THE RENEGADE AND THE HEIRESS

by Judith Duncan

  Arnie Jeffery stuck his gloves in his pocket. "Well, we've got a problem. A light plane went down west of here day before yesterday. We had planes in the air for a bit, but they got grounded because of bad weather. But we did get a fix on the transponder signal." He shook his head, his expression worried. "It's about five klicks from Carlson Falls—right around that little glacial lake where we went fishing a couple of years ago."

  Knowing that sometimes the best way to hide trail was to lay a bunch of other tracks over it, Finn shifted his weight, making sure his expression gave nothing away. "I was in that area the past couple of days. Winterizing the line shacks. I figured I heard planes, but never thought anything about it."

  Arnie heaved a sigh. "Then you know what it was like out there yesterday. With that kind of weather, and such strong winds, there was no way we could bring in a helicopter." He raked his hand through his trimmed hair, then shook his head. "We've been advised that this weather system is going to settle in for at least three days, so we're going to have to send in a ground search and rescue team." He gave Finn a wry smile. "Which means you, Donovan."

  The police officer rubbed his head again, worry lines forming around his mouth. "Unfortunately, we're going to have some private-sector people coming along. The passenger on the plane was the daughter of a very wealthy industrialist in the States—Patrick O'Brien—I don't know if you've heard of him or not."

  Thinking about the platinum watch and the diamond earrings, Finn allowed himself a wry smile. "Yeah, I've heard of him." He doubted if there was a person in North America who hadn't heard of Patrick O'Brien.

  "Well, from the reports we've had, she was on her way to Alaska—I guess her old man has a hunting lodge up there. It was some private tracking system that notified us that they'd gone missing.

  "But there are some other concerns for her safety, mostly because of some kidnap attempts in the past. And I take it those attempts have had some lasting effects on her." Arnie met Finn's gaze, his expression solemn. "The chief of security for O'Brien Industries arrived about an hour ago. And he told me that the daughter is very fragile emotionally and must be handled with enormous care. And that's why they want some of their people along, someone who is familiar to her."

  Finn stared at the cop, having to work very hard to keep his expression neutral. If he didn't already have the very wealthy industrialist's daughter stashed in his bedroom, and even if he didn't know she was being transported against her will, it would have still been damned suspicious. The whole setup smelled bad.

  The flight path didn't match up, and the fact that it was someone in the private sector that notified the RCMP didn't sit right. Nor did the fact that security people were already on-site. And since when did a U.S. corporation security chief get to call the shots at a crash scene in Canada? Keeping his face expressionless, Finn listened as Arnie continued to talk, his mind working double time.

  From the location that Arnie had given him, it was clear that Mallory had covered a fair distance before he found her. Two or three miles at least—which meant it would have probably taken her at least half an hour to travel that far.

  His arms still folded against his chest, he assessed his own situation. He was not at all happy about being called out for the search. But there was no obvious reason for him to say no—not a damned one.

  But everything depended on Mallory O'Brien. If she still refused to let anyone know that he'd found her, then that put a personal spin on it. It meant he was going to have to leave her alone. And she would be on her own—if she wanted total secrecy, he wouldn't even be able to tell Old Joe. And it would suit him just fine if no one found out she was alive until he had a chance to find out what in hell was going on—and why she was so terrified. Still, he did not like the idea of leaving her alone.

  But the tracker in him also saw a possible advantage to being there for the supposed rescue. It was going to tell him a whole lot if he could see for himself how her father's people reacted when they discovered she wasn't at the wreck.

  A breath of sound from the hallway caught Finn's attention, and it was all he could do not to turn his head in that direction. As if physically connected, he could feel her there, standing at the bedroom door listening. He hoped she had enough damned sense to stay quiet. Right now, Jeffery didn't have a clue she was there, and Finn wanted to keep it that way. At least until he had a chance to talk to her.

  Finn forced himself to maintain a relaxed pose. It was imperative that he didn't drop the ball here. And he didn't want to leave any loose ends that someone might question later—like why he'd cut his trip short, and why he'd come home missing most of his gear.

  Nodding his head as if in agreement, he spoke, his voice even. "I'm going to be short equipment. I had to leave quite a bit of mine behind yesterday. My packhorse looked as if he might be coming up lame. And with the weather the way it was, I didn't want to take a chance with him." Which was partly true. Trouper always looked as if he was going lame.

  "Don't worry about that. We've got extra." Arnie Jeffery pulled out his gloves, clearly anxious to get this show on the road. "I talked to that new game warden last night, and he figured you'd want to trailer the horses up to that South Point campground."

  Finn endorsed the plan with a nod. If the roads were clear enough that they could trailer the horses up to the wilderness campground, it would save at least five hours of search time. Although it would have been shorter to go in the same way he'd brought Mallory out, going that way would be much more difficult. If they had to transport injured survivors, it would be a nightmare. And setting up a base camp at South Point was better for him. While laying a trail to the crash site, he could also construct a trail away from her.

  "You'll bring Rooney, right?"

  His attention dragged back, Finn considered his response. He had already made up his mind that he was leaving Rooney with Mallory. The dog was the best defense she had. And he did have a sound reason for leaving the dog behind. Keeping his voice easy, he answered. "No. I don't think so. The only way we can reach that site is on horseback, and with this bad weather and the deep snow, it would be too hard going for him. I'll leave him with Old Joe." Finn straightened. "I've got to put together another survival kit for myself. I expect Old Joe is already at the barn. Tell him I'll take Jakes instead of Gus—I worked Gus pretty hard yesterday. And tell him to load the big roan as a packhorse. Joe's done this before—he'll know what gear I'll need."

  Arnie Jeffery jammed his hat on his head, then reached for the door. "I'll give him a hand. This search isn't going anywhere until you're ready to roll." He stepped onto the porch. "As soon as we've got the trailer loaded, I'll head back to town. We've told everyone to muster at the fire hall."

  The cop disappeared into the darkness, and Finn closed the door behind him, feeling a whole lot edgier than he liked. Everything felt wrong. Remembering what it felt like to wake up with Mallory O'Brien in bed beside him, he amended that thought. Almost everything.

  But the reality of her being Patrick O'Brien's daughter made his insides knot up. He knew pretty much from the moment he laid eyes on her that there was something untouchable about her. But now he knew for sure. That kind of distance couldn't even be measured.

  He turned and headed toward the bedroom. And now he was going to have to get her side of it, whether she liked it or not. Geared for a battle of wills, he went down the hallway. But just as he reached his bedroom door, a hand shot out, grasped him by the waistband and hauled him into the room, the power of the jerk nearly dislocating his neck.

  He never got a chance to get a single word out.

  In one hell of a temper, she faced him, her hands on her hips, fury blazing in her eyes. "That is the biggest crock of lies I've ever heard in my life," she practically shouted, her freckles standing out like a million little beacons. "Fragile. Do I look fragile to you? And I was not on my way to my father's hunting lodge. I was being taken against my will!"

  For some reason, her fury amu
sed him—some women would have been wringing their hands, or sobbing their hearts out. Not Mallory O'Brien. Mallory O'Brien was all geared up to tear a strip off someone.

  Resting his hip against the highboy, he folded his arms, barely suppressing a grin as he looked down at her. "No," he said, his tone casual. "I wouldn't say you were fragile. Emotionally or otherwise."

  She stopped and stared at him, and he could almost see the fight drain out of her. And he caught a glimpse of fear and uncertainty as she opened her mouth, ready for another tirade of self-defense.

  Knowing he didn't have a lot of time to waste, he held up one hand. "Hey," he said, cutting her off. "For what it's worth, I think it's a crock. And I'd sure like to know what the chief of security is doing up here." He hooked one thumb in the front pocket of his jeans, fixing a steady gaze on her. "But right now, I need to know what you want to do, Red. We can go out to the barn and tell Arnie that I found you—"

  "No!" Her eyes wide, she grasped his arm. "No," she said, lowering her voice and trying to affect calm. She hugged herself, the light from the doorway glancing across her pale face. "They can't know," she whispered unevenly. "If they find out I'm still alive, others will be put at risk. No one can know, Finn. Especially anyone from O'Brien Industries."

  Finn stared at her, something making him edgy. "Why?"

  Her face was strained, and she clutched her arms tighter, her eyes fixed on him. He could tell she was debating whether to answer him or not. Finally she spoke, her expression stark, her voice uneven. "The plane that crashed was an O'Brien Industries plane."

  A cold feeling slithering through his gut, Finn stared at her. "You're sure?"

  She gave him a humorless smile. "Very sure." She rubbed her hands up her arms as if she was cold, then inhaled unevenly. "That's why no one from 01 can know I'm alive. Somebody high up has to be involved."

  Finn had a dozen questions he wanted answers to, but there simply was not enough time. Holding her gaze, he acquiesced with a tip of his head. "Fine. But I don't have a lot of time to waste here. If I'm not out at that barn in twenty minutes, they're going to come looking for me."

  Her lips pale and her eyes wide with the first flicker of panic, she nodded her head, her gaze fixed on his.

  He wanted to touch her, but he didn't. But he did manage to soften his tone. "I'm going to have to go on this mission—under the circumstances, I don't have a choice." He straightened, jamming both hands in the back pockets of his jeans. "And if you don't want the authorities to know you're here, we can't afford to stir up even a whiff of suspicion. Which means things are going to have to happen exactly the way they would have if I hadn't found you."

  She looked at him, her eyes dark and beseeching. "But they're lying, Finn. They're lying."

  Needing to reassure her, needing to simply touch her as a man would a woman, he reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear. "I know that, Red," he answered, smiling into her worried eyes. "I was there, remember?"

  Clamping her mouth shut, she nodded, and as if exerting a huge amount of self-discipline, she hugged herself even tighter. "You won't tell them you found me, will you?"

  He gazed down into her anxious eyes, and for some reason it was important that she believe him. "No. I won't tell them."

  "Promise me, Finn."

  He gave her a small smile. "I give you my word." She took a deep shaky breath, then lifted her chin. "Okay, then."

  He could not resist the urge, and he smoothed his thumb across her cheek. "I know you probably aren't too thrilled about staying here by yourself. And I'm not too damned happy about having to leave you." Holding her gaze, he caught the back of her neck and gave her head a little shake. "But right now—at least until we find out what's going on—I think it's our only option. Something really stinks about all this." He hesitated, asking again, knowing she was still hiding something. "Are you sure you don't want to get in touch with your father?"

  Her jaw tight, she shook her head, then eased in a deep fortifying breath. She took another deep breath and let it go. "No," she said, her voice controlled. "I want to wait until you get back."

  He dropped his hand to her shoulder, giving her a firm squeeze. "Fine. And if you do exactly as I tell you, you're going to be fine. And no one ever need know you're here."

  Still watching him, she gave her head a single nod, clearly trying to marshal her resources. He gave her shoulder another squeeze, then turned toward the huge chest of drawers. Running a mental checklist in his head, he started tossing clothing on the bed. "This thing with the plane puts a different spin on things," he said, keeping his tone almost conversational. "Maybe it's a good thing I'm going along. I'll able to watch what's happening. And I might find out a few things—like who is behind this." He glanced at her, and she nodded again, only this time she wasn't quite so stiff.

  Not having time to cater to whatever modesty she had, but still needing to find out any information she might have, he turned his back on her and stripped out of his jeans, then began yanking on layers of survival gear. "Okay, Red. I need you to tell me what you know about this security team."

  He heard her take a deep breath; then she answered, her voice steady. "If it really is the chief of security who's here, his name is Ed Jackson. My father is big on security, and Jackson is supposed to be very good at his job. I do know that he's into very high-tech surveillance and security systems. And I also know from what my father has said that he used to work in some top-secret capacity for the government. I certainly don't know all the people who work under him, but the ones I've met are all the same." He heard her move toward the bed; then she spoke again, an edge in her tone. "Professionally, he's supposed to be the best. Personally, he makes me want to back away."

  Yanking a turtleneck sweater over his head, Finn turned to look at her, his expression altering as he pulled the sweater all the way down. "Then that's good enough for me." He picked up a web belt and began threading it through the loops on his wind pants, also attaching the sheath for his Buck knife. "I know you haven't told me everything," he said, using that same conversational tone. "But right now, I don't have time to deal with that."

  Stacking up the clothing on his bed, he continued. "But I'm going to want the whole story when I get back." He turned to face her, assessing her reaction. Hugging herself, she mutely nodded, and Finn headed for the door, his spare clothing in his hands. He heard her follow him. "I'm leaving Rooney with you. Old Joe checks the place morning and night when I'm gone, but he never comes to the house—not unless I ask him to. He'll feed Rooney at the barn, so don't you feed him here. Rooney always hangs around the house when I'm gone, so his being here won't kick off any suspicions."

  He lifted the lid on the wood box and took out the polar fleece she'd been wearing, adding it to the rest of the clothes he was carrying. "Do not go outside and stay away from the kitchen windows at night. Those are the only windows that can be seen from the drive. I quite often leave the track lights on in the kitchen when I'm gone, so leave them on all the time. There are more boxes of books in the loft, and the washer and dryer are in the room behind the kitchen. And there's also a good supply of canned food on the shelves and stuff in the freezer. And help yourself to my clothes." He paused, considering telling her about the gun safe in the storeroom, then changed his mind. No one had any reason to check his house, and Ed Jackson would be with him.

  He picked up the saddlebags he had dropped by the door, slapped them on the kitchen table, then started stuffing things inside. Of course she was going to be safe. But in spite of knowing that, he still could not look at her. "You have to do exactly what I say, Red," he said, his tone firm. "Right now, you can't afford to take any chances."

  He finally looked up at her, his stomach doing a funny little barrel roll when he found her watching him, her head tipped to one side, not a trace of fear on her face. She met his gaze, offering up a small smile. "I will do exactly as you say, Donovan."

  He watched her, a tight knot letting go in his
belly. Feeling guilty for imposing such heavy restrictions on her, he felt compelled to explain. "We can't have you outside making any fresh prints in the snow," he said, his voice gruff.

  She folded her arms in a relaxed stance. "I know."

  He held her gaze for a split second, assuring himself that she did know; then he turned and headed for the storage room. "I gotta get my 'go' bag," he mumbled.

  When he came back out, carrying the backpack, he found that she had pulled everything out of his saddlebags and was folding it neatly, then just as neatly replacing it. He stared at her. He wasn't going to some resort, for God's sake; he was going into the backcountry. He just about snapped at her, but instead he locked his jaw together. All right. It was no big deal. She just needed something to do.

  She indicated the backpack. "Called a 'go' bag because it's always ready to go, right?"

  He gave her a narrow, questioning look. "That's right."

  She gave him a wry half smile. "I have one of those, too, only I call it my flight bag, as in fleeing."

  It was the tone in her voice, almost as if she had resigned herself to her way of life that made him pause. He picked up the three pairs of heavy woolen socks she had also retrieved from the wood box and had rolled together. He stuck them in the side pocket of his pack. He watched her do up the buckles on the saddlebags, then he spoke again, his voice husky. "You're going to be fine here on your own, Red." He forced a smile. "It'll give you a chance to catch up on your reading."

  She slid her hands up the sleeves of the sweat suit she was wearing, giving him a small smile back. "I thought I'd weave some nice, pretty baskets while you're gone."

  He gave her a lopsided grin, then reached for the shearling coat she'd worn the day before. He shrugged into it, then picked up his Stetson, his heart giving a lurch when she reached up to straighten the collar of his coat. "Go careful, Donovan. I don't want to be stuck in this cabin till spring."

  She was so close, he could feel the warmth of her, smell the scent of his shampoo on her hair, and it was all he could do to keep his hands at his sides. She had shown so much courage, and there was such trust in her moss-green eyes, such openness, such confidence in him that he almost felt trapped by it. He stared at her, feelings he didn't know he was capable of building up in his chest. And his own sense of honor kicked in.