ROCKY MOUNTAIN REVENGE

by CINDI MEYERS

  “You don’t have to be afraid of me, you know,” Sammy said. “I’m a good guy. Isn’t that right, Carl?”

  Carl, a looming hulk on Sammy’s right, nodded. “Of course.”

  Anne said nothing, having decided that silence was the best option. Maybe he’d mistake her terror for shyness, or even a European disdain for the pushy American.

  “You look so familiar,” Sammy continued. “I’m sure we’ve met before. Where are you from? Paris? Or maybe Nice?”

  She shook her head, and skied away. There was nothing he could do here on the slopes, she’d decided. He could follow her and he could talk to her, but he wouldn’t grab her or force her to reveal her face. He still saw her as a possible romantic interest. With any luck, he’d give up before they reached the bottom of the mountain.

  “Seriously, I’m sure I know you,” he called, and raced after her.

  He skied so close she was afraid he was going to cause a collision. Maybe that was what he wanted—another fall he could help her up from, maybe while pulling the gaiter from her face and seeing her more clearly.

  She pushed on, skiing faster. Recklessly. Her legs were shaky with fatigue, and her pounding heart wasn’t helping matters any. If only there was some way to get rid of him.

  She managed to put a little distance between them, but Sammy was determined and she had no doubt he’d catch up to her soon. She looked around for some escape—a run she could dart onto, or other people who might intervene.

  Her rescue came from the most unlikely quarter. Hurtling toward them in an awkward half-crouch came a figure dressed in bright orange pants and a blue jacket—the clothing Jake had chosen at the thrift store yesterday.

  Chapter Twelve

  As Jake neared Sammy and Carl, he straightened and began windmilling his arms—the picture of an out-of-control skier. He slammed into the two men with a sickening thud. Anne winced, but couldn’t look away. Sammy and Carl went sprawling into the snow, while Jake slid off to the side, skis still on his feet as he crouched over them.

  She watched in amazement as he straightened, then skied past her without a word. She took off after him. By the time Sammy and Carl recovered, she and Jake would be long gone.

  She followed him onto a series of blue and green runs that crisscrossed through the trees. He left the run and skied into the trees, stopping at the base of a large pine. He was breathing heavily, his face flushed when he pulled the bandana he wore from over his nose. “I think...we lost them,” he gasped, doubled over, his hands on his knees.

  She looked back up the run they’d just descended. No sign of her brother or his bodyguard. “What were you doing up there?” she asked. “I thought you were going to wait at the base.”

  “After you got on the lift I decided it was a bad idea to leave you alone. If your father or one of his men recognized you, it would be too easy for them to kidnap you—or worse—without me to watch your back. So I followed.”

  “And I’m glad you did. But I thought you couldn’t ski with your injuries.”

  “After that run I don’t have much more left in me. I thought I was going to have to take off my skis and come down on my butt. Then I saw you with those two and adrenaline kicked in. Was that your brother?”

  She nodded. “He didn’t recognize me. I pretended to be a French tourist.”

  “And he believed you?”

  “Oh, yes. My brother fancies himself a real Casanova, a man no woman can resist.”

  “You mean, he was hitting on you?” Jake’s outrage was almost comical.

  “Yes. It’s funny now, but at the time, I was terrified.” She looked him up and down. “Are you sure you’re all right? That was quite a crash.”

  “I was a lot more stable than I looked, and I wasn’t going that fast when I hit. Mainly, I surprised them and caught them off balance.”

  “I don’t think they were hurt, either, but it bought us the time we needed to get away.” She looked again up the empty run. “Do you speak French?”

  He shook his head. “Why?”

  “I was thinking that if we run into them again before we get off this mountain—if they see us together—you need to pretend to be my husband. I told them I was trying to get back to you.”

  “Tell them I have laryngitis.”

  She laughed, as much from relief as from any real mirth. “I’m so glad you came along when you did,” she said. “I was sure any moment he’d recognize me. He’d be embarrassed and angry, and there’s no telling what he would have done. Or rather, what he would have had Carl do.”

  “At least now we know for sure he’s here. I don’t suppose he said anything about your father?”

  “No. And I certainly wasn’t going to ask.”

  “We’d better go. We’ll head back through the beginner area. Something tells me your brother and his bodyguard aren’t likely to venture onto the bunny hill.”

  “I think the bunny hill is all I care to tackle right now,” she said. “My legs are jelly.”

  “Mine, too. Just hang in there. We’ll return to the hotel and decide on our next move.”

  “I vote for the hot tub,” she said.

  He grinned. “Sounds like a great idea.”

  He led the way out of the woods and she followed. Later, when the impact of her encounter with her brother really hit her, she’d probably be even more shaky. For now, she pushed those emotions away and focused on keeping her weight even over her skis and making nice, easy turns. She was safe, and Jake was watching her back. Amazing how good it felt to know that.

  * * *

  “ARE YOU SURE you’re all right?” Jake asked for the third time since he and Anne had clicked out of their skis and headed back toward the hotel.

  “I’m fine.” She strode along beside him, skis on her shoulder, goggles shading her eyes—and hiding her expression, so he couldn’t decide if she was telling the truth or putting up a brave front.

  “Are you sure? You look pale.”

  “You’re the one who’s limping, not me.”

  He made an effort to lessen the limp, though his legs felt like they were made of broken glass, jagged edges sending jolts of pain through him with every step. “The physical therapist said exercise was good for me.” Exercise, but probably not a kamikaze plunge down a double-black ski slope.

  “I’m sure I could have gotten away from Sammy and his sidekick on my own,” she said. “I hate to think you hurt yourself coming after me when it wasn’t really necessary.”

  “A while ago you were grateful to me for saving you.”

  “Yes, but now I’ve had time to think about it and I realize I didn’t really need saving. I could have kept up the pretense of being French and eventually gotten away from him. Once we’d been around more people, he wouldn’t have wanted to make a scene.”

  Maybe Jake had risked himself for nothing; even when he’d known Anne before, she’d been very good at looking after herself. “If nothing else, you could have shown off your boxing skills and punched him,” he said.

  She laughed. “There is that.”

  “So what now?” he asked. “Back to the hotel and that hot tub?”

  “First, I have to buy a swimsuit.”

  “Can you buy a swimsuit in a ski town?”

  She smiled. “Of course.”

  She led the way down a side street to a boutique that, as it turned out, had a large section devoted to both men’s and women’s swimwear. They left their skis in a rack just outside the door and pushed their way inside. Shoppers, mostly women, milled around the racks and displays, while several men congregated on benches in what was clearly a waiting area for patient spouses.

  Anne selected several suits and headed for the dressing room. “Need any help?” Jake asked.

  “You need to get yo
ur own suit,” she said, and ducked into a changing room.

  He wandered over to a rack of Hawaiian-print swim trunks and began flipping through them. “You’re taking a risk coming here, Senator,” a voice behind him said.

  “Even politicians are allowed to take vacations.”

  “The issue isn’t your vacation. It’s who you’re vacationing with.”

  Jake maneuvered around the rack of suits until he had a view of the speakers—two middle-aged men seated on a bench near the door, apparently waiting for their wives or girlfriends to finish shopping.

  “I’m vacationing with my wife and with you and your wife, Al,” a portly, white-haired man with a florid face said. “Do you have a problem with that?”

  “I’m not the one you should be worried about,” the other man, shorter with iron-gray hair, said.

  “This really isn’t a discussion I want to have in public,” the senator said.

  “Should I get the red or the blue?” Jake turned to see Anne holding up two swimsuits for his inspection.

  “No bikini?” he asked, surveying what looked to him like relatively demure one-pieces.

  “I guess you’ll have to use your imagination,” she said.

  “I have a very good imagination.” And a good memory.

  “Have you picked out a suit?” she asked.

  “How about this one?” He grabbed a pair of trunks from the rack.

  “You don’t think they’re a little big?”

  He checked the tag. Extra large. He found the same pair in a medium. “Okay, how about these?”

  “Great. What have you been doing while I’ve been in the dressing room? Ogling other women?”

  “Not exactly.” He pulled out his credit card to pay for their purchases, then steered her outside. When they were a block away from the shop, he asked, “Does your father know Senator Greg Nordley? He’s a senator from New York state.”

  “I know who he is, but I have no idea if Pop knew him. Maybe. Probably. He made it a point to know people like that.”

  “People like what?”

  “People in power. Politicians. Why?”

  “I just saw a man I think is Nordley in that shop. He was talking to another man who apparently thought Nordley was taking a risk by vacationing in Telluride with someone the other guy didn’t approve of.”

  “You think Nordley is here to see my father?”

  “It makes sense if Nordley is the man who helped your father get out of prison. Maybe Nordley is here to collect a favor.”

  She said nothing as they negotiated a crowded corner. “Did your FBI contacts say the man who helped my father was a senator? Or that it was a politician from New York?”

  “They didn’t say. But it makes me wonder.”

  She looked doubtful. “It’s not much to go on.”

  “Let’s file the information away for future reference. It could come in handy.”

  “I don’t see how, but all right.” She shifted her skis to her other shoulder. “Right now all I want is a shower and a soak in that hot tub.”

  “Sounds good.” He was looking forward to seeing her in her swimsuit, but he’d keep that comment to himself—for now.

  * * *

  AN HOUR LATER, Jake, wrapped in a hotel robe and carrying a towel, rode the elevator to the rooftop hot tub, where Anne had agreed to meet him after her shower.

  The elevator opened and he stepped onto the deck, which offered an extravagant view of snowcapped peaks and azure sky. At this time of day, just after noon, the deck was empty, the large, bubbling hot tub awaiting the après-ski crowd later in the day.

  He made his way to the spa, grateful Anne wasn’t around to see him limping. That mad dash down the mountain had taken more out of him than he would admit to her. Only sheer will and obstinacy had gotten him through. Then again, that was what had been driving him ever since he opened his eyes in the hospital after the shooting—a will to survive and a determination to finish the job he’d started and see Sam Giardino behind bars permanently.

  He carefully lowered himself into the steaming water and positioned himself to watch the elevator doors. He didn’t want to miss a moment of Anne in her swimsuit. The modest one-piece she’d purchased was not the daring bikini Elizabeth would have chosen, but he had no doubt she’d be more beautiful than ever in it.

  And he was going to do his best to not show his reaction to her. They had a business arrangement and a tentative friendship; he wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize either.

  The elevator doors opened and he sat up straighter, heart pounding in anticipation. But instead of Anne, a man stepped onto the deck. He was tall, with light brown hair showing beneath a red knit cap. He wore hiking boots, dark jeans and a fisherman’s sweater. To most people, he probably looked like a tourist, but something in his alert attitude—a sense of coiled energy and vigilance—told Jake this guy was either law enforcement or a paid hit man.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jake froze, and tried to keep his breathing steady and even. Had Sam Giardino discovered that Jake was alive and in Telluride, and sent someone to take him out? After killing Jake, would the assassin wait on the roof for Anne?

  He glanced at his robe hanging on the back of a chair, just out of arm’s reach. There was a gun in the pocket, but he’d likely be dead before he could reach it. Gripping the edge of the hot tub, he looked around for something else he could use as a weapon. In the meantime, he needed to remain calm and avoid overreacting.

  The newcomer walked straight to the hot tub. “Jacob Westmoreland,” he said in a smooth, deep voice that belonged on the evening news. “I’m Patrick Thompson. I thought the two of us should talk.”

  Thompson. Jake released his grip on the side of the tub and sat up straighter. He might have known the marshal would show up sooner rather than later. “Does Anne know you’re here?” he asked.

  “No. I wanted to talk to you first.” The marshal’s gaze swept over him, assessing, though his expression betrayed nothing about his opinion of Jake.

  “You wanted to check me out.”

  “That’s my job.” He looked around the empty rooftop. “I’ll wait for you over by those tables.”

  Jake debated refusing, or making Thompson wait until he’d finished his soak. But that would allow more time for Anne to arrive, and he’d just as soon get this over with before she showed up.

  Thompson walked over to the tables and took a chair facing Jake. Conscious of the other man’s eyes on him, Jake took his time climbing out of the spa, toweling off and shrugging into his robe. Then he joined the federal marshal at the table. A propane heater shaped like an oversize copper lamp bathed the table in warmth, and provided a low, dull roar to further mask their conversation from passersby—if there had been anyone to overhear.

  “Can I see some ID?” Jake asked, choosing a chair with a view of the elevator.

  Thompson produced a leather case and opened it. Jake studied the U.S. marshal’s credentials and nodded. “What do you want to talk about?” As if the two of them had any shared interests other than Anne.

  “You were out of line, getting in touch with Anne. And you’re stepping way over the line, bringing her here.”

  “She’s in WitSec. She’s not your prisoner. She can see whoever she wants, and go where she wants.”

  “You’re not a federal agent anymore. This is not your case, and by getting involved you’re jeopardizing a federal investigation.”

  “No, I’m a private citizen. I can visit a friend if I want to.”

  Thompson’s jaw tightened, the first sign that the guy could show emotion. “You had no right to compromise Anne’s identity. If someone who knew her before sees the two of you together, you could be putting her in danger.”

  “You let her think I was dead.�
�� All the time he’d been worrying and wondering and dreaming about her, she hadn’t even known he was alive.

  “We thought it was best,” Thompson said. “She needed to start over, with no ties to the past.”

  “I’m doing my best to give her a future. One where she doesn’t have to be looking over her shoulder every minute.”

  He expected Thompson to object to that. Fine. Jake was ready to have it out with the man who thought he had the right to dictate the life Anne would lead. Instead, the marshal leaned back in his chair and studied Jake, relaxed and thoughtful. “What makes you think you can find Sam Giardino when no one else has?” he asked.

  “Maybe because I want him more than the rest of you do.”

  Thompson stiffened and Jake bit back a smile. He didn’t like criticism, did he? “What do you mean?” Thompson asked.

  “I mean that it’s in some people’s interests to keep Sam Giardino free—people in power who owe him favors.”

  “Who are you talking about?”

  He glanced toward the elevator—no sign of Anne. “I don’t know yet,” he said. “But you must have heard the same rumors I did.”

  “That depends on what you’ve heard.”

  “All I heard was that an elected official who knew how to pull strings worked it so that Sam Giardino got away, and provided the means for Giardino to stay free. Someone in power made it his business to see that Giardino didn’t spend much time behind bars.”

  “But you can’t give me a name?”

  “No.” He sat back, debating whether to share the next bit of news—or non-news—with Thompson. He decided to let the man decide for himself if the information was valuable or not. “I saw Senator Greg Nordley in town today. He was arguing with another man who thought the senator was taking a risk in coming to Telluride.”

  “Who was this man?”

  “I don’t know. But I’d recognize him again if I saw him.”

  “Maybe he was worried the senator would hurt himself skiing.”

  “This other man objected to whoever the senator was vacationing with.”