Survival Instinct

by Doranna Durgin

  Just a little farther.

  Karin sighed deeply. Her face itched and she rubbed it against the vines, surprised to realize she’d scraped away a tear. She was not prone to crying.

  So one whole tear slipped out. Boo-hoo. She still needed to reach that ledge. Her next step was to move sideways, abandoning the kudzu altogether and making her way over a patch of greenbrier. Great. Nature’s version of barbed wire.

  On the other hand, it wasn’t likely to break on her.

  Her wrist was already screaming but the choice had become a no-brainer—use it, or risk a fatal slip. She needed all the security she could get. Good thing the greenbrier thorns were so big they dug right into her gloves. Ha. Karin ground her teeth together and snarled at the thorns, gaining mere inches of ground at a time. “I laugh at your puny thorns,” she told the vines. “I sneer at—ow, crap—them. You need thorn Viagra, all of—dammit—you!”

  There, finally—the next ledge was only a step away. So much smaller than her original perch, but so much closer to the top. She made herself slow down, taking the time to wait out the edge of panic that made her movements jerky and uncertain. She had to wait out a bout of the shakes—her muscles tired and flooded with fear and lactic acid both, already getting cold again. But that last step was a doozy. No way to get there without releasing both handholds to reach for the rock across from her.

  So Karin breathed deeply, and she did visualizations, watching her good hand hit home in that safety over and over. Feeling the smoothness of the movement, the security of the ledge beneath her feet.

  And then she simply…

  Did it.

  Once there she had to tip her forehead against the rock and breathe “Oh God oh God oh God” a few times. Too bad she hadn’t been a better little Catholic girl. She’d given up on church when she realized she could scam a priest as easily as anyone else. It was best if she just dealt directly with God since He was the only one she couldn’t fool. But at this moment…she’d have been happy enough for saintly intervention. The patron saint of hanging off the side of a hill by your fingernails. That’s the one she needed. Saint Bernard would do it.

  But when she opened her eyes, she discovered she needed more than that.

  She hadn’t let herself even consider what would happen once she reached this spot.

  She hadn’t thought there’d be nowhere to go.

  Almost there. Jittery with caffeine and hours of worry, but finally closing in on the beckoning map. The sun had risen, flashing low into Dave’s rearview mirror, there and gone again as he navigated the twisting roads.

  He’d closed the laptop to conserve battery power, checking the tracker in intervals. The stability of the signal gave as much cause for worry as for relief—what if she’d found and ditched the transmitter over one of these mountains? Owen would kill him, for one thing. Theoretically he was field-testing Hunter Agency equipment, but it was truly more of a lure. Owen never gave up.

  And if she’d ditched the transmitter…he’d never find her. Or more precisely, he couldn’t afford the time to find her. He’d have to return to Alexandria, scrape up new leads….

  He didn’t think Barret Longsford’s latest victim had that much time.

  Or what if Barret’s man had caught up with her as Dave had fully expected him to do by now? Caught up with and disposed of her. Another midnight chase to failure. The ultimately wrenching failure, the one that made him feel like a kid again—and a kid definitely wishing he hadn’t smuggled himself into his father’s car to see what excitement the late-night call held. Except Ellen Sommers made him feel like anything but a boy. Ellen Sommers already meant more to him than any witness should. It was crazy and stupid and undeniable. And stupid. He tapped his thumb against the steering wheel in a restless rhythm. Yeah, definitely stupid.

  The computer beeped at him, a warning that he was getting close. He slowed, took the next hairpin curve and then dipped down an unexpected incline.

  If he hadn’t been watching for her, he would have missed it. But there it was…her graphite-colored truck with the black trim. He hit the brakes and skewed into the tiny slice of a parking spot, leaving the corner of his rear bumper exposed to traffic but parking there anyway.

  His stomach got hard and cold and sick in a way that had nothing to do with the sloshing of coffee…he tossed his glasses onto the dash and jumped out of the sedan even though he’d already seen what he had to. She wasn’t in the truck. She wasn’t in the truck, yet the transmitter was here somewhere.

  Barret’s man had her.

  And Dave had no way to find her.

  Chapter 8

  When the car pulled up, Karin almost didn’t notice. Her teeth were chattering loudly enough to obscure all but the most obvious sound—and by the time she got them clenched long enough to listen, there was only silence from above. Great. A chance to call for help and I missed it. She would have banged her head against the rock, but she was so stiff and cold she was afraid even that would throw her off balance.

  Coincidence was her only chance now. Someone stopping to answer the call of nature—inspired by view or bladder, she didn’t care. What she might have attempted in good condition, she now couldn’t even consider. Here she’d be on this ledge, pressed up against cold rock, until she could get someone’s attention or until she quite simply toppled off. The turkey vultures flocked to the strong thermals in these hills…maybe they’d get someone’s attention when they started circling her.

  Gloom and doom.

  From above—not so very far at that, just no way to get there from here—she heard the slam of a vehicle door. She started, lost a moment of attention as her foot slipped, and pulled herself together just in time to hear a uniquely familiar string of French words, a phrase that had not so long ago amused her and now sent an invigorating spark of hope through her cold body. Except—first Barret’s man and then Dave?

  “Hey!” she shouted up, her voice full of suspicion. “How the hell did you find me?”

  His reply came instantly. “Ellen? Where—” And then she knew he knew, for his voice grew louder, loud enough so he had to be at the guardrail and looking down. No suspicion there, just pure, joyful relief. “Are you—”

  “Yes,” she said, droll for his benefit. “I’m down here.”

  “How—” he started, and in her mind’s eye she could all but see him shake his head as he cut himself off.

  “Can we just say the mean man threw me over by mistake and then left, and get to the details later?” She waited a moment, then added, “I made it back up this far, but…I’m stuck.”

  “I’m calling 911,” he said, no doubt dialing as he spoke.

  How long would they take? Could she even hold on?

  And if she did…there were sure to be cops.

  “Dave,” she said, and had no trouble getting her voice on the edge of tears, no trouble at all, “I’m cold, my lips are chapped to hell, I’m stiff, I think parts of me are broken, and I’m standing on a tiny little ledge. How long—”

  He cut her off. “Okay.” A silent moment, and then, “I don’t have any rope.”

  Jumper cables. She had jumper cables tucked behind the half seat of the truck. Or… “Check in the truck bed,” she told him, thanking her own laziness. “My tire chains—”

  “Gotcha.”

  She heard the bumping around, the chains dragging over the side of the truck. “Got ’em!” And then silence, which she didn’t mind because it meant he was linking the chains together. In the end Karin would have a nice narrow ladder made of chains, perhaps not so different than climbing kudzu. “Hold on!” he called down, as if she might just spontaneously let go. After a pause he added, “Sorry. That was dumb.”

  Or not so dumb. Her fingers were numb, her feet cramping, and her legs stiffened into clumsy, uncoordinated appendages. She felt more like a patchwork of cold, dead sausage than a functioning human. “Dave?”

  He must have heard the uncertain note in her voice. When he ask
ed, “What?” he was as close as he’d ever been, literally leaning out over the guardrail. Had to be.

  “I don’t think…”

  “How broken?” he asked, understanding before she even got there.

  “My wrist. Or arm. I’m not sure which. But that’s not—that is, I’m just so cold—”

  “Okay,” he said. “We’ll deal with it.”

  “We’ll deal with it,” she repeated to herself, curling her fingers hard against the rock to steady an unexpected sway, all the more frightening because she hadn’t seen it coming.

  And her thoughts stuttered to a halt, because the end of the chain came slithering down to head level and if only she had two good hands, two warm hands, she could reach out and snag it, and if only her arms weren’t already trembling with fatigue, she could actually climb it—damned if safety wasn’t that close, and yet still out of reach.

  A rustling came from above; dirt and pebbles rained down on her head. By the time she realized what he had in mind, Dave was already there. He hesitated just above her, and then lowered himself down alongside her; by the time she’d gathered the words to ask, his intention was obvious. He moved in behind her, one arm strong on the chains, his feet braced on her little ledge, and the other arm gathering her up.

  His coat was open.

  His chest against her back was warm.

  Karin groaned in the luxury of it, tugging the edges of the coat around herself, greedy for the warmth and the human touch. He dropped his head so it rested against hers, and that, too, offered warmth. Karin soaked it in, sandwiched between Dave and the cliff. For the first time since her rude early-morning awakening, she knew that for this moment, at least, she wasn’t going to fall. For this moment, she was safe. Protected.

  Safe enough, in fact, to inch herself around to face him and thread her arms around him beneath the coat, reassured by the steady strength in his chest and arms, and by his breathing. He pulled her in and let it be, so steady she’d never have guessed he was in any way vulnerable, braced against the cliff that had tried to spit her off all night.

  And a different kind of warmth stole through her from the inside out. No longer alone. More than that. He’d come from safety to hazard, and now he hung here as if nothing were amiss, offering her support and comfort, his free arm holding her close.

  No longer alone. Could she even remember that feeling? As if for the moment, nothing else mattered. Just her arms around him, feeling the unexpected strength in his frame and knowing it was there for her. That he was there for her.

  “God,” she muttered into his chest. “This is such a mess.”

  He laughed, so low she wouldn’t have known it had she not had her face on that chest. “Warm yet?”

  “I’ll never be warm again.” But she took a deep breath, pulling back enough so she could see his face, instantly missing their connection. The concern she saw—and the confidence—seemed a fair trade-off. “Warm enough. Wait a mo.” For now that she’d gotten circulation back, her back itched abominably. She found a little knob of rock at her back and wiggled slightly against it, perforce wiggling against him so she thought when his eyes widened slightly she’d inadvertently—

  But no. “Wait!” he said, just as she heard the tiniest little crunching sound and froze. Dave sighed, the most quiet of sounds. Then, ignoring her surprise, he snaked his hand up the back of her jacket to the spot that had plagued her all night. Right between her shoulder blades, just above her bra strap. When he withdrew his hand he held it up in the scant space between them. Not quite close enough to make her go cross-eyed looking at the little flat, round object.

  “What—” she started, stopped by her own incredulity as she realized what she was looking at. A bug. Electronic surveillance. “That’s a—you—you—”

  “Yeah. And it’s how our mean friend found you,” he said. “On the bright side, it’s how I found you, too.”

  “You—” It was hard to be mad when she was still greedy for his warmth, his touch and the security of his body blocking out her view of the sky. Hard, but not impossible. “You—”

  He shrugged and tossed the bug over his shoulder. “It’s dead, now.”

  “You…litterbug!” She scowled fiercely at him, but as her own words sank home she couldn’t keep it up and the corner of her mouth twitched even as he let out a mild guffaw.

  “Yeah,” he said. “And we’ll talk about that later. Now how about we get you out of here? I’ll give you a boost. Once you get started, it’s an easy climb.”

  “And why do I have the feeling this boost business will involve more of you putting your hands on my ass?”

  “Waste no opportunity,” he said, straight-faced. “You ready?”

  More than. She turned around in still-careful increments, reaching to get a good grip on the tire chain, one-handed or not. He crouched, wrapping his free arm around her hips; Karin gave a little bounce and jumped even as he pulled her up. They worked in tacit accord to repeat the procedure, silent except for their panting and Karin’s gasp as she hit her wrist and Dave’s grunt of effort as he finally did get his hand on her bottom to push—

  And then she was over the little jut of rock and damned if the guardrail wasn’t practically within reach. She scrambled up, gaining enough momentum to lurch right along on all threes, and then crawled under the guardrail, rolling over to stare up at the bright blue sky and the vultures circling overhead.

  If only she was in the sun, she’d never move again.

  “Okay?” Dave called up to her.

  Oops. Yeah, she probably should have let him know. “Okay!” she shouted back, still not moving.

  Someone snorted, followed by a clanking at the guardrail, a grunt of victory and the rattle of tire chains coming up. She sat straight up, wrist cradled to her chest.

  Barret’s errand geek.

  Oh my God. He was back, his car jammed in against her truck; he must have arrived while she was busy grunting and breathing and climbing the cliff. He was back and he’d pulled the tire chains up from Dave, who even now called to her. Karin could only stare. “Oh, no-o,” she said to the gangster mullet. “You had your chance. You left. It’s not your turn anymore.”

  But when he turned to face her, she knew just why he’d come. She’d played him with that Mad Sheep story and in the end she’d gotten to him. Or rather, the poison ivy had gotten to him, blooming profoundly along the side of his face and over his hands.

  “Ellen!”

  “Company!” she warbled back down at him, a false June Cleaver note that ought to let him know in one word or less that she’d run into trouble.

  Trouble with looming intent. “You said you could help me.”

  “Sure.” She scooted backward a bit to lean against the side of the truck, trying to visualize how’d she’d left things inside. She frowned at the jumbled memory of the night before, of the rifle caught in the steering wheel. No easy access there.

  But behind her, in the half cab…

  The man loomed over her now. God, he looked terrible. The side of his face was bright red and weeping less than twenty-four hours after he’d gotten into the poison ivy, when most people were just realizing they had a problem.

  She didn’t feel the least bit sorry for him. “It’s too late.”

  Always best to play someone based on the truth. And truth it was; he’d have had to wash that oil off within twenty minutes of exposure to stop the course of the poison ivy rash.

  “No,” he said, and his fear came out in anger. “It’s only been a few hours. It can’t be too late.”

  “A few hours?” She snorted expressively. “Trust me, I was out on that cliff for more than a few hours. More like a lifetime. For you, too, it seems.” She pulled herself up the side of the truck, startled by just how quivery her legs had turned. Don’t show it. With as much nonchalance as she could muster, she reached for the door handle. Maybe Dave had freed the rifle…maybe she’d find something else of use.

  “Don’t turn awa
y from me,” he snarled, yanking her away from the truck. She’d had her fingers under the handle, and the door opened behind her as he flung her back toward the guardrail. “You want to go over again? See if you can get lucky twice?”

  Hell, no. This time when she went down, she stayed low. If he wanted to toss her over the edge, he was going to have to start from scratch. “Mad Sheep disease,” she said sagely, and her heart beat such a race of fear she wondered just how long it could hold out. “See? Feel feverish, don’t you?” Her fingers scrabbled against the hard ground, hunting purchase; instead they landed on knobby chains. Now there was luck. She shoved at them as though still finding her way. Shoved hard.

  They slipped over the crest of the slope, slithering away…still anchored here at the base of the guardrail. Hurry! she thought at him, and then shrieked as the man bent over her and snatched her right off the ground. Her thoughts skittered in terror, certain he’d throw her over the edge again…certain she’d die this time.

  But he slammed her up against the truck instead, eliciting protest from every bruised rib in her body. “This is me in a good mood,” he said, sticking his heavy features far too up close and personal. But he’d put her where she could reach inside the truck. Her bad wrist, yes. But she did it, even as she kicked him away. Not a nice swift martial-arts kick, but the kick of a woman with no strength left and no particular training to start with. Just good heavy farmwork and a fierce desire to survive.

  Actually, more like a woman frantically flailing her sneakers in the direction of someone’s groin, shrieking all the while. Then her hands closed on the old leg-hold trap from the truck and she scrambled away, around the tailgate and then around the end of his own car, crouching there to step the trap open.

  “You’re wasting time,” he said, sounding really annoyed this time. “You can take me to your doctor and live, or I can beat his name out of you and leave you here to die—again.”

  “Someone will see you,” she said, breathless. He just laughed. She didn’t blame him. No one had yet driven by. She hunkered down behind the back fender of his car, the trap in hand—in both hands, actually, no matter how it hurt. Now for the bait. “Dave has a phone, you know. We’re not going to be alone for long.”