J.D. grabbed the handle on the rope starter and pulled. The Ski-Doo engine coughed once. The helicopter hovered overhead. He pulled again. The engine coughed a couple more times. He choked it. The steady beat of the chopper grew louder and closer.
“They’re putting down,” Denver cried.
He gave the starter another yank, putting all his weight into it. The engine sputtered, rumbled to life, coughed a few times, but kept rumbling. He released a breath. The Ski-Doo’s headlight flickered on, illuminating the tiny shed.
“Ready?” he asked.
Denver nodded and smiled. It sent his heart soaring, and he promised himself that if they ever got out of this, he’d make her smile like that the rest of her life.
Denver pushed open the shed door. Through the trees, he could make out the silhouette of the chopper touching down in a clearing not far away and knew they had seen the snowmobile light. He gave the throttle a twist, and Denver jumped on behind him, wrapping her arms around him as they roared out of the shed. The chilling spray of new snow showered them as the snowmobile broke through the first deep drifts and headed west.
J.D. spotted Pete running from the chopper, a rifle in his hands, saw Pete’s mouth open but didn’t hear the words over the high-pitched whine of the snowmobile’s engine. But he knew Pete was yelling for them to stop. J.D. knew Denny saw Pete, too. He felt her tighten her hold on him. J.D. gave the Ski-Doo all the throttle there was to give and they burst through the snow and into the pines, the single light on the vehicle cutting a swath through the darkness and the trees.
J.D. glanced back, afraid of what he’d find. But Pete was pushing through the deep snow headed back to the chopper. “I’m sorry, Denny,” J.D. yelled over the roar of the snowmobile. She hugged him tighter, burying her face against his back.
Damn Pete. Damn him for hurting Denny. J.D. could only hope that Pete wasn’t the one who killed Max. He feared that would destroy her.
Denver fought the anger and disappointment that pulled at her mind and body. Pete. Pete with a rifle trying to stop them. For an instant back there, she thought maybe he’d come to rescue her. But how could he have known they might be in one of the cabins along Duck Creek? Only if Cal had told him.
She tried not to think how it all fit together as she and J.D. sped west toward the highway. The snowmobile broke through the deep new drifts, sending snow flying. Its headlight punched a bobbing hole in the darkness, while behind them she knew the chopper would be coming. She huddled against J.D.’s back, feeling his warmth and his love. It gave her strength. She tried to imagine living without him again. And couldn’t.
She felt J.D. turn around and knew the helicopter must be tracking them.
“We have to kill that headlight,” he yelled. She nodded against his back as he brought the snowmobile to an abrupt stop, the engine putt-putting, and climbed off. They’d have to break it; the light wouldn’t shut off except when the engine did. She handed J.D. the rifle. He limped around to the front. In one swift movement he brought the rifle butt down into the headlight. The darkness settled around them. They both turned at the sound of the chopper coming up quickly behind them.
Hurriedly, J.D. jumped back on and hit the throttle. They shot into the darkness of the pines. The spotlight from the chopper flickered across the treetops, then flashed off. The steady whoop whoop of the blades disappeared in the roar of the Ski-Doo’s engine as they raced through the snow, zigzagging in the night shadows, trying to lose the helicopter. Denver tried not to think about what had happened to the idyllic Montana life Max McCallahan had given her. Instead, she held tight to J.D. and the love they’d shared.
“DAMMIT.” PETE LEANED back against the chopper seat as he surveyed his latest disaster. “What’s that over there?” He pointed off to his right.
“Looks like another snowmobile light,” the pilot said.
Pete swore again. They’d lost Denver in the trees and the dark. And now someone else had joined in the hunt. “It’s got to be Cal. I should have known he wouldn’t stay out of this.” Cal had skied out for a snowmobile, convinced he could find Denver before Pete did. Now he was backtracking, trying to pick up Denver’s trail, and it looked like he had.
“I better radio the boss.” The pilot reached for the radio, but Pete stopped him.
“No. I’ll handle this.” The pilot looked skeptical. “Just follow Cal. He’s going to lead us straight to Denver. And then I’ll take care of her.”
“I really think—”
Pete shifted the rifle in his lap. “Don’t think. Just do what I tell you.” The pilot hesitated. “Denver should have been stopped a long time ago. I’m going to do it now before she and that damn J. D. Garrison blow everything. Trust me. You’ll probably get a bonus.”
The pilot laughed at that, but banked the chopper back over the lone snowmobile headlight. Pete watched it bob through the trees; Cal was following Denver’s snowmobile tracks, hunting her like a rabid dog. The vast snowfield glowed virgin white in the darkness. Only the pines provided shaded sanctuary. Denver was out there somewhere. Denver and J.D. Pete gripped his rifle and waited for Cal to track them down.
DENVER SAW THE LIGHT fluttering high in the trees ahead of her. It took her a moment to realize what it was. Another snowmobile. She tightened her hold on J.D. as he set about outracing it. She estimated they were no more than five miles from the highway; all they needed was a fighting chance. But with a helicopter overhead and a snowmobile following in their tracks, she entertained little hope of that. The vehicle behind them was also gaining quickly. Newer and faster, it probably carried one rider; she could guess who it was.
The light flickered over them as the other snowmobile drew closer. J.D. turned, his lips brushing her ear. “I’m going to jump off. You keep going. Will you do that for me, Denny?”
She heard the pleading in his voice. This was no time to argue. They couldn’t outrun the other machine. She nodded.
The light grew brighter as it neared. The poachers had no intention of letting them reach the authorities. Denver felt J.D. shift his weight; then he was gone. She held the throttle down and kept going.
J.D. TUMBLED OFF, ROLLED a few times in the snow, but came up with the rifle strap still snug across his chest. He eased it off, then crouched low behind a small pine adjacent to Denny’s snowmobile tracks. The approaching light bobbed across the white expanse from a pocket of darkness along the edge of the pines; its engine screamed. J.D. stayed down, the rifle ready. In those few seconds before the snowmobile came alongside him, his brain tried to convince him that the driver was someone Davey had sent for them. Maybe Maggie or Taylor. Even Deputy Cline. He couldn’t shoot before he was sure. But as the rider roared up, there was no mistaking him. J.D. raised the rifle to fire, but there wasn’t enough time. Swearing, he grabbed the barrel end and swung as Cal Dalton roared past.
The rifle hit Cal in the chest with a blow that sent him flying backward from the snowmobile and shattered the rifle stock. The machine sputtered a few feet without its rider holding down the throttle, then stopped. J.D. limped over to Cal and picked him up by the front of his coat.
“All right, you bastard,” he said as Cal’s eyes flickered open. “Denny told me what you tried to do to her. You have one chance to tell me who’s behind this.”
A sneer curled Cal’s lips as the sound of the helicopter drew closer. “I’ll have Denver yet.”
J.D. glanced at the snowmobile idling a few feet away, its light shining like a beacon. He slammed Cal down into the snow, making the man grimace with pain and his breathing come out in a wheeze. He pushed his boot into Cal’s chest. “Who killed Max?”
The wheezing grew louder. Cal tried to push off the boot but finally gave up. “Pete.” He closed his eyes; his arms dropped to his sides. “Pete Williams.” J.D. gave him a shove with the boot and limped over to the snowmobile. He could hear the helicopter, see the spotlight slicing through the darkness ahead as it searched for Denny. He wished he hadn’t se
nt Denny on ahead, worried he might have sent her into worse danger. As he started to gun the engine and catch up with her, he heard the unmistakable sound in the pines close by.
The old snowmobile came out of nowhere, bursting through the snow-filled branches of the pines, airborne. Denny landed the Ski-Doo just inches from Cal’s inert body. For the first time, J.D. was glad she hadn’t listened to him. He stumbled through the snow, his ankle be damned, to pull her off the machine and into his arms. He kissed her, crushing her lips as well as her body against his.
“Boy, am I glad to see you,” he murmured in her ear.
She clung to him for a moment, her only answer, and he saw her looking at Cal, lying passed out cold in the snow. “Did he say anything—”
“No,” he lied. Not now. He’d tell her later, after they’d gotten away.
He listened for the helicopter, surprised he couldn’t hear it. Hurriedly he picked up the broken rifle from the snow and Denny followed him to the newer snowmobile. He smashed the light and climbed on in front of her.
They had sped through the snow for a few hundred yards when J.D. brought the vehicle to a stop. He pointed ahead to a spot where the terrain narrowed down to only a trail between Duck Creek and a granite bluff. Beyond it he could see a set of headlights flash along Highway 191. “Is there another way out of here?”
Denver shook her head. He could feel her trembling and knew it wasn’t from the cold. “Not without crossing the creek. Why, what’s wrong?”
He couldn’t put his finger on it. The heebie-jeebies. “Nothing.” He gave the snowmobile gas and raced toward the bluff.
They’d almost reached the narrow trail wedged between water and rock when Pete stepped out, blocking the road and their escape. He held a pistol in his hand. The barrel pointed at J.D.’s heart. And ultimately Denver’s.
Denver let out a cry as Pete stepped in front of the snowmobile. She saw the pistol and the expression on Pete’s face. She thought for a fleeting moment that J.D. wouldn’t stop. That he’d run into Pete and plunge him into the creek or into the wall of granite. But not before Pete had gotten off at least one shot.
J.D. brought the snowmobile to a skidding halt. And Pete reached over the windshield to turn off the engine, the gun still trained on them.
“I knew you couldn’t run me down,” Pete said to J.D. He sounded tired and he looked worse than he sounded. “At least I hoped you couldn’t.” Pete shifted his gaze to Denver.
“Let us go, Pete,” J.D. said, his voice as cold as the morning. “It’s all over. We know about the poaching. We know who killed Max.”
Denver wondered for an instant if J.D. was bluffing. Then she realized what Cal had told him back there in the snow. That Pete had killed Max. “Pete, no.”
Pete looked her in the eye. “Don’t believe it, Denver.” He sighed and rubbed his face with his hand, fatigue showing in every line of his body. “We don’t have much time, so please listen. I wish I could tell you everything but I can’t. You have to trust me.” His gaze settled on Denver again. “You have to give me a few days.”
“You can’t possibly expect us to trust you,” Denver cut in. “Not after everything that’s happened.”
Pete glanced behind him where the chopper was probably waiting for him, then back at her. “Isn’t saving your lives enough reason to give me a couple of days?”
“What difference could a few days make except to give you time to get your damned horn shipment out?” Denver demanded. “J.D.’s right, Pete. It’s over. Turn yourself in. Don’t make me—”
Pete shook his head. “I wish it was that simple. Give me the film, Denver.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “What film?”
“You’d never go anywhere without your camera—especially not after what Davey must have told you about the operation. Just give me the film, okay?”
When she didn’t move, he jerked the pack from her back and, still holding the pistol on her, opened it. He dug around, slipping a completed roll of film into his coat pocket, then cracked open the camera and ripped out the partially exposed film. He studied Denver while he felt around in the bottom of the pack for more.
“J.D. told me about Max’s case file you found in the tree house,” she said. “It was the horn-hunting case, wasn’t it? But why kill Max?”
“Give me a few days and I’ll tell you everything. Right now, I don’t have any more answers than you do.”
“I want to believe you, Pete.” She felt tears rush to her eyes. “But I can’t. Not anymore. You’ve lied to me too many times.”
He stared at her for a moment, then handed back the pack. “I told you not to look for Max’s murderer. You should have listened to me, Denver. Now you leave me no choice.” He pulled a two-way radio from his coat pocket. Static filled the air. “Come on in. Let’s get this over with.”
With a slow whoop whoop, the chopper’s blades whirled to life on the other side of the bluff. In seconds, the helicopter rose over the treetops, then moved toward them. Snow whipped at them as sharp and cold as ice shards. It’s now or never, J.D. thought, and instantly felt Denny’s fingers on his waist, warning him to be careful. Under different circumstances, it would have been funny, her warning him.
He looked into Pete’s face, searching for some hope, finding none. What he found there was more frightening than the pistol Pete had trained on them. Defeat. A dangerous combination when mixed with the gun in Pete’s hand.
Shooting for speed, J.D. pulled the starter on the snowmobile and the throttle. Unlike the antiquated machine, this one started in a heartbeat, the roar of its engine drowned out by the deafening whir of the chopper. The snowmobile leaped forward.
Pete had only an instant to make up his mind. J.D. saw his decision in those speeding seconds. He pulled the trigger, but the shot went wild, ricocheting off the rocky bluff. He dived into the icy creek as the snowmobile just missed barreling over him. J.D. didn’t look back; he pointed the snowmobile northwest, toward Grayling Pass and his pickup. The helicopter thrummed behind them. Over the tops of the trees, daybreak pried at the darkness.
Chapter Sixteen
Denver didn’t expect the pickup to run. She sat shivering as J.D. hurriedly cleaned the snow from the windshield and slid in behind the wheel.
“Cross your fingers,” he said, pulling her to him before he reached for the key.
“They had to have tampered with the engine.” She watched the shadows pooling beneath the pines in the first light of day and wondered where the helicopter was.
“If it doesn’t run, we take the snowmobile and go on into town.”
She nodded, doubtful how far they’d get. Pete was out there somewhere. And Cal. Even a fool like Cal would know they’d head for town if the pickup didn’t run. And not even the pickup was a match for a helicopter.
The engine made a slow, sluggish attempt to turn over. J.D. tried it again. He grinned at her as it started, but neither the grin nor the running engine reassured her. Why hadn’t Pete disabled the pickup? Because he hadn’t expected them to escape?
She watched J.D. test the brakes, knowing he, too, was questioning their luck. If the pickup was going to blow up, wouldn’t that have happened right away? He backed the truck up to the highway. She stared out the window, expecting to see Cal’s face—or Pete’s—appear without warning.
The promise of dawn danced across the mountainside, playing hide-and-seek among the shadowed pines. No helicopter spotlight poured from the gray sky overhead. No snowmobile came flying out of the trees.
“Where are they?” Denver wondered aloud.
J.D. pulled her closer. “We have two choices. We can run or we can go to the Feds. It’s up to you, Denny.”
She nodded, feeling time slip like sand through her fingers. Emotions stirred within her. Anger pushed at the cold and exhaustion, at the disappointment and disillusionment. Not Pete, her brain kept arguing. No, not Pete. “I want to stop them.” She glanced up at J.D. “We can’t chance
going into West Yellowstone, but there’s a district ranger who has a weekend place down by Hebgen Dam.” Tears blurred her eyes; she fought them back as he pulled her to him.
He kissed her, a warm, soft, reassuring kiss, then he hugged her closer. “I just want you to be safe, that’s all, Denny.” He pulled onto the highway and headed south. “Who is this ranger?”
“Roland Marsh.”
“Roland Marsh?” J.D. asked with a frown. “Denny, I’ve heard that name before. It’s unusual enough—” He hit the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. “That’s it. I saw that name and a telephone number written on a piece of paper in Max’s wallet.”
Denver looked out into the waning darkness. “Maybe Marsh was his government contact person.” But if that was the case, Max hadn’t been very careful, carrying that note around in his wallet. But Max had been terrible at remembering phone numbers.
“Let’s see if Marsh is at his cabin, and then we’ll go to Ennis on the Quake Lake road,” J.D. said. “I don’t think they’ll expect that, do you?”
She shook her head, more interested at that moment in the road ahead. She could tell J.D. didn’t want to pass Fir Ridge any more than she did. As the pickup climbed the far side of the hill, Denver held her breath. She imagined the helicopter sitting in the middle of the road.
But when they topped the crest, there was nothing there. Their headlights caught the leafless quaking aspens and the gravestones as the cemetery slipped by in a flash of headlights. Then they were past, the pickup rolling toward the Duck Creek Y. No snowmobiles chased after them. No helicopter was waiting.
“They must have given up,” J.D. said. “Pete has the photographs—he probably feels safe now.”
Denver closed her eyes, not believing that any more than she knew J.D. did. Whatever was going on wasn’t over.
J.D. took her hand in his, squeezing it as if he thought he could squeeze the warmth back into her, could squeeze out the pain. “I’m sorry about Pete, Denny.”
Tough Enough Page 53