Rocky Mountain Secrets: Rocky Mountain Sabotage ; Rocky Mountain Pursuit

by Jill Elizabeth Nelson

  “You are a true lady, Mrs. Barrington,” Kent said. “But even more important than food and manners, did you see any kind of device that could communicate with the outside world?”

  Cliff shook his head. “Just the pen and paper Nina used to write the thank-you note.”

  A collective groan left the throats of the survivors.

  Kent held up a calming hand. “Clearly, our lone resident of Trouble Creek gets supplies from the world at large from time to time, so there must be a way out of this valley that leads to civilization. We need to talk to this person, but we have to approach with caution. So far, the attempts on our lives have taken the form of booby traps, but since the need to hunt game is almost a given up here, the person probably has a gun.”

  “We may be dealing with someone who is mentally unbalanced,” Lauren added, “so we can’t count on rational or predictable behavior.”

  “Or maybe a crook who is hiding from the law,” Nina said with a nod.

  Kent pursed his lips. “In that case, our mystery resident would be desperate to keep his location secret. Absolutely no one should go anywhere alone from now on.”

  “What you’re saying is we’re not safe anywhere.” Hysteria edged Dirk’s tone. “I’m not going outside again.”

  Cliff snorted. “What’s to stop him from barging in here and letting us have it? It’s not like we have any way to defend ourselves.”

  Kent turned away and headed for his duffel. He’d left it atop the cushion he used to cradle his head at night. “Our best hope for survival, much less safety, is to get out of this valley.” He unzipped his bag, shoved aside a pile of clothing and the binoculars he regularly took with him, and pulled out his Beretta M9 and a box of cartridges.

  “I’m sticking with him everywhere he goes,” Dirk proclaimed.

  “How good are you with that thing?” Neil asked.

  Kent stood up, Beretta dangling by his side. “Good enough to plink a rabbit if one pops up within range...or seriously discourage someone who starts shooting at us.”

  Neil’s eyes narrowed. “With your survival knowledge, you’re more than just a flyboy.”

  Kent shot the older man a wolfish grin. “Born and raised in the Florida everglades. Rough-and-tumble fourth son in a family of eight. We boys would spend days in the wild, living off the land. As for other environments, the air force trained me in SERE.”

  “SERE?” Lauren asked.

  “Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape.”

  “Perrrfect!” Nina clapped her hands together. “If we must be stranded in a hostile environment, the good Lord has placed us in the right hands.”

  Dirk sniffed. “Yeah, well, if the good Lord was so good at planning, why are we stuck here at all?”

  “Oh, shut it, DJ.” Phil scowled.

  “You shut it. I’m not going to take any of your—”

  “Enough!” Kent strode toward the door. “Dirk, Cliff, Lauren, come with me.” He stopped at the threshold. “We’ll go to this cabin and get some food and cooking utensils, hopefully even some kerosene for the lanterns. Phil and Neil, go to the stream with that bucket and bring us back some water. Nina and Rich, stay here. Close the door after us. If you sense any threat, take cover behind the stationary counter until we return.”

  Phil crossed his arms and stuck out a full lower lip. “What if this desperate criminal shoots us at the stream?”

  “If our mystery resident is watching us, he’s far more likely to try to defend his home than take potshots at water carriers. If anything, I figure we’ll draw him our way.”

  “Then Lauren is not going with you.” Nina grabbed her daughter’s arm.

  “Lauren is definitely going.” She disengaged from her mother’s grip and headed toward Kent.

  Something warm flowered in his heart at the trust in her gaze. In her value system, trust seemed to be a precious resource—hard-earned and easily lost. Something had scarred her deeply. She hadn’t opened up to him enough for him to see what it was, but at least she had confidence in him to protect her life. What might it be like if one day she trusted him with more than her physical life? And what was it about this woman that made him crave to find out—even against his better judgment and bitter experience?

  Kent turned and walked out the door. If he didn’t succeed in keeping her alive, he’d never know. Keep your head in the game, Garland.

  Mentally kicking himself, he tucked the Beretta into the waistband of his jeans and led the way up the dusty main street of Trouble Creek. As he walked, his gaze scanned every nook and cranny for a concealed figure. Truth be told, if this guy—assuming the hostile resident was male—wanted to stay hidden, he would be hard to find. Or if he had a rifle, a handgun would be poor defense against potshots raining down on them from the cliffs.

  Kent’s gaze scanned the high rock walls that hemmed them in. The scree-covered slopes rose gradually at first and then sharply for the last hundred yards or so. Where were the mine entrances? Had they been blasted closed before the miners left? Under the overcast sky, it was difficult to make out details on the rock faces.

  “Okay, we’re at the edge of town, Cliff. Where is this inhabited cabin?”

  The man guided them past the final main street building—a former saloon, judging by the batwing doors hanging on rusty hinges—and veered to the left. Beyond the protection of the buildings, a sudden gust of wind kicked up dust devils, peppering his face with dirt granules.

  A sharp sneeze announced Lauren coming up beside him. He offered her a small smile. Her answering smile was faint as her eyes kept performing a dance similar to his, scanning terrain and surroundings. She would have made an excellent soldier. Her spot-on instincts and reflexes continually amazed him—except when she was engaged in trying to save someone’s life. Then she seemed to care less about herself and did things like staying too long in a smoke-filled building or unbuckling her seat belt to help someone during a flight emergency.

  “There it is!” Cliff pointed.

  The cabin sat on the outskirts of a cluster of long, low structures that might have been bunkhouses for the miners. It was squat and square and, except for the unbroken windows, appeared in about the same state of neglect as the bunkhouses.

  “Wait here,” Kent said to the others while he approached the hut.

  As he stepped onto the low stoop, the back of his neck prickled. He moved to the side of the door, opened it with one hand and waited for a bullet that might welcome an intruder. None come, and no sound wafted out from within. The cabin might be as deserted as it had been when Cliff and Nina had been there, but now was not a time to take chances.

  He darted inside, eyes and gun swiveling in the practiced arc his training had taught him. Bed: wider than a single but narrower than full and neatly made up. Table: small and rough-hewn but sturdy. Stove: wood or coal burning with two-burner range. Floor-to-ceiling shelf: home to canned goods, boxed crackers, sacks of sugar and flour, common spices and plastic containers labeled “jerky” and “trail mix” respectively, as well as other food supplies.

  No human being. No guns or weapons of any kind, which was a little strange in itself. In fact, no sign of recent habitation. Everything was coated in dust. No one had been here within the last few weeks. The report of a psycho inhabitant of Trouble Creek had been greatly exaggerated—somewhat by their own fears, but mostly through lack of information. Now, as far as he was concerned, they were back to square one: suspecting each other as a killer in their midst. A far more troubling problem.

  “All clear,” he called to the others.

  Lauren trooped in first and looked around. She swiped a finger of dust from the tabletop. “Hey, no one has been here in a while.”

  “I know.” Kent shook his head.

  She huffed. “Apparently, Mom forgot that little detail.”

  “I did, too,” Cliff admitt
ed as he stepped inside. “Guess I was so excited about finding food and stuff we can use that I didn’t even think about the undisturbed dust.”

  “All right then,” Kent said. “No harm done. Let’s gather up whatever we can use, and—”

  “How about, instead, Mom and I move in here,” Lauren said. “The rest of you can set up housekeeping in one of those bunkhouses?”

  Kent issued a good-natured, mock bow. “The lady has a fine idea.”

  “I thought you might see it my way. Particularly since we can cook everyone a decent meal as soon as we get some water.”

  Dirk let out an enthusiastic cheer. “Finally, some small semblance of civilization. Now we just need—”

  A hideous wail chopped through the thought. The hairs on Kent’s arms rose to attention. The sound didn’t come from inside the town. It came from the direction of the creek. The wail rose higher and higher, and a second scream joined the first. Neil and Phil were in trouble. He’d heard such screams before. In Afghanistan. In Iraq.

  Please, God, don’t let it signal the kind of horror I’ve hoped never to see again.

  SIX

  Lauren’s feet took wings before her brain kicked into gear. What was she thinking, running toward the danger? But she couldn’t stop. People were hurt. A figure darted into her path, and she slammed into a broad chest. The impact staggered her backward, but didn’t move Kent an inch.

  “What are you doing?” She glared up at him. “I have to help.”

  “Not without some serious recon first, and I’m the best equipped for that assignment. Cliff, Dirk, head back to the mercantile and barricade the doors as best you can.”

  The men trotted off, darting spooked glances in every direction. The screams had ceased, and Lauren’s skin prickled in the eerie silence.

  “You’re letting me come with you?”

  A wry grin tugged at one corner of Kent’s mouth. “Other than hog-tying you, I’m not sure how I’d stop you. But keep behind me, and do exactly what I say.”

  “Agreed.”

  Drawing the handgun from his waistband, he set off at a lope. Lauren stayed on his heels as they crossed the main street at an angle, darted between buildings and entered a tiny residential area of small, clapboard houses. Dry grass crunching beneath their feet, Kent led them between a pair of the structures. He stopped at the far corner of one building and pressed himself against the wall. Lauren copied his movements.

  Here, the burble of the creek about a hundred yards distant was softly audible, but the water was hidden beyond a gentle rise crowned by a stand of pine trees. No human voices or outcries carried on the wind, and no one was in view. Lauren’s chest tightened. What had happened to Neil and Phil?

  Kent looked over his shoulder at her, face set and grim. “There isn’t much cover between here and the creek, but we heard no gunshots, so hopefully, we’re not dealing with a marksman—unless it’s a pro with a silencer.”

  “How weird would that be in this abandoned town?”

  “Unfortunately, there’s a whole lot of weird going on around here. But I’m going to chance it, and take off for the creek. You stay put and watch me.”

  Lauren opened her mouth to protest, but he lifted a forestalling hand. “No argument. If I go down, then you hustle back to the others in the mercantile.”

  “And then what?” She planted her hands on her hips. “Wait for the assassin to come finish us before we starve? Without you, we’re all as good as dead.”

  Kent turned and gripped her shoulder. “Don’t think like that. Think rescue. We’ve got to believe help is coming. Just...stay alive!”

  The fire in his gaze scorched straight to her heart, and she nodded. Jaw clenched, she watched him race across the open expanse of grassy hummocks and taconite scree. Then he disappeared beyond the rise into the creek basin.

  Lauren’s heart hammered in her ears. What was he finding by the creek? Her imagination conjured images of blood and death, but she squashed the useless speculation. A long minute ticked past. Her feet itched to move—to do anything but stand in the shadows. The walls of the two houses seemed to be closing in on her. Even the dreary sky seemed to be pressing down on her head.

  “Lauren! I’ve found them. Come quickly!”

  Her heart leaped at Kent’s yell, rendered faint by distance. She started to step forward, but the world went dark as a nasty-smelling blanket settled over her head, followed by a pair of powerful arms girdling her trunk and clamping her arms against her sides. A yelp left her throat, muffled by the rough cloth. The arms squeezed with the strength of a bear. She couldn’t fit a breath in her lungs. Her ribs creaked.

  This is it, God? I’m going to be squeezed to death by a human python?

  Not without a fight, she wasn’t. She struggled and kicked, but her attacker lifted her feet off the ground, slammed her to the earth facedown, and landed on top of her. This guy wasn’t just a bear; he was a moose. Her whole body was covered by his. She couldn’t move more than a pinky finger. Bile choked her. Dizziness swamped her brain.

  Garbled words rasped in her ear, but she couldn’t make out their meaning.

  “Wha-wha—?” she croaked, not managing to make any more sense than her assailant.

  The man let out more guttural noises that strove to form into words, but came short.

  “Lauren?... Lauren?” Kent’s voice sounded nearer each time he spoke her name.

  The weight suddenly lifted off her, and heavy footfalls faded in retreat. Lauren lay frozen, breathing in ragged gasps. She had to get this stinking blanket off her head, but her trembling limbs refused to cooperate.

  “Lauren!”

  Kent was here. His voice shot life into her, and she struggled to her knees, flailing against her shroud. Then it was gone—plucked from her—and the smoky pine scent of Kent’s clothing filled her nostrils as he knelt with her, and she buried her head in his shoulder. They seemed to be making a habit of this position, but it was a nice habit. One she could get used to.

  “What happened?” He stroked her hair, and a pleasurable shiver ran through her. “Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine. It was him! The mystery dweller.”

  Kent pressed her away from him. Oh, how she wanted to cling, but she didn’t. Her arms fell to her sides.

  “Which way did he go?” Kent’s gaze looked beyond her.

  Limp and weak, Lauren motioned back the way they had come between the two houses.

  “I have to see if I can catch him.” Kent leaped to his feet. “Head for the creek. You’re needed there.”

  Then he was gone. A familiar ache spread from her core into every extremity. Abandoned again. Stupid thought, but emotions weren’t rational. Of course, Kent had to go after the guy that was a danger to them all. It was unreasonable of her to expect him to stay by her side. She was a big girl. Yes, she was.

  Lauren struggled to her feet, knees wobbly. Leaning against the wall beside her, she drew in deep breaths and let them out slowly. The blanket that her attacker had used lay crumpled against the foundation of the other house. It appeared to be made of some rough, rust-red-and-dirty-white-striped cloth. Probably a horse blanket, if the sweaty animal smell was any indication. It wasn’t all that large, but it was thick. Probably why she’d had difficulty breathing with it over her head.

  Had the guy intended to kill her? Smother her to death or maybe dispatch her with a knife or some other weapon? There had been no indication of a weapon in the brief encounter, but that didn’t mean her attacker hadn’t been armed with more than a blanket. Then again, maybe he’d only wanted to talk to her. Funny way to begin a conversation. Besides, the guy seemed to have problems communicating. A speech impediment? Or maybe her attacker’s objective was to frighten her out of her mind. In that, he’d succeeded. But why? What had he hoped to accomplish?

  Lauren began moving toward the creek,
slowly, then faster and faster. She was needed. That was what Kent had said. She could share her thoughts about the attack with him when they were together again. Provided the hostile inhabitant of Trouble Creek didn’t hurt him. Not likely. Kent Garland was a force to be reckoned with. He’d proven that much. Besides, she needed him to be okay. No, they all needed him to be okay. There was nothing personal about her concern for his safety. Nothing personal at all.

  Sure, and the sun rises in the west, a little voice taunted in her head. She told it to hush up as she half walked, half slid down an embankment to the edge of the creek below.

  “Neil? Phil?” she called.

  “We’re over here!” Neil’s cry sent her upstream toward a bend in the water that disappeared around a clump of pines.

  Lauren hurried on, hopping over and around rocks dotting the bank. Here, the creek was about twenty feet across and sparkling clear straight to its stony bottom, except in a darker middle section maybe six feet wide where a fast current must have dug a deeper trench.

  She rounded the bend and stopped short. Ahead lay a wooden dam with a wide pond beyond it. The work of beavers? Made sense in this mountain wilderness. Considerable water spilled over the dam, but it held firm. She’d read somewhere that beavers built strong and to last.

  Movement caught her eye. There, by the bank of the pond, a pair of figures huddled—one wiry, the other doughy. One of Phil’s legs was stretched out straight, and the foot disappeared into the water. He clutched the thigh of that leg with both hands. His moans carried to her as she drew closer. Both faces gazed up at her as if her very presence might instantly deliver them from whatever problem they faced. Phil’s was puffy and moist with tears or sweat or both, mouth twisted in a fixed grimace. Neil’s was white and strained, mouth pressed into a thin line.

  “What seems to be the prob—” Her words halted as her gaze found Phil’s submerged foot.

  The clear water did nothing to hide the chain that held him fast by metal jaws clamped around his foot.