by Rachel Grant
Most important, a crystal-clear mountain stream flowed ten yards away.
Shelter and water would get her and the injured man through the coming cold night.
She always carried the ten essentials and then some in her pack, so she had emergency rations to see her through the next twenty-four hours. Of course, if the man woke and was hungry, she’d run out of food much sooner. But then, if he woke, he could walk his own sorry ass out of the woods.
She settled him on the wooden floor in front of the hearth, still strapped to the travois, then went to the stream to refill her water bottle. She splashed the chilly water on her face, overheated from the exertion of dragging a two-hundred-plus-pound man nearly a mile across hilly terrain.
Her shoulders burned, her knees ached, and her head throbbed with dehydration. She dropped a purification tablet into her water bottle but only waited a minute of the required thirty for the purification to take effect. She’d take her chances.
The water was crisp, cold, and tasted like iodine, but it was still the most refreshing drink she’d had in forever.
It was now after eight, long past the time she should have called the office to let them know she’d completed her survey for the day. Would anyone notice she’d failed to call in? Would anyone in the DNR office care if they did notice?
She pulled out her phone and typed out a quick text message. It failed to send; not enough signal. She’d expected that but knew there were places on the compound where the signal was too weak for voice calls, but texts still went through. She believed Vincent’s last text message had been sent from such a place. For that reason, she always sent herself a text when she managed to stray onto a new area of Raptor land.
A noise in the woods—a stick cracking as if it had been stepped on?—startled her. She set down her phone and reached for the bear spray.
What the hell was she doing? The wind was kicking up as evening settled in, and she was stuck in the woods in one of the most remote forests in the United States. Worse, she was trespassing on the primary training ground of a paramilitary mercenary organization—which happened to be the one place on earth she was forbidden by court order from entering—and she had an injured stranger to watch over. Her first aid skills were rudimentary at best, and she didn’t even know if the man was worth saving.
She studied the woods beyond the stream. Porcupine, wolf, caribou, bear, or any of a dozen other animals could have caused the sound. But there was also the chance it was a human predator.
It was a few weeks before the fall equinox, so even though the sun would set in a few hours, it wouldn’t get completely dark, which meant if she built a fire in the hearth—and a clogged chimney didn’t smoke them out—the smoke would be visible to anyone searching the area.
Which meant she couldn’t build a fire for warmth, no matter how cold it got.
She toyed with the idea of leaving the man here and going straight to her truck. By herself, she could make it in two and a half hours. Three at most.
Isabel tucked her water bottle into the side pocket of her pack and stood with the bear spray still in her hand. Her knees wobbled, weak from the exertion of dragging the man through the woods. No way could she hike another six miles tonight. She’d go back inside the cabin, get out of the chill wind, check on the man, and rest for a few hours. She needed sleep. When her brain was clear and her head didn’t throb so much, she’d be able to figure out what to do.
It had taken all of Alec’s will to feign unconsciousness when he first came to as he was being dragged across jagged ground. His head hurt like hell, and he couldn’t open one eye.
Who was pulling him? Where were they taking him?
How had he gotten here to begin with?
He thought back, trying to remember. He wasn’t in Maryland. He’d gone on a business trip. Not for the campaign. It was Raptor business.
Where?
Not Hawaii.
Alaska. Yeah. Alaska. He peeked through one slitted eye and glimpsed a blurry forest canopy.
Definitely Alaska.
The compound was set to reopen. Next week.
That’s right, I’m here to oversee the first training.
How long had he been here?
One day.
Had he even gone to the compound yet?
He didn’t remember being there. He’d had a meeting scheduled, a one-on-one with Nicole, followed by a meeting with Falcon Team.
He remembered arriving in Fairbanks and driving south. And…that was it. Nothing after that. One moment he was driving, the next he was here, being dragged through the woods, none too gently.
His captor stopped at several points, but he didn’t dare open his good eye when he was lowered to the ground. His one advantage was the fact that his captor had no clue he was conscious. It slowly dawned on him that his abductor was a woman, identifying the grunts and groans and curses as she struggled to haul his deadweight as that of a woman’s voice.
What the hell?
Why was a woman hauling him through the woods? Why had she attacked him to begin with?
How had she attacked him?
The throbbing in his head told him whatever she’d done, it had been effective.
Tied down and being dragged, this wasn’t the time for him to make a move. He’d wait, bide his time. Strike when just the thought of moving didn’t make him want to vomit.
At last she dropped him inside a small, ancient, rotting cabin, and stepped outside. Once he was certain he was alone, he gingerly moved his arms and legs. No problem there. He turned his head. The room swam and nausea rose, but he could do it.
He felt at the ropes. He was tied to a tarp on a tree-branch frame. Clever. But she’d made a mistake. His hands, while bound, weren’t immobilized. It didn’t take much effort for him to slide free of the binding at his belt and work the knots that secured him to the travois until he’d freed himself.
Slowly, he rose, his balance wobbly, like a damn newborn colt, but again, he could do it.
“You sonofabitch! You made me drag you a mile when you could walk the whole time?”
Dammit! He’d been so focused on getting upright, he hadn’t heard her approach. His Ranger buddies would laugh their asses off over this fuckup.
To hell with the throbbing in his head. This wasn’t a time to hesitate. This was a time to fight through the nausea and pain. He lunged for her, grabbing her by the throat.
It didn’t matter that she was a woman. No room for mercy given what she’d done to him.
She screamed, but the sound cut off as his grip tightened.
Blinding pain seared his good eye. His lungs burned. Then she landed a blow to his nuts. He released her, falling backward.
He doubled over and tried not to puke.
Chapter Two
Isabel kept the bear spray out, ready to zap the bastard a second time should he so much as twitch in her direction. He’d been so close to her, she’d gotten a whiff of the painful pepper and struggled to get air into her burning lungs. She should have gone for the gun, but at least the spray—combined with her knee to his balls—had been effective.
“I should have left you in the woods to die,” she said, after she was able to breathe again. Her voice shook. Badly.
She’d been a fool to rescue him. She could have hiked back to her car, called 9-1-1, and gone home for the night. If she’d done the smart thing, she’d be in the Tamarack Roadhouse right now enjoying a beer with Nicole.
Instead she was six miles from nowhere stuck in a rotting cabin with a man who’d just tried to kill her. She rubbed her throat. She bruised easily, and this was likely to be an ugly one.
“Who the hell are you?” she choked out.
“Right.” He coughed and struggled to breathe. “As if”—another cough—“you don’t know.”
“I found you five miles deep in the Tanana Valley State Forest. You were beat to hell and don’t have ID on you. I have no frigging clue who you are.”
He’d roll
ed onto his back on the uneven floor, just a few feet from the travois where she’d originally left him. Slowly, his coughing abated, and he took in deep, wheezing breaths. After several minutes, he cocked his head toward her and squinted, then swore. Squinting must have caused the pepper to burn his eye again. “Do you have pepper spray wipes, so I can clean my eye?”
“Are you going to try to strangle me again?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then no.”
He turned his face toward the ceiling, keeping both eyes closed. “Who are you? Why did you drag me here? Are you working for Stimson?”
Stimson? What was he talking about?
The sun had dropped behind a ridge, and the inside of the cabin was dark, shadowy. Some of the welts had subsided, and she could only see the good side of his face, without the swollen eye. For the first time, she saw his profile without being distracted by welts, bruises, or blood.
She knew who Stimson was, and suddenly this man’s profile was familiar. Stimson was the hint she’d needed.
Dread washed through her, causing her to suck in a sharp breath. Instinctively, she scooted backward, increasing the distance between them until her back hit the log wall. “Holy shit. You’re Alec Ravissant.”
Alec forced his burning eye open to get a good look at her face. Her shock appeared real. But he didn’t know her. She could be an excellent actress. But he had nothing to gain by not playing along, and maybe if he pretended to believe her, she’d let her guard down. He could take her out and make a break for it.
Hard to believe he’d been taken down by this woman, who didn’t appear to be an operative of any sort. From the weapons on her belt and her heavy backpack, he’d guess she was some sort of forest ranger. Except she wasn’t in uniform. Maybe she was a hiking guide?
Christ, he was a frigging Army Ranger and he’d been beaten and abducted by a woman half his size? She must have had help. He couldn’t imagine any scenario where she’d have been able to overpower him.
Except she just had.
Well, he was wounded already, she’d hit him with bear spray, and she’d had an open shot at the family jewels.
But how had she taken him down the first time? Maybe her car had been broken down by the side of the road, and he pulled over to help her? Vision in the one eye sucked, but he could still see she was pretty enough. She looked almost fragile with sweet, delicate features and full lips. He could have been a fool who fell for the oldest trick in the book—damsel in distress who didn’t know spark plug from dipstick.
Well, it was clear he was the dipstick for underestimating her—twice. He wouldn’t make that mistake a third time. “Yeah. That’s me. Alec Ravissant, at your service.” He again shifted to his back and closed his eyes.
Something plunked on the wood floor. From the sound, the object was moving closer. He cracked the one good eye open and turned his head to the side. Her lightweight aluminum water bottle slowly rolled toward him.
“It’s water from the stream,” she said. “I used a purification tablet, but given how cold the stream water is, it hasn’t been long enough to eliminate giardia or cryptosporidium. Also, don’t drink it if you’re allergic to iodine.”
He sat up and took the bottle. The room lurched again, but not as much as it had the first time. Condensation had built up on the battered metal cylinder. He pressed it against his swollen eye. The cold eased the pressure in his head just a tiny fraction, and even that small bit was a huge relief. “Thanks. I’ll take my chances with the crypto.”
He opened the bottle and first poured a small amount of cold water over both eyes, then downed half the bottle in one long drink.
“Finish it,” she said. “I have plenty of purification tablets.” She rummaged in her pack and tossed something else in his direction. Lightweight, the item landed in the no-man’s-land midway between them. “That’s a pepper spray wipe. For your eye.”
“Thanks,” he said again. He slowly scooted toward the packet, being careful not to make any sudden moves to startle her. It hadn’t escaped his attention that she kept one hand on the canister at her belt. The wipe removed the burning oil from his skin, and at last he could really see again. He splashed more water on his swollen eye and was able to open it a bit as well. With some ibuprofen for the swelling and pain, he might be fit for human company. “Do you have any ibuprofen?”
“Yes. And I can make a cold compress—with stream water—for your eye as well. I have an emergency cold pack, but we should save it. The stream water is cold enough.” She paused and studied him. “If you roll the water bottle to me, I’ll toss you the ibuprofen, then go to the stream to refill the bottle.”
It was a fair prisoner exchange, especially since he didn’t have anything else to trade. But it was going to be a long-ass night if they both had to stay awake in an Enemy at the Gates sort of standoff.
He rolled the water bottle toward her, and she tossed him a pill pack. After extracting his promise not to follow her outside, she took her backpack and left him to get more water.
He didn’t have much choice but to make that promise, and he would even keep it, although she was a fool for trusting him with nothing more than his word. As soon as he got his various aches under control, he’d turn his brain to seriously considering the matter of who she was and what she wanted from him. But right now, every time he started to follow that line of thought, his physical needs—splitting headache, near-blindness, what have you—took over and demanded attention.
And he still had no clue how he’d gotten into this situation.
Isabel returned to the cabin, relieved to see he’d kept his word and hadn’t moved from his ceded territory in the small, rectangular room. He had the back half; she’d taken the front. At least she had the only door. But she also had the broken window. Her territory would be colder.
She shivered as she stepped inside and pushed the heavy door closed. The swollen wood dragged against the floor, scraping off a layer of rotting timber. That the cabin was still standing was a testament to old-growth trees. The logs were so thick, the cabin would last another hundred years before it faded from existence. Then the only evidence a cabin had once stood here would be a moss-covered river-rock chimney tower, standing as proudly as its white spruce neighbors.
The wind had kicked up substantially, and she was chilled from those few minutes outside. Thank goodness they had four walls and a roof, because there was no way in hell she could share her emergency shelter tube tent with Alec Ravissant. The man was an injured bear with opposable thumbs, and he believed she was the person who’d beat the crap out of him.
As if she could take down a former Ranger like him all by herself. If he hadn’t been hit so hard in the head, he might see how ridiculous the idea was. But then, maybe he did see and assumed she had an accomplice.
The problem was, if he knew her name, he’d never believe she was innocent. Her name would only convince him of her guilt. She had, after all, declared it her life’s mission to get his precious compound shut down. And she’d succeeded—even if only temporarily.
Now it was about to reopen again, and he could easily assume this situation was her last desperate act to prevent the trainings from resuming.
She did have a beef with the man and the compound, but beating and abduction was a tad far-fetched, even for her.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
Evasive answers would only make him suspicious. Lying was her only option. “Jenna,” she said, thinking of a server at the Tamarack Roadhouse.
“Jenna what?” he persisted.
“Hayes,” she said without hesitation. Hayes was her mother’s maiden name and Isabel’s middle name. Even if Alec Ravissant had read the most detailed dossier on her, he wasn’t likely to remember that detail or, if he did, make the connection now.
“What were you doing—five miles, you say?—deep in the woods, when you found me?”
This was tricky. She couldn’t admit to being an archaeologist,
because odds were, he would make that connection. Most non-archaeologists didn’t know a ton of archaeologists in their day-to-day lives, and whenever she mentioned her profession to someone, they immediately told her about every archaeologist they’d ever met or heard rumors about. But if she said she was just out on a day hike for fun, she had a feeling that would raise his suspicions even further. Few people hiked in bear country alone for fun.
Hell, few people hiked alone in bear country for work. Isabel was unique in that way. Her bosses didn’t mind because it was cheaper to pay one person to survey rather than two—but she’d had to sign a dozen different release forms before they’d allowed it—and she didn’t mind because being alone meant she had the freedom to stray onto Raptor land to look for the cave Vincent had told her about. If she could find the cave, she could prove his death was no accident.
Her brother had been murdered on Raptor land, by Raptor operatives. His death had been ruled a training accident, but what she knew of the incident, and what Vin had told her in his emails in the months before his death, didn’t add up, and she believed the wounded man lying on the floor eight feet away may well have covered up Vin’s murder.
“I’m waiting, Jenna.”
Pushy bastard. For someone who’d been beat to hell and who probably couldn’t take her in a staring match right now, he sure sounded confident. “I’m a geologist. I work for the Alaska Department of Natural Resources. There have been reports of poaching on some DNR mining claims.” This was true; it just hadn’t happened in this part of the forest.
“You were out looking for poachers alone?”
“No. I was looking for evidence of poaching, signs of recent digging and minerals taken. I didn’t expect to run into anyone. But I found you.”
“And you thought I was a poacher?”
“No. If I had, I wouldn’t have dragged you here. I’d have left your sorry ass to die and returned to the office.”
“Why didn’t you think I was a poacher?”
“Your clothes. You’re wearing slacks, and mineral thieves don’t wear button-down, going-to-business-meeting shirts. But the kicker is your shoes. Any man who planned to walk this deep in the forest would wear a decent pair of hiking boots. Those shoes”—she twisted her lips in derision—“probably cost four times what my hiking boots cost, and they’ll fall apart at the first drop of rain. Forget hiking across a glacier in them. Or, better yet, sell tickets. I’d pay good money to watch you ruin designer shoes and break your ass traversing a glacier in your metrosexual lame excuse for footwear.”