed to get up somehow, later she wouldn't understand how. Her kneecap felt as if someone had hammered a spike deep into the bone. She staggered and stopped as a young South African appeared at the top of the hill. When she saw Kate was struggling, she increased her pace.
C'mon, c'mon, try, you've got to try, Kate told herself. She attempted to run, and a sour acid bubbled up the back of her throat. A white-hot streak of pain shot from her knee to her ankle every time she put her foot down. She couldn't run, could not do it, but she could walk, she could limp, she could drag her leg, if she had to.
Rain beat down harder, sharp, chilling her, or maybe that was the pain, but she refused to give up. She trudged on. She'd make it, God help her, even if the street flooded and she had to swim. Time seemed to slow down, get on its knees and crawl the way she wished she could, and she glanced back over and over, watching the little South African. She could see her bright red hair now as she came closer and closer. Elsa, who was Kate's best friend among the competitors, was in sight now, too, and a girl from Spain was some distance behind her. Kate dragged on, half pulling her leg behind her.
The spectators were running back to watch the dramatic new development, despite the downpour, smelling blood, yelling encouragement, but all she could think about was the ancient gladiators and the way the Romans held their thumbs down when they wanted death. When her leg went numb, she began to worry about injuring herself irretrievably. It was heavy now, stiff as a pirate's peg leg, as if her knee joint was frozen.
When the South African passed Kate, the youngster didn't look at her injured rival. She didn't slow her gait or change expressions. What was her name, anyway? Something weird, a nickname that was dumb. Kiki, that was it, little Kiki was passing Kate up. Kiki was going to win the gold.
Kate set her jaw and dragged her dead leg onward, staring at the red, green and blue South African flag on the girl's back. Okay, Kate, there's still the silver, and that ain't so bad. Pop had said that a million times when she'd come in second in high school events.
The bone was grinding against something that hurt so bad, maybe a tendon, she didn't think she could stand it. She was maiming her leg by keeping up like this, probably killing her chances of ever running again, but she couldn't make herself stop. She was too close, inside the stadium now, thousands of fans cheering her on. She kept on, thinking how long, how hard, she'd worked for an Olympic medal.
Never give up, never, she thought, but gave up that weak mantra when Elsa came abreast of her on the last curve of the final lap. Her friend did look at her, and Kate saw the sympathy in her pale blue eyes. She, more than anyone, knew what this was costing Kate.
"Go for it, Elsa!” Kate hissed through gritted teeth, the rain pelting her face and muffling her words.
Elsa surged ahead, and Kate gave in to the urge and got down and crawled on her hands and knees like a baby. Behind her the girl from Barcelona was just entering the stadium but she was very tired. Kate was close to passing out. She bit the inside of her cheek, an old trick that hurt enough to get her mind off her knee. Pulling herself along as fast as she could, she kept on because now she knew she was close enough to actually win the bronze. Ten more yards.
Three guys with remote television cameras on their shoulders found her crippled plight and with great glee were determined to make Kate their own personal version of the agony of defeat. A youngish man with a blond beard and shaved head was walking backward in front of her so he could get a better shot of the excruciating effort twisting her face.
"Get the hell out of my way,” she ground out, half expecting him to ask her to smile for the camera.
The photographer moved to the side but stayed in her face, probably hoping she'd faint so he could zero in on her eyes as they rolled back into her head. Angry with him, and her knee, and the storm that made her lose the race of her life, she reached down deep, deeper than she'd ever done before. She pulled out every shred of inner strength she had, every vestige of will.
She'd come to win a medal, and by God, she was going to get one. She forced herself up to a standing position and, incredibly, managed to run, limping heavily. But she didn't have to stand the pain for long. The finish line was five yards away. She'd stand beside Elsa again as she had in Munich. She'd win for all the folks waving American flags, for Pop, for her friends back home cheering for her, but most of all, she'd win it for her new husband, Michael.
Her leg gave out again two yards from the ribbon, now a broken, crumpled wad on the pavement. She began to crawl again. Elsa was on the other side of the line, apparently forgetting her own exhaustion as she jumped up and down and yelled Kate's name. Even Kiki was waving her on.
The press were having a heyday; in a shark frenzy over this painful little drama, even they, the vultures of the air-waves, wanted her to win the bronze.
A few more inches and she'd have it. The exhausted Spaniard was close behind her, running hard, her arms pumping. Kate could hear her feet slapping against the wet pavement. With the last ounce of effort she had left, Kate threw herself forward, pulling herself bodily over the tape.
"You did it, Kate, I can't believe you did it!"
That was Elsa's voice; the Swede was on her knees now, giving Kate a hug. Kiki was there, too, smiling. Kiki reached down and took hold of Kate's hand, squeezing it and telling her how brave she was. Even the Spaniard said olé, or something that sounded like olé. Cameras clicked. Reporters gathered. Rain pelted. Thunder rumbled. Then Michael was there, her husband, the man she loved, the man with whom she wanted to share this final moment of triumph in her career. He was pushing the others away, leaning over her, and she clung to him, wanting the comfort of his arms.
"My God, Kate, you did it, you won! I'm so proud of you!"
Kate stared up at him and basked in the warmth and worry in his eyes as he knelt down and supported her. She lay back against him in the pouring rain and closed her eyes. Too tired even to smile, her body finally gave up the fight. Her mind shut down, and darkness rushed in like a cloud of liquid black ink, and all the shouts and rain and rolling thunder slowly faded to utter stillness....
As the vision of that incredible day faded from her mind, Kate sighed and rocked back and forth with Joey in her arms. Now Michael was dead, and she would be, too, if she didn't find a way to keep going. She'd made it that day in the rain, she thought, and she'd make it now. She couldn't let herself give up, not because her leg was aching badly enough to fall off, not because she couldn't use her right hand, not for any other reason. She pushed herself upright and started off again up the crest of another hill, using flat rocks and mossy patches to hide her footprints. Never give up, never.
Ten
BY LATE AFTERNOON, The sun had come out and broiled overhead for hours. It was hot for May, especially the way Kate was exerting herself. Despite the thick canopy of trees shading the woods, she wasn't sure she could keep up her swift pace. Worse, she'd misjudged the distance to Van Buren. She wasn't anywhere close yet, and it might take days fighting through the tangled vegetation with its hordes of biting insects.
She was already fighting exhaustion, her limp more pronounced with each step, and Joey was restless confined in the sling so long, crying and fussy from the change in milk, and wanting out, wanting things back to normal. She finally stopped, each of his loud wails making her cringe. Sounds bounced off the woods like subterranean echoes; the killers would be able to hear him, even if they were still acres away.
Her stamina nearly drained, she dragged herself to the top of the next hill, to a spot where she could glimpse Current River glinting like a silver ribbon through the tree branches. She collapsed to the ground and leaned back against a fallen log, resting for a moment before she spread out Joey's receiving blanket and laid him on his back. She changed him again and buried the soiled diaper under some rocks, afraid he wouldn't be able to tolerate the Pet Milk.
She couldn't stop yet. Not this soon. There was still enough daylight to find a road or trail that led out of the woods. If she couldn't find one, she'd have to spend the night in another cave, and she couldn't imagine being able to shut her eyes for fear of snakes, no matter how desperately she needed sleep. Last night she'd startled awake a hundred times in a cold sweat. Tonight would be no different.
Stretching out her leg she massaged her sore knee for a few minutes, unwilling to get up. She kept trying to relax her muscles and forget her burned hand while Joey enjoyed his freedom. Once he got his fill of twisting and kicking he'd go to sleep. She couldn't complain; he'd held up better than she had.
Not too far distant a sound filtered through the peaceful twittering of the birds. Alarmed, Kate jumped up and scanned the trees. It wasn't a man's voice like before; it was the baying of hounds. Oh, God, the killers had dogs. Or maybe it was the police, the state patrol with their K-9 units, or even the FBI. She'd seen bloodhounds in action, and a woman with a baby didn't have a chance against them. Dread filled her as the shrill barking echoed through the trees, and her heart stopped when the first animal burst through the brush about fifty yards away.