No Good Deed

by Matthews, Susanne

  The snow seemed to be coming down as hard as ever, but that could be an illusion caused by the speed of the snowmobile. Behind them, Mike had attached pine branches to the sled, and they raked the snow, leaving a cloud of powder in their wake, an additional precaution he’d said in case anyone knew he had the snowmobile or someone spotted them. He’d also covered the taillights with duct tape and had taped over half of the snowmobile’s headlamp, leaving only a sliver of light to point the way, but making it harder for someone to find and follow them.

  She tried to sit up straighter, but the motion of the machine and the need to cling to Mike made it impossible. Most of her was warm enough, but her fingers were frozen. She’d tried to pull her hands up inside the sleeves of the snowsuit, but that had weakened her grip, and the thought of falling off the moving machine was enough for her to grit her teeth and bear it.

  How long had they been traveling? It seemed as if she’d been riding like this forever. Every bump jarred her. Her back was stiff and aching. There was no way one pill would ever be enough to assuage this agony. The last downed tree had forced Mike to leave the forest and skirt the edge of the road, where they’d taken forever to move around a series of telephone poles, snapped halfway up, looking like broken toothpicks, their jagged heads pointing defiantly at the sky while the wires tied them together. Seeing the thoroughfare as yet unplowed was small comfort. Sooner or later it would be, and the men searching for her would be on their trail.

  After what felt like an eternity, Mike slowed the snowmobile and stopped next to a granite outcropping. The snow hadn’t accumulated here, creating a small, hard platform. Shielded from the wind, it was like an oasis in the desert. He leaned forward and then stood on the rock beside them, a thermos in his hand. Lifting his face shield, he bent down to raise hers.

  “We can take a short break here. It’s been slower going than I’d expected. Stand up and stretch. You can lean on me.”

  He helped her off the snowmobile, and she smothered her pained moan.

  “I know you’re stiff. That isn’t the most comfortable seat. Have a drink. It’s sweetened tea, just the way you like yours. How are you doing?”

  “I’m really sore. I probably should’ve gone through my stretching routine before we left,” she admitted reluctantly. “At least I’m wearing my brace. How much farther do we have to go?”

  “We’re more than halfway there—forty minutes at the most.”

  She reached for the thermos and sipped. The hot tea warmed her, but there was more than tea and sugar in there.

  “What did you add to it?” she asked, scrunching up her face at the aftertaste.

  “Brandy. It might help relax your back muscles. It seemed a shame to waste it and leave it there. Are you warm enough? I noticed you trying to move your hands.”

  “My fingers are cold.”

  He removed his mitts and pulled off one of hers, taking her hand in his warm ones.

  “Damn it, Lex, you should’ve said something. Your hands are frozen. You don’t want to get frostbite. It hurts like hell. Believe me, I know. Here, put these on instead.” He tried to put his mitts on her.

  “No. I’ll be fine. You need them. You’re driving.”

  He reached into the pocket on the leg of his snowsuit and pulled out a pair of leather gloves. “I’ll wear these. I’ll be warm enough. Don’t worry.”

  Reluctantly, she let him put the mittens, warm from his body heat, onto her frozen hands. How long had it been since someone had genuinely cared for her comfort this way? Richard had pretended to, but in reality, everything had been done for his own satisfaction.

  “We’d better get going. The sooner we get inside, the better.”

  The wind had stopped and the snow was barely falling. A long mournful howl sent shivers down her spine.

  “That’s the alpha wolf calling the rest of the pack to him. Sounds like he’s higher up the mountain side.” He pulled the binoculars out of the backpack and scanned the ridge. “I can’t see him, and that’s a good thing, but if he’s calling the pack, they could be anywhere.”

  A loud crack split the night. Alexa screamed.

  “Was that a gunshot? Have they found us? Is someone shooting at us?”

  Mike grabbed her shoulders and pulled her into his chest.

  “Stop, Lex. It was just another branch breaking. It’s been happening for a while. You couldn’t hear it before because of the engine.”

  Heart pounding, not sure whether to believe him or not, she bit her trembling lip.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You have every right to be scared. I’m scared, too, which is why, if you’ve had enough tea, we should get going.”

  “I’m good,” she managed to say, the quiver in her voice almost unnoticeable.

  Mike put the thermos back under the front seat, shoving the binoculars in beside it, wearing gloves she feared were too thin to keep his hands warm, and got back on the Ski-Doo.

  “Forty minutes, kid. I promise.”

  But it wasn’t a promise he could keep. They’d gone only a couple of miles when the path they’d been following was impassible. Several birches had fallen domino-like, eliminating any chance of getting through that way. Near the edge of it, the carcass of a deer was frozen half covered with snow. Her stomach roiled.

  “Not pretty, but it’s been here at least a day, which means the wolves aren’t. Are you okay?” he asked, his voice filled with concern.

  “Do you mean am I going to barf in my helmet? No,” she answered, though the terror clawed at her insides, “but I’m far from okay. I’ve done enough communing with nature for one night. How are you going to get around that?” There was no room between the rock face on the left and the heavily treed area on the right of the blockage.

  “We’ve got to backtrack about a mile, and head out to the highway. This is the only path other than the main road that has a bridge on it. There’s a river up ahead with fast moving water that doesn’t freeze hard enough for the Ski-Doo to get across safely.”

  She nodded, but he couldn’t see the movement.

  “Okay,” she clarified.

  “The snow’s stopped. I just hope we make it to Andy’s before the sun comes up. Hang in there. You’re doing great.”

  More than an hour and a half later, Mike stopped the snowmobile under a tree where the snow wasn’t as deep as elsewhere. He stood and removed his helmet, reaching for hers. From the way he fumbled with his fingers, his hands had to be as cold as hers had been. Twice, he’d spotted lights from other snowmobiles and had pulled off the road and hidden in the brush, waiting for what felt like hours before moving again. Her nerves were shot, and it had been months since she’d been this sore and tired.

  “Do you want your mitts back?” she asked.

  “Maybe for a while. This is the end of the line for us.”

  As far as she could see, they were still in the middle of nowhere.

  “You’re leaving me here?” she asked, her voice cracking on the last word as panic flooded her. Had she screwed up again? The wolves would rip her apart, scatter her bones all over the forest. Even if they didn’t get her, she would freeze to death. Maybe Mike would be merciful and strangle her instead. How long before someone found her cold, lifeless body? She started to shake uncontrollably.

  Mike turned to her, and she flinched, putting her hands up to protect herself.

  “Good God, Lex, no. What the hell kind of man do you think I am? I thought you trusted me by now.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just that you said—”

  “I know what I said,” he cut her off, the pain in his voice unmistakable. “I didn’t expect you to jump to a conclusion like that one. We’re later than I expected to be, and this is as far as we can go on the snowmobile without attracting more attention than we want. Andy’s got neighbors who might wonder about visitors at six o’clock in the morning. We’ve got to walk from here—that is, I do—and I’m going to carry you.”

  He mo
ved to the back of the snowmobile, sinking in the top layer of snow, and returned with the backpack and snowshoes.

  “You can’t carry me and that,” she protested, her fear refusing to release its grip on her. He might have to leave her here after all.

  “Sure I can,” he said. “I’m really strong. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice my muscles.”

  “Strong’s got nothing to do with it. You’ll sink in the snow under all this weight.”

  “Oh ye of little faith. Come on. Give me my mittens and take yours back.” He pulled her small white ones out of the pocket and put the leather gloves inside. “You can pull your hands up into the sleeves. Andy’s place is just on the other side of those trees, only five hundred yards away.”

  Alexa removed the mittens and raised one warm hand to Mike’s cold cheek. “I’ll never forget this,” she said, “but you still owe me twenty-seven dollars.”

  He laughed. “I told you. I’m good for it.”

  After putting on the snowshoes, he tied the backpack across his chest and around his waist and lifted her into his arms as if she were something precious to be protected at all costs.

  “Hang on. Just a bit farther.”

  Alexa put her arm around his neck and settled into his chest. The swaying motion of his gait combined with her pain and exhaustion made her close her eyes.

  It’s too bad we didn’t meet three years ago.

  Chapter Twelve

  Mike knew the moment Alexa passed out. The hold she had on his neck relaxed, her arm falling limply over his shoulder, but her breathing was even, assuring him she hadn’t died in his arms from his meager attempt to keep her safe. Was her hand still tucked up in her sleeve, or was she risking frostbite again? They’d been out in this bitter arctic iciness more than three hours—a hell of a thing to do to a convalescing woman who hadn’t been outside in months.

  Had she fainted from the pain or fallen asleep because of her exhaustion? Maybe the jarring ride had reinjured her spine, sending her into a coma. He pulled the unconscious woman closer to him, tucking her face into his chest, and willed his tired, achy muscles to move faster. The snowshoes that had been light and easy to maneuver when he’d started out seemed to weigh a ton, making it hard to put one foot in front of the other. When the back door of Andy’s two-story house appeared in the distance, he breathed a sigh of relief. Lights were on in the kitchen.

  But he couldn’t rouse Alexa. She moaned but didn’t awaken.

  Shifting her in his arms, Mike climbed the steps and pounded on the back door. The dog inside went wild.

  “Ferme ta gueule, Pitou,” a man yelled in an attempt to quiet the animal. Within seconds, the door opened. “Maudite merde, qu’est-ce-que tu veux?” the man asked.

  “I’m sorry, Andy, but I had no one else to turn to.”

  Recognition dawned in the man’s eyes. “Mike? My God, you must be frozen. Come in, come in.” He opened the door to the enclosed porch and stepped out of the way. “What are you doing outside in this weather? How far have you walked?”

  “Thanks, Andy. Sorry to drop in unannounced, but it couldn’t be helped. I left the Ski-Doo and our helmets in the trees about five hundred yards from here, but we’ve been traveling a while. I had nowhere else to go. I’m in trouble, or rather, we are.”

  “Seigneur,” exclaimed Colette, Andy’s wife. “Mike, what are you doing here? Is she sick?”

  “I was just about to find out,” Andy said, stopping his wife from moving any closer to them. “Is she sick?”

  “I don’t think so . . . at least I hope not. She’s recovering from a back injury caused by a gunshot wound. She’s cold, no doubt in pain, and exhausted. She passed out about fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Here, give her to me, and I’ll lay her down,” Andy said, holding out his arms.

  “Put her in my old bedroom—that is, if it still has twin beds. I don’t want to let her out of my sight for long,” Mike whispered, not releasing his burden. Let them think whatever they wanted. She was his responsibility . . . but he couldn’t look after her alone, and that’s why he was here.

  “She’s so pale . . . Is she a criminal?” Colette asked, her eyes huge and her brow wrinkled with concern.

  Mike frowned, noting Alexa’s lack of color. Shouldn’t she be red from the cold? Using his teeth, he pulled off one mitten and touched her forehead as if to check for fever, but since his own hand was still cold, he didn’t know if the heat he felt was fever or not.

  “No, she isn’t a criminal. Far from it. She’s a witness, and someone’s put a price on her head.”

  Andy frowned, his white eyebrows almost meeting, the deep creases on his face more pronounced than ever. “And she’s with you because?”

  “I’ve been assigned to protect her. Get her to bed, and I’ll tell you everything I can. I need your help to keep us both safe.”

  “Well, let’s start by getting her inside,” Colette scolded, her watery blue eyes filled with compassion. She tightened the belt of her pink chenille robe around her ample waist. “The poor thing has suffered enough for one day. Hand her over to Andy so you can get undressed. You can’t walk into my kitchen with those snowshoes on.”

  Mike nodded and placed Alexa gently in Andy’s arms. He cringed when she moaned, but she didn’t open her eyes. Quickly, he removed the snowshoes and slipped off the backpack. After flexing his stiff shoulders, he took off the snowsuit and hung it on one of the pegs. His flannel shirt, wet with the sweat of his exertion, clung to him, chilling him in the cool room. He pulled out a sweatshirt from his pack. The last thing he needed was to catch cold. His ribs ached as it was, and coughing would be unbearable. Grabbing Alexa’s crutches in his left hand, he stepped into the familiar kitchen.

  An hour later, clean-shaven and showered, his hair cut short thanks to Colette’s expertise and Andy’s dog clippers, Mike sat at the table, a cup of coffee in his hands. He’d eaten a plateful of scrambled eggs and felt better, but Alexa was still asleep in the bedroom he’d used as a child when he and his uncle had vacationed here long ago. She’d awoken briefly when Colette had undressed her and given her some pain medication. Now, the woman sat upstairs in the rocker near the window, knitting as she always did, watching and waiting for the pauvre fille, as she called Alexa, to awaken once more.

  “ . . . That’s it. I don’t know who the mole is or how far up the food chain the problem goes,” Mike continued, “nor do I know who’s behind all that camera equipment I brought you, but Doucet and my captain both think there’s a new player—someone called the magician who seems able to get anyone and everyone to jump through hoops. What I do know is that she was a sitting duck in that cabin, with nothing but a goddamn prop gun for protection, monitored and watched every second, as imprisoned as any convict could be. The damn place was rigged to blow at any time. Until I showed up, she had no chance of escaping there alive.

  “What I don’t understand is why anyone would go to that much trouble. It’s as if they were giving her time to recover before going on with the rest of their plans—whatever the hell they were. She had everything she needed, even if most of it was half a century out of date, but she might as well have been in solitary confinement. Other than a visit once a week from Callaghan, she was alone, and I got the impression Callaghan wasn’t too social when he did call. In some ways, it’s as if she were a child and had been sent to her room, isolated from her friends because of bad behavior, with someone using a nanny cam to make sure she didn’t break any more rules. But the C-4 puzzles me. I couldn’t figure out what would set it off. I cut the main power feed, but there must’ve been a secondary device, maybe something heat activated. I expected the first explosion when I set the fire, not the second one.”

  Andy shook his head. “Merde, it doesn’t make sense. If you’re right and she can take Montreal’s most notorious gangster out of circulation, then she should’ve been in an approved safe house with half a dozen RCMP and SQ officers guarding her. That injury sounds serious en
ough to have required regular monitoring at the very least. She could’ve fallen, and who knows how badly she might’ve hurt herself. You said she was being watched, but if those tapes were only collected once a week, she could’ve been dead by the time they found her.” He huffed out a frustrated breath. “I know it looks as if Doucet might be implicated in whatever’s going on, but he might not have been aware of what was happening. But this Sergeant Callaghan knew. He has to have been involved. You’re sure he’s dead?” He got up, grabbed the coffeepot, and refilled their cups.

  “I’m not sure of anything, but it’s what I was told.” Mike pulled the folder full of sketches out of the bag. “She drew this. Having seen her drawing of Zabat, I would say it has to be a good likeness of Callaghan. If we could compare the drawing to a picture of the corpse . . . I’ve got more questions than answers and no way to find out the truth,” Mike said, savoring the dark, rich brew.

  “What do you want from me,” Andy asked, “other than information?”

  “Help disappearing. We can’t stay here. That might put you and Colette in danger. I may not know why Alexa was being kept there, but I’m pretty damn sure I was sent there to be killed. Sooner or later, whoever’s behind it all will discover I’m onto them and find that the chalet was empty. Once they do, they’ll be pissed and look into my past. I’m sorry for dragging you into this.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’d originally planned to hide her at the farm, but that’s impossible now. And there may be another person involved in whatever the hell’s been going on. She was on the run from an abusive fiancé in Toronto, Richard Fields, a doctor who may have enough connections to know she survived.” He hung his head. “I shouldn’t have come here, but I had nowhere else to go.”

  Andy pursed his lips. “Coming to me was the right thing to do, and don’t even consider anything else. You’re family, and family comes first. Colette’s been after me to go and see her sister in Orlando. This sounds like a good time for us to take a Florida vacation,” he said. “Once they get to the chalet, it’ll take a while for them to sift through the rubble, so we’ve got maybe two days—that is, if they don’t use the helicopter you suggested. I’ve still got connections. Let me make a few calls and see what I can arrange. You’ll need a car, but you can’t be the one driving out of here. La Vieille Racine across the street has her nose in the window twenty-four hours a day. The Canadian Security Intelligence Service needs people as dedicated to knowing everyone else’s business as she is. I don’t think the old biddy even sleeps anymore.” He shook his head.