Montana Rogue

by Jessica Douglass

  “If I could make this easier for you, Courtney,” he said, “I would. But there’s no way to make something like this go down easy.”

  She kept shaking her head. “I’m not buying into this, Jack. I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’m not buying in. I won’t.”

  “Fine,” he said. “Don’t believe me. But come with me. Now.” He squatted down and scooped handfuls of snow onto their camp fire, then started rolling up the sleeping bag. Several times he had to pause, as things swam out of focus. He cursed the weakness of his own body. If he hadn’t passed out again, Courtney wouldn’t have found the phone, wouldn’t have made that call.

  He glanced at her, still settled on her knees in the soggy turf. She looked so bewildered, so lost—and yet so incredibly beautiful. He wanted so much to make love to her, make all the hurts go away for a little while at least. But he couldn’t summon the arrogance for such an act. So much of her pain was his fault.

  “Courtney, please,” he said. “We need to go.”

  A tear slipped down her cheek. “Do you know what Fletcher Winthrop did when I divorced his son? He put his arms around me, told me everything was going to be all right, that Roger would never hurt me again. My own father—” her voice broke “—my own father asked me what I’d done to provoke him.”

  Jack closed his eyes.

  “I don’t think any words have ever hurt me more,” she said. “I was at the lowest point of my life, and the one person I thought I could count on to be there for me ripped out what was left of my heart.”

  “I’m so sorry, princess.”

  She raised her gaze toward his. “Do you see why I can’t believe you?”

  “I see why you don’t want to. But it doesn’t change what is. I’m sorry.”

  She stiffened her spine. “You don’t quit, do you?”

  “Not when your life’s at stake.”

  She pushed to her feet and began to pace, pace insofar as her crutch and her injured ankle would permit on the uneven ground. “All right,” she allowed, “for the sake of argument, let’s say I never met Fletcher Winthrop. That still leaves you with the rather monumental task of convincing me the co-owner of a multibillion-dollar international conglomerate would involve himself in kidnapping and murder. Tell me it was Roger, and I’ll believe you in a heartbeat. But Fletcher. It can’t be.”

  “It’s a long, ugly story, princess. But I swear I’ll tell you every sordid detail just as soon as I get you somewhere safe.”

  She sent him an almost-pleading look, and Jack could sense that she was indeed beginning to waver, to doubt. But he could sense, too, that the notion that Winthrop meant her physical harm was almost too much for her to bear. He made the decision to back off. For the moment anyway. Deliberately he changed the subject. “Tell me what you told the person on the phone. About where you were, who you were with.”

  “I told him I was in the Sapphires. I tried to describe where I thought the cabin might be.”

  “He believed you? He didn’t think you were a crank call?”

  “He believed me.” She managed a wan smile. “Maybe I sounded kidnapped, I don’t know. Anyway, he’d heard about it. Heard the Hamilton name. He said tabloid reporters are crawling all over the state. There’s quite a massive search going on for me, I guess.” She met his eyes. “Up near the Canadian border.”

  Score one for my side, Jack thought. He’d told her that was where the intended cabin was.

  “But the kidnappers could have leaked out phony clues,” she said. “They’d want the search to be in the wrong place, wouldn’t they?”

  Stalemate. He frowned. “So I take it the police have heard from another contingent of your kidnappers?”

  “According to the 911 operator, they’re demanding a ten-million-dollar ransom. Payable two days from now. Or—” she swallowed “—I’m to be killed.”

  “Winthrop must be pulling out all the stops. Obviously he let the story leak to the media. The FBI is probably fit to be tied.”

  “Have you actually talked to Fletcher, Jack? Is that why you know he’s the person in charge of all this?”

  “No,” he admitted. “I came into the kidnapping too late to make any contact with anyone before the copter took off. All I had was a phone number the original pilot had on him.

  “The number turned out to be a go-between, a buffer between the helicopter crew and the boss. After all, he doesn’t want to advertise his identify to any more people than absolutely necessary. I told the guy the chopper had gotten off course, that my best guess was that we went down somewhere in the Bitterroots. I told him Frank was dead, and that you and I weren’t doing much better. That I didn’t know if either one of us was going to make it. Then I broke the connection.

  “Winthrop must have proceeded on the assumption that we both froze to death. He’s playing out his hand however he pleases. But now there’s a fly in the ointment. You.” He pressed a hand to his temple.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Just dizzy. It’ll pass.” He straightened. “What else did you say to the operator?”

  Very deliberately, Courtney pulled the Beretta from her pocket. “I told him one of the kidnappers was dead, and that I’d managed to get a gun away from the other one.”

  Jack eyed the weapon ruefully. “Good. That’ll jive with what I told Winthrop’s middleman.”

  “Isn’t that convenient for you?” she said tightly.

  “Meaning what? You still believe I’m one of them?”

  She let the gun fall to her side. “I don’t know what I believe, Jack. Not about anyone. Or anything.”

  “Then believe this.” Fear prodded him now, fear that he wouldn’t be able to convince her to go with him after all. “Yesterday when I asked you to trust me, you could consider it an intellectual exercise. Now your life depends on it. My hand to God, Courtney, I’m on your side.”

  “Why couldn’t you just have told me the truth, Jack? Why in heaven’s name didn’t you at least tell me about the phone? My father could be dead. Do you understand that? Dead.”

  “No,” he told her quietly. “Quentin Hamilton’s alive. In fact, he’s even made some progress. They’ve taken him off the ventilator, but he’s still unconscious.”

  Betrayal sparked in those green eyes. “You knew that and you didn’t tell me?” she shrilled.

  “I wanted to tell you.” The words sounded hollow even to his own ears. “But I thought it was best not to.”

  “You thought it was best that I not know if my father was alive or dead?”

  “If you knew about the phone, you’d would’ve wanted me to send for help.”

  “Damned straight.”

  “And you would’ve wound up in the same danger you’re in now. Hate me all you like, Courtney. But hate me someplace else. Stay here, and you’re dead. I promise you, they will kill you.” His gaze tracked skyward. “The weather’s clear. They could already have a plane in the air. One more time, Courtney. Will you trust me?”

  Her voice was anguished. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  He could almost see the war going on inside her. A minute passed. The longest minute of his life. But at last her shoulders slumped and she murmured, “All right. All right, Jack, I’ll trust you.” She thrust the Beretta in her pocket. “But I’ll keep the gun.”

  “Deal.”

  They headed out, Jack taking the lead.

  Scarcely five minutes passed before Courtney stopped. “This isn’t the way to the cabin.”

  “We don’t dare go there. You told them about it, remember?”

  “But we’re not pointed toward the trailhead, either.”

  “They’ll look there, too. I know a cave about five miles from here. We can rest there for a day or two, even longer if we have to.”

  “A cave? Days? In that torn-up sleeping bag?” She looked incredulous. “I can do Daniel Boone, Jack. But I’m not a bleeping polar bear!”

  His mouth
ticked upward, and he traced the line of her jaw with his fingertips. “Maybe not, but you’re the gutsiest woman I’ve ever known.”

  For just an instant those defenses of hers crumbled and he could almost believe that she didn’t hate him. Not completely anyway. But then the walls were back. She settled her crutch beneath her armpit, glowered at him and limped on.

  Hours passed. Hours in which they seemed to take turns stumbling to their knees. Jack’s head felt ready to explode. Though she never once complained, he guessed Courtney’s ankle felt much the same.

  Near midafternoon, as they crossed a clearing, she fell and did not get up.

  “Are you all right?” Jack asked, gasping. The thin mountain air coupled with his head injury had been steadily wearing him down all day.

  She managed a weak nod, but did not rise.

  “We can’t stay here,” he said. “It’s too exposed. Come on. The cave isn’t much farther.” He caught her arm.

  “You said it wasn’t much farther two hours ago.”

  “Just get up. I’ll carry you.”

  “No. I need to rest. Just give me a minute. Please.”

  He heard it then. Somewhere in the distance. The steady thrum of a helicopter engine.

  Courtney must have heard it, too, because she turned her head, scanning the eastern sky.

  “We’ve got to hide!” Jack shouted. “Hurry!”

  “No.” He could see the sudden indecision in her, all of her mistrust resurfacing. To her, the copter meant dry clothes, a clean bed, a warm meal. Most of all, safety. From him.

  Briefly, he considered dragging her toward a nest of boulders some twenty yards away. But in his weakened state, if she resisted, he could never force her. He made himself wait. She needed to make up her own mind. Besides, she could be right. Maybe the copter belonged to the forest service. Maybe Winthrop hadn’t been able to get his hired gun on board under false pretenses. Maybe...

  Courtney was on her feet. Her face a mask of irony, she said, “I’ve got to be the biggest fool on the planet to trust you again. But I do.” Then she slogged toward the boulders.

  Relief washing through him, Jack followed. It had occurred to him that Winthrop money might even be able to buy off a ranger.

  Several minutes later the copter passed overhead. A private hire, Jack noted, as it continued south to disappear beyond a stand of trees. He blew out a long, slow breath. They had not been spotted.

  “Do you think it was Fletcher?” Courtney asked.

  “Not in the flesh. But I wouldn’t care to wager on the allegiance of the crew. Until I can get you to my contact in Butte, I’d rather play it safe.”

  “Your contact?”

  “If I fall off another cliff, put in a call to Mark Segura. He’s a D.E.A. agent and a good friend of mine and Pete’s.” Jack scribbled down a phone number and handed it to her. “I’ve been keeping Mark up to date on things. He’ll take good care of you.”

  It took them another three hours to reach a small opening at the base of a massive granite bluff. “Wait here,” Jack told her, though both of them were so exhausted they could barely stand. “I want to go in first, make sure no four-legged residents have staked a prior claim.” He ducked low—the cave’s ceiling topping out at barely five feet six. Flicking on his lighter, he held it out in front of him like a miniature torch. A hundred feet into the mountainside the cave ended. “Come on in,” Jack called back. “It’s all ours. Home sweet home.”

  Shivering, Courtney staggered into the cave and promptly collapsed. Jack hurried to her side, helping her to her feet, then helping her over to the near wall of the cave. Gratefully, she leaned her full weight against it, sinking slowly, slowly to the cold, muddy floor. “Fire,” she murmured. “Please. A fire.”

  “No. We can’t take the risk. It could be seen.”

  She sent him a look of abject misery.

  Swiftly Jack unfurled the sleeping bag. Catching her up, he eased her into it.

  She continued to shiver. “What about you?” she asked. “Aren’t you going to join me?”

  His brows furrowed, and he felt her forehead.

  “I’m not sick,” she grumbled. “I’m freezing. Freezing enough not to mind the idea of subletting half of these luxurious accommodations to you.”

  He chuckled, pleased that she’d recovered enough spunk to be crabby. She’d said little on their long trek, her thoughts absorbed, he was certain, by Winthrop’s treachery. “I don’t know how I could refuse such a gracious offer,” he drawled. “But I’m going to have to. For the moment at least. I’ve got a few things to take care of.”

  He headed back out of the cave. Conducting a quick foraging expedition, he returned minutes later with an armload of pine boughs, which he spread out as a cushion for the sleeping bag. “Are you warm enough yet?” he asked.

  She didn’t answer. He leaned close, a tender smile creasing his lips. She was fast asleep.

  Very carefully, he settled down beside her, though he did not take her up on her offer to share the sleeping bag. The temperature in the cave was holding at around forty. Tolerable with his jacket, clothes and long underwear. And considering the direction of his thoughts, a much more prudent choice than spooning his body next to hers in that damnable bag.

  He’d been spending entirely too much time lately thinking about another night when he and Courtney Hamilton had slept together. A fantasy come to life in his bedroom. He’d even pinched himself to make certain he wasn’t dreaming. Rejoicing in the pain, because it meant the golden-haired woman in his bed was wonderfully, magically real.

  And then it all came crashing down. The woman of his dreams. He’d had her and lost her in a single night.

  And now here she was again. With her flip remarks about fate and destiny and karma. Very tenderly Jack reached out and eased a stray tendril of hair away from her face. Surely those Fates couldn’t be so cruel as to take her away from him a second time.

  Then he cursed himself for a fool. She wasn’t his to be taken. She was an independent woman—strong, courageous, rebuilding her life in the aftermath of Roger Winthrop’s abuse. What could he offer such a woman? A ramshackle cabin in the middle of nowhere?

  He closed his eyes. Enough. He wasn’t in this for himself. He was in this for Courtney. Here to get her down off this mountain safe and alive. Toward that end, he realized he needed to regain his strength. Shutting out his troublesome thoughts, Jack closed his eyes and slept.

  It was full dark when he woke, Courtney still sleeping beside him. Outside, the moon illuminated the shadowy sentinels of the lodgepole, standing guard in stark relief against the bright white of the snow-laden hills.

  He shifted, rubbing his arm. He’d fallen asleep using it as a pillow. Now the blasted limb was asleep.

  “Are you all right?” came Courtney’s sleepy voice.

  “Fine,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  “It’s okay.” She stretched and sat up. “I wasn’t having very pleasant dreams anyway.” Her tone sounded almost defeated. “Are we going to live through this, Jack?”

  “Guaranteed,” he said, hoping he sounded more convinced than he felt.

  “I can’t believe Fletcher would do this. What possible motive could he have?”

  “It can wait ’til morning.”

  “No. I’m awake. I want to know now.”

  Jack gave an inward shrug. Now or later. What was the difference? “His motive’s the same one we’ve been talking about all along. Money.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Not a bit.”

  “You may find this hard to believe, but ten million dollars isn’t all that much to Winthrop-Hamilton.”

  “Maybe, but I doubt you’d say the same if the prize was a billion.”

  “A billion? That’s half the company.”

  “Exactly. The Hamilton half.”

  “But that doesn’t make any sense. My father’s been a friend and partner to Fletcher fo
r forty years. Why would he suddenly want the whole company to himself?”

  Jack pushed to a sitting position beside her. Despite his physical complaints and the less-than-pleasant subject matter, he was taking a genuine pleasure in the simple act of being in this woman’s company, sharing thoughts and feelings in the darkness.

  “Maybe I’d better start at the beginning,” he said. “Tell you what I’ve been able to piece together so far. For me, it started eight months ago. Though I didn’t know it then. I’d just resigned from the LAPD, and I was having a pretty rocky time of it. Pete offered me his place here in the mountains. He came up most weekends. We hunted, fished, talked. It took a while, but I started feeling alive again.

  “About that time—maybe four months ago—Pete started filling me in on a case he was working on. A kind of private investigation. I kept telling him I wasn’t interested, that I wasn’t a cop anymore. But Pete could be pretty persistent. I think he saw the case as a way to bring me back. To reconnect me with the real world.”

  “Did it work?”

  “I don’t know yet,” he said honestly. “Anyway, Pete was really excited. He said the trail had led him to bigger fish then he’d ever dreamed of. He was going to stand Butte on its ear. Maybe he was going to stand the whole country on its ear.

  “I figured he was blowing smoke. Exaggerating to try to get me jazzed about it. So I called him on it. He brought me a whole boxful of faxes, computer printouts, canceled checks. He told me he got them from a snitch working on the inside.”

  “The inside of what?”

  He hesitated, but there was no help for it. If he didn’t tell her, she’d only guess. “Winthrop-Hamilton.”

  Though he couldn’t see clearly in the heavily shadowed interior of the cave, he could feel the blood drain from her face. “I can stop if you want me to,” he offered gently.

  “No. No, I want to hear it. All of it.”

  “It seems some of the dealings Fletcher got himself into over the past few years haven’t been all that legitimate.”

  “But why would he take such a stupid risk? He’s one of the wealthiest men in the world.”

  “You were in Butte when the last of the mines went under, weren’t you? When the Berkeley Pit and the others shut down?”