Upon landing, she lifted her head, scraping her chin. Ian tumbled to the ground himself, his mouth wide but emitting no sound or maybe Meg just couldn’t hear him over the roaring in her ears.
Oh God, if Ian had been shot, she’d track down his killer and make him pay. She’d even grovel for her father to use his influence to do it. When the air gushed back into her lungs, she screamed, “Ian.”
He bunched up to his knees and launched himself at her, falling on top of her body. He already had his weapon clutched in his hand, and he swung it around in one smooth movement and squeezed off two shots.
Meg’s racing heart had her gasping for breath. The shooter must still be within range. Using his body as a shield, Ian scooted toward an elderberry bush, dragging Meg’s body beneath his. Once he had them both behind the generous growth of the bush, he hunched up to his elbows and took aim again.
The blast from Ian’s gun deafened Meg and she squeezed her eyes shut, her nostrils flaring at the acrid scent of the gunpowder. Ian shifted, creating a slice of space between their bodies, and Meg huddled against him, sealing her throbbing shoulder against his.
She opened one eye and peered through the mass of leaves, holding her breath, fearful one small puff from her lips could initiate another exchange of gunfire. Ian’s finger curled around the trigger of his gun. The tense muscles of his body, coiled and ready for action, pressed against Meg. Every fiber of the man vibrated with deadly intent.
Something or someone crashed through the underbrush behind them. Ian rolled onto his back, leveling his weapon in front of him. The crackling of twigs and dislodging of rocks continued, but faded, as Meg strained her ears and squinted into the wild growth that seemed to suck up the sound.
Ian’s low voice next to her ear sounded like a shout. “I think he’s gone.”
Meg swallowed, her throat too dry to speak. She scratched out a few unintelligible words and then grabbed her aching shoulder. Her fingers met a wet spot soaking through torn bits of her jacket. She pulled her hand away and stared at the red streaks on her palm. After the fast and furious few minutes of terror, her mind now seemed as slow as a river of sludge.
She stared at her hand, wiggling her fingers and clenching her fist. Nothing injured or broken.
“Meg!” Ian grabbed her wrist. “You’re hurt. God, where did he hit you?”
“Hit me?” She knitted her brows and bit her lip until the pain in her shoulder blazed to life again. She gasped. “My shoulder.”
Ian crawled around to her other side and cursed. He unzipped her jacket and yanked it from her good arm. Then he carefully peeled it from her injured one.
Her flannel shirt beneath her jacket and her silk long underwear beneath the shirt both sported jagged tears. Ian hooked his fingers into the holes and ripped a wider circle around her wound.
Blood trickled down her arm and Meg gulped. “Is it bad? I don’t feel faint or anything, just hurts like the blazes.”
“The bullet didn’t lodge in your arm.” Ian snatched the water bottle from the side of his pack and pulled a T-shirt from the main compartment. He ripped the T-shirt in half and soaked one piece.
“Does this hurt?” He dabbed at her shoulder and she gritted her teeth.
“Not much.”
He cleaned the blood from her arm, took the other piece of the torn T-shirt and pressed it against the injury. “Thank God, the bullet just grazed you. I think you tripped just about the same time he got off his shot.”
Sitting back down, Ian dragged Meg between his legs, her back against his chest. He continued to apply pressure to the bullet wound and held a bottle of water to her lips. “Drink. Do you feel dizzy?”
“I feel shocked, but it’s emotional, not physical. Do you think he was tracking us or lying in wait?”
He brushed his lips against her hair. “Let’s not talk about it right now.”
Ian was back to sweeping unpleasant things under the rug, protecting her, keeping her in the dark. “He might still be out there waiting for us.”
“I don’t think so. If he didn’t know I was armed before, he does now. That’s going to give him a healthy dose of caution.” He removed the bunched-up T-shirt from her shoulder, inspected it and began wrapping the shirt around her upper arm. “You stopped bleeding already. It’s really nothing much more than a scrape. Do you have some ibuprofen in your pack?”
She tapped the toe of her boot against the outside pocket of her backpack. “In there. If this is the spot and the guy knows what he’s looking for, why doesn’t he just grab it and run? Why is he still in the area? Why is he killing anyone getting close?”
“All good questions.” Ian helped her back into her jacket. Then he reached around her for the pack and removed the bottle of ibuprofen. “And I don’t have the answer to any of them.”
He popped the lid on the bottle and shook two green gel caps into his palm. “I think a flesh wound from a bullet calls for two, don’t you?”
She tossed the pills into her mouth and chugged some water. “How about ten?”
Immediately his brows created a V over his nose. “Are you in a lot of pain?”
“On a scale of one to ten? About a seven.”
He patted her breast, and just when she was getting some ideas, he pulled the radio out of her jacket pocket. “Do you suppose your good friend, Sheriff Cahill, is still in the area with his chopper?”
She blinked. “You’re going to ask for his help? I thought you’d be willing to burn in hell first.”
“Don’t be dense, Meg.” He tapped her nose with the radio antenna. “I’d be willing to burn in hell first, but I’m not about to let you burn in hell with me. There’s no way you’re walking out of this valley with that injury.”
Ian said, “Call him.” He dropped the radio in her lap and she got the sheriff’s department helicopter on her frequency. She explained everything to the pilot, who told her the deputies weren’t done with the Hans crime scene yet. Meg welcomed the news, since the pilot agreed to pick up her and Ian, while leaving the deputies to their investigation on the ground. She couldn’t deal with any more male posturing between Ian and Pete right now.
“The pilot’s on his way.”
“I heard everything. Cahill’s going to have another investigation on his hands with this shooting.”
Meg snuggled against Ian’s chest and draped one arm over his thigh while holding the other close to her body. “Why don’t you just tell him everything and get law enforcement out here to search?”
“Nope.” He balanced his chin on her head and shook his head. “This kind of operation is done undercover, only by those in the know, and away from the glare of the media. We don’t even know what we’re after here. A full-scale search could jeopardize the mission, law enforcement lives and Jack’s safety. I’ll tell Cahill what he needs to know to do his job, no more.”
“That’s why Pete is…uh…annoyed with you. He doesn’t like being shut out.” Any more than I do.
“Pete isn’t annoyed with me. He hates me, and his dislike doesn’t have anything to do with this case.”
Warmth crawled across Meg’s cheeks. “He doesn’t have dibs on me, Ian. Nobody does.”
“You’re wrong.”
Her blood pounded in her veins, and the wound beneath Ian’s tight dressing throbbed. Would he admit it now? Her discovery of Hans’s body had interrupted their kisses. The gunfire had intruded upon their companionable hike. Could Ian get past her deception?
She waited, her gloved fingers curled like claws on his knee.
His warm breath stirred her hair. “Travis has dibs on you. He has your heart and soul.”
The tight muscles of her face dissolved into a huge smile and she scuffed her glove against Ian’s thigh. “You noticed?”
“Hard to miss that between a mother and child.”
His words had a harsh edge, and Meg finished his sentence in her head: Even if you’ve never experienced it yourself.
She cranked her
head to the side and kissed the edge of his stubbled chin. “I’m glad you can see that. I’m glad I didn’t make a mess of things…even though I made the biggest mistake of my life in not telling you about the pregnancy.”
“That’s why I need to keep you out of harm’s way, Meg. You need to be there for Travis.”
And you, Ian? Do I need to be there for you, too?
The helicopter appeared above the tree line and Ian jumped to his feet, waving his arms. He hooked an arm beneath Meg’s good shoulder and helped her to her feet. “You’re going to have to walk a little, since he can’t put his bird down here.”
“Nothing wrong with my legs.”
He aimed a glance at the weapon clutched in his hand. “I’ve got your back.”
Once on her feet, she stumbled against him. “Great. I hadn’t thought of the shooter out there, ready to take pot shots at us while we’re making our escape.”
“This is just insurance. He’s long gone. He’s not going to take any chances with a helicopter hovering nearby.”
As the plane set down and they quickly hopped on, Meg’s gaze skittered toward the dense foliage where the shooter had scurried like a cockroach exposed to the light. “You keep that insurance close by and ready to deliver.”
The chopper lifted off and dipped to the right, almost skimming the tops of the ponderosa pines still dressed in green and awaiting winter. Meg rested her forehead against the helicopter’s window and the scenery melted into blurry lines beneath her.
Where was the suitcase? Where was the killer? And what had happened to her peaceful wonderland?
IAN DROVE HER to the hospital, the same one Travis had visited the day before. The doctor pronounced her first gunshot wound ever a superficial flesh wound, cleaned it, dressed it and called the police.
Of course, the police in Crestville meant one of Pete’s deputies, who explained that Pete was still tied up with the investigation of the dead tourist.
Meg recounted to him how she and Ian had decided to hike out of the valley after discovering Hans Birnbach’s body, and somebody took a shot at them.
Ian said, with a completely straight face, “Do you get many poachers? It could’ve been someone on an early hunting trip.”
Pete must’ve briefed all of his deputies on the covert ops military man in their midst. This one narrowed his eyes and snorted. “After two deaths already? I don’t think so, Dempsey.”
Ian raised his hands and shrugged. “Can Meg leave now? She has to pick up…her son.”
Meg hadn’t even bothered returning to the Rocky Mountain Adventures office. She didn’t have any time to do anything but pick up Travis and get ready for a dinner party she’d already planned.
Outside of the hospital, Ian raked his nails across his short hair. “You’re throwing a dinner party with a bum shoulder? You need rest.”
“You heard the doc—superficial flesh wound. It’s not like I’m going to cook. I’ll pick up some take-out Chinese. It’s a casual dinner with the parents of Travis’s friends, and the kids are invited.”
“I don’t think you should be alone tonight, Meg. Someone just tried to shoot you.” He folded his arms, blocking her way to the parking lot.
“Didn’t you hear me? I’m having a bunch of people over. I won’t be alone.”
“Any one of those people going to spend the night?”
“Of course not.” She pushed past him, making a beeline for his rental car. He beeped the remote before she got to the passenger door, so she opened it and slipped onto the seat, slamming the door behind her.
He climbed in next to her, the economy car too small for his large frame. She pushed the hair out of her face and collapsed against the seat, closing her eyes. “Couldn’t the CIA or the government, or whoever, spring for a bigger car?”
“Don’t want to waste the taxpayers’ money.” He cranked on the engine and pulled out of the parking space. When he rolled over a speed bump, Meg grabbed her elbow in the sling.
He sucked air in through his teeth. “Sorry about that. You’re still going to host a dinner party?”
“You make it sound like an official White House function or something. It’s just a bunch of parents getting together with their kids—paper plates, sippy cups and talk of potty training strategies.”
“How’s Travis doing with that, anyway?”
She opened one eyelid to study his profile—still strong, clean, chiseled…and serious. He really wanted to know about Travis’s progress. And she owed it to him. She scooped in a breath and straightened in her seat. “Boys are generally slower in that area than girls, so I’m not going to start with him until he’s two and a half. I don’t want to set him up for failure.”
A muscle flared in his jaw. “No, don’t ever do that.”
Ian’s stiff expression opened a floodgate for Meg. All the way to Travis’s day care, she talked about their son. She told Ian about his birth and his personality and all his firsts. All the firsts Ian had missed because of her stubborn pride.
When they pulled in front of Eloise’s house, Ian knew a lot more about Travis than when he’d left him that morning. His questions had spurred on Meg to tell even more stories about Travis. Sure, she had friends who cared about Travis, but Meg had never had anyone to talk to about him in this intimate way. And Ian had welcomed it, devoured every word she said with a seemingly insatiable hunger.
He parked the car and then smacked the steering wheel. “Do you think Eloise will have an extra car seat? I’m going to take both of you home instead of to your car. You still don’t have great range of motion, and shouldn’t be driving.”
“Are you sure?” She lifted her arm, bound by the sling, and winced. “Okay. Good idea.”
“D-do you want to come in with me?” She clenched the handle of the door, afraid he’d say no.
“Yep.” Ian pushed out of the car and strode around to her side and helped her out of the seat as if she were made out of fine crystal.
She shrugged him off with her good arm. “Don’t forget the walker in the back.”
He ignored her, taking possession of her arm again and walking up to Eloise’s house beside her, with slow, measured steps. The loss of blood had made her a little woozy in the ER, but she felt almost normal now. Her gunshot wound was a dull ache instead of a raging fire on her upper arm.
When Eloise opened the door, she brought her hand to her mouth. “What happened?”
“It’s a long story, Eloise. I had an accident on one of the hikes, but I’m fine. Did Travis have a good day?”
Ian hung by the door, but Eloise sized him up with an appraising look. “Felicia told me Travis’s father had come to town.”
“That’s right.” Ian stepped around Meg and extended his hand. “Ian Dempsey.”
“I’m Eloise Zinn. Travis is a wonderful boy.” She motioned them to the back of the house, and Meg watched Travis scribbling chalk on a blackboard.
Sensing their presence, he dropped the chalk and spun around. “Mommy.”
He hurtled across the room and grasped the edge of the baby gate. Meg tried to reach over with one arm, gasped and drew up sharply. Travis’s face clouded over and his bottom lip jutted forward. Ian reached over and lifted Travis over the gate, settling him into the curve of Meg’s right arm.
Travis buried his face against her neck, but rolled his head sideways to peer at Ian through a tangle of dark curls. Ian tweaked his nose. “Hi, Travis.”
Travis raised his hand and waved by opening and closing his fist. Thank goodness Travis was still too young to make much of her sling. Meg called to one of the other day-care workers, “Miss Lori, can you please hand me Travis’s backpack?”
“Sure, Meg.” Lori grabbed the wooden train car Ian had given Travis the night before. “He was playing with this all day. I’m sure he wouldn’t want to forget it.”
When Lori approached the baby gate, Ian snagged the backpack from her and hung it on his arm. Travis pointed to Ian and said, “Daddy.”
>
Meg’s heart filled to bursting, but she didn’t want to make a big deal out of Travis’s pronouncement for his sake and Ian’s. “That’s right, Travis. Daddy gave that toy to you.”
She glanced at Ian over Travis’s head. In his otherwise impassive face, his green eyes flickered. Meg couldn’t discern the emotion there, and she didn’t want to. Her body and her mind suddenly felt exhausted.
Was she crazy to go through with this dinner tonight? Maybe, but she didn’t want to be alone with that boarded-up window in her garage. A house full of people would ward off the heebie-jeebies. Make something about her life feel normal again, since Ian had stumbled back into it bringing murder and mayhem…and a father for Travis.
They borrowed a car seat from Eloise, and Ian secured it in the backseat all by himself. Progress. Travis fell asleep on the way home, and Ian kept his conversation to a curt minimum. Meg knew he didn’t want to get into the wisdom of the dinner party tonight, and neither did she.
She no longer felt enthusiastic about it, but she didn’t want to ask Ian to stay with her yet another night. He had work to do, which he’d been neglecting by running after her.
“You’re going to double-check those people on yesterday’s hike, aren’t you? If Hans didn’t kill Kayla, then somebody else on that hike did.”
“Someone on the hike or someone waiting in the wings.”
She tilted her head. “That’s a new theory. You think maybe someone was following us or lying in wait near the lookout to the falls?”
“Maybe or maybe not.” He rubbed his eyes. “I just want to find out how this is all linked to Jack.”
“And I’m interfering with that.”
The line of his jaw hardened. “I never said you were interfering in the case, Meg. You are the case now, for better or for worse.”
Meg wedged her cheek against the icy window and mumbled, “For richer or for poorer, till death do us part.”
“What?” His voice sharpened along with his profile.
She sighed. “Nothing.”
“Do you want me to pick up anything for you? Food? Drinks? Wine? Beer?”
“There’s a good Chinese place in town that delivers, and I already have enough soda and juice bags to float a boat. Don’t need any alcohol. These are parents with kids. Parents don’t drink and drive with the kids in the car.”
Mountain Ranger Recon Page 11