by Jean Thomas
Bending over the body, he quickly dipped his hands into several pockets until he found what he wanted. It was after he helped himself to the two spare clips for the automatic and stood erect again that, FBI special agent that he was, he was unable to prevent the realization that flashed through his mind.
The United States or Canada, it didn’t matter. This was a crime scene, which sooner or later would require an investigation.
What a hell of a time to be thinking of something like this.
What he should think about, and immediately did, was the blood soaking through his pant leg, dripping on the floor. He didn’t believe the bullet had lodged in his thigh. It was a flesh wound, but if he didn’t curb the flow of blood he’d never manage to overtake Eve and her captor.
Freeing the scarf from around his neck, Sam bound his leg tightly above the wound. He’d probably have to loosen the tourniquet from time to time to maintain circulation. That the injury was hurting now like the devil didn’t matter. He could, and would, withstand the pain.
Spare clips in a pocket of his open coat, pistol thrust into his belt, he headed swiftly back to the porch. He couldn’t have been gone more than a moment or two, but Eve and her captor were already rounding the shoreline, headed along the sandy beach in the direction of the landslide stretched across the river.
Sam took off after them.
Good girl, he silently congratulated her.
Thanks to Eve, he was beginning to close the gap between them. She was making it as difficult as possible for her captor, slowing them down by stumbling over bits of driftwood and exposed rocks, pausing to recover her balance or catch her breath.
She might be buying herself time, but it wasn’t because she had any knowledge that Sam was behind them. Not when he was careful to keep out of sight, hugging the edge of the woods. Ducking behind the nearest tree whenever her captor looked nervously over his shoulder, which was happening more frequently.
He must be wondering why his partner hadn’t caught up to them, Sam thought. Eve must be wondering, too—that and whether Sam was dead. She had to be damn scared.
Hold on, Eve. I’m coming.
But not fast enough. The wound in his thigh was burning like hell, bleeding through the scarf to leave a trail of drops behind him. He could ignore both the pain and the seeping blood but not the need to stop periodically to loosen the tourniquet whenever his leg started to go numb on him.
It seemed to take forever for the three of them to near the landslide. Close enough now for Sam to hear a low, ominous rumble behind the barrier. The broken ice on the river, he thought.
The ice, together with the rising waters, were piling up on the other side of the dam. And the gap on the left side, now even more tightly plugged with ice chunks than before, didn’t seem to be relieving the mounting pressure. Either the blocked river would spill over the top, or the force of it would tear the whole thing wide open.
And just where did that sonofabitch think he was taking Eve?
Sam watched in anger and disbelief as the butt of the rifle prodded her up the rough, uneven side of the landslide. Her captor was forcing her to the crown of the barrier, presumably intending for them to cross the ridge to the other side. The chopper had to be waiting there, out of sight behind the high, steep embankment that contained the river.
It was a risky undertaking, growing more dangerous by the second. Because the landslide was trembling like a live thing, shaken by ice and waters determined to penetrate it. And what could Sam do to stop them?
Limping seriously now, he knew his leg would never permit him to climb the ridge after them. Not when he was starting to feel light-headed from loss of blood.
Come on, McDonough, do something before you end up passing out.
They were on top of the earthen bridge now. At this distance the pistol would be no match for that rifle. But if he could use it to distract the thug long enough, it might give Eve a chance to escape.
There was an uprooted tree beside him. It would serve as an adequate cover. Flopping down on his belly behind a mass of roots, taking no chance on a bullet striking Eve, he deliberately aimed the automatic wide and fired off several shots in quick succession.
His ruse had the desired effect. The burly enemy, a bearded, mean-faced brute, whipped around, blasting the rifle repeatedly in Sam’s direction. Flattening himself, he swore he could hear the bullets whistling over his head.
When he risked looking up again, he saw that Eve must have understood his action with the pistol, realized he was here behind the fallen tree. To his satisfaction, she was backing slowly away from her captor.
Knowing he had to keep the other man pinned there long enough for her to get to safety, Sam answered his fire. The landslide was bucking so violently now that, although the rifle split the air again, its aim was useless.
And then it didn’t matter. Neither the rifle nor the brute struggling to steady it against his shoulder were any longer a threat. Nature, not to be resisted, decided the outcome. With a tremendous roar, driven by a savage power that had all the elements of an earthquake, the barrier collapsed.
The flood of water it released, carrying blocks of ice and debris with it, along with Victor DeMarco’s henchman, swept into the lake. Sam watched the huge wave as it spread out and then leveled, absorbed by the extensive surface of the larger body of water. The river was free again, nature demonstrating its approval with a sudden, strangely peaceful calm. There was no sign of the burly thug. Hopefully, he hadn’t survived.
All Sam cared about in this moment, though, was Eve. To his relief, his searching gaze found her on the other side of the river. Stranded but safe on solid ground. She was the last thing he saw before the blackness swallowed him.
He would go and regain consciousness with his pants down around his knees, Eve thought. And here she was bending over him caught in the act of…well, something that probably struck him as not entirely innocent when that was exactly what it was.
For a long moment he looked up at her in silence, that penetrating gaze of his pinned on her in wry humor.
When he finally spoke to her, his voice was like sandpaper. “This is an interesting situation. Planning on taking advantage of me, were you?”
“That’s just what I was doing. If you call dressing a bullet wound on the leg of an unconscious man taking advantage of him, that is.”
His hand reached down, fingering the bandage she had taped around his bare thigh. Frowning in puzzlement, he looked from side to side, apparently realizing he was stretched out in the canoe.
“Hey, what is this? How did I—?” Before she could stop him, he’d lifted himself up far enough to recognize their location. “We’re back at the boatshed. Am I dreaming?”
“Now, don’t be a difficult patient. You’ve been enough trouble as it is.” Hand against his chest, she pressed him back down against the pillows she’d squeezed under his head and shoulders. “The bleeding is stopped now, but I don’t need you passing out on me again.”
“And I need answers,” he demanded. “Like how did I end up here? Did I go and temporarily lose my memory again?”
A pity he hadn’t, Eve thought. She had liked him a whole lot better during his amnesia when he wasn’t judging her. When he’d been a much kinder, more understanding Sam McDonough.
“What you lost was blood, so don’t try getting up.”
“You mind if I at least get my pants back up where they belong?”
“If you’re careful about it.”
Lifting his hips, he managed to ease his trousers up around his waist, where he secured his zipper and belt. He pushed her hand away when she started to tuck a blanket around him.
“Stop playing nurse and give me those answers. The last thing I remember I was on one side of the river and you were on the other. What did you do? Swim across?”
She sat back on her heels, shaking her head. “There was enough of the landslide left—rocks and wedged logs sticking up from the water—that I was
able to pick my way across.”
“Okay, so you’re back on my side, and I’m lying there like a beached whale. Then what?”
“I went for the canoe, of course. How else was I to get you back here? It was bad enough rolling and tugging you into it once I paddled out to where I’d left you.”
“And the bandage?”
“There was a first aid kit up in the cabin. I brought it down, along with the paddles and the pillows.”
There had also been the body of the other thug on the floor of the living room, Eve recalled, shuddering over the unpleasant image.
“Satisfied?”
“Yes. No. Are you going to make a regular practice of rescuing me, woman?”
“If I have to. And you don’t need to sound so grumpy about it. What do you call taking a bullet for me?”
“My job.”
It wasn’t what she wanted to hear. But she knew she couldn’t expect anything like the admiration he had expressed after she had pulled him out of the burning plane. That kind of tenderness had vanished when he’d recovered his memory, and it was pointless of her to go on longing for it.
He must have realized, however, that he owed her some form of gratitude. That had to be why he mumbled a softer “Maybe I was a little abrupt. I guess I should be thanking you.”
“Are you? Thanking me?”
“Yeah, I am. Anything else I should know?”
“Let me see. Oh, yes, the helicopter is gone. It popped up from somewhere on the other side of the river while I was paddling the canoe over to get you back here. I watched it circle the lake. I think the pilot must have noticed the body of our other friend floating out there.” Eve had spotted that dead body herself and told Sam so. It had been another unpleasant discovery.
“I suppose,” she went on, “the pilot decided he no longer had any reason to hang around. Anyway, he didn’t waste time zooming out of here. The way I figure it, this third guy was never visible to us because he wasn’t one of DeMarco’s men, or he would have come after us, along with the other two.”
Ignoring her earlier objection, Sam sat straight up in the canoe with a thunderous “And you’re just now telling me this!”
“Stop getting excited. It’s bad for you. We’re safe enough for the moment. If that pilot was more than just hired to fly the helicopter, if he is loyal to Victor DeMarco, then it will take time for him to contact DeMarco to report what happened here.”
“Which he’s probably doing right now by radio. Eve, DeMarco isn’t going to forget about you just because his two boys failed. Not as long as he thinks you have the evidence to send him to prison. He’ll send others after you.”
“I realize that. But they can’t just suddenly turn up out of nowhere.”
“And you can’t be here waiting for them.”
“What would you have had me do? Leave you there injured on the beach and head downriver on my own?”
“No, but we’re not staying here. We’re getting out. Now.”
He glanced at his watch. Then, as though not trusting it, he lifted his head to squint up at the sun. Its position in the sky would be telling him it was already past midmorning.
“We still have most of the day left,” he said. “With both of us paddling and the current with us, we ought to be able to get a long way downriver before dark. Maybe even reach a town of some kind.”
“You are not paddling this canoe. You need to rest.”
“It doesn’t take a leg to paddle a canoe. I’ll be fine.”
“You are the most stubborn—”
“Eve, listen to me.” He leaned toward her, a fierce look on his face. “I won’t rest until I get you back to Chicago and under the bureau’s protection. Whatever it takes. You understand me? Whatever it takes.”
Chapter 9
The river, which continued on its way at the other end of the lake, just as they’d surmised, presented no problems. Its current was swift enough to assist them but not so powerful that it prevented them from maintaining a steady, even course. Nor did they encounter any rapids that might have given them serious trouble.
Eve couldn’t say the same for her companion.
At her insistence, Sam sat in front of her. Only this way could she keep an eye on that wounded leg of his. As it turned out, she found herself paying far more attention to other portions of his body.
The day was warm. That, along with their vigorous activity with the paddles, had them both so overheated they removed their coats. Eve couldn’t take her eyes off Sam’s strong back and arms. Mesmerized, she watched his muscles bunching rhythmically under his shirt as he dipped and stroked, an unconsciously erotic action that had her on edge with desire.
You’re not being fair, you know. This is your fault, not his.
Not that it did her any good to go and remind herself all over again that she had been a fool to fall for him. Nor to torment herself by remembering that he hadn’t forgiven her for denying him the truth about her father, even if that information had no real bearing on the case.
Oh, but the explanation for this harsher Sam McDonough was much more involved than that, wasn’t it? There was the darkness that on some deep level was always with him.
It was just past midday when they navigated the canoe to a still pool at the edge of the river. Both of them were ready for a rest stop, as well as hungry.
“Watch the leg,” she cautioned him when he swung around on his seat to face her. She was afraid he was being much too careless with that injury.
“Stop worrying,” he said, reaching for his sack of provisions. “It’s coming along just fine.”
Maybe he was right, she thought as they sat there drinking from their bottles of water and munching on crackers and dried fruit. Maybe she needed to worry about herself.
She couldn’t seem to shake this perpetual longing for him. This wanting to have both of them naked, his hard body wrapped around hers. Not just wrapped around her but deep inside her, stroking her as he’d stroked the paddle out on the river.
It wasn’t just a physical thing, either. It was as much emotional as anything else. A yearning for the tenderness he had demonstrated so freely and so often before his memory had kicked in.
Eve was convinced of it. People didn’t alter their basic characters. Not overnight, anyway. If all those positive qualities, like tenderness, had surfaced during his memory loss, then they must still be there inside him, buried under the bleakness.
Did she have any right to reach for them? To make any kind of effort to save him from himself?
Why not, if you’re in love with him? Shouldn’t that entitle you to help him?
“Sam, can I ask you something?”
“Ask away.”
“What is it that’s got you all tied up in knots?”
He scowled at her. “What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about. I could see it in you from the start. You’re carrying some kind of awful burden, and I don’t mean getting me to Chicago. Mightn’t it help to talk about it?”
His voice was brusque when he answered her. “You’re imagining things. The only thing I’m suffering from is this leg.”
He didn’t want to discuss it. He had closed up on her, maybe even resented her for asking him about something he regarded as strictly private.
All right, she wouldn’t pursue it. Not now. But she wasn’t going to give up on him. Sooner or later, Eve promised herself, she was going to confront and defeat the demons that haunted him.
It was late afternoon, and Eve’s arms were aching, when she heard the humming from somewhere ahead of them. She knew from the way Sam lifted his head, suddenly alert and listening intently, that he heard it, too.
“What is it?” she called to him, resting on her paddle.
“Dunno. But it isn’t a helicopter.”
They paddled on toward the droning noise that increased to a distinctive, steady buzzing that identified itself as some kind of machinery in operation.
&nb
sp; Throughout their journey downriver, there had been nothing but solid forest on both sides of the stream. Now, suddenly and without warning, as they worked the canoe eagerly around a sharp bend, a huddle of buildings appeared in front of them on the right bank. The settlement that Sam had been so confident existed all along.
The small community was evidently supported by the large, gray structure that loomed at the edge of the river. It was this building that produced the constant buzzing. A sawmill.
If Eve had any doubt about that, the stacks of lumber in the yard, so freshly cut she could smell the pine and spruce, told her they had arrived at a logging operation.
“Civilization at last!” she pronounced with satisfaction.
“Or what passes for it,” Sam said. “But it works.”
They landed the canoe on the riverbank, dragged it up on dry land, collected their gear and headed toward the sawmill. Eve didn’t like the idea of Sam putting his weight on that leg. But though he favored it, he seemed able to walk with ease.
A young man with a ponytail and a gold ring in one pierced ear leaned against the side of the building. One of the workers, Eve assumed, taking a cigarette break.
He was crushing the cigarette underfoot when he spotted them. From the expression on his face, canoers like Sam and her must be a rare sight. One that could use both bathtubs and changes of clothes.
“Where’d you two come from?”
“We’re just off a wilderness canoe trip,” Sam informed him.
“Not the best time of year for that.”
“Yeah, we found that out, which is why we’ve had enough. Any chance of catching a bus or a train here?”
“Not in this place. You have to go down to Dalroy for that. There’s a bus out of there that heads south twice a day.”
“How do we get there?”
“Walk. And, man, you don’t want to do that. Dalroy is a good twenty miles away. But, look, I live there, and if you don’t mind waiting another hour until I get off work, I’ll give you a lift in my pickup.”