by Kay Hooper
Drew nodded slowly, then set the cross on a table near the window and started for the door. “The only way,” he murmured. “But I know a faster way.”
That didn’t make much sense to Burke then, but within an hour he understood. They’d gotten horses— and a rifle, handed to Drew instantly upon request from the stable owner—and made straight for the mountains. Drew rode fast and Burke, less experienced on horseback, clung to his own mount grimly as he kept up. He thought he was doing pretty well, too. Until the horse ahead of his own turned suddenly to begin a suicidal climb up a jagged, rock-strewn ridge.
Burke realized then what Drew intended to do, and though it appalled him he didn’t waste breath or energy trying to dissuade his friend. He was too busy just hanging on.
There was only one way to the cave, a winding route among the high peaks and narrow valleys. No sane man would have attempted any other path. But Drew wasn’t sane at the moment, and he wasn’t attempting—he was doing.
AS SOON AS they left Innsbruck behind, Spencer knew what her edge was. She just wasn’t sure how to use it.
Stanton was a lousy rider. He made her ride ahead of him and kept the gun trained on her constantly, but she’d seen enough to know that he was, at best, a Sunday rider. Experienced enough to be able to stay in the saddle under normal conditions, he swayed unsteadily on the uneven terrain and muttered curses to himself as they began the winding climb up into the mountains.
Spencer had never been more grateful for her own skills, allowing her body to relax into the horse’s movements automatically while her mind worked desperately. The gun he held was no longer cocked. At some point he must have eased the hammer down though she hadn’t seen him do it. She didn’t know very much about guns, but she thought that might give her an extra fraction of a second before he could shoot her.
Little enough.
Could she spook his horse? The instinct of an inexperienced rider was to hold on tight at any sudden movement; would he drop the gun, or at least grab for the saddle horn, wasting a few precious seconds? If he was unable to control his mount, the horse would behave as startled horses tended to and quite likely bolt. Firing a gun accurately from a racing horse looked easy in the old cowboy movies, but in real life it would be sheer luck if he hit anything.
Like her.
She chewed on her bottom lip as they wound deeper into the mountains, closer and closer to the cave. She kept her shoulders a little hunched, trying her best to convey a beaten, submissive posture that might cause his guard to drop a bit. She tried not to think about Drew, because it hurt so badly to think she might never see him again.
The cave. She had to act before they reached the cave. Once Stanton was on his feet, her chances of getting away from him were virtually nil, and the thought of going into that dark, close place with him at her back was terrifying. In all likelihood she would be walking into her own grave.
Don’t think about that, either.
A plan, she needed a plan. She could spook his horse easily enough, and she trusted her ability to control her own mount. But she needed to be able to put distance as well as obstacles between herself and him very quickly. Very, very quickly. Looking around without turning her head, she tried to remember if this was the way she and Drew had come yesterday. It seemed to be.
There was, she remembered, a short, level stretch just before they’d reach the cave. Lots of obstacles all around, between the huge boulders and clumps of trees, and if Stanton could even stay on a bolting horse in that kind of terrain he certainly wouldn’t be able to fire a gun accurately.
She hoped.
LYING FLAT ON a rocky knoll, Drew sighted down the barrel of the rifle, scanning from the mouth of the cave above and to his right where he expected to see the riders. His mind was focused totally on the crucial need to hit his target precisely. This time. He wasn’t even aware of the man beside him, except with some tiny part of his attention.
“You won’t get a second chance,” Burke said.
Drew barely heard him, but responded anyway. “I know.”
“His track record with hostages . . .” Burke didn’t complete that thought, just added in a very grim voice, “Don’t let him get his hands on her.”
“No,” Drew said in a chillingly mild tone, “I won’t let him do that.”
Burke had just gotten his breathing under control. Going up the side of a mountain had been bad enough; coming down the other side was something that was going to give him nightmares for years to come. He wasn’t just surprised they’d survived, he was utterly incredulous.
Drew must have infected both horses with his fury, because they’d bounded down inclines so steep they’d been practically sliding on their rumps, skidding on rock and loose gravel, snorting and grunting with the effort of remaining upright—or some reasonable facsimile of it. There’d been a couple of times Burke could have sworn his own horse had actually been airborne, and he knew there’d been daylight showing between him and the saddle on more than one occasion.
By the time they’d made it down, the horses had been covered with lathered sweat and looked both exhausted and wild-eyed, which wasn’t, Burke thought, all that surprising.
Drew’s attention had appeared to be fixed only on getting here in time, but as soon as he’d dismounted he had thrust his horse’s reins into Burke’s hands and said, “Walk them.”
Burke walked them. He wasn’t a man who took orders easily, but he wouldn’t have protested that one even if he’d had the breath to do so. He cooled the horses, muttering to himself and to them, glancing up occasionally to make certain Drew was still there, still waiting on the knoll.
When the horses were reasonably cool and a little calmer, Burke tied them in a small grove of trees as far from the cave as he dared to go, and joined Drew in waiting.
“Any sign of them?” he ventured, not even sure Drew would respond to the question, because the other man’s tension was building visibly.
“Not yet.” Drew’s voice was strained now, and the blue eyes that scanned the area below were like windows to hell.
Burke knew all too well that he had no business letting Drew do this. Aside from the legalities, the man was quite simply in no shape to make reasoning decisions right now. But there were some decisions that would always be made with the heart and the instincts, not the mind. Burke knew that, too.
Besides, Drew was a much better shot.
“There.” The strain had intensified in his voice, but there was relief as well, because Spencer was alive.
She was riding ahead of Stanton, Burke saw. They were too far away to allow any reading of their expressions, but she was slumped a bit and appeared both very small and utterly defenseless in the saddle. Any man with half a soul would be angry seeing her like that; it must have gone through Drew like a knife.
He tensed even more, and Burke glanced aside to see one long finger curl over the trigger of his rifle and tighten gently. Because of the winding path the riders were taking, Stanton didn’t present a solid target. More often than not, Spencer’s body shielded his.
Very softly, Burke said, “First clear shot you have—take him.”
Drew didn’t respond. He was completely motionless and didn’t appear to be breathing at all, his unblinking eyes fixed on the riders coming toward them.
Several things happened very quickly then. In a violent movement, Spencer’s horse whirled around on his haunches, half rearing so that his forelegs jarred Stanton’s horse—which immediately shied away in an equally violent movement. Stanton didn’t drop the pistol he held, but he used the same hand to grab for the saddle horn as his other hand hauled at the reins in an attempt to control his mount.
Without hesitation Spencer reined her horse around hard so that he turned full circle, and dug her heels into the surprised animal’s flanks. The horse leaped forward, coming straight toward the knoll at a dead run far too dangerous for the uneven terrain. She was crouched low over his neck, obviously trying to make the sma
llest possible target of herself as she attempted to reach the nearest stand of trees.
It might have worked, except that Stanton’s fury was as great as Spencer’s need to escape. With raw strength instead of finesse he held his sidling horse under control, and the hand gripping the pistol raised it with almost blinding speed.
The crack of a rifle preceded the more hollow sound of the pistol by less than a heartbeat.
chapter twelve
SPENCER WAS DIMLY conscious of a crack of sound ahead of her and above, but the blast of the pistol behind her was closer and louder, and she knew she hadn’t gotten far enough away to be safe. Something tugged at her sweater and she instinctively flinched to one side, but before she could think about what must have happened, her horse somehow got both front hooves into a ridiculously narrow little rut that he should have taken in stride.
Sometimes, Spencer thought in the instant granted to her, there was just no fairness in the world.
With a squeal, her big gelding pitched forward. There was no possible way to remain on a cartwheeling horse, and it would have been suicidal to try. Spencer’s feet kicked free of the stirrups, her hands released the reins and she automatically allowed the horse’s momentum to throw her as far away as possible so that he wouldn’t fall on top of her. Astonishingly, she landed on her feet.
It had all happened so fast that the echoes of gunfire had barely died, and all Spencer’s instincts were screaming at her to run. Still, she couldn’t help glancing back over her shoulder, and what she saw surprised her so much that she froze.
Stanton’s riderless horse was trotting back the way they’d come, reins trailing. The scarred man was draped over a big boulder, limp and motionless, his gun on the ground.
She stared, vaguely aware of her horse climbing to his feet with a snort. She barely had time to wonder what on earth had happened when a sound jerked her head back around, and she instantly forgot about Stanton. Drew was coming toward her, racing down a rocky slope in reckless haste, a rifle held in one hand. She ran to meet him.
Drew didn’t realize that he dropped the rifle as soon as he reached her. All he was conscious of was the warmth and life of her in his arms. He lifted her completely off her feet, both his arms wrapped tightly around her, his face buried in her soft neck. In a hoarse, ragged voice, he murmured her name over and over.
Spencer could barely breathe, but it didn’t seem important. She held on to him just as tightly, her arms around his neck, feeling too much to be able to say anything at all. His big, powerful body was shaking as he held her, and she could feel the wetness of his tears on her skin.
“I love you,” she said, finally able to speak and saying the only thing that mattered.
“God, Spencer, I thought I’d lost you,” he groaned, holding her even tighter. “I was terrified when I realized he had you.”
He must have shot Stanton, she realized vaguely. He’d gotten here ahead of them—how had he done that?—and had lain in wait at the top of the knoll. She remembered, now, the sound she’d heard when Stanton had fired his gun—that must have been Drew’s shot. She had no doubt that the scarred man was dead, and the only thing she felt about that was relief.
“I love you,” Drew whispered, lifting his head to kiss her almost roughly.
She kissed him back, her response fervent, and when she could she said, “He thought I could take him to the cross, and all I could think of to do was stall and hope I could get away from him. I didn’t know you’d be here—”
He kissed her again, then eased her down until her feet touched the ground. A faint smile curved his mouth, though he was still pale and strained. “You did a good job of shaking him up long enough for me to get a clear shot.”
“I wasn’t going to let him win if I could help it,” she said intensely. “He’d already hurt you too much.”
“If he’d hurt you . . .” Drew held her for a moment longer, still so shaken by how nearly he’d come to losing her that he knew he wouldn’t be able to let her out of his sight for a long time to come. He had thought losing her ten years ago had been hell, but that was nothing compared to the mind-shattering terror of knowing she was in the hands of a man who would have killed her.
Of the two of them, it was Spencer who’d come through the past few hours in the best shape. She was smiling up at him, a little pale but calm. God, she’d taken a hellish chance by trying to escape Stanton, but the attempt had shown both courage and steely determination. She was far from being a helpless woman despite her slight delicacy, not waiting to be rescued by anyone or anything except her own skills.
And when she loved, it was clear that she loved with everything inside her. In her resolve to protect him from further hurt, she’d apparently thought little about her own safety.
Drew kept an arm around her as Burke approached them realizing that the other man had picked up the rifle and gone to check on Stanton. The slight nod he gave was a definite answer to Drew’s inquiring look.
“How did you get here ahead of us?” Spencer asked, both her arms around Drew’s waist as she gazed up at him.
Burke snorted before Drew could reply. “Remind me to answer that—in great detail—when you’ve got a few hours to listen. Doesn’t matter when—that’s one trip I won’t forget if I live to be a hundred.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, puzzled.
Burke glanced at Drew, who was frowning a little, then said a bit dryly, “We came over the mountain.” He went to get his and Drew’s horses, muttering to himself.
“Over—” Spencer stared after him, then looked up at Drew. “You came over the mountain. That mountain?”
“I guess we did,” Drew said, not looking around at the mountain in question. He honestly didn’t remember getting here.
“You could have been killed!”
“No,” he said. “I had to get to you.”
Spencer gazed up at him for a long moment, then buried her face against his chest. Her throat was aching, and in her mind was a kind of numb wonder. She held on to him tightly, feeling his arms close around her and his cheek rub gently against her temple. She wanted to say, You can’t love me that much! but she knew that he did, and the miracle of that held her speechless.
Burke returned to find them standing just that way, motionless, and even though he was a sympathetic man he was also trying to think of how he was going to explain all this to his superiors, so his voice was a bit wry when he spoke.
“Since Stanton’s horse ran off and we can’t double up going back to Innsbruck, I vote we leave now so I can send somebody back up here before dark.”
Spencer turned her head toward him a little blindly. “I should look at the statue,” she murmured. “Something about it is still bothering me, and since he didn’t get the real cross—”
Drew shook his head. “We can come back up here tomorrow if you want.”
She agreed to that, partly because she couldn’t face the thought of climbing up the cliff after everything that had happened today. Reaction was setting in. She felt shaky and, more than anything else, just wanted to spend quiet time with Drew.
Her horse turned out to be uninjured from the fall, and since the other two horses were weary they rode slowly back down from the mountain to Innsbruck. The stable owner—whose other horse had come home some time before—accepted Burke’s brief statement that the rifle, which he was holding, would be returned to him later. It wasn’t until then that Spencer considered the possible legal problems of what had happened in the mountains.
It was Drew who mentioned the subject as they entered the inn. “Are you going to have trouble because of this?” he asked Burke quietly.
The Interpol agent smiled. “Nothing I won’t be able to handle. Of course, it would have been easier if we’d been able to get our hands on the real cross.”
Spencer looked at him steadily. “Will there be any charges against Drew?”
“No. I’m a witness to the fact that Stanton was trying to kill yo
u. Don’t worry, nobody’s going to waste any pity on the likes of him.” He looked back at Drew. “I’ll take care of the questions, at least for today.”
“I’d appreciate that,” Drew said. “I’m taking Spencer up to the suite, and if anybody other than room service knocks on the door before tomorrow morning, they’d better have a damned good reason.”
His voice had been quite mild, but Burke thought as he went looking for a phone that he’d make certain he didn’t disturb them, at least. He wasn’t a fool.
Drew wanted to take care of Spencer. It was early afternoon; she hadn’t eaten today, and even though she was still calm he knew that everything was catching up with her. He wanted to baby her, to keep her close and fuss over her, and just delight in cherishing her. So when he led her into their suite, that’s what his mind was fixed on. Taking care of her.
“Why don’t you change into something comfortable, while I order some food?” he suggested.
She stood on tiptoe to kiss his chin, smiling. “I think I’ll take a shower, too. Wash away the dirt.”
A sudden thought made Drew’s fingers tighten around hers. She didn’t look as if she’d been hurt and there were no marks on her that he could see, but he was too familiar with Stanton’s ruthless methods to rule out the possibility.
“Sweetheart, he didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“No, he never even touched me. I’m fine, Drew, really.” She squeezed his hand and then released it, going into the bedroom to undress for her shower.
He went and got the room-service menu, but because she was out of his sight and he couldn’t bear it, he went to the doorway of the bedroom thinking that he’d ask her what she felt like eating. He stopped there, a shock jolting through him.
Spencer was standing by the bed, neatly made now since housekeeping had been and gone hours before. She’d pulled her sweater off and was holding it in her hands, looking down at it in faint surprise. As he watched she slowly put one slender finger through a ragged bullet hole.