“It was them or you. I voted for you.”
“Then I owe you one.” Just then, another metallic groan split the air. “Uh-oh, there it goes.” Joan directed her gaze to the last swan dive of the wreckage. Behind her, Dan said, “It’ll just be pieces by the time it gets to the bottom. But any search party will be able to see that it slid down this mountain. They’ll come up here to find the point of impact.”
Joan turned against the pressure of his hold on her and looked up at his rugged jawline. “Just like on TV. So they’ll find us, right?”
Still watching the plane crumble and fall, Dan shook his head. “No. We won’t be here. If we stay out in the open like this, we’ll be plenty dead and frozen by then.”
“Or get eaten by a bear.” She again twisted in his embrace to take in their snowy, boulder-strewn surroundings. “Do you know where we are? I mean, exactly.”
Dan stepped back, tugging her away from him, but still he held on to her arm. “No, but I have a general idea.” He then looked skyward. Joan did the same. “Not good. It’s starting to snow again. And it’ll be dark in a couple hours.”
“Lovely.” She meant the situation, not the big, fat, lazy flakes salting them and the already white-covered ground.
Dan looked down at her, then at his hand gripping her arm, and finally settled on her cuffed hands. “Why didn’t you say something?” With that, he reached up under his parka and produced a set of keys. “Hold your hands up.”
Automatically offering her wrists, she kept her gaze firmly on his cold-reddened hands as he released her from her cuffs. He then hiked up his parka and replaced them on his belt.
“Throw those away, because I’m not wearing them again,” she swore as she rubbed her bruised flesh. When he let that pass, she knew something was up. She raised her head, caught his unhappy expression as he stared at her red, chafed wrists. She self-consciously dropped her hands to her sides, allowing the parka’s too-long sleeves to cover her fingertips. “What now?”
Her words seemed to rouse him. He met her gaze. “Shelter. Warmth.” With that, he turned away, his gaze lingering a moment on the valley below them. Then he looked to the mountains and pointed. “See that ridge on the left there, not too far away?”
Joan squinted and frowned in the direction he pointed. “Let’s assume I know a ridge when I see one. Which one and what about it?”
“Right there. In that clearing—like a bald spot about halfway up the mountainside? If I’m right about where we are, there’s a cabin over there. It’s a seasonal place, mostly used in the winter. Probably no one’s there, but at least it should have some canned goods and firewood.”
She looked and looked, but for the life of her couldn’t make out anything. Except the long, blue shadows slowly settling over the white, forested mountainside. She quit trying to find the cabin and looked up at him. “And if you’re wrong?”
Hazel eyes serious, he scratched his jaw. “If I’m wrong, we should die quickly.” With that, he trudged off to his left, not looking back to see if she followed. “Freezing to death isn’t all that bad. You just give up, sit down and go to sleep. And that’s the end of it.”
Twisting her lips into a grimace, Joan started out after him. “And how would you know that?”
Over his shoulder he called out, “Walk in my boot prints. It’ll make your going easier. And I don’t know, obviously. I’m just going by what the medical examiner says.”
Huffing and puffing from the cold that nipped her lungs, and stretching her stride to match his as she hopped from one imprint to another, Joan kept up her end of the conversation. “Medical examiner. Now there’s a cheery thought.”
“Yeah. Old Harry. You’ll like him.”
Joan stopped in her…his…tracks as she stared at the man’s parka-covered back. “I don’t intend to meet him, Sheriff.”
Her Abominable Snowman guide chuckled. “Deputy. And you will meet him, too. I want him to have you stab a dummy with a knife similar to the supposed murder weapon so he can see if your efforts match those on your lover’s body—which we still have in cold storage. Then we’ll know if you’re lying or telling the truth.”
“Fine. As long as I get to pick the dummy, Sheriff.”
He stopped and pivoted around to glare at her.
Joan frowned, recalled her words. “Oh. There’s a comma between dummy and sheriff.”
“It’s deputy. And there better be. Now try to keep up.” With that, he once again turned his back on her and trudged onward.
With a shrug of her shoulders, Joan followed him, feeling like a snow bunny hopping from one of his boot indentations to the next. She wondered why he had no qualms about her—a cold-blooded murderess—being behind him. She could pick up a rock or a branch or something and whack him over the head.
As if he’d just thought the same thing, Dan stopped and pivoted to face her. Joan pulled up short…about two long strides behind him…and cocked her head. “What?”
“Don’t even think it.”
Despite her surprise at his words—could he read her mind?—she grinned. “Yes, sir.” To herself she added, He’s afraid of me.
DAN COULDN’T FEEL his toes or the ends of his fingers. His nose was running. His vision was blurred and teary, thanks to the Popsicle-cold wind. Each step was an exercise in frozen agony. His stomach was growling at his ice-chest lungs, threatening to eat them. And the sun was going down.
Better yet, trailing him was a hopping, whining, red-haired self-professed murderess who’d saved his life. Well, at least she’d said that’s what she was doing when he’d come to. She could have been hunting for a rock to crush his skull with, for all he knew.
“I’m freezing, and I’m hungry. Where’s that cabin you said you saw? Are you sure it wasn’t a mirage?” she asked for the eighty-seventh time. “I think right now I could kill a bear with a stick, eat it whole and wear its fur.”
Shaking his head, pretending she didn’t make him want to laugh, Dan called back over his shoulder, “Just keep up. The cabin should be around this next bend.”
“You said that an hour ago. I think the cabin was a mirage, and you’re lost, and we’re going to die.”
That did it. Dan whipped around, saw her startled response, and felt some of the same, seeing how close she was behind him. “For the last time—keep your distance. I have a gun. I am not lost We are not going to die—at least, I’m not. There is a cabin close by. And mirages occur in heat, like you’d find in a desert. Does it look like we’re in a desert?”
Her cheeks and nose as red as her hair, her eyes as green as the pines around them, she shook her head and sniffed, rubbing her sleeve under her nose. “No. Are you afraid of me?”
“Afraid of you?” Aching, tired of her nonstop yapping, and over any desire—to save her or to savor her—that he might have felt earlier, Dan put his hands to his parka-thickened waist. “Why would I be afraid of you? No more questions. Just shut up and be quiet” She opened her mouth. Dan jerked his hand up, all but barking, “I know, shut up and be quiet are the same things. Humor me.”
She started to say something again as she pointed to his left Again he jerked his hand up. “I said, humor me.”
She huffed out a breath that coalesced and hung in the air between them. “Will you just turn around and look behind you, please?”
Dan shook his head. “Not if my life depended on it.”
“Actually, it sort of does.” Again, she cut her gaze to his left and then flicked it back to his face. “It’s the cabin. I think I see it.”
Dan narrowed his eyes, looking her up and down. An unarmed woman less than half his size. And wearing a parka big enough for a Dallas Cowboys lineman. How dangerous could she be? Yeah, well, he’d seen Tony LoBianco’s body. And he didn’t have any real proof yet she hadn’t killed him. “Come here.”
She did, but trudging and sighing all the way. Stopping right in front of him, she looked up into his face. The ice around Dan’s heart melted.
Poor kid. Her lips were blue with cold. Her jeans were soaked from the knees down and, unlike his boots which kept his feet relatively dry, she had on tennis shoes. Her feet had to be frozen lumps. And she was shivering.
Steeling his sympathetic nature, Dan clutched her by her parka’s shoulder seam and pulled her along as he turned around. “Where’s this cabin you think you see?” he asked her, looking this way and that through the massive columnlike tree trunks that stood impassive to them and impervious to the cold.
“If you’ll let go of me, Sheriff, I’ll show you.” Her words shook with her shivering voice. She hugged herself and hopped in place from one foot to the other. “Like I’m going to run off. Where exactly would I go? If I did run, and as you keep reminding me, you have a gun.”
Dan narrowed his eyes at her…and let go of her. “All right. Lead on.”
And she did, weaving them unerringly through the dense copse and straight to a small clearing that sheltered…the cabin. Impressed that she’d found it, but prepared to die before he’d admit it, Dan ignored her when she turned to him and swept her arms out to one side, indicating the little house in the fashion of a game-show model.
Grumping under his breath, he brushed by her, intent on finding something he could use to break that padlock on the door. If they weren’t inside soon, out of these clothes and in front of a warm fire, they’d be poster children for frostbite. Not giving his prisoner a second thought, Dan searched the cabin’s perimeter, kicking aside snow, throwing off tarps. Working his way around to the right, he found firewood stacked against the cabin. Out back, a washtub.
Frustrated, he rounded the far corner. And met up with Joan. Walking toward him, she brandished a crowbar. “Son of a—!” Reacting on pure surprise and policeman’s instinct, he reached for his Beretta, but ended up fumbling frozen-fingered with his zipped-up parka. Forget it. He had to settle for a scowl and a bark. “Where did you get that?”
She stopped in front of him and raised the crowbar. He flinched, but she just showed it to him. “This? Right behind me. It was leaning against the wall. I was bringing it to— You are scared of me, aren’t you?”
It took a moment for his heartbeat and the adrenaline rush to subside, for her words to sink in. And for him to ignore them. “Do you realize I could’ve shot you? Don’t ever sneak up on me like that again.”
She gestured, waving the crowbar. “Who’s sneaking? I’m standing right in front of you.”
“Yeah, with a heavy metal weapon. Give me that damned thing before you—” Dan snatched the tool from her and, finally feeling in charge again, walked around the cabin to the bolted front door.
Joan was on his heels. “Why didn’t you just shoot the lock off like they do in the movies?”
Dan sighed. “A—this isn’t a movie. B—there’s no props guy to bring me more bullets when mine are gone. C—we may need them all before we get out of here. And D—I would’ve done that if I hadn’t found this tool.”
From behind him came, “If who hadn’t found it?”
Dan ignored her in favor of wedging one end of the crowbar through the padlock’s loop. He then threaded it halfway through, gripped both ends and twisted viciously. The lock’s metal snapped with a cold clunk. He lifted the padlock free of the staple, swung the hinged clasp away and pushed open the cabin’s rough-cut wooden door.
The interior was dim, the air stale and cold, but it felt like home. Dan tossed the broken padlock onto a table and took stock of the one room. A wood-burning stove, a fireplace, a box of kindling wood next to it. Two sets of skis, an old metal-framed bed. A crude kitchen, including a sink and curtain-covered shelves, which would hopefully yield some canned goods. And—hallelujah—a two-way radio.
But before he could take two steps inside, and again from behind him came, “Admit it. You’re afraid of me.”
Dan pivoted to face his tormentor. “Look, I’ve added a crowbar to my arsenal. I’m cold. Tired. Hungry. And sore as hell. Let’s not play ‘Who’s afraid of the big, bad convict’ again, okay?”
She shrugged. “Okay. But you are. You wouldn’t use a bullet on the lock because you think you’ll need them all for me.”
Dan nodded. “Keep reminding me. Now close the door. I’ll get a fire going while you see what you can scrounge up. Maybe some dry clothes, some food, hopefully. Whatever we can use.”
He fully expected her to argue, but surprisingly she just nodded and went to close the door. Next, she set about rummaging through the curtained shelves, as ordered. Dan watched her a moment, realized he was grinning at her, and then knelt in front of the fireplace. He dragged the wood box closer, searched through it. Kindling, logs, old newspaper, matches. Everything they needed.
Everything they needed. The two of them. Dan looked over his shoulder, stole a glance at Joan O’Leary. Turned profile to him, her long, red ponytail a soppy mess, the parka big enough for two women her size, she was sniffing and reading a can label. She looked terrible and cute as hell, all at the same time. Again and unbidden, a grin claimed his mouth.
Perhaps she felt the weight of his stare. Or perhaps it was just chance. But either way, she looked up at him. “Do you like—?” Her eyes widened, no doubt with surprise to see him grinning and staring at her. “What?”
Down on one knee, his elbow resting atop it, Dan sobered, and said, “Nothing. What were you going to say?”
Now it was she who stared at him. She then studied the can, and glanced at him again with those big eyes. “I was going to say ravioli. Is that okay?”
Dan nodded, wondered at his thudding heart. She was so damned little and wide-eyed. Could she be as innocent, in all ways, as she looked? And why was he wondering that? And what had she just asked him? Frowning now, he tried, “Yeah, that’s fine?”
She held the can up for him to see. “Good. There’re two of them—cans of ravioli. And a can opener. And a pot. I’ll…just heat them.”
Dan nodded, wished he could get over the urge to hug her to him and kiss her hair and tell her it was going to be okay. “Good.”
She blinked, lowered the can she held. “What’s wrong with you?”
Dan jerked and turned away, busying his hands with the kindling and his brain with words. “Nothing. I’ll get this fire going and then we can heat that up. I’m starved, but all I want right now is warmth and dry clothes. How about you?”
“No kidding.” Her voice fairly bubbled. Dan glanced over at her. She was grinning and saying, “Getting out of these wet ones will be a slice of heaven. I’d be happy just to wrap up naked in a blanket and get in that bed.” Then her eyes widened and she wheeled to face the sink, showing him her back.
Dan watched her, considered her words. And her own reaction to her words. Chuckling, he went back to building the fire. Throwing a log onto the grate, he mumbled to himself, “I think you’re afraid of me, Joan O’Leary.”
5
“TELL ME AGAIN why I’m handcuffed, to this bed.” For effect, Joan rattled her wrist irons against the metal rung of the headboard. Sitting cross-legged atop the thick mattress on the unmade bed and wrapped in a quilt, she watched Dan scoot sideways on the spindly chair until he faced her. When he did, she added, “I told you I don’t want to wear them anymore.”
“Precautionary measure. And you’ll wear them until I say differently. Now be quiet while I try to get this radioworking.” He turned back to the prehistoric-looking set and began twisting knobs and eliciting ear-splitting frequencies.
Joan grimaced at the’noise and watched him. What choice did she have? There was no TV, no electricity, no regular radio. Heck, there wasn’t even another room. Nothing but her and the deputy in a snowed-in cabin somewhere in the mountains. Under other circumstances, this could really be romantic. She glanced at the handcuffs binding her to the bedstead. Yeah, right.
Just then, Dan tensed, sat rigidly over the old radio. Joan sat up straighter, too, realized she was holding her breath. He’d gotten through. She listened in, heard him talki
ng to someone named Cal, to whom he gave a bunch of coordinates regarding their location. Done with that, the decipherable part of the conversation began.
“Good to hear your voice, too. No lie. I thought we were corpses. What? No, the Cessna’s taking a dirt nap at the bottom of the mountain. It won’t be hard to spot when the weather clears.” He listened and then said, “We’re fine. Yep, we both made it. Me and my prisoner.” With those words, he turned and looked her in the eye. Joan held his gaze, even when he added to Cal, “Well, she says she did it. I guess I have to believe her.”
Joan made a face at him. He chuckled and turned back to the radio set. But then his voice became strident. “What? Her apartment was ransacked? Interesting. Who’d you say was asking about her?” Again he turned to her. Joan’s breath caught. There was only one person who had any reason to go through her stuff or to ask around about her. She raised her chin one defiant notch, watched Dan’s expression harden. “Great. That’s what we need.”
Then he faced the set again, listened and said, “No, don’t try to send anyone. It’s too remote, and the weather’s still unstable. Besides, with what you just told me, it might be best if we don’t come down right now. What? Snake River Lodge? Good idea. I’ll try tomorrow, if it quits snowing. I’ll call you and let you know. Yeah, you, too—hey, Cal, you still there? Good. Um…is Lena still around? Oh. Well, I guess I deserve that. Then can I get you to swing by and check on Grandpa, tell him I’m okay?”
He turned again in his chair to face Joan as he signed off with Cal. “Yeah, that’s it. Thanks. You’re a good buddy, Cal. Remind me to buy you that beer I owe you. Yeah, thought that’d cheer you up. Okay. Talk to you tomorrow. Over and out.” With that, he flipped a switch, the radio went dead and Dan lifted the headset off his ears, setting it on the table in front of him.
Then he draped an elbow over the chair’s back and turned to her. The roar of silence rent the air between them. But finally, the deputy spoke. “Someone broke into your apartment and ransacked it. Seems too that your name’s come up in Taos. Word got back to Cal that some bad guy was in town, asking after your whereabouts. What would you know about that?”
The Great Escape Page 6