“Is that your idea of manners?” He nodded to the knife and spat out a mouthful of blood.
The meathead opened his mouth to answer, but Daniel didn’t listen to more bullshit. He grabbed the guy’s knife wrist and brought it up behind the man’s back, forcing the wrist into an angle the human body wasn’t supposed to make. He kept turning the guy’s hand, forcing the elbow up and applying the lock. He stamped down on the back of the guy’s knee, and the attacker collapsed to the floor, face first. Daniel gave another twist of the wrist, dislocating the arm, and the man screamed in agony. Daniel couldn’t afford to let him back into the fight. People who pulled knives meant business—just ask Sylvie Watson. Daniel kept a knee between the guy’s shoulder blades and held onto the knife so no one else got hurt.
“Who’s next?” Daniel grinned at the mob. Even though the odds were 10-to-1 against, he had the terrain in his favor, and now he had a knife.
No one moved. They all just stared at the giant who lay on the boardwalk, and then raised their heads to stare over Daniel’s head at Dwight Wineberg. Daniel pressed his fingers to a pressure point on the big man’s neck, close enough to smell unwashed sweat on the guy’s body. He waited a few seconds for him to fall unconscious. Then he stood and moved back.
So much for not getting involved. That damn woman was a magnet for trouble. So much for remaining detached. He’d lasted a week. But he couldn’t allow her to be hurt. Even the thought of someone touching Cam made panic move inside him, thick and hot as dripping blood.
“Mr. Fox.” Dwight Wineberg called out from behind him, rain steaming from his heavy wax jacket.
Daniel hadn’t noticed it had started to rain. He backed toward Dwight. He would have gone through the swamp but he wanted to block the path that led to Cam and his helicopter.
“One of your men fainted and hurt his arm.” Daniel gave Dwight a half grin. “Luckily, I caught his knife before he fell on it.” He held the weapon up in the air. Then he spotted something else. “Bloody hell.” He stared at the vision walking up the boardwalk. Dwight swiveled too, and stumbled back with his hands in the air.
Daniel pushed past the man. The Doc was marching toward him carrying the shotgun he kept in the aircraft as a bear deterrent. “Point that thing at the ground, Cam!”
She shouldered the weapon and half the men threw themselves to the floor with their hands over their ears.
“You’re bleeding.” Cam’s voice carried over the marsh as she strode toward him. She sounded mad.
“It’s nothing.” He walked up to her, avoiding the barrel of the gun, and took the weapon out of her hands. “What the hell are you doing with this thing?”
“I thought you needed help.” There was a resolute glint in those jewel-colored eyes.
“I told you not to come back.” He didn’t know why he bothered to open his mouth. She never listened anyway. It was like expecting obedience from a puppy.
She shot him an irritated sideways glance. “So you had it all handled?”
“Of course.”
“Then what happened to your pretty face?”
“I landed on it.”
She quirked one fine brow. “I thought they taught you to roll in parachute school.”
“I rolled on my nose.” He caught her elbow and started to move. “The army taught me a lot of stuff.” The unconscious man was coming around and struggling to sit up. “Especially when to retreat, and that would be now. Move it.”
Daniel dropped the knife off the side of the boardwalk. Dwight Wineberg was talking rapidly in another man’s ear and Daniel didn’t trust the foreman as far as he could tango.
“Let’s go.” He grabbed the Doc’s hand and they started jogging back toward the bird. “You called the RCMP?” He checked over his shoulder but she didn’t need to answer. The deep-throated throb of an AS 350B3 heralded the arrival of the cavalry.
Cam stood at the edge of the helipad as the blue-and-white RCMP helicopter landed. The day had been a catastrophe, and her emotions had ridden the rollercoaster of anger, fear and fury. She was absolutely determined to reclaim something positive from this fiasco. Daniel was stowing the shotgun in his machine, the shotgun she’d pointed at a group of men. Even though she’d grown up in Florida and both her brothers were cops, this was the first time she’d held a shotgun. She still shook from the sensation.
The woman RCMP constable she’d met in the bar during her interview climbed down from the helicopter holding onto her hat because the downwash from the rotors was brutal. Stern lines carved severity into the officer’s face, and even though she only looked in her early twenties, her eyes held cop steel.
Daniel leaned nonchalantly against his aircraft as the officer walked over to where he stood. His nose looked a little swollen, but he’d cleaned up the worst of the blood. Cam picked up a bottle of water and took a swig. She’d checked her blood sugar. She was fine despite tremors that made her feel shaky; they were just a reaction from all the adrenaline.
The officer rested her hands on her gun belt, her face stern as she spoke to Cam. “You radioed for assistance?”
“I did.”
Dwight Wineberg strolled down the boardwalk as though it were a beautiful Sunday afternoon rather than a muggy, bug-laden summer evening in the aftermath of a confrontation. He called out to the cop, “That woman pulled a gun on me and my men.” He puffed out his chest, full of hot air and his own self-importance.
“You got a license?” The officer asked. Cam looked at Daniel.
He nodded and pulled out his wallet, showed her something inside. She wrote in a notebook and gave him his wallet back.
“Do you want to press charges, Mr. Wineberg?” The cop pulled her cap down lower on her brow.
“I might.” Dwight tried to hike up his pants, but his beer gut got in the way.
Cam’s mouth dropped open. “You arrogant ass, I’ll give you charges.” She marched up the path, around Dwight’s barrel frame. She startled at a shadow at her back, but it wasn’t danger, it was Daniel.
The cop followed and Dwight brought up the rear, whistling. They moved in convoy along planks that creaked with each step. The smug sonofabitch was going to get what was coming. They went past Bear’s Bar and then cut down to the supply shed.
“Shit,” said Daniel.
It took a moment for Cam to figure out what he’d seen. There were fresh ATV tracks in the mud all around the front door, which stood open. Flooded with dismay, she started to run. Daniel caught her arm but she shook him off.
“They were right here!” Cam ran inside the shed and lifted the lid of the big old chest freezer. Empty. Dammit. Her eyes narrowed as she whirled toward the foreman. “What have you done with them?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Dwight grinned openly.
“There were at least thirty illegally poached Arctic char in this freezer.” Cam banged the metal lid with her fist. “The mine signed an agreement with the Inuit government to protect this ecosystem, but they’re already destroying it!”
“Without the fish, it’s just your word against his,” the officer told her. With the slant of the sun’s rays, the cop’s eyes were almost colorless. Which suited the woman’s personality down to the ground.
“But I know how to find them.” Determination made Cam’s breath come short and hard through her nostrils. “Some of them have transmitters implanted, that’s how I found them in the first place.”
Dwight’s eyes narrowed to slits.
She was about to launch out of the shed when Daniel stopped her with the touch of his hand. “Stay here with Officer McCoy. I’ll get the receiver.” And he was gone.
Cam swiped her forehead. The cop stared hard at her face, looking for crimes and misdemeanors, but then she ducked out of the shed. Dwight took a step toward her and suddenly she was alone with him. She tried to swallow but her windpipe felt constricted.
“If you bring trouble to this camp again, I’m going to make what happened to Sylvie lo
ok like a shaving accident.” His breath was foul in her face.
The cop braced her hands on the doorway and poked her head inside. “He’s back.” She meant Daniel. Her eyes shot between them. “Everything okay?”
Cam shoved past Dwight, into the fading sunlight. “Peachy.” Daniel jogged up the boardwalk looking tireless, turning the dials as he went.
“I can’t get a signal,” he called.
“What do you mean?”
The cop sighed with what sounded like frustration. Daniel passed Cam the receiver and she hung the strap around her neck, welcoming the familiar weight on her nape. She scanned the frequencies but nothing happened. Heat burned beneath her skin and sweat slicked her palms. Her throat was dry and she croaked, “There must be some mistake…”
“We’re in the middle of a murder investigation,” the cop began and Cam flinched. “I don’t have time to referee kiddy squabbles or grudge matches.”
Daniel inserted himself between her and the cop. “We found gaffs in the riverbed and poached Arctic char in that freezer. I thought that was part of your job too.”
The cop’s upper lip curled. “There’s no evidence. No fish, no transmitters. You’re wasting my time.” She pushed past him and strode down the wooden path.
Daniel followed the cop, arguing with her, and the next thing Cam knew, she’d been blindsided by a punch in the mouth. She went flying through the air, smashing into the spiky reeds and stagnant water.
Cam staggered to her feet, spitting out swamp, knee-deep in mud, vainly trying to keep her receiver from getting wet. Daniel ran back and smashed his fist into Dwight Wineberg’s face. She clambered awkwardly through the skanky water and onto the boardwalk, scattering a legion of dragonflies in her wake. She felt dizzy. Her face hurt. The cop was shouting. Dwight was on the ground curled up and Daniel was still hitting him with his bare fists. Cam hauled herself out just as the cop pulled her Taser.
“Don’t!” Cam stumbled to her feet, put her hand on the cop’s elbow. “Don’t. Daniel, stop!” She lunged forward and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him off Dwight. And as Daniel stared up at her, midnight eyes wide and furious, Cam’s vision tunneled. And then she crashed to the ground.
Chapter Thirteen
Per Ardua Through Adversity The Royal Air Force Regiment
It was late afternoon and he’d come up with another plan. Patience was a virtue and, from what he’d seen, the do-gooders knew nothing about land animals, which gave him time to put his plan into action. He shifted on his belly, inching forward with one arm extended before him, the carcass of a cottontail pushed out in front. He’d built the trap in the traditional way, so it looked like nothing more than a pile of rocks, and he’d baited the entrance, putting out scent lures for the irascible glutton. The space was too long and narrow for wolves, and the rocks were heavy enough for the bears not to bother, given the abundance of food this time of year. Still, he never liked the idea of laying out fresh bait in the summer.
He shuffled backward and found a long stick and used that to poke the rabbit the final few inches, then he went round the other side and fixed a string from the bait to a stick that propped up the roof. He was careful not to disturb the finely balanced boulder that would crack the animal’s head when it ate its final meal.
The trickster was as smart as the old legends said. It’d taken the meat from the tree, but had scented the poison and moved on. It was smart. He was smarter.
He examined the trap, satisfied, but damn, he was tired.
He scraped his boot across his tracks, disguising the faint boot prints. He took a drink from his water skin and started ambling home. Why would a no-good drunk like Sylvie be the one to spot what most wilderness people spent a lifetime not seeing? Why her? They must have offended God, doing what they’d done. But too many years had passed to change what happened. He couldn’t take it back. She was dead, and the wolverine was next.
***
On the ship’s helipad Daniel shut down the helicopter. They both sat silent, looking out to sea. Something about Cam connected with something deep inside him, a connection he did not want. His emotions and thoughts careened crazily through his head, scrambling around the image of Dwight Wineberg hitting her. He would not get involved. Ever. Again. Not even with someone like Cam. Especially with someone like Cam. Some people took life too seriously, and he knew from vivid personal experience she was one of them.
“I’m sorry.” He forced the words past the rage that still wanted to spew.
“What for?” she asked.
He couldn’t look at her. “I told you I’d protect you—”
“Daniel, are you nuts?” She shifted in her seat to face him but he refused to take his eyes off the water. “I’m lucky we weren’t both thrown in jail and it would have been my fault.” He heard her take a breath. “And I’m sorry I fainted and scared you like that. I guess my body took a bigger knock than I’d figured.”
He squeezed his eyelids tight but couldn’t get rid of the images. The sun hung low in the sky, about to dip below the headland, rays burning red against his closed lids.
He needed to get away from her and the way she made him feel. He’d gotten drawn in again today. She terrified him. He’d experienced frustration, arousal, fear, excitement, fury and terror in the space of a few short hours, when he usually felt nothing but numb indifference.
The woman was so disciplined and anal but still managed to constantly get herself in trouble. She did not belong in the wild. She shouldn’t be anywhere near savages like him or Dwight Wineberg. And yet here she was, determined to stay, like some perky Annie Oakley.
The machine was finally shut down so he thrust open the door, and the fresh breeze washed through the cockpit and flushed away the acrid stink of catastrophic failure.
He did not want to feel. He did not want to think about anything more complicated than flying. His shoulders sagged, and exhaustion whipped through his body. He got out of the helicopter, a headache ramming his temples, his vision going gray.
“Daniel? Are you okay?” Cam went to grab his hand but he jerked away from her and swayed. Her big eyes were wide with concern.
“I’m fine, Doc. I’ve just got a headache.” He pushed past her and clamped down on the urge to tell her to go check her blood glucose. Because why should he care? Dammit. He gripped the railings of the stairs; they were steep and always slightly damp so he needed to concentrate else he’d break his damn fool neck. Halfway up he paused to look back with orders to go check her blood sugar half formed on his tongue.
But she was gone, and nothing remained except a feeling inside his chest like he’d just drowned a kitten.
Cam raised her knuckles to tap on the door and then lowered them again. She was worried about Daniel—he’d looked in real pain when they’d arrived back on the ship, as if his head was about to crack open from the pressure.
It was her fault. How could she have endangered Daniel’s career like that? Something that meant everything to him. She’d wanted to prove herself as capable as the next person of doing fieldwork, so she’d jumped into a situation she hadn’t fully understood, and Daniel had almost paid the price. First with the miners, then with the cops. She should have listened to him. She should have contacted the Department of Natural Resources and left the dead fish where they were without alerting the poachers she was on to them.
She felt awful. Selfish.
Cam touched a finger to her chin. Dwight had really socked her—no holding back because she was a woman. No discrimination from that gnarly old sonofabitch. She fingered the contusion, wincing.
Growing up, she’d always thought her brothers had been rough with her, but they’d actually been pretty careful. Now she knew what people meant when they said they saw stars. She was a wuss. And Daniel had defended her. She raised her hand twice before she found the courage to knock on his door. He had a right to be angry with her but she needed to apologize and make sure he was okay.
He hadn’t been i
n the gym and he hadn’t been in the lounge and he hadn’t eaten. She’d looked for him everywhere before she’d finally gathered her nerve to ask Vikki where his room was. And the look of disdain on Vikki’s face was part payment for the debt of gratitude she owed him.
She knocked again, harder.
“Go away.” His voice was edged with mean. No mistaking the pissed in that accent.
Biting her lip, she knocked again.
“How many times do I have to tell you I do not want sex, so go the fuck away!” He threw open the door then rocked back on his heels.
Waves of heat rushed up Cam’s neck. “Err…I didn’t actually come here to…um.”
They stood looking at one another, awkwardness filling the air. He was shirtless and she had to drag her gaze away from an anatomy lesson. The room behind him was dark, his face so pale it exposed the dark shadows beneath his eyes. He squinted against the light of the hallway, his nose still swollen from the earlier fight.
“I thought you were Vikki,” he stated baldly, raking his fingers through his short hair.
“Yeah, I figured.” Cam shifted uneasily; her feet moving forward even as her body tried to turn away. “I’m not here as part of the entertainment.”
“You could have fooled me.” He rubbed his jaw, which was dark with stubble. “What do you want?”
From the pained expression around his eyes, Cam was pretty sure he still had a killer headache, which was why she was here.
She held out her hand, palm up. “I brought you a peace offering.” Headache pills.
He scowled and she thought for a moment he was going to shut the door in her face. Footsteps sounded down the hall and Vikki’s laugh tinkled along the walls, followed by the quieter boom of the captain’s brogue. Cam closed her fingers over the pill bottle and winced.
Edge of Survival Page 16