The Pit had been a massive strip mining operation begun in the fifties. A last gasp to try and recover a glimmer of Butte’s late-nineteenth-century glory, when the mines worked twenty-four hours a day and the streets were so dark with pollution that the gas lamps were never permitted to go out. Cost overruns and foreign competition soon doomed the resumption of above-ground mining at both the Pit and Winthrop-Hamilton sites.
“The mines didn’t matter, Jack. Not to the overall health of the company. Winthrop-Hamilton diversified years ago. Granted, I don’t know much about the business, but I do know Father and Fletcher own everything from minimalls to multiplex movie theaters. A lot more than boarded-up mines.”
“But they couldn’t diversify the mines out of existence. They own those sites. In Butte and other places. Three years ago, the kind of slipshod operations that cost my father his health finally came to the attention of the EPA. The piper wanted to be paid. Three dozen lawsuits in six states were slapped against W-H—with clean up costs projected to run into the billions. Winthrop and your father were facing bankruptcy, and they both knew it. They hired a raft of lawyers to try to bail them out.”
Courtney thought about her father, of how sadly detached she had become from his life. She’d had no idea the company was in such serious trouble. She hadn’t even picked up on it in the three weeks she’d been home. But then, she thought, maybe Fletcher hadn’t wanted her to.
“Roger Winthrop was in South America when the lawsuits were filed,” Jack went on. “He started making inquiries. It wasn’t long before he had himself a drug connection. That’s when the serious money laundering got started.
“I don’t have all the particulars. But I know they’re desperate to find a certain computer disk.” He withdrew a small floppy from his inside jacket pocket. “This is the one you had in your purse.”
“I remember it,” Courtney said. “The files were encrypted. I couldn’t get into any of them. I’d just ejected the disk from the computer, when the phone rang telling me about my father’s supposed relapse. I must’ve tucked the disk in my purse without thinking.”
“Somehow Pete got the code, a few letters and a series of numbers. He passed it on to me, but he never found the disk. If Pete was right, the information on this thing could be worth a cool billion.”
“Which might,” Courtney conceded, “give Fletcher and Roger a motive. But that doesn’t explain your motive, Jack. Why couldn’t you tell me about all this from the beginning?”
He didn’t answer.
“My God,” she whispered. “I was a suspect, too, wasn’t I?”
“Not a suspect,” he said slowly. “But I thought you might know things you didn’t know you knew. Like having your father’s power of attorney. I was investigating his company, Courtney. I still am. I guess I figured you’d be more forthcoming to a mountain man you’d never seen before, than to a cop named Jack Sullivan.”
“My father.” Courtney’s voice shook. “Is he part of this, too?”
“Kidnapping you? Absolutely not. As to the rest of it, I’ll be honest, I’m not sure. I do know Winthrop recently transferred some debt-heavy properties solely into your father’s name. Fletcher and Roger are setting themselves up to skate free with their laundered blood money. Pete got too close. And he died for it.”
“This is all so incredible. Fletcher must have been desperate. That’s the only explanation. But Roger? I’m surprised it took him so long. He was always boasting about how he’d show his father up one day, bring the company ten times the success Fletcher and my father ever had. It was an obsession. And with Roger, success was only measured one way—in dollar signs.”
“I guess he didn’t care if those dollar signs came from videotapes or cocaine.” In the darkness Jack found her hand and brought it to his lips. “I’m just grateful you got away from that bastard. When I think of him hurting you—” His gut clenched.
She laid her head against his shoulder. “I want to thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being the man who kidnapped me.”
Until now, his impaired body had been a boon to his determination to keep his hands off of her. But the lilting warmth in that voice was almost his undoing. “I think we’d better get some sleep,” he said, praying she would acquiesce and he could then somehow calm his surging hormones.
Instead, she sidled closer and asked softly, “What was it like being a cop in L.A.?”
He wasn’t going to sleep. He was going to make love to her. He knew it, wanted it, ached for it. “It was hell. And it was heaven. I worked my butt off to make detective. I wanted Pete to be proud of me.”
“I’m sure he was.”
“Yeah.” Desire beat in every cell of his body.
“So why did you turn your back on it? Why did you stop being a cop and shut yourself off from the world?”
Several minutes ticked by, and Courtney thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then slowly, haltingly, the story came out. A story filled with guilt and rage and despair. And when he was finished, she knew why Jack Sullivan had nightmares.
“For a split second I hesitated, and my partner paid with his life.”
She laid a hand inside his coat, felt the powerful beat of his heart. “If the situation were reversed, do you think Emmett would have shot the boy?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“I think it does. You held your fire against a child.”
“I let my partner die.”
Not even talking about Emmett was taking the edge off of his desire to make love to this woman. Here. Now. In this cold, damp, godforsaken hole in the very walls of the earth.
“Were you found at fault?” he heard her ask.
“Not even a write-up in my file.”
“But you wish there had been. Some concrete evidence of your guilt.”
“Maybe.” Why did she have to understand? Why did she have to care? He didn’t want to hurt her. Not again.
“I know it’s just words, Jack, but you’ve got to forgive yourself. Let it go. I tore myself down for years for allowing Roger to hit me. For not walking out the first time he so much as called me names. But we can only do the best we can in this life. It’s all any of us can do.”
“You’ve done a helluva lot better than I have, Courtney. You made something of your life. You work in a battered women’s shelter. You face your demons every day. Me? I ran. Hid out in a cabin in the woods.”
“There’s nothing wrong with taking time to heal, Jack. More people should do it. It just so happens that working with other battered women has helped me heal.”
A wolf howled. Close. They looked up to see a pair silhouetted against the snow about a hundred yards from the mouth of the cave. Courtney touched the talisman at her throat, resting her other hand on Jack’s bandaged arm. “They mate for life, you know.”
“Don’t...Courtney...”
“Don’t what?” She leaned close.
“I want you too much.”
“What if I want you back?”
He groaned deep in his throat. That was it. The end. He had no more resistance. None. He wanted this, wanted it so badly. More than that, he wanted to believe again. In something. In someone. Maybe even in himself.
Later, neither one of them would be able to say exactly how they accomplished it. But Jack rolled out of the sleeping bag and built a tiny, smokeless fire inside the cave. Then they both stripped, stark naked. Eager, wanton, they came together in the darkness, oblivious to anything, everything, but their need to touch and be touched.
“Ten years,” he rasped. “Ten years I’ve dreamed of being with you again.”
She kissed him, hard, deep, then brought his mouth to her breasts. “Then, on some of those nights,” she told him softly, so very softly, “you and I were having the exact, same dream, Jack Sullivan.”
He worshiped her—with his hands, with his mouth, with his words. He memorized every part of her, reveling in what pleased her, what tickled her, what
made her tremble with need.
And then she was doing the same for him. If they’d been in the middle of a snowbank, neither one of them would have noticed, so hot did their passion blaze.
With a cry of surrender Courtney lay back, opening her legs to receive what she’d ached for for so very long. Union with the man she loved. Had always loved. Would always love.
And then he was inside her, moving, thrusting, loving her in return. And she wept from the sheer wonder of it, the magic, and then she gloried in the salty sweetness of Jack’s own tears. Together they swept past the edge of madness, a place of such exquisite pleasure that for as long as Jack was there with her, Courtney would never wish to come back.
* * *
Courtney came awake slowly, not wanting to disturb the man sleeping so peacefully beside her. She smiled. He looked ten years younger. An hour before dawn, sated, exhausted, they had managed to crawl into their tattered cocoon, drawing it up around them before they collapsed into sleep. Now, from the shadows on the ground outside the cave, Courtney guessed it to be around ten in the morning. Their tiny camp fire had long since gone out. As to that other fire, the one they seemed to have ignited in each other, Courtney still felt hers burning deep inside her.
She sighed, wondering what Jack’s reaction would be to the night they’d just shared. Joy? Regret? A marriage proposal? She smiled inwardly. Somehow she doubted the latter. But, strangely, she had no more doubts about his feelings for her. The man loved her, just as she loved him.
Of course he didn’t know it yet. Or if he did, he wasn’t prepared to admit it. But that was okay. Now that she knew it, she had faith that things would work themselves out.
Especially if she helped them along here and there.
Ten years ago Jack Sullivan had held his life up to hers and found himself wanting. False pride hadn’t let him believe he could be part of her life. But he was well past such foolishness now.
Now he was a man in every sense of the word. Strong, compassionate, brave, kind, sexy, stubborn, scared.
Scared for her.
She leaned over and kissed him lightly on the mouth.
“What was that for?” he mumbled groggily.
“Felt like it.”
His mouth ticked upward. “Feel like it again.”
She did.
“A man could get used to this.”
“So could a woman.” She grazed her fingertips across the bruise on his forehead. “How do you feel?”
“Like I died and went to heaven.” He wiggled his brows suggestively.
“I’d check your directions, Mr. Sullivan,” she said primly. “You look positively devilish to me. Besides—” she cast an unamused look at their accommodations “—I would hope heaven had classier rooms.”
“Oh, you want classy. Why didn’t you say so?” He pushed up on one elbow, then snugged down the zipper of the sleeping bag far enough so that he could lean out and grab for his backpack. While Jack rummaged through the pack, Courtney admired the ebony dusting of hair on the flat plane of his chest. He’d shrugged back into his flannel shirt and his jeans after they’d made love, but he hadn’t bothered to fasten either one.
“Eureka!” he pronounced, holding up two pieces of beef jerky. “How much classier can you get?” He proffered her a piece. “Breakfast in bed.”
Courtney made a face, but accepted the jerky. Her heart was singing. Lovemaking certainly seemed to have agreed with Jack. But then, why not? It had agreed with her, as well. Kidnapping, murder, drug trafficking—all seemed a million miles away. As wretched as this cave was, she suddenly found herself reluctant to leave it. Outside of its dank walls, the real world waited. The real world that could get them both killed.
She made a swipe at her disheveled hair, determined to distract herself from such morbid thoughts. “So help me,” she said, “when I get home, I’m spending three days in a Jacuzzi.”
“Want some company?”
“Love some.”
He kissed her then, hard. And Courtney wondered if a Jacuzzi could be installed in a cave.
“I hate to break this up,” Jack said, pulling back. “But we’ve got to get going.”
“Do we have to? A little work—some curtains, paint, a couple of plants—and I can do wonders with this place.”
“We’ve got to go, Courtney. I’m sorry.”
“I know.” She stood up and helped him break camp. “Just where are we headed anyway?”
“Somewhere where the cell phone will get me through to Mark Segura. I want him up here. I want to get you someplace safe.”
“I’m safe with you, remember?”
“I want you under police guard, princess. Twenty-four hours a day.”
“Only if I get to pick the policeman.” She eyed him playfully, but he did not smile.
“I’m sorry, angel, but it won’t be me. I have to go after Winthrop.”
“But I could help you. Wear a wire, a tape recorder, whatever they call it. I could get Fletcher to talk.”
He stared at her, astonished and, she saw, furious. “You think I’ve been through all this, doing everything I know how to keep you alive, so that you can just waltz into the lion’s den?”
“You’d be nearby. So would Segura, I’m sure. And half the Butte police force. I’d be fine.”
“Absolutely not. You can consider that a direct police order.”
Her lips thinned. “For one thing,” she stated, “Montana is not a police state. For another, you’re not really the police. You resigned. You’re a private citizen, just like me.”
He raked a hand through his dark locks. “Maybe not exactly like you.”
“Excuse me?”
He cleared his throat. “Maybe I forgot to mention that Pete took care of a little paperwork for me.”
“What kind of paperwork?”
“Three months ago I was reinstated on the L.A. force, then reassigned—temporarily—as a special agent—” he flushed guiltily “—with the FBI.”
“The FBI!” Courtney stamped her good foot on the cave floor. “And you just forgot to tell me that?”
“It didn’t seem important.”
She stared at him. “Not important. Jack, I’ve been scared to death that when this was all over you’d be back up in your cabin still brooding over Emmett.”
“I’ll always feel guilty about that. But I came to realize just exactly what you said yesterday. Life goes on. And my feeling sorry for myself in that cabin did no honor to Emmett’s memory.”
She circled her arms around his neck. “I’m glad for you.”
“You’re not angry?”
“I’m furious. But I’m still glad for you.”
He kissed her, and she kissed him back.
“We’d better go.”
She hesitated. “I need to ask you something first.”
“What?”
“You’re FBI, so your investigation is official, legal.”
“Right.”
“I need to know, if your going after the Winthrops is strictly about justice for Pete.”
“What else would it...? Oh.” His gaze hardened. “You think I wouldn’t mind getting another fish caught in my net. Say Quentin Hamilton.”
“It occurred to me,” she said, lifting her chin.
His cheeks reddened. “To be honest, it occurred to me, too. But I’d never use the law as a personal weapon, Courtney. Never.”
“I’m sorry. I had to ask.”
“It’s okay. I’m glad you did. Come on. It’s time for another invigorating hike in the woods.”
The day’s temperature was tolerable at least. Some of the snow was beginning to melt. Here and there, sprigs of grass were even beginning to poke through. She and Jack spoke little, concentrating on the terrain. Courtney knew that he was also keeping a wary eye out for company.
Toward midday they found a place where the cell phone would work static-free. Jack punched up Mark Segura’s number and the two men talked for maybe five minutes
. “It’s all set,” Jack said, tucking the phone back into his pocket. “We’ll meet him on an old logging road about two hours from here. You should be in Butte by sunset.”
“You’re not planning to hand me over to this Segura guy, are you?”
He didn’t answer.
Courtney fumed, but decided against arguing. From the look on Jack’s face, it would get her nothing but strained vocal cords. They continued their hike, coming to rest some two hours later. Jack pointed toward the deeply rutted tracks of an old, muddy road. “We wait here.”
“Then what?”
“Then Mark takes us to Butte.”
“No,” she said slowly. “I mean, then what for us?”
He stepped closer. “You know what I want to say? I want to say you and I get married and we make fantastic love and we have three kids and we live a terrific life. And when we hit our fiftieth anniversary, we don’t show up for the party because we’re in bed somewhere, still making love.”
“But?”
“But I’ve got a murderer to bring to justice. And I’ve got to make sure you’re safe. I can’t think of anything but those two things right now. I can’t.”
She let out a long sigh. “Okay.”
“Oh, and by the way, I love you.”
Her head jerked up. “What?”
“I love you, Courtney Hamilton. I just wanted you to know that.”
She threw her arms around his neck. “I love you, too.”
“I know.” His eyes were overbright. “I know.”
He kissed her until she thought her bones would melt. And then he kissed her again.
He loved her.
She loved him.
All was right with the world.
Now all they had to do was get through the next few days without being murdered.
They turned toward the sound of a heavily strained motor. “There he is.” Jack pointed. Mark Segura was coming up the road in a mud-encrusted all-terrain vehicle. He hopped out of the ATV before it had come to a complete stop. He and Jack exchanged a hearty handshake.
“Good to see you breathing amigo,” Segura said, slapping Jack on the arm.
“Good to be breathing.” He turned toward Courtney. “Mark Segura, Courtney Hamilton.”
Montana Rogue Page 17