by CJ Lyons
Ryan reached out a hand, touched his arm. “You lived. You’re going to make it out alive this time, too.” The gleam of her smile was the only bright spot in the darkness that shrouded them. “Lucky.”
They’d covered a lot of ground, he noticed, the car was long out of sight when he looked behind them, his eyes now accustomed to the darkness. His shoulder didn’t seem to hurt as much either.
“Thanks,” he said, but she gave no sign that she heard.
She continued leading the way, her steps sure and confident over the irregular, snow-covered terrain. She moved like a wild animal, as if she belonged out here in the wilderness.
They came to a small wooden box mounted on a post. Ryan stopped, waited for him to catch up. “Here we are, the Lost River trail,” she announced.
Lucky looked at her. “Weren’t we already on the trail?”
“That? No. That path is shared by the handicapped accessible nature trail and a short, three mile loop. It just leads here to the trail head, the real trail.”
He looked back the way they had come. It had been fairly flat, free of obstacles beneath the snow. Handicapped, huh? He’d barely kept up with her. Lucky had a sinking feeling that this was going to be a lot harder than he thought.
“This is why I hate the country,” he muttered.
She ignored him, turned the beam of her flashlight toward a marking on a tree. A blue horizontal line had been painted across the trunk.
“If we get separated, follow the blue blazes down the mountain. Don’t try to cross the gorge without me.”
Lucky nodded, sure whatever. The tiny ribbon of light seemed so puny against all this utter blackness.
Snow spun through it, almost drowning the faint illumination. For the first time he wondered if they’d even make it through the night. Wouldn’t that be a kick? The Preacher’s gang chasing through a blizzard only to find two popsicles, frozen stiff out here on the side of mountain.
“Two blazes,” Vinnie continued and he yanked his attention from the gruesome image of the two of them locked into an eternal frozen embrace, snow surrounding them. “One on top of another means the trail is taking a turn, so look for the next blaze, be certain you’re heading in the right direction.”
“Won’t gravity pretty much take care of that?” he asked. They were on top of a mountain, after all.
“Gravity will also get you headed down into the gorge. It’ll be days before you could get back out of there. So what do two blazes mean?”
Ah jeez, this wasn’t kindergarten. “The same as a middle-fingered salute during rush hour traffic on DuPont Circle—get the hell out of my way, ‘cause I’m turning. Can we go now?”
She shrugged her pack into better position and headed north on the trail. He trudged after her and immediately regretted leaving the path they were on previously. Even following in her footsteps it was tough going, and he wasn’t the one having to break through over a foot of snow.
“I hate to ask,” he huffed, his breath turning into a cloud of vapor, “but aren’t we headed the wrong way?”
“Not if you want a roof over your head tonight. Have I steered you wrong yet?”
Lucky frowned at that. Great. Not only lost in the woods, lost in the woods with a civilian that he was going to have to depend on to get back out. No way.
Once they stopped for the night, he was going to force her to show him the map and the way out. He could take care of himself, but shape he was in right now, he didn’t want to have the responsibility of watching over a civilian as well.
Of course, if he didn’t make it off this mountain and get his information to the right people, there might be thousands of civilian lives he would be responsible for.
Lucky sighed, the throbbing in his shoulder revving up to a nine on the Richter scale.
CHAPTER 9
Billy sat, waiting for KC to get changed. She took less than the five minutes she’d requested. When she emerged from the bedroom and saw that the others had left, he expected the flash of fury that crossed her face.
“Man couldn’t give me five minutes, had to rush off. I’ll bet he didn’t even take his coat.” She shrugged into her own parka and grabbed Chase’s from the rack. “C’mon, Price. Guess I’m driving.”
He followed her down to the single car garage, smiling as she continued her diatribe against her husband-to-be. Most women would be devastated by the sudden change in plans on their wedding day. Not KC. She was more upset with Chase, it seemed.
“He’s going to get himself killed one of these days,” she muttered as she slid into the driver’s seat of the Jeep Renegade and started the ignition. “Rushing in without thinking—damned fool.”
Billy coughed to cover his laugh. Chase had used those exact words about KC last month when describing her riding a Harley into the middle of a firefight. These two were meant for each other—and made for an unstoppable team.
“He’s going to want to go after Lucky,” he said once they were on the road.
She nodded as if she’d already gotten there herself. “I know, I’ll take care of it.”
KC was new to the Team, but Billy liked how she didn’t need everything drawn out in triplicate, she could cut to the heart of the matter quickly. A lot like Rose that way. “There’s more going on than just Lucky.”
“At the briefing on Friday it seemed like things were heating up all over.”
“Has Rose mentioned anything to you about Razgravia?” He tried to keep his tone neutral. Rose would kill him if she knew he was talking about this.
“She knew my grandfather over there. And we both know the language, so it’s fun to have someone to practice on.” She cut her eyes over to him. “You need me to make a trip? We’d have to work it out with Chase—no way he’d ever fit in over there.”
“If we did, do you think you could handle it alone?” That was as close as he could get to broaching the subject closest to his heart.
They stopped at a red light, and KC turned her gaze on him. “Does she know?”
“What?” his voice came out sharper than he had intended.
Billy avoided her eyes. Maybe KC was too good. The light turned green, and she focused on the road, giving him a chance to compose himself.
“Look, Price, I’m new to the Team, but I speak my mind plain and simple. That’s just how I am, so if I’m off base, say the word. Does Rose Prospero know that you’re in love with her?”
Fool, he cursed himself. The woman’s life depended on reading people. That’s how she’d stayed alive during her years working undercover. He wondered what he’d done to give his feelings away.
“No,” he said with a stony face, eyes forward, “because I’m not. As second in command, it’s my responsibility to the Team to ensure she doesn’t risk her life needlessly. That’s all.” A lie mixed with a truth, but KC seemed to accept it.
“Sorry, my mistake. Guess while I was attending all those briefings and observing you guys during my orientation, I was impressed by the way you and Rose seem to function as a unit. Finishing each other’s sentences, you always looking at her when you think no one else notices, the way you are alert whenever she comes into a room even if your back is turned—guess my woman’s intuition went haywire. Chalk it up to pre-wedding jitters, okay?”
Billy had to smile. Not only had she given him answers to questions impossible for him to ask, she’d also given him a gracious out. He was going to like working with this one, could well understand why Chase Westin had fallen head over heels so completely.
“No problem,” he assured her. They passed through security and pulled into the underground garage at the STR building. He put a hand on her arm, and she turned to face him. “KC, I’m really sorry about the wedding.”
Her laughter surprised him. “Tell that to Chase, it was his idea to formalize things. I didn’t need any kind of ceremony to confirm what I already knew.” She rolled her eyes. “Men, they’re so sentimental.”
Billy shook his head as he
got out of the car, and they walked over to the staircase. She was right, she and Chase had no need of a piece of paper as proof of their union. Anyone who saw the two of them together would know they were bound for life.
He felt a dull ache in his gut as he wished that it could be that simple for him and Rose. But Rose was already married. To the Job.
CHAPTER 10
“Here we are,” Ryan announced about forty-three days and nights later in Lucky’s estimation. Or maybe it was only forty-three minutes—at least that was what his watch said. “Home sweet home.”
He looked at the rough-hewn log cabin she indicated. Maybe ten feet by ten, he’d been in closets that were larger.
“There’s a chemical toilet ‘round back.” She indicated with a nod of her head. “I’ll get a fire started.”
Lucky went to use the porta john, embarrassed by how difficult such an ordinary process became when one hand was immobilized. To hell with it.
He eased his arm from its makeshift sling. He could use it as long as he mainly moved from the elbow down. But the extra hand helped move things along as far as undressing and dressing again.
By the time he floundered through the snowdrifts back to the cabin, Ryan had a nice sized fire blazing in the small prefab metal fireplace. He looked around the cabin—it was generous to call it that. It had a plank floor, a low ceiling and a shelf that jutted out about three feet off the floor along the two walls not taken up by the door and fireplace.
“What’s that for?” He nodded at the shelf as he began to shed his layers of clothing.
“Sleeping.”
Lucky was afraid of that. People did this for fun? He leaned against the rough-hewn wall and kicked off his boots. He hoped the snow didn’t mess them up—he loved those boots. Had had them for years, ever since a misbegotten trip with some grad school friends to Vegas. Roper style they were called. All he knew was that they were comfortable and you could easily get into them even when you were dead drunk.
“We’re the first in the system to have these European style shelters instead of the three-sided open ones like those along the Appalachian Trail.” She gestured enthusiastically. “Cozy, huh? All the comforts of home.”
“Look, Smokey,” he said. “My home comforts include a microwave, cold beer, cable TV, and a king-sized bed.”
He tugged with frustration at the rain pants stuck halfway down his legs, finally gave up and sat down on one of the benches—beds, he corrected himself—and tried to kick them off, hopelessly snarling his foot instead.
“Let me,” Ryan said, kneeling at his feet.
“I can do it.” All the frustration and pain of the day emerged with his words. Ryan raised her hands in surrender as he floundered for a few more moments. “Ah, to hell with it.”
“Just hold still for a moment, will you?”
He slumped back, caught himself before he could actually regress into pouting, and allowed her to pull them off for him. Jeez, how much good was he going to be when The Preacher’s men came calling if he couldn’t even undress himself?
When he looked up he saw a look of wounded pride in her face. Aw hell, what had he done now?
“I helped build this shelter,” she said, laying the rain pants flat to dry near the fire. “If you have someplace better in mind or if you’d rather go build yourself a snow cave, feel free.”
She squatted before him, the fire at her back, silhouetting her, its shadows accentuating her high cheekbones and the fierce expression in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said earnestly. “I’m tired, my shoulder hurts like a sonofabitch, and I have no idea how I’m supposed to stop The Preacher when I’m trapped here in the middle of nowhere.”
Vinnie bristled as his calling her mountain, her home, her sanctuary, “nowhere.”
Then she shook her head and chuckled. It was in the middle of nowhere. That was why she had come here. Away from the city, away from people, away from everything except the beauty of nature and a lot of peace and quiet.
And the occasional blundering idiot to rescue.
She passed him the water bottle. “Finish this,” she told him. “I’ll melt some snow.”
He frowned at that. “Is it safe to eat snow? What about all the animals, uh, relieving themselves in it?”
She couldn’t stop from laughing again. City boy. “Safer than that crap you city folk call water. I just wish I had some milk and vanilla—then I’d make you some snow cream. You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Snow cream? Like ice cream?”
“That’s like comparing Bud Lite to Guinness.” She sat back on her heels, eyes half-closed as she remembered her mother’s deft touch in creating the winter delicacy. “My mom used to make it for us when we were kids. Had to do everything just right or it would turn into slushy soup. Use a metal bowl, set it outside to chill before you start, fill it with fresh powder—had to have fallen that day, no packed crystals.”
He nodded as if he shared in her memory, his gaze locked on her face. She smiled. “Slowly add the cream as you gently, so very gently, whisk the snow, then drizzle in the vanilla—just a touch. And then,” she sighed, closing her eyes, “heaven as it melts on your taste buds, vanishes before you can even swallow, leaving only the memory of that delicate texture and flavor.”
“Wow,” he said, his voice a sigh barely heard over the wind outside.
She opened her eyes wide, saw that his were now transfixed on her lips. At first she flushed, enjoying the warmth of his attention. It had been a very long time since any man had taken an interest in her.
Then her stomach rumbled and she realized it had nothing to do with her as a woman—he was starved. What was she doing, sitting here talking about food when she should be getting some ready for them?
Vinnie felt herself blush as she broke away from his gaze and stood up, grabbing a pot from her pack before heading outside to gather some snow to melt.
Once outside she cleared her head, inhaling air so cold it made her head rush. Or maybe it wasn’t the cold air. Maybe it was these feelings newly awakened inside her.
She filled the pot, packed down the snow and added more. The night was quiet, the snow had slowed but the wind off the gorge came in quick bursts sending whirling dervishes of snow spiraling around her boots. She blew out her breath, tried to ignore the heat she felt when she thought of Lucky or the way he looked at her or the way his hands felt in hers.
Tried and failed. She darted a glance towards the cabin. It had been a long time since she’d felt this way—so long that she’d forgotten how good being with a man could feel. She wanted to feel that way again.
Adrenalin and its aftermath, she told herself. Driving her hormones, fueling a biological imperative to mate, to celebrate life after nearly dying. That’s all this feeling was.
Still, talk about your perfect one night stand—he’d be gone, off to save the world in the morning once she got him off the mountain. She’d probably never see him again.
Her wicked thoughts sent a tingle through her veins. No. He was injured. She couldn’t take advantage of him. Could she?
Vinnie’s grin widened. She stood up straight and strode back to the cabin. For the first time since she’d met Lucky she felt like she was in control of the situation.
Damn, it felt good.
When she returned inside, he was immersed in the computer.
“This is very bad,” he said, his fingers tapping the keys with increasing agitation. He looked up at her, his forehead wrinkled in concern. “You really do think we can get off this mountain, right? Because there’s a lot at stake. Thousands, maybe millions of people could die if we can’t stop The Preacher.”
CHAPTER 11
“The Preacher’s tied into every fanatic group from Al Qaeda to PETA,” Lucky explained. “And he’s coordinating them in simultaneous attacks two days from now.”
Vinnie sat the pot of snow on the fire. This wasn’t the time for hormones or biological imperatives. This w
as the real deal—even though it felt like something out of a bad Steven Seagal movie. “I thought The Preacher was a constitutionalist. Considers himself Thomas Jefferson’s reincarnation, here to protect and defend the Constitution, wants to reshape the government the way the founding fathers meant it to be. What would he want with Al Qaeda, much less PETA?”
“How do you know so much about The Preacher?” he asked, an edge to his voice.
“Relax, Cavanaugh. Even us hillbillies know how to read. I go down to Goose Creek once a week and pick up the Post and the Times, the local papers and any books the library van drops off. I’m not totally out of touch with the rest of the world. I just prefer my corner of the world to be traffic and,” she glanced pointedly at the Glock lying beside him, “gun free.”
“Guess you’ve got a point there.” He looked back at the computer. “I’m almost finished with these. Once I do, I’m going to give you the hard drive to carry. In case we get separated.”
She looked up at that. “In case? Never play poker, Cavanaugh, you’re a bad liar. What’s your plan?”
“Busted.” He grinned at her like a schoolboy. “You said we had two options, cross the gorge to your cabin or go down the mountain. I thought we’d have twice the chance to get this information out if we split up. I’ll go to your cabin, you head down the mountain.”
“Bad idea.”
“Why? You can move faster than I can, you know the terrain, it would be easy for you to avoid The Preacher’s men, get down to Goose Creek. I can create several diversions up here to keep them busy, give me time to cross the gorge, get to your place.”
She placed the steaming pot of oatmeal and raisins between them, offered him the spoon first while she took the topo map out, spread it on the bench beside him, kneeling in front of him so that they could both see.
“We’re here.” She indicated the shelter on the map. “This red line is the trail.” She traced her finger along the circuitous route of the steep and winding Lost River Trail. “My cabin is here.” She moved her finger west, across the gorge.