by Debra
Nothing new, Will thought. “Ruthless. Arms are US made.” Which didn’t clarify anything. American guns and ammunition remained a hot commodity and could be attained legally or otherwise from just about anywhere in the world. The men were also freaked out by Charly’s behavior, but he didn’t add that. “I’m fairly confident they’re American.”
“Stay on it. More information could lead to the second-tier targets after Lancaster’s vendetta is satisfied.”
“Stay tuned to the emergency radio channels.” He’d said it before, but it bore repeating. Most people didn’t understand the limited communication in these mountains. Worried about Charly, Will wanted to get back over to the camp. “Up here it may be my only way for me to get information out.”
“All right.”
Hearing Casey’s frustration, Will sympathized. “Lancaster thinks he’s close. I’ll be there when he finds it.”
“Good luck.”
Will powered off the phone and returned it to his pocket. He wouldn’t risk it again for hours and wanted to preserve the battery. While he had a solar-powered backup battery with him, he didn’t anticipate having the luxury of recharging time.
His mind working, he carefully picked his way back toward the camp, slowing as he got closer and listening for sentries.
He heard the wilderness—the hoot of an owl and the rustle of small prey in the underbrush—but he didn’t hear any sound of humans. When he caught the smoky scent of the banked fire, he followed his instincts and crossed the stream.
It was unlikely anyone posted to keep watch would bother with more than a cursory glance in this direction. They’d consider the stream a natural barrier to predators of any variety. Lancaster’s men weren’t expecting any company out here anyway.
Will hunkered down at the base of a tree and waited for some sign of a sentry. He let half an hour tick by and with no sign or sound, he crept closer. The arrogance of men had made his job easier in the past and he never turned down a gimme when it fell into his lap.
Staying on the far side of the little stream, Will did a head count. Twice. Coming up one short, he circled the camp and counted again. Seven people. Six prone, resting close to the fire, and all of them a safe distance from Clint’s rocky grave. All of them were breathing. One man sat apart from the others, leaning upright against a tree. Next to an empty sleeping bag.
Where had they put Charly?
His pulse raced and he felt the hot lick of panic for the first time since his early training days when the physical tests had pushed his body to the red zone. He forced himself away from illogical, unproven assumptions. Lancaster’s men had refused to continue without her guidance. That ripple of dissent hadn’t made Lancaster happy, but it was the reason Will had retreated to give his update.
Will counted one more time. Seven men. Zero women.
Charly wasn’t in the camp.
Had Lancaster snapped and killed her anyway? No, if Lancaster had done that the men would’ve moved on as he’d wanted all along. He moved closer to the seated man. Close enough to notice the man’s hands were tied, to see the thin line of drying blood at his throat.
Will thought of the knife Charly had tucked into her sleeping bag and breathed a quiet sigh. The rush of relief was a palpable force.
Now he just had to find her. An expert tracker in a cold forest shrouded by night. He’d wanted a challenge.
Chapter Eight
An hour earlier
Charly’s heart pounded in her ribs as she shifted in her sleeping bag, trying to get comfortable while being tied to the tree behind Jeff. He’d done it up right, looping the rope around her ankle, then around the tree and pinning it with a tent stake. Leaning back against the tree trunk, he’d made a point of adding his key chain to the assembly, so even if he dozed off, he’d hear the rattle if she tried to escape.
Too bad for him that wasn’t going to stop her. She stared sightlessly at Clint’s grave, waiting for the other men to stop bickering and settle down. It took only a little less than an eternity. She rolled to her other side, kicking her legs a little and rattling the key against the tent stake. Jeff looked her way, but no one else said a word.
She needed to get out of here, and she would. But it would be foolish to bolt into the night with no plan. As she tossed and turned in her sleeping bag, she reviewed her choices and Lancaster’s potential reactions to each.
Instinct warred with reality. Rushing straight back to Durango sounded ideal, but Lancaster could easily head off that kind of play. She knew the terrain, but he had the radios and rifles. If she aimed west for the nearest park ranger station, she had a better chance. While no one could track like her, she’d seen enough to know Lancaster’s men weren’t idiots. The crucial element, she decided, was getting away clean. Tonight was her best chance. Tomorrow he might kill her for any number of reasons.
She peered at her guard through slitted eyes and found him alert, scanning the area. So he took the watch responsibilities seriously. Sucker.
When she was a teenager, and even before that, when she’d started solo hikes, her family had taught her how to be safe up here. How to read animal tracks and watch for shifting weather. The wilderness was beauty and magnificence honed to a sharp and dangerous edge. She’d learned a little something from everyone in her family about protecting and defending herself from nature and man.
The sleeve sewn under the pillow of her sleeping bag had been a precaution against drunk or stupid hikers who might get the wrong idea about the services Binali Backcountry provided on overnight adventures. It was a rare thing, praise God, to fend off unwelcome advances, but it was better to be prepared than caught unawares. She counted it lucky that she’d chosen to tuck the knife from her grandmother into her sleeping bag this time out. It calmed her down and gave her a sense of empowerment as her fingers rubbed the familiar turquoise inlay.
Confident the other men were settled and asleep, she curled onto her side, jerking the tether on purpose again and adding a sniffle for effect.
“Go to sleep,” Jeff said, keeping his voice low.
“I’m trying to get my boots off,” she lied.
“Keep them on. Your feet will get cold.”
“How nice of you to care,” she muttered. “Feet and boots need to air out to stay healthy.”
“Whatever.” He shifted, adjusting his back against the tree. “Sleep.”
“You know I’m right. I hope you packed lots of socks. For a guy with obvious field training, you’re ignoring the basics.”
“Quiet,” he snapped. A moment later, she gave a mental cheer as he unlaced his boots.
It was a start. “You’ll never get away with this,” she said after a few more minutes.
“Our plans are not your problem, Ms. Binali.”
She rattled the tether. “I beg to differ.”
“Shut up.”
She didn’t stop rattling the key against the tent stake, even as the knife slid through the rope, freeing her. She wanted him to come at her, to give her a better reason than escape to sink her blade between his ribs.
Charly wouldn’t relish killing a man, but she knew she could do it if necessary. Jeff might not have pulled the trigger, but he was part of something dark and evil by staying loyal to Lancaster.
Of course, Jeff had been the first to show compassion by helping her bury her friend. She preferred a solution for him that didn’t involve death.
Survival was paramount. Her survival. Whatever these men were up to, when she escaped she trusted the mountain to keep them busy or kill them off until she could return with the authorities. Either by nature’s law or man’s law, one way or another Lancaster and his men would pay for murdering Clint.
“Stop screwing around,” Jeff said, his impatience clear. “I can make this worse for you.”
“I’d like to see you try,” she dared. She’d considered the various ploys to get him to come closer. Seduction was out—even if she could stomach the idea long enough to get away,
she didn’t think Jeff or any of the others would fall for it.
She’d sensed a shift among them when she’d refused to quake and cower at the wrong end of Lancaster’s gun. She’d sensed their fear. Not just of Lancaster’s actions, but of her. On some level her reactions and her tribute to Clint scared them. With Jeff in particular, she would use that fear and spare his life. If possible.
She stared him down as she rolled over once more and rattled the key.
“Enough.” He pushed to his feet, the scowl on his face twisting his features in the eerie glow from the fire.
She tucked the knife away and stood up as well, keeping her boots and the severed nylon rope covered by the folds of her sleeping bag. “Give me your hands,” he ordered, pitching his voice low.
She held them out and used the distraction to block the knee she aimed at his groin. He buckled forward on a whimper and she drove her fist up deep into his diaphragm.
Pivoting him as he collapsed, she let him slide down the trunk of the tree until he was back where he started. He stared up at her with wide eyes full of shock and pain, unable to voice a protest as she retrieved her gun and ammunition. She tossed the radio out of reach.
She pressed her knife to Jeff’s throat. “I could kill you.”
He froze, his eyes locked with hers, though she could tell he wanted to keep rocking against the pain.
She drew the blade against his skin, just a scratch, but it raised a narrow line of blood. It distracted him from her real purpose, which was putting him into a deep sleep. When she found the pressure point in his neck, he went limp and she quickly tied his hands.
Unwilling to waste time and risk waking the others, Charly didn’t take so much as a canteen as she darted, silent as an owl, into the dark. She knew how to survive off the mountain. Conveniently bottled water and packaged food would be more burden than help to her.
She started straight down the mountain, aiming for the nearest official trail, leaving a heavy boot print every few paces. She dropped her company ball cap at one point and veered sharply away, scuffing at the dirt as if she’d paused in the shelter of a tree to get her bearings. If she’d drawn a map for Lancaster it wouldn’t have been as clear. If she was lucky, his arrogance and low opinion of her would be enough to follow this trail without question.
Right into her trap.
With no idea how much of a head start she had, she moved quickly, hoping the screen would hold up in the light of day. Maybe they’d search for her early and follow her tracks right over the edge of this rock slide and into the stream below. At least one of them would be injured, hopefully more, and that would start to even the odds.
As she finished, she willed her heart to be quiet so she could hear any pursuit. Hearing no sign of Lancaster’s men, she moved on, this time without a trace. Every step of freedom was a pure joy, despite the heavy burden of Clint’s death. The should have dones nipped at her conscience, telling her Clint might be alive if she’d handled things differently.
It was bull, she told herself, a natural result of being alive. Caving to guilt and fear and regret would only get her caught and killed. The best hope, the only real option, was to reach a ranger station and make a full report. Preferably by dawn.
Her mind set, she crept closer toward her real goal, picking her way through the fractured shadows of the forest. She’d only gone a few paces in that direction when she heard the distinct snap of a twig. She slowly turned toward the sound, straining to hear something that would give her a clue as to what was out there.
But the forest had gone still along with her. Not a good sign—that kind of stillness indicated something was out here that shouldn’t be. Knowing exactly where she was, she knew she was too far from any real safety. Damn it. She’d never expected any of Lancaster’s men to be this good.
They’d been heavy-footed and generally dismissive of their surroundings all day, making plenty of noise on the hike. Had it been an act?
Well, with any luck there’d be time and breath to berate herself later. Calculating the risk, she charged toward the break in the tree line. Her breath sawed in and out of her lungs as she pumped her arms and legs, plowing forward. Being exposed in the open space wouldn’t be ideal, but she could minimize that in a race for the drop on the opposite side.
Almost there, close enough to see the moonlight on the high meadow, she went down hard under a heavy mass. She rolled with the tackle, kicking her legs out and pushing her assailant away.
On a grunted oath, she realized this wasn’t something as simple as a confused bear or curious mountain lion. She wasn’t that lucky. This was a man bent on subduing her. He lunged again, trapping her legs in a brutal grip against his chest.
Hell, no.
She wasn’t going back to Lancaster, wasn’t going down like this. Ignoring the bite of various bits of nature on the forest floor, she squirmed and rolled until he was on top of her. She drove her elbows into the sensitive points at the top of his shoulders, trying to get enough space to draw the gun or knife.
The reflexive release was short-lived. The grip loosened only enough so he could shift higher, wrapping her tightly and pinning her arms to her sides.
“It’s me. Will.”
The voice, hoarse in her ear, was foreign to her. She fought to get a leg free to strike, but his legs were stronger still.
“Relax, Charly.”
As if. It had to be a trick. Will was in town. She let her body go limp, pretending to comply. When the man eased up, she scooped a handful of dirt and dried leaves into his face.
His muffled oath followed her across the moonlight-soaked meadow. She didn’t look back—didn’t have to, she could hear him closing in fast. His hands caught in her jacket, slowing her down. She shrugged out of it and shot ahead.
“Charly!”
Aiming straight for the drop-off, knowing the cost of her survival would involve plenty of pain, she kept going.
But he caught her again, slowing her just enough that they went over the edge together. As her body bounced down the rocky slope, knocking the air from her lungs, bright spots of light danced across her vision.
They skidded to a stop, and she willed herself to fight on, but her body wouldn’t cooperate.
“Charly! Wake up. I’m here to help.”
Hearing Will’s voice she knew she was either dead or hallucinating. Will couldn’t be here. He was down in Durango delivering mail. Waiting at the pub for another game of pool. She batted away the hands sweeping over her face, smoothing her hair.
“That’s my girl. You’re safe now.”
It was a challenge to muster the energy to open her eyes. Her brain was playing tricks on her. Will couldn’t be here. And she didn’t care about cooperating in the slightest way with any of Lancaster’s men.
“Just shoot me and call it done,” she mumbled, feeling defeated. She couldn’t beat them.
“No way. I’m not done with you.”
The man who sounded like Will kissed her forehead. The touch was offensive and her melting reaction to it was worse. She rallied in outrage. Shoving the man off her, she scooted out of reach.
“Back off.” She jerked the knife from her boot, holding it ready though she couldn’t quite see her attacker in the weak light of the moon.
“Take it easy, Charly. Put that away.”
She blinked several times to clear her vision. She must’ve taken a hard blow to the head. In the moonlight, this guy actually looked like Will. “This is a nightmare. You’re a bad dream.”
“It’s good to see you, too,” he said with a little laugh.
She knew that sound, that laugh. This was a serious hallucination. She rubbed her eyes with one hand, knife clutched in the other. “You can’t be...can’t be here.” She pressed her fingers against the ache building in her temples. “You’re in Durango.”
“Not anymore. You’re safe now. Put the knife away.”
As her eyes adjusted and his features became clearer, she did as he ask
ed and sheathed the knife. “It’s really you.”
“Yes.” His mouth tilted in that lopsided smile she liked. “I’m here to help.”
“What?” What did that mean? This was a sick dream. She had to wake up, had to reach the ranger station. Determined, she tried to stand, called it a good start when she managed to stay upright a few seconds before slumping against the nearest boulder. Her ribs ached and her hands were stinging with fresh scrapes.
“Have some water.”
She eyed the bottle he held out. “You first.” He twisted off the top and tipped it back. “Fine,” she said, accepting. She sniffed at it and then took a long drink, letting it slide down and soothe her dry throat.
“Believe it’s me yet?”
“Maybe by daylight,” she replied, shivering.
“I have a flashlight.”
“I have a gun,” she countered, wondering if it was still true. “Don’t bother with the light.” It could draw the others.
“You sound steadier.”
“Yay,” she said through chattering teeth.
“I’m here for you, Charly. Tell me how to help.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“It’s me, Will Chase. Were you expecting someone else?”
Yeah, she was expecting Jeff or one of the others. She still expected one or all of them to burst out of the night and attack. “You’re working for them.”
“Absolutely not. I’m on your side. You have to believe that.”
She did. On instinct, she did believe him. Though she didn’t understand how it was possible for him to be here. Maybe this was one of those spirit guide dreams. She nearly laughed, thinking how absurd it would be if her spirit guide was a white mailman from Illinois.
“Charly, sit down here beside me.”
“We’re not safe here.”
“Sure we are.”
She shook her head, wobbling a bit. “Did you drug me?”
“No, but my guess is you’re a little dazed. Possibly dealing with mild shock.”
“That’s impossible.” She couldn’t be dazed or in shock. No time for that nonsense. Shivering, she didn’t protest when he put her back into her polar fleece coat and wrapped an arm around her waist. She felt the weight of her revolver in her pocket. If he was with the bad guys, he wouldn’t let her keep her weapons. He guided her under the shelter of an overhang and helped her sit down. “You’ve been through hell the past few hours,” he said in that easy way he had.