Chill Factor

by Sandra Brown

  It was tricky because it was a sharp turn, and coming out of it the road went into a steep incline. To keep from spinning out, Hawkins would have to take the turn slowly but have enough acceleration to handle the incline.

  Dutch clicked on the two-way radio in his hand. “Hang back, Bull. Don’t get too close.”

  “No need to worry about that, buddy,” Wes replied through the speaker. “My instructions to him exactly.”

  “Nice and easy,” Hawkins said under his breath, talking either to himself or to the truck.

  “Not too easy,” Dutch said. “You’ve got to get up that incline.”

  “I’m the one experienced at driving this thing.”

  “So drive it. But you’d sure as hell better drive it right.” Surreptitiously he took a deep breath and held it.

  Hawkins went into the turn cautiously. The rig made it without mishap.

  Dutch exhaled. “Now give it some gas.”

  “Don’t tell me my job,” Hawkins snapped. “Shit, this road’s darker than Egypt.”

  The state highway, which became Main Street in Cleary proper, was lined with streetlights all the way to the city limit signs at either end of town. But once off the beaten path, the roads were unlighted, and the contrast was dramatic. The truck’s headlights illuminated nothing except the dizzy dance of windblown, frozen precipitation.

  It spooked Hawkins. He let off the accelerator.

  “No!” Because Dutch had driven this road a thousand times, he knew that this was the point where acceleration was necessary in order to make it up the first incline. “Give it some juice!”

  “I can’t see nothing,” Hawkins screeched. He put the truck in neutral and let it idle while he swiped his coat sleeve across his face. Despite the frigid temperature, his forehead was beaded with sweat that smelled as acrid as the moonshine that had produced it.

  “Put this truck in gear,” Dutch said, straining each word through clenched teeth.

  “In a minute. Let my eyes adjust. All that stuff swirling around is making me woozy.”

  “Not in a minute. Now.”

  Hawkins frowned at him. “You got a death wish or somethin’?”

  “No, you must. Because I’m going to kill you if this truck isn’t rolling in five seconds.”

  “I don’t think a chief of police is supposed to be threatening private citizens like that.”

  “One.”

  “What’s going on up there?” Wes’s voice squawked through the two-way radio.

  “Two.” Dutch depressed the button on his receiver and spoke into it. “Cal’s considering the best way to approach the incline.” He clicked off. “Three.”

  “Dutch, you sure about this?” Wes sounded worried. “Maybe you should reconsider.”

  “Four.”

  “Bull can barely keep this Bronco on the road, and that’s with driving on sand. We can barely see beyond the hood and—”

  “Five.” Dutch drew his pistol from the holster.

  “Shit!” Cal ground the gear stick into first.

  “It’s okay, Wes,” Dutch said into the radio with what he thought was remarkable calm. “Here we go.”

  Cal let out on the clutch and pressed the accelerator. The truck rolled forward a few feet.

  “You’re gonna have to give it some punch or it’ll never make it,” Dutch said.

  “We got a heavy load, don’t forget.”

  “So compensate.”

  Hawkins nodded and shifted into second. But the moment he accelerated, the rear tires began to spin uselessly. “Ain’t gonna make it.”

  “Don’t let up on it.”

  “Ain’t gonna—”

  “Keep trying! Give it more!”

  Hawkins muttered something about Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, then did as Dutch ordered. The wheels spun but then found traction, and the truck lurched forward.

  “See?” Dutch said with more relief than he was willing to show.

  “Yeah, but we gotta make that first hairpin.”

  “You can do it.”

  “I can also drive us both straight into Hell, ’cause I can’t see shit. I don’t fancy tumbling ass over elbows down the hillside in this thing.”

  Dutch ignored him. Beneath his clothes, he was sweating even more profusely than Hawkins. He concentrated on the glare of the headlights just beyond the hood. In fairness to Hawkins, he didn’t dispute the danger of driving a truck this size up an icy mountain road when visibility was limited to a few feet. The heavy precipitation had already covered the sand that the rig had just applied. He noticed that Bull had driven the Bronco no further than the turnoff. The two inside it—his best friend and one of his subordinates—were probably discussing his blind stupidity. He couldn’t let their opinions worry him.

  Grumbling and groaning, the truck labored up the twenty-degree incline. It was slow going, but Dutch kept telling himself that every inch it won moved him closer to Lilly. And Ben Tierney.

  Of all the men she could be stranded with, why did it have to be that guy? The thought of her being alone in the cabin with any man was enough to make him crazy. But she was up there with a man she’d been gawking at just yesterday.

  Dutch had seen other women, old and young alike, sizing up Ben Tierney, going all atwitter over his hard body and chiseled jaw. And you could bet that he damn well knew he caused a stir among the ladies.

  He must fancy himself some sort of superstud. Thrill seeking, exploring, getting his picture in magazines. It all added up to a free pass into the sack with any woman he chose.

  Kayaking, my ass.

  Pushing his bitter thoughts aside, he said, “Heads up, Hawkins. We’re getting close to that first switchback.”

  “Yep.”

  “Another ten yards maybe.”

  “We ain’t got a snowball’s chance of making it.”

  “If you know what’s good for you, we will.”

  For several seconds Dutch believed they were actually going to. Maybe he was willing it to happen so hard he saw it happening. But positive thinking couldn’t override the laws of physics. In order to make the switchback turn safely, Cal had to downshift. When he did, the truck didn’t have enough speed to propel it up the incline. It stalled and seemed to remain motionless for eternity and a day. Dutch held his breath. Then the rig began to slide backward.

  Hawkins squealed like a woman.

  “Give it some gas, you idiot!”

  Hawkins complied, but it seemed to Dutch that his efforts weren’t as aggressive as what were called for to combat the inexorable pull of gravity. In any case, nothing Hawkins did was successful, except the gradual application of brakes that eventually stopped their downhill skid and prevented them from going off the road.

  When the truck finally came to a halt, Hawkins expelled a long breath. “Fuck me. That was a close one.”

  “Try again.”

  He turned his head so fast it caused his neck vertebrae to pop like bursting corn kernels. “Are you nuts?”

  “Put it back in gear and try again.”

  Hawkins shook his head like a wet dog. “No way, uh-uh. You can take out your pistol again and shoot me right between the eyes, but at least that’d be a quick death. Better than having my guts squashed by tons of truck and sand. No thank you, sir. You can wait till this stuff clears out, or get yourself another driver, or drive it your own self. I don’t give a fuck, except I ain’t doin’ it.”

  Dutch tried staring him into submission, but Cal Hawkins’s bloodshot eyes glared back at him. His stubbled jaw was thrust pugnaciously forward. They were both surprised when someone knocked on the passenger window.

  Wes peered in at them. “Y’all okay in there?”

  “We’re fine,” Dutch replied through the glass.

  “Like hell we are,” Hawkins yelled.

  Wes stepped onto the running board, pulled open the door, and immediately sensed Hawkins’s fear. “What’s going on?”

  Hawkins pointed a shaking finger at Dutch. “He pulle
d a gun on me, told me he was gonna kill me if I didn’t get him up this mountain. He’s crazy as a shithouse rat.”

  Wes shifted his disbelieving gaze to Dutch, who said in a tired voice, “I wasn’t going to shoot him. I just wanted to scare him into giving it his best effort.”

  Wes regarded him closely for a moment, then addressed Hawkins in a quiet, confidential voice. “His wife’s up there in their cabin with another man.”

  Hawkins assimilated that, then looked at Dutch, seeing him in a new light. “Aw, man. That sucks.”

  What sucked was being pitied by the likes of Cal Hawkins.

  Wes said, “Cal, think you can back your rig down to the main road?”

  Hawkins, inspired by sympathy into a more agreeable mood, said he would give it a shot. With them guiding him, he got the sanding truck back onto the highway and turned in the direction of town. Dutch ordered Bull to ride with Hawkins, warning his officer to keep a sharp eye on him and not let him do anything that would sabotage the rig’s future use.

  “Wouldn’t put it past him to wreck it on purpose so he’d get out of trying again tomorrow.” Following in the Bronco, Dutch ground his teeth. “That gutless, drunken son of a bitch.”

  “The demise of Cal Hawkins Jr. would signify no great loss. I give you that,” said Wes. “But Jesus, Dutch, weren’t you a bit over the line to draw a gun on him?”

  “Did you have to tell him that Lilly was with another man? It’ll be all over town by daybreak. No telling what they’ll be saying she and Ben Tierney are doing together up there to keep warm and while away the hours. You know how the minds of these people work.”

  “I see how yours is working.”

  Dutch shot him an angry glance.

  “Besides,” Wes continued, “I didn’t mention Ben Tierney by name. For all Hawkins knows, she’s holed up with some old coot.”

  “Hardly.”

  “Look, I told him because that’s a situation he can relate to. Driving up this mountain during a blizzard to rescue a stranded citizen? He can’t understand a sense of duty like that. But going after your woman who’s with another man, now that would justify any rash action. Even threatening someone with a gun.”

  They said no more until they reached the garage. Dutch told Bull to return to headquarters and see if his help was needed anywhere. If not, he could go home.

  “Will do, sir.” Looking down at the floor, the officer said awkwardly, “I’m sorry about, you know, not being able to get to your wife.”

  “See you tomorrow,” Dutch said curtly.

  The officer headed for his squad car. Hawkins was already scrambling into his pickup when Dutch caught up with him. “I’ll be looking for you first thing tomorrow morning. You’d better be easy to find.”

  “I’ll be at my house. You know where it’s at?”

  “I’ll pick you up at dawn. When I get there, if you’re drunk or hungover, you’ll wish I’d gone ahead and shot you.”

  They followed Hawkins’s pickup out of the garage. Not surprisingly, one of its taillights was missing. “I should write him a citation for that,” Dutch grumbled when Hawkins split off at an intersection.

  When they reached the Hamers’ house, Wes said, “Drop me at the end of the driveway. No need to pull in.”

  Dutch brought the Bronco to a stop. Neither man spoke for several moments. Wes stared glumly through the windshield and finally said, “No sign of it letting up, is there?”

  Dutch cursed the maelstrom of snow and sleet. “I’m getting up there tomorrow if I have to sprout wings and fly.”

  “That’s exactly what you may have to do,” Wes said. “Where are you off to now?”

  “I’m going to drive around town a bit. Check things out.”

  “Why don’t you park it for the night, Dutch? Get some sleep.”

  “Couldn’t if I tried. I’m running on adrenaline and caffeine now.”

  Wes studied him for a moment before saying, “I recommended you for this job.”

  Dutch turned and gave his friend a hard look. “Having second thoughts?”

  “None. But I don’t think I’m out of order by reminding you how much your future is riding on succeeding here.”

  “Look, if you think I’m botching the job—”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Then what?”

  “I’m saying your reputation is on the line, and so is mine.”

  “And you always have your ass well covered, don’t you, Wes?”

  “You’re goddamn right I do,” he fired back.

  Dutch snorted. “You always had big, bad linemen blocking you, and if they didn’t, you gave them hell. I was out there being hammered by linebackers with necks thicker than my waist. You didn’t give a shit that I got creamed, so long as you were protected.”

  Realizing how juvenile he must sound, harking back to their football days, he bit back any further comments. What Wes had said was the sad, ugly truth. He knew it. It just irked him to hear it.

  “Dutch,” Wes said in a carefully measured tone, “we’re not playing tiddlywinks here. Or even football. Our little town has got itself a psycho, some weirdo, snatching up women. Five of them now. God only knows what he’s doing to them. People are scared, on edge, wondering how many are going to fall victim before he’s caught.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “My point is that I haven’t seen you get worked up over our town crisis nearly the way you got worked up over Lilly being stuck in a nice, cozy cabin on a snowy eve. Sure, you’re worried about her. Okay. Some concern is justified. But for chrissake give it some perspective.”

  “Don’t preach to me, Mr. Chairman of the city council.” Dutch’s soft-spoken voice was in contrast to the rage pulsing through him. “You’re hardly a moral yardstick, Wes.” To hammer his point home, he added with emphasis, “Especially where the welfare of women is concerned.”

  CHAPTER

  11

  YOU HAVE ASTHMA?”

  “Chronic asthma. Nonallergic asthma.” Lilly ran her hand around the inside of her empty handbag, knowing it was futile. The small pouch in which she kept her medication wasn’t in there. Anxiously she pushed her fingers through her hair, then cupped her mouth and chin with her hand. “Where is it?”

  “You’re not having an asthma attack.”

  “Because I take medication to prevent them. An inhaler and a pill.”

  “Without them—”

  “I could have an attack. Which would be bad since I don’t have my bronchodilator.”

  “Broncho—”

  “Dilator, dilator,” she said impatiently. “An inhaler to use during an attack.”

  “I’ve seen people use those.”

  “Without it I can’t breathe.” She stood up and paced a tight circle. “Where is that bag? It’s about this big,” she said, holding her palms six inches apart. “Green silk, crystal beads on it. One of my staff gave it to me last Christmas. She’d noticed the one I had was worn out.”

  “Maybe you left—”

  Even before he finished, she was shaking her head and interrupting. “It’s always in my purse, Tierney. Always. It was there this afternoon.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive. Breathing cold air can bring on an attack, so I used one of my inhalers right before I left the cabin.” Growing more frantic by the moment, she wrung her hands. “It was in my bag this afternoon, but it’s not there now, so what happened to it?”

  “Calm down.”

  She rounded on him, angry over his inability to understand her panic. He didn’t know what it was like to gasp for breath and fear that soon he’d be unable to do even that. “Don’t tell me to calm down. You don’t know—”

  “Right.” He took her by the shoulders and gave her a slight shake. “I don’t know anything about asthma except that hysteria can’t be good for it. You’re working yourself into a tizzy. Now calm down.”

  She resented his stern tone of voice, but of course he was righ
t. She nodded at him and wiggled herself out of his grip. “All right, I’m calm.”

  “Let’s backtrack. You used the inhaler as you were leaving the cabin, correct?”

  “As I was walking out the door for the final time. I know I replaced it in my handbag. I remember fumbling with the clasp because I had my gloves on. But even if I had accidentally left it behind, it would be in this room. We’ve been over every square inch of this cabin. It’s not here or one of us would have seen it.”

  “Your handbag was slung onto the floorboard when your car struck the tree, remember?”

  No, she hadn’t remembered that until now. “Of course.” She groaned. “The pouch must have fallen out then. It would have been on top of everything else because I’d just put it back in.”

  “Then that’s the only logical explanation. When you pulled your purse from under the dash, did you check to see if the medicine bag was inside?”

  “No. It didn’t occur to me to check for anything that might have spilled out. My mind was on our predicament.”

  “Under normal circumstances, when would you next need the medication?”

  “Bedtime. Unless I had an episode, in which case I would need one of my inhalers immediately.”

  Tierney digested that. “Then we’ll just have to do everything we can to prevent an attack. What precipitates them? Besides breathing cold air. And, by the way, how in hell did you walk uphill, practically carrying me, without suffering an attack?”

  “My medications work well to prevent them. If I use common sense and take my meds, I can do just about anything I want. Kayak in white water, for instance,” she added with a weak smile.

  “But that walk up here nearly did me in, Lilly. How did you do it?”

  “Maybe I was imbued with superhuman strength after all.” To let him in on the inside joke, she explained. “When you were lying in the road, and I was rushing to get the blanket and so forth, I wondered why I wasn’t experiencing the adrenaline rush people are supposed to get during a crisis situation.”

  “Maybe you did and just didn’t realize it.”

  “Evidently. Anyway, attacks are brought on by overexertion, certainly. Irritants like dust, mold, and air pollution. I’m pretty safe from all that up here, especially in the winter. But then there’s stress,” she continued. “It can cause an attack.