Gray, Ginna

by The Witness

  "Pull up your parka hood," he ordered. "Keeping that fur ruff extended out in front of your face prewarms the air before you breath it in. It's easier on your lungs that way. Your breath will cause ice crystals to form on the fur. It's important that you brush it off periodically."

  That said, without so much as a "c'mon," he turned and started off again.

  Walking through the deep snow took torturous effort, even with him plowing a path ahead of her. Lauren struggled along behind him with her jaw clenched, her gaze shooting daggers at his back. That she had to be dependent on anyone for anything didn't set well with her. That she now had no choice but to trust her very life to this man was galling.

  If the loss of her career and her fiancé had taught her nothing else, it was to take control of her own destiny. She had vowed that never again would she allow others to direct her life and make all her decisions for her. Now, here she was, tromping along behind this hard-as-nails man whom she barely knew, completely dependent on him for her very survival. Oh, how that grated.

  Since being released from the hospital ten months ago, Lauren had continued her rehabilitation by working out in a gym three evenings a week. Overall, she was in superb physical condition—or at least, she had thought she was. However, at this altitude the air was thin, and every movement seemed to take twice the energy it normally required. Added to that, too little sleep and two brushes with death had left her exhausted, physically and emotionally.

  Soon her breathing became labored and shallow and her heart chugged like a locomotive. Sucking in the frigid air made her lungs burn and her throat dry. With every step she panted and gasped for breath, but Sam would allow her only a few sips at a time from their canteen of water.

  It irritated her that he didn't even appear to be winded. He kept the same steady pace with no apparent effort, his face set like granite.

  Lauren struggled to match his speed, but the distance between them steadily lengthened. It was snowing harder and the wind whipped the flakes into a swirling frenzy and cut visibility to almost zero. Only ten feet ahead, Sam was merely a ghostly gray form moving through the driving whiteness.

  She frowned at his back. Did he really know where he was going? Or were they just wandering aimlessly?

  He looked back over his shoulder. "If you don't keep up you're going to lose sight of me and get lost."

  "How...can I...keep up? You're walking...too... fast."

  "So hustle."

  She narrowed her eyes and tried to drill a hole in his back with her stare. After a while, though, even that took too much effort. It required all her energy and concentration to put one foot in front of the other.

  It was bitterly cold and getting colder. Through the swirling snow, everything was gray and bleak. The only sounds were the crunching of the snow under their feet, the howl of the wind, an occasional snap of a limb under its weight of snow, and the heavy rasp of their breathing.

  "I saw...a cave a few...few minutes back," Lauren gasped. "Wouldn't that make...a good shelter?"

  "Sure. If you don't mind sharing it with a bear."

  "Bear?" She shot a terrified look around and scrambled to close the gap between them. "There are... bears around... here?"

  "Plenty of them. But don't worry, they're hibernating right now."

  "Are there...any other...predators around that...I should...know about?"

  Without breaking stride, Sam shrugged. "Mountain lions."

  Mountain lions! Fear shot another blast of adrenaline through Lauren. Casting a frantic look around, she scooted in closer to Sam's back and picked up the pace. After that her gaze darted around constantly.

  She had expected him to start down the mountainside, but it seemed to her that they were gradually climbing. He tramped on at a steady pace, like a man with a specific goal in mind. As they hiked Lauren glanced around at the inhospitable terrain.

  "Is there something...in particular...we're looking for?"

  "A few seconds before we crashed, I saw a log structure," he shouted above the howl of the wind. "It's probably an old abandoned mine, or if we're really lucky, the remains of a miner's cabin. There are hundreds of them scattered over these mountains. They're relics from the Colorado gold rush days in the 1800s."

  "Are they still...ha-habitable?"

  "Not in the normal sense, but any kind of structure that will provide enough shelter to get us out of the wind and snow and be a dry place where we can build a fire will help."

  A fire? A fire sounded wonderful. A fire sounded absolutely fantastic. She was so tired her leg muscles were quivering and she was almost asleep on her feet. Oh, how she longed to lie down beside a warm fire and close her eyes.

  Sam glanced over his shoulder at her again and his jaw clenched tighter. The mere sight of her filled him with a rage he could barely contain. Because of this woman he'd lost an old friend and a fellow agent. He tried to push the feeling aside, but he couldn't banish the mental image of Bob and Dave as he'd last seen them, vacant-eyed and slumped in death.

  Sam tended to be a loner, but those few he counted as a friend, he valued. Bob Halloran had been the first close friend he'd made within the Bureau, and the best. Though seventeen years Sam's senior, they had formed a strong bond over the years they'd worked together. Outside of work they'd shared the same interests, and had gone fishing and hunting together numerous times. Bob was one of only a very few men whom Sam had trusted absolutely.

  Dave Owens had been a green rookie, which was why Sam hadn't objected to him working this assignment with him. He figured the kid hadn't been with the Bureau long enough to have been corrupted, and therefore wasn't on Carlo's payroll. He'd been an eager, idealistic young man who'd had the potential to become one hell of an agent.

  Now both men were dead—their lives forfeited in an attempt to save a mobster's mistress—a woman who traded her body and self-respect to a vicious old man in exchange for creature comforts.

  Granted, she was vital to their case. With her testimony they could finally nail Giovessi. But at what cost? So far, two good men had died trying to keep her safe.

  He glanced over his shoulder again, and his mouth twisted. He probably should have mentioned the mountain lions when they first started out. At least now she was no longer lagging behind.

  Sam knew she wouldn't be able to keep going much longer, though. Up until now she'd been running on adrenaline, but she was gray with exhaustion and so wobbly she could barely keep her balance. If he didn't locate the cabin soon he'd have to carry her.

  To keep her moving he shouted over his shoulder, "The cabin is just ahead." At least, he hoped to hell it was, and that his eyes hadn't been playing tricks on him.

  "How...how do you...know that?"

  "When I spotted it from the plane I noticed it was on a massive rock outcropping. I took a compass sighting on the rock formation when we started hiking, before the storm hit in earnest and reduced visibility."

  She dragged along in his wake and didn't bother to answer, as though even that much effort was too much for her.

  They rounded the base of a gigantic boulder, and when the swirling curtain of snow parted for an instant the structure came into view. Perched precariously on the edge of the rocky outcropping above them, a derelict old mine shack clung to the mountainside, the remains of its sluice box dangling down the slope.

  This, Sam realized, was what he'd seen from the air. As a shelter it was next to worthless. So many boards were missing from the outer walls you could see right through the ramshackle building. The damned thing would probably crumble if you stepped into it, he thought. Not that it mattered. Lauren would never be able to climb that sheer rock face, and time had obliterated the trail.

  The snow swirled again, and Sam caught a glimpse of something.

  "There!" he shouted over the wind, pointing. "I think I see a cabin!"

  Six

  To the right, tucked back against the base of the rock formation just a few feet away, another structure was barel
y visible through the swirling snow.

  Lauren gave a moan of gratitude and stumbled toward the shadowy shape, but Sam grabbed her arm and stopped her. "Not yet. Wait here while I check it out."

  Dropping the duffle, he unhooked the rifle from his shoulder, worked the bolt action to chamber a round and cautiously pushed open the plank door. Instantly the leather hinges crumbled, and the door fell into the room with a crash. Sam grimaced. If any creature had taken up residence inside, that should have run it out. He paused and listened, but there was no scuttling or rustling coming from inside.

  Sam stepped into the cabin in time to see a chipmunk scurry out through a hole in the chinking. After a quick check turned up no other critters, he went back outside and picked up his duffle bag and motioned to Lauren. "All clear."

  "Is it safe?"

  "Yeah. It's been partially protected from the elements by the cliff wall. For its age, it's in fair condition. There's a hole in the roof, but I can throw some brush over that. Some chinking is missing and the door fell in, and the inside looks like it's been a nest for chipmunks, but we can manage."

  Once inside Lauren sank to the filthy puncheon floor. "Thank heavens. I don't think I could have plowed through that snow one more step."

  Sam shrugged off the backpack and dropped it, but he hooked the gun back over his shoulder. "Don't go to sleep," he cautioned when Lauren started to lay her head down on the duffle. "Not until I get a fire going in here. I'll go gather some wood. While I'm gone, go through the pack and see what kind of food supply we have. There should be a ground sheet in there. Spread everything out on that so we can take stock of what we've got to work with. While you're at it, you'd better clean up that cut. Knowing Bob, I'm sure there's a first-aid kit in that pack. And stay awake, dammit, or you'll freeze to death. At this temperature it wouldn't take long."

  "Okay, okay. You don't have to be such a grouch," Lauren grumbled. Sitting up again, she dragged the backpack closer and unzipped it.

  There were plenty of trees around the cabin, and Sam was confident that Bob's survival pack included a small hatchet, but for the moment he stuck to gathering deadwood and brush. Once he had a fire going, he'd come back and chop branches.

  He worked furiously, driven not only by the need, but to hold at bay the anger and grief he'd been battling with ever since the crash.

  He brought in several armloads of deadwood and brush, and when he was satisfied that he had enough to keep a fire going for a couple of hours, he propped the door back in place and braced it with a three foot long chunk of wood. Then he hunkered down in front of the stone fireplace.

  Poking his head inside the firebox, he looked up the chimney and breathed a sigh of relief. Whoever had built the cabin all those years ago had mortared in a metal grill at the top of the chimney to keep birds and other animals out.

  Sam crumbled a small mound of deadwood for kindling, stacked brush and the small twigs and limbs in a teepee shape over it, then looked over his shoulder at Lauren, who was hugging her upper body and rocking back and forth, struggling to stay awake. She had evidently found the first-aid kit, but her attempt to clean the cut had merely smeared the dried blood over her forehead and temple

  "Are there any matches in those supplies? Or a fire starter of any kind?"

  She gave him a blank look and blinked. "Um, I think I saw...yes, here they are." She picked up the box of matches and tossed them to him.

  Within minutes a fire blazed in the hearth and Sam turned his attention to the contents of the backpack.

  "Let's see what we have," he murmured. His gaze ran over the items spread out on the ground sheet, and he gave silent thanks to his old friend Bob's meticulous attention to safety and detail. "A pot and skillet, packet of utensils, matches, compass, binoculars, strips of waxed lamp wick."

  Sam paused and stared at the last, a sharp stab of grief spearing through him. Bob never had been worth a damn at building a fire, and on every camping trip they'd ever made his friend had carried along plenty of the fire starter strips.

  Gritting his teeth, Sam shoved aside the pain and the mental image of his old friend slumped in the cockpit seat and continued, picking up each item as he ticked it off.

  "Ax, snare wire, sleeping bag, first-aid kit, three kinds of cord, both braided and twisted, a three blade folding knife, a fixed blade knife, waxed thread, sewing awl, a coil of light nylon rope. Looks like we've also got about fifteen pounds of food—freeze-dried eggs, meat, and meat and vegetable mixes, plus about a half pound each of jerky, beans, rice and oats. And a bottle of vitamins." Sam's mouth quirked. Bob always had been a health nut.

  "How long will that last the two of us?" Lauren asked, giving the pile of packets a dubious look.

  "Quite a while if we stay camped here. Once we start trekking out, our caloric needs shoot up. But supplemented with fresh meat, we'll get by."

  "How are we going to get fresh meat? You can't go hunting in a blizzard."

  "Ever heard of a snare? If I set eight or ten in about a hundred-yard radius around the cabin, chances are good a couple will catch something." He patted his parka pockets, and an arrested look came over his face. Then he began to curse viciously.

  Lauren winced. "What? What's wrong?"

  "I've lost my cellphone. It probably fell out of my coat during the crash. Dammit!"

  He glanced at Lauren. "I don't suppose you have one."

  "No." These days a cellphone was one of the many luxuries she could no longer afford.

  "Figures." He picked up the ax and stood. "There's just enough daylight left to chop the firewood and brush we need for tonight. While I do that, you can cook us something to eat."

  "You want me to cook?"

  He stopped at the door and pinned her with a steady stare that somehow managed to convey utter disgust. "Let me guess. You can't cook."

  "Well..."

  "Oh, that's right, I forgot. You have other talents, don't you?"

  A frown knit her forehead at his sarcastic tone. "If you mean the piano, then yes. I am learning other skills, like cooking and keeping house. I'm just not very good at them yet."

  Sam glanced at the packages of dehydrated food. "Just throw the contents of one of those packets in a pot with some water and boil it according to the directions."

  "But...the only water in the pack was in the canteen, and we drank all of that while we were hiking here."

  Sam stared at her again and shook his head. "Damn, don't you know how to do anything? For God's sake, woman, look around you. There is snow everywhere. Scoop some up in the biggest pan and set it at the edge of the fire to melt. Keep doing that until you have a potful," he snapped.

  Disgusted, he kicked aside the log bracing the door, opened it enough to slip out and pulled it back into place from the outside.

  Lauren stared at the rough plank door, her feelings a churning mix of hurt, inadequacy and anger.

  How was she supposed to know how to cook on an open fire? She hadn't even mastered the electric range and microwave in her apartment yet. Until ten months ago, when she'd been released from the hospital, she'd never so much as boiled water before.

  Climbing wearily to her feet, she picked up the pot and skillet and headed for the door.

  The instant she stepped out into the blinding storm she sucked in her breath. In just the short time they had been inside the blizzard had hit with a vengeance. The force of the wind nearly knocked her over. It howled like a banshee and whipped the snow in frenzied swirls. Darkness was falling, and between that and the storm, visibility was no more than a few feet.

  Lauren looked around, straining to peer through the blowing snow for Sam, but it was hopeless. Fear trembled through her. How would he ever find his way back to the cabin in this?

  No. No, she wouldn't think about that. Sam Rawlins was resourceful. He could take care of himself. Besides, he was too hard and mean to die.

  Keeping her gaze on the weak light spilling out through the grimy glass of the cabin's sole wind
ow, Lauren took two steps and scooped up snow in both pans.

  She packed the snow as tight as she could until it mounded high over the rims. When done, she straightened and looked around for Sam again with no more success than the first time, then hurried back inside.

  Lauren was amazed at how little water a potful of snow produced. It took several more trips outside to fill the large pot, but at least the chore kept her busy and awake. Each time she tried not to look around for Sam, but she couldn't help herself.

  After the last trip, she added more wood to the fire and pushed the pot closer to the coals. While she waited for the water to boil, she picked up a packet labeled beef stew. It weighed no more than a couple of ounces, and she didn't see how the contents could possibly make a pot of stew, but she turned the packet over to see the instructions.

  It was so dark and the print was so small she scooted closer to the fire and leaned back against the duffle bag to read.

  That was how Sam found her fifteen minutes later, slumped back on the duffle with one of the freeze- dried packets in the hand that rested on her chest, sound asleep. Beside her at the edge of the fire, a brimful pot of water boiled over, angrily hissing and spewing.

  Her lips were slightly parted and the long sweep of her lashes lay against her cheeks like fans, but they could not hide the dark circles of fatigue beneath. The dried blood smeared over her forehead and down the side of her face just emphasized her pallor.

  Sam's mouth thinned. She was a whore, a mobster's plaything. She had no right to look like a weary angel.

  Bending his knees, he dumped the armload of firewood. It clattered and banged on the puncheon floor, raising a cloud of dust and a racket guaranteed to wake the dead.

  "Wha—!" Lauren jackknifed to a sitting position and looked around in bleary-eyed confusion.

  "You fell asleep," Sam accused.

  She blinked twice, then panic flared in her eyes, and he could see that for a moment she didn't know who he was or how she had gotten there. She started to scuttle backward away from him, but an instant later memory returned.