Tough Enough

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “That’s a possibility, I suppose. It doesn’t explain Pete’s pickup at Horse Butte, though.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” She wished he hadn’t reminded her of that. He must have seen the disappointment on her face because he pulled her into his arms. She leaned into him, feeling his strength and warmth.

  “Denny, I think we’d better get that film to the authorities.”

  She didn’t want to move out of his embrace. But she knew she should get more photographs, enough to nail Cal and Lester but good.

  The report of a rifle made her jump. She and J.D. scrambled to look around the tree. Cal was standing still, holding his rifle. Not ten yards away, a small black bear lay dead.

  “Why the hell did you do that?” Lester demanded, his voice coming up the hillside.

  “It’s a bear. We’re supposed to kill bears, remember?” Cal snapped.

  “Not in the park in broad daylight! You’re going to get us in trouble.” Lester stomped back to the cache of antlers and worked to remove it by himself.

  Denver lifted her camera, taking a couple of shots of Lester and the horn, then turning it on Cal. He stood over the dead bear, a knife in his hand….

  Then the storm came, in a rush. The sky blurred chalky white in front of her camera lens and snowflakes cascaded down from the heavens, obliterating everything in front her.

  In the shelter of her coat, she reloaded the camera, stuffing the exposed roll into her pocket for safekeeping, then put her camera back in the pack.

  “Ready?” J.D. whispered. Denver started to move from the shelter of the pines. She saw Lester glance up in their direction.

  “Up there!” he yelled. “I just saw something.”

  J.D. pulled Denver down behind the bushy pine but through the branches she could see Lester pointing to the pines where they crouched. “There’s never a dull moment being with you,” J.D. whispered. “You ready to leave now?”

  She nodded and grabbed her ski poles. The snow-laden pines would provide only minimal protection. In a moment, Lester would be making his way up the hill and he’d see their tracks. Even if they found a better hiding place, their ski tracks would lead the two men directly to them.

  “Head down the mountain keeping to the south,” Denver whispered. “When you hit Duck Creek follow it west to the summer cabins, then head to the highway for help.”

  J.D. grinned at her. “And where are you going to be?”

  “I’m going to stay here and—”

  He shook his head. “No way. You’re going first.” She started to argue. “I’ll be right behind you, Sunshine. Covering your backside. Now git.”

  She swung the pack over her shoulder.

  “Go on,” J.D. urged. “And Denny—”

  She looked into his eyes and for an instant had the feeling that this might be the last time. The thought tore at her heart.

  “If we get separated, don’t double back. Keep going. You hear me. You have to get that film to the rangers. And … be careful.” He grabbed her and kissed her hard. Then gave her a shove.

  Denver dived from the pines, skiing across the opening to where the mountainside dropped down toward the valley below. It wasn’t the fastest way back to the highway and safety, and it definitely wasn’t the safest escape route, but right now it was the only way out. Straight down.

  She could hear voices behind her, and the sound of her skis on the snow. Neither Lester nor Cal could have reached the top of the hill yet, she told herself. Slightly off to her left, she saw J.D. skiing through the trees. A few more minutes and the horn hunters wouldn’t be able to see them because of the storm. She heard the sharp crack of a rifle shot. Terror filled her.

  She raced down the mountainside at the edge of her control, turning only to miss a stump, a fallen tree or a standing one. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught glimpses of J.D.’s dark ski jacket. Then nothing. Worry stole through her. She wished she had never gotten J.D. involved in this mess, wished he were still safe in California. “Stay with me, J.D.,” she pleaded. “Stay with me.”

  Her vision blurred as the snow beat against her face and often blinded her completely. At best, she could make out the shapes of trees; at worst, she saw nothing but white.

  She dipped down into a small gully and poled frantically up the other side, her heart pounding loudly in her ears. Off to her right, she heard the sound of a tree limb breaking and a grunt. Without taking time to think, she skied toward the sound. She tasted the metallic sourness of fear. What if J.D. had fallen? What if—Her skin went clammy and cold. What if they’d shot him? The thought ricocheted inside her head, out of control.

  Denver stopped and pulled Max’s pistol from her pack, listening. Silence. Large white flakes fell all around her, insulating the land in a cold, protective shell. She tucked the pistol into her coat and traversed the hillside, heading once more in the direction of the sound.

  The wind whirled snow around her like a plastic-bubble winter scene from a five-and-dime store. She wondered how she’d ever find J.D. in this swirling white curtain of cold. Then Denver heard it. The faint swish of fabric against pine needles. “J.D.?” she called fearfully. “J.D.?”

  Cal came out of the trees from her left. She went for the pistol in her coat. He lunged for her, ripping the gun from her fingers as his other gloved hand came around from behind to cover her mouth before she could scream.

  “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Denver McCallahan,” he sneered. “We finally meet again. And on my turf.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Pete Williams pulled the pickup over to the side of the road and adjusted the tracking equipment on the seat next to him. He didn’t want to believe it. He stared at the faint green beep, then out his window. Damn. How could this have happened? He slammed his fist against the steering wheel. He should have known. Stopping Denver McCallahan was like trying to lasso a runaway train. Especially now that she had J.D. as a running mate. But how had she found out? A leak somewhere. He remembered Davey and moaned. The little snot-nosed kid had talked before Pete got to him. Damn.

  For a few moments, Pete sat staring at the falling snow, wondering what he’d be doing right now if Max McCallahan were still alive. He drove down the road to the phone booth at the old Narrows resort and dug out a quarter. Midnight was right about one thing. Denver was a problem.

  He dialed the number he’d been given for emergencies. “It looks like I’m going to need some help.”

  “Where?”

  “Grayling Pass at Fir Ridge.”

  WHITEOUT. J.D. STOPPED for a moment, hearing nothing. Snowflakes fell around him, cold and lacy white. The poachers had turned back, he told himself as he tried to see ahead. Nothing. Nothing but a solid white wall of snow. He’d lost sight of Denny. By now she could already have reached Duck Creek and the summer cabins. Denny is a good skier. She can take care of herself.

  The words sounded hollow even to him. Fear filled his chest to overflowing. He couldn’t lose Denny. Not now. He pushed off again, skiing down the hill, knowing sooner or later he’d hit Duck Creek. Then he’d find her. He refused to believe anything else as he skied forward.

  The snow obliterated everything in his path. He couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of him. Trees would appear suddenly and without warning. Rocks and stumps came at him out of the snow, large white mounds he had to dodge at the last moment. Just a little farther and he’d be off the mountain. “Denny.” He whispered her name like a prayer.

  The land before him seemed to flatten out and he thought the worst part was over. Then the earth dropped out from under him.

  “DON’T SCREAM OR I’LL hurt you,” Cal muttered harshly against her temple. Slowly he pulled his gloved hand away from her mouth.

  Denver’s first instinct was to scream bloody murder. She squelched it, though, fighting for a calm she didn’t feel, because she knew now that Cal Dalton was capable of anything. If she screamed, it could bring Lester. Or worse yet, J.D. She didn’t doubt Cal w
ould shoot him.

  “You’re a pretty clever broad,” Cal said. “What did you do, follow us from town?” A strange kind of admiration glowed in his blue eyes. “Take off your pack, sweetheart. I think I’d like to see what you’ve got in there.”

  Denver slipped the pack strap from her shoulders as slowly as possible, her mind racing. He had his rifle slung over his back with a leather strap and Max’s pistol stuck in the waist of his pants. She knew he could get to either before she had a chance to escape. “Why don’t you tell me what horn hunting had to do with my uncle’s murder?”

  Cal shook his head as he planted his ski poles in the snow and reached for the pack. “Horn hunting? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He opened the backpack. She knew in a moment he’d see the camera, and even as dense as Cal was, he’d figure out she’d taken photos of the poaching operation.

  “You know, what you really want isn’t in there.”

  He looked up, a smile slowly lighting his eyes as he let the pack slip from his fingers. “No?”

  “No,” she said softly.

  He moved closer. “It’s about time you came around.”

  She swung one of her poles, hoping to knock him off balance and into the snow. It might give her enough time—

  Cal grabbed her wrist and twisted. The pole dropped into the snow at their feet. “You think I’m a fool?” he demanded hoarsely. One hand captured her face; the other dragged her to him. “I’m tired of playing games with you.” He shoved her down into the snow and fell on her, his fingers tearing at the zipper on her coat. “You’re about to find out what a real man is like.” He laughed as he jerked her coat open. She didn’t put up a fight as his hands slipped beneath her sweater. “And you’re in for a treat, sweetheart.”

  She knew he planned to rape her. And then what? Kill her? With shaking fingers, she began to unzip his coat.

  J.D. FELL OVER THE EDGE of the cornice, dropping through snowflakes and cold air, then hitting the snowfield and somersaulting. A branch slapped him; a rock dug into his ribs. He lost all perception as he tumbled downward. There was no sense of distance, or depth, only that endless falling sensation and a brilliant suffocating whiteness.

  And just when he thought it would never end, he slammed into a snowbank and stopped. For a few moments, he lay still, crumpled and cold, his breath ragged. He brushed at the snow on his face and beard, simply breathing and trying to get his bearings. Then he felt the unmistakable pain in his left ankle.

  First he’d escaped two rifle-toting horn hunters. Then he’d survived a fall off a cliff. And now his ankle was broken. He groaned. And where was Denny? Right now, all he wanted was to see her smiling face. To hear her laugh or speak his name. He closed his eyes. But that old sharp stab of fear that Denny was in trouble hit him hard between the eyes and he opened them again.

  The snow fell around him. Quiet. Like death. He leaned over to survey the damage the fall had done to his ankle. He didn’t even bother to worry about the scratches, scrapes and gouges. It was the ankle that would mean the difference between getting out of here and finding Denny or dying in a snowdrift.

  It didn’t hurt as badly as it had at first. But he wasn’t sure if that was a sign he was about to freeze to death. Hypothermia. Good night, Irene. He untied his boot and felt along the ankle. He felt again, unable to believe his good luck. At least it wasn’t a compound fracture. Maybe it was just a bad sprain, not even broken. It didn’t hurt enough to be broken, he assured himself. He tied his boot up again and tried getting to his feet.

  Bad idea. Pain raced up his leg. He fell back into the snow. Damn. If he couldn’t even get to his feet to try to ski for help … No, he didn’t want to think about that. Instead, he thought of Denver. That did the trick. He took his ski poles and determinedly worked his way up onto the one good leg. Carefully he put a little weight on his bad ankle and knew two things: his ankle wasn’t broken, but he wasn’t going far.

  DENVER SLID HER HAND under Cal’s shirt. She sank her other hand deep into the snow.

  Cal leered at her. “Finally see the light, huh?” He laughed as he leaned down to kiss her.

  Denver wrapped her fingers around a cold hard chunk of granite she’d dislodged under the snow. She brought the rock up with one swift movement and slammed it into the side of Cal’s head. He looked confused for an instant. Then she gave him a shove and he fell over into the snow. His eyes slowly closed as if he needed a little nap.

  “Finally see the light, huh?” Denver said, getting to her feet and zipping up her coat again. She snapped on her ski bindings Cal had so helpfully released, anxious to find J.D. as quickly as possible. She pulled the rifle from the snow where it had fallen next to Cal and slung it over her shoulder, but didn’t take the time to look for Max’s pistol somewhere in the snow. She heard Cal moan and was relieved she hadn’t killed him. Then she picked up her ski poles and skied down the mountain through the falling snow.

  J.D. POINTED HIMSELF what he guessed to be south. The land dropped away at a gentle slope. He hoped there were no more cliffs. The next thing he wanted to stumble into was Denny. And Duck Creek. Together they could find a cabin and take shelter from the storm.

  Using the poles as crutches, he slid one ski forward, then the other. Pain. It beaded up perspiration on his forehead even in the cold. More than ever he wanted to lie down and sleep. His brain tempted him to do so. The thought of Denny kept him moving. He had to tell her something. And when he saw her it was the first thing he was going to do, tell her. If he ever saw her again.

  “Denny.” He realized he’d said her name out loud. And worse yet, he thought he heard her voice on the wind. He told himself he had to be delirious.

  As he stumbled clumsily along in the storm, the wind whirled around him, giving him only teasing seconds of sight. Then he saw it.

  He blinked with disbelief. A mirage rising from the desert! But instead of tall, cool shade palms and a pool of clear water, he thought he’d seen the side of a cabin in the woods. His eyes were playing dirty tricks on him, tormenting him. Could he really have reached the first of the cabins along Duck Creek?

  The storm was a living force he had to battle to reach the mirage. He concentrated on Denny, her smile, her laugh, the defiance and determination that so often burned in her eyes, instead of the pain, fatigue and icy-cold wetness that enveloped him as he lumbered forward. It took all his powers of concentration to keep his legs moving.

  He was so preoccupied that he almost collided with the corner logs of the building. A cabin. It had to be one of the summer homes along the creek. That would mean shelter and probably a fireplace. Surely he could find something to burn to make a fire. The thought of a warm, dry place—and Denny—pushed him on. Just a few more feet.

  Hope soared, but quickly fell as he rounded the corner and saw that the structure was nothing more than part of an old cabin wall. He held on to the corner of the rotting logs. There would be little shelter in the crumbling edifice, little chance of keeping a fire going in the wind.

  As if the wind were aware of his dilemma, it swirled snow around him in a low growl. He tucked his head down against its freezing sharpness. For a moment, he thought he heard Denny’s voice on the wind again. Calling to him. The wind continued to whip the snow in tiny eddies. He raised his head to see the outlines of two other buildings looking like a ghost town in a desert sandstorm. The cabins disappeared again in the storm—or in his mind. He feared they had only been in his mind. Just like the sound of Denny’s voice.

  WHEN DENVER REACHED Duck Creek and the first boarded-up summer cabins, she stopped. Snow circled around her. Cold and tired, she urged herself to go on to the highway for help. But her heart wouldn’t let her. J.D. If he’d made it to the highway, he’d already be getting help. And if he hadn’t …

  She peered into the storm, then, making up her mind, she skied to the larger of two cabins. The door was locked. But with a piece of firewood from the stack beside the cabin, she pried open a
shutter, broke the window and let herself in. She thought about J.D. out in the cold and debated building a fire. The smoke could lead Cal and Lester right to her door. But she knew that if the two men made it as far as the cabins, they’d find her anyway. And she wanted the place to be warm if she found J.D. When she found him. She refused to consider any other possibility.

  Hurriedly she got a fire going in the old stone fireplace, warmed her hands, then went back out in the storm to look for J.D.

  SMOKE. J.D. THOUGHT for a moment he could smell smoke coming from one of the cabins that had appeared miraculously from out of the storm. He’d gone a few feet when he saw what had to be another mirage. A figure was coming out of the storm toward him. At first he thought it might be one of the horn hunters. He stopped, the cold and the pain freezing all thought. The sweet scent of smoke tantalized him; the wind whistled across the cabin’s roof, dying in a low howl off the eaves. Then he heard her voice calling his name.

  “Denny?” Snow whirled around him. The cabin was gone. So was Denny. A mirage. Only a mirage. He stumbled and fell into the snow. Too tired to move, he closed his eyes, remembering the feel of her in his arms. “Denny,” he whispered and smiled. “I love you.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Denny,” J.D. whispered, snuggling deeper into the couch. She wrapped her arms around him, giving him her warmth. He still shivered from the cold. She tried not to think about what could have happened if she hadn’t found him when she did. “I love you, Denny.”

  “Sure you do,” she said, her voice breaking. She held him, wondering if it was the pain or the cold that was making him delirious. “I love you, too, J.D.,” she whispered, knowing he couldn’t hear her. A lock of his hair curled down over his forehead. She pushed it back and touched his forehead. Hot. The fire beside them murmured in hushed tones; outside, the storm canceled out any thought of escape.

  Denver studied J.D.’s face in the firelight and felt a sudden chill of worry. What if the horn hunters found them here now, with J.D. so sick? She’d considered going for help, but couldn’t leave him alone. They were safe from the poachers as long as the storm continued, she assured herself. But once it let up, Cal would be looking for them again. Looking for her especially.