by Cassie Miles
The blizzard had dwindled to a sputtering of snow, but the skies were still blanketed with heavy gray clouds. Cole joined her on the porch and held up his cell phone.
“Still no signal,” he said.
“We shouldn’t have to go too far.” She pointed with her gloved hand toward a break in the trees. “It looks like a road up there. There ought to be other cabins. We should be able to find somebody with a working phone.”
From inside the cabin, Frank yelled out a curse at Cole and threatened revenge. His voice was hoarse and rasping. She knew they couldn’t trust Frank but felt guilty for leaving him tied to the bed.
As Cole fastened the broken front door closed with a bungee cord, she asked, “We’re going to get help for Frank, aren’t we?”
“When we talk to the cops, we’ll give them the location of this cabin. Frank won’t be happy about being rescued and arrested at the same time.”
“I almost feel sorry for him.”
“Don’t.”
Before they’d left the cabin, she’d made a final check on Frank’s wounds. The bleeding had stopped, and he wasn’t in imminent danger. Though the cabin wasn’t cold, he’d told her that he was freezing and asked her to cover him up with his parka. She figured it was the least she could do for him.
She fell into step behind Cole. The oversize backpack on his shoulders blocked the wind. Though this area had been sheltered from the full force of the storm by trees, the new-fallen snow was well over her boots—probably a foot deep. On the north side of the cabin, the drifts reached all the way to the windowsill.
Cole led the way to a log structure that looked like a garage. He shoved the door open and ushered her inside.
“Which do you prefer?” he asked. “Cross-country skis or snowshoes?”
“What are you thinking?” He claimed to be one of the good guys but he acted like a thief. “We can’t just walk in here and help ourselves. We’ve already destroyed the front door on the cabin, made a mess and eaten their food.”
“Don’t worry. It hasn’t escaped my attention that this well-equipped little cabin saved our lives. I fully intend to pay the owners back.”
“Did you leave a note?”
“It kind of defeats the purpose of being undercover if I start handing out my address.”
“How about money?” she demanded. “Did you leave cash?”
“I’m sending people back here for Frank. If I left cash, somebody else would pick it up. Don’t worry, I’ll pay for the damages.”
In an unconscious gesture, he patted the left side of his jacket then pulled his hand away. She was beginning to understand the sneaky undercover side to his personality. Every twitch had a meaning. She asked, “What’s in your pocket? Are you hiding something from me?”
“Do you have to know everything?”
“Yes.”
“Fine,” he said. “I’ve got nothing in my pocket, but there’s a pouch with cash, a switchblade and a new identity sewn into the lining.”
“Impressive.”
“In spite of this disaster, I’m good at my job. The hardest part of an undercover op is getting out in one piece.” He sorted through the array of skis and snowshoes. “What’s best for moving through the snow?”
She still didn’t want to steal the equipment. If somebody took her cross-country skis, she’d be furious. “Why can’t we just hike up to the road? Even if it hasn’t been cleared recently, the snowplows will be coming through.”
“We aren’t taking the road.”
“Why not?”
He held a set of snowshoes toward her. “The shooters—whether they’re FBI or Baron’s men—are going to be looking for us.”
His gaze met hers. Even in the dark garage, she could see his tension. If they were found, they’d be killed. Normal rules of conduct didn’t apply. She pulled off her gloves and took the snowshoes.
Chapter Nine
After a bit of trial and error, Cole figured out how to walk in the snowshoes with minimal tripping over his own feet. Even using the ski poles for balance, he’d fallen twice.
From behind his back, Rachel called out, “You’re getting the hang of it. Don’t try to go backward.”
He muttered, “It’s like I’ve got tennis rackets strapped to my shoes.”
“That’s still better than plowing through two feet of new snow.”
Or not. The winter sports he enjoyed involved speed—racing across open terrain on a snowmobile, streaking down a slope on downhill skis or a snowboard. A clumsy slog through deep snow was the opposite of fun—another reason to hate Colorado. After last night’s blizzard, he’d lost any appreciation he might have had for the scenic beauty of a winter wonderland. All this pristine whiteness depressed the hell out of him. Never again would he take an undercover assignment in the mountains. A tropical jungle filled with snakes and man-eating lions would be preferable.
Though they weren’t on the road, he stayed on a trail through the forest that ran parallel to it. The worst thing that could happen now was to get lost in this unpopulated back country. They’d been hiking on snowshoes for nearly half an hour—long enough for him to freeze the tip of his nose—and they still hadn’t sighted a cabin.
The dawn light was beginning to brighten, and the snowfall lacked the fury of the blizzard. On the opposite side of the road, he could see the outline of a tall ridge through the icy mist. What lay beyond? He’d lost all sense of direction.
“Hold up.” He laboriously maneuvered his snowshoes to face Rachel. “Do you have any idea where we are?”
“Let me check my GPS. Oh, wait, I don’t have a GPS. Or a map. Or a satellite photo.”
He preferred her snarky attitude to fear. It was better for her not to know how much danger they might be in. “I want to get a general idea. When I picked you up, what was the closest town?”
“We were near Shadow Mountain Lake. There are a couple of resorts there but nothing resembling a town until Grand Lake.”
“In terms of miles, how far?”
With her glove, she brushed a dusting of snow off her shoulder. “Hard to say. As the crow flies, only about five miles or so. But none of these roads are straight lines.”
They could be winding back and forth for hours and making very little progress. “I hate mountains.”
“A typical comment from a Southern California boy.”
“Yeah? What have you got against palm trees and beaches?”
“Real men live in the mountains.”
Though tempted to yank her into his arms and show her that he was a real man, he took his cell phone out of his pocket. Miracle of miracles, he had a signal!
“What is it?” Rachel asked.
“The phone works. Finally.” He peeled off his glove, accessed his directory and called Agent Ted Waxman in Los Angeles. California was an hour earlier and it was before seven o’clock here, but his primary FBI handler was available to him 24/7.
Waxman’s mumbled hello made Cole think the agent was still in bed, warm and cozy under the covers.
“It’s Cole. I need to come in from the cold. Literally.”
“Where are you?” Waxman’s voice had gone from drowsy to alert. “Do you have your GPS locator turned on?”
He wanted to believe he could trust Waxman. They weren’t buddies; undercover agents didn’t spend much face time inside the bureau offices. But Waxman had been his primary contact for almost four years.
Cole’s phone didn’t have much juice; he didn’t waste words. “Give me an update. Fast.”
“Turn on the GPS and go to a road,” Waxman instructed. “We’ll find you.”
His suspicions about Agent Wayne Prescott and his possible involvement with the shooters from last night warned against giving away their location. “Who’s looking for us?”
“Every law enforcement official in the state of Colorado, especially the FBI.”
“Why? Give me the 4-1-1. What’s going on?”
His pause spoke volumes. Waxm
an was a by-the-book agent who followed orders and trusted the system. If he’d been given instructions to withhold info, it would go against his nature to disobey. At the same time, he was Cole’s handler, and it was his duty to protect his agent.
“Turn yourself in,” Waxman said, “and we’ll get this straightened out.”
Turn myself in? That sounded like he was wanted for committing a crime. “The last time I contacted anybody was after the casino robbery. Prescott told me to stick with the gang. What’s changed since then?”
Another pause. “Activate the damn GPS, Cole.”
While he was at it, maybe he ought to paint a bull’s-eye on his back. “Give me a reason.”
“Don’t play dumb with me. Three people are dead. And you’re on the run with two of the gang members. You’re considered to be armed and dangerous.”
That description justified the use of lethal force in making an arrest. Cole saw their chances of a peaceful surrender disappearing. “Two other gang members?”
“One male and one female.”
Somehow Rachel had been labeled as part of the gang. “You’ve got that wrong. The woman with me is—”
“Damn it, Cole. You kidnapped a baby.”
The worst kind of crime. Violence against children. Cole was in even more trouble than he’d imagined. “Here’s the true story. I’m close to identifying Baron, and he’s running this show. Don’t ask me how, but he’s got people inside the Denver FBI office.”
“A newborn infant.” Waxman’s voice rasped with anger. “You’re using a baby as a hostage.”
There would be no reasoning with him. Cole ended the call and turned off the phone, making sure the GPS wasn’t on.
Rachel stared at him. Her eyes filled with questions. He didn’t have the answers she’d want to hear.
* * *
RACHEL LISTENED WITH RISING DREAD as Cole recounted his conversation with Agent Waxman. They were the subjects of a manhunt? Considered to be dangerous? The FBI thought they had kidnapped Goldie?
“No,” she said firmly. “People around here know me. They’d know those accusations are wrong. As soon as they heard my name—”
“It’s not likely that they’ve identified you.”
“If they show my picture—”
“They won’t.”
In normal circumstances, she’d be missed at work. But this was her vacation; nobody would be looking for her. “The van,” she said. “When I don’t return the van to the clinic, the women I work with will know that something’s wrong. I can contact them and get this all cleared up.”
“Not a good idea.”
“Why not?”
His face was drawn. His eyes were serious. “You saw what those men did last night at the house. It’s best if we don’t get anyone else involved.”
“Are you saying that they’d go after my friends? My coworkers?”
“Not if they don’t know anything.”
She’d been cut off from anything resembling her normal life. The only person she could turn to was Cole, and she barely trusted him. “What’s going to happen to Goldie?”
“We need to get her to a safe place. If we can find a cabin with reliable people, we’ll leave her in their care.”
She peered through the trees at the surrounding hillsides, which were buried in drifts and veiled in light snowfall. “We can turn ourselves in at the same time.”
“It’s not safe for us to be in custody. Not until we know who’s working with Baron.”
Inside her parka, she felt Goldie shift positions. The most important thing was to get the baby to safety. “Grand Lake. We need to go to Grand Lake. Penny told me that her mother was staying there. We’ll take Goldie to her grandmother.”
Cole reached out with his gloved hand and patted her shoulder. “You’re a brave woman, Rachel. I’m sorry I got you into this mess.”
“As long as you get me out of it, I’ll be fine.” She nodded toward the path ahead of them. “Make tracks.”
She followed him, tramping through the snow on the path through the forest. The crampons on the snowshoes gave her stability, but the hike was exhausting. Though she couldn’t see the incline, she knew they were headed uphill because of the strain on her thighs. Still, she was glad for the physical exertion. If she slowed down, she’d have to face her fear.
As an EMT, she’d worked with cops. She knew what “armed and dangerous” meant. She and Cole wouldn’t have a chance to explain or defend themselves. The people looking for them would shoot first and ask questions later.
They approached a crossroads with open terrain on each side. The road was barely discernable under the mounds of snow, but a wooden street sign marked the corner.
Cole halted and squinted at the sign. “The road we’re on is Lodgepole. The other is Lake Vista. Ring any bells?”
“Please don’t ask me for directions.” Grand County was huge, nearly two thousand square miles. Her condo was in Granby, which was forty-five minutes away from here. “I don’t know this territory. I’ve only been to Grand Lake five or six times.”
He looked over his shoulder at her. “It makes sense that the Lake Vista road will lead to water. We’d be more likely to find cabins at lakeside.”
“But the other road goes uphill,” she pointed out. “It offers a better vantage point.”
She tilted back her head, looked up and glimpsed a hint of blue through the pale gray clouds. Good news: the snowfall was ending. Bad news: they were more exposed to the people who were searching for them.
“Do you hear that?” Cole asked.
“What?”
He sidestepped deeper into the forest. “Get back here.”
Though she didn’t hear anything, she did as he said, remembering how he’d sensed the attack at the house before the shooting started. She shuffled forward, taking cover behind the trunk of the same tree he stood behind.
Cole shifted his feet in the snowshoes so he was facing her. Quickly, he shed the huge backpack from his shoulders and moved closer to her.
She heard the sound of a vehicle. They were coming.
A black SUV crested the hill above the crossroads and ploughed a trail through the snow that covered the road. There were no markings on the vehicle; it wasn’t a police car. She held her breath, waiting for them to pass.
The SUV drove past them, headed toward the cabin.
Cole took his cell phone from his pocket. Quickly, he dialed.
She heard his end of the conversation. “Waxman, this is Cole. There’s a wounded man in a cabin on Lodgepole Road. He’s tied down, helpless. The cabin isn’t far from the house where we stayed last night.”
He ended the call and put away his phone.
If the men in the SUV were the same shooters who attacked last night, Frank didn’t stand a chance. Last night, she’d patched him up. Today, he could be murdered.
When she looked up at Cole, she felt a tear slip from the corner of her eye. “I wish things were different.”
“There’s nothing we can do for Frank.” With his ungloved hand, he stroked her cheek and wiped away the tear. “They’re close, Rachel. They’ll be able to follow our tracks through the woods. We need to move fast.”
There was no time for regret or recrimination. All her energy focused on pushing forward. They stayed in the trees, avoiding the road, but the forest was beginning to thin. Many of these trees had been lost to the pine beetle epidemic. The bare branches looked like gnarled fingers clawing at the snowy mist.
Rounding a boulder, Cole stopped so suddenly that she almost ran into him. She peered around his shoulder and saw the frozen expanse of Shadow Mountain Lake. Untouched, white and spectacularly beautiful, it was covered with snow, and the drifts swirled like vanilla frosting on a cake. Heavy clouds prevented her from seeing all the way to the opposite side.
“How wide is the lake?” Cole asked.
“It varies.”
“How far from the town?”
“At the north end,
it’s only about a mile and a half farther to Grand Lake.”
“If we cross it, we’ve got no cover,” he said. “But we’re running out of path. As soon as they pick up our trail, they’ll know we’re following the road.”
She assumed the lake was frozen solid, but she didn’t know for sure. If they broke through the ice, it would be over for them. And for Goldie. She imagined the dark, frigid waters beneath the pristine surface—waters that could suck them down to a terrible death.
Cole made a turn-around on his snowshoes and looked down at her. His eyes were warm. “We can do this.”
“Or we could keep looking for a cabin.” Hiking through a blizzard was one thing. Walking on a frozen lake—even when it appeared to be solid—was a risk. “I’m not sure this is safe.”
“It’s our best chance, Rachel.”
He was right. She swallowed hard and nodded. “You go first.”
They climbed down the incline leading to the frozen lake. As Cole stepped onto the surface, his snowshoes sank three or four inches into the snow. She clenched her jaw and listened for the cracking sound of ice breaking.
He strode ten feet onto the lake, breaking a path for her to follow. He turned back toward her and held out his gloved hand. “It’s all going to be all right.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m taking a leap of faith.”
Cautiously, she stepped onto the lake. The snow sank beneath her snowshoes, and she caught her breath. Was it solid? Would it hold?
Cole caught hold of her gloved hand and squeezed. “Stay close.”
“Do I have a choice?”
Lowering her head, she concentrated on putting her shoes in his tracks. One foot after the other, she followed. With every step, she prayed that the ice would hold.
For what seemed like an eternity, they made their way forward. Without the shelter of the forest, the fierce wind bit the exposed skin on her face. Inside her parka, she was warm. Goldie was protected by her body heat.
“I can see the other side,” Cole said.
Looking back over her shoulder, she saw the long trail they’d left in the snow. The point where they’d started was barely visible through the snowy mist.