“It’s water from the stream,” she said. “I used a purification tablet, but given how cold the stream water is, it hasn’t been long enough to eliminate giardia or cryptosporidium. Also, don’t drink it if you’re allergic to iodine.”
He sat up and took the bottle. The room lurched again, but not as much as it had the first time. Condensation had built up on the battered metal cylinder. He pressed it against his swollen eye. The cold eased the pressure in his head just a tiny fraction, and even that small bit was a huge relief. “Thanks. I’ll take my chances with the crypto.”
He opened the bottle and first poured a small amount of cold water over both eyes, then downed half the bottle in one long drink.
“Finish it,” she said. “I have plenty of purification tablets.” She rummaged in her pack and tossed something else in his direction. Lightweight, the item landed in the no-man’s-land midway between them. “That’s a pepper spray wipe. For your eye.”
“Thanks,” he said again. He slowly scooted toward the packet, being careful not to make any sudden moves to startle her. It hadn’t escaped his attention that she kept one hand on the canister at her belt. The wipe removed the burning oil from his skin, and at last he could really see again. He splashed more water on his swollen eye and was able to open it a bit as well. With some ibuprofen for the swelling and pain, he might be fit for human company. “Do you have any ibuprofen?”
“Yes. And I can make a cold compress—with stream water—for your eye as well. I have an emergency cold pack, but we should save it. The stream water is cold enough.” She paused and studied him. “If you roll the water bottle to me, I’ll toss you the ibuprofen, then go to the stream to refill the bottle.”
It was a fair prisoner exchange, especially since he didn’t have anything else to trade. But it was going to be a long-ass night if they both had to stay awake in an Enemy at the Gates sort of standoff.
He rolled the water bottle toward her, and she tossed him a pill pack. After extracting his promise not to follow her outside, she took her backpack and left him to get more water.
He didn’t have much choice but to make that promise, and he would even keep it, although she was a fool for trusting him with nothing more than his word. As soon as he got his various aches under control, he’d turn his brain to seriously considering the matter of who she was and what she wanted from him. But right now, every time he started to follow that line of thought, his physical needs—splitting headache, near-blindness, what have you—took over and demanded attention.
And he still had no clue how he’d gotten into this situation.
Isabel returned to the cabin, relieved to see he’d kept his word and hadn’t moved from his ceded territory in the small, rectangular room. He had the back half; she’d taken the front. At least she had the only door. But she also had the broken window. Her territory would be colder.
She shivered as she stepped inside and pushed the heavy door closed. The swollen wood dragged against the floor, scraping off a layer of rotting timber. That the cabin was still standing was a testament to old-growth trees. The logs were so thick, the cabin would last another hundred years before it faded from existence. Then the only evidence a cabin had once stood here would be a moss-covered river-rock chimney tower, standing as proudly as its white spruce neighbors.
The wind had kicked up substantially, and she was chilled from those few minutes outside. Thank goodness they had four walls and a roof, because there was no way in hell she could share her emergency shelter tube tent with Alec Ravissant. The man was an injured bear with opposable thumbs, and he believed she was the person who’d beat the crap out of him.
As if she could take down a former Ranger like him all by herself. If he hadn’t been hit so hard in the head, he might see how ridiculous the idea was. But then, maybe he did see and assumed she had an accomplice.
The problem was, if he knew her name, he’d never believe she was innocent. Her name would only convince him of her guilt. She had, after all, declared it her life’s mission to get his precious compound shut down. And she’d succeeded—even if only temporarily.
Now it was about to reopen again, and he could easily assume this situation was her last desperate act to prevent the trainings from resuming.
She did have a beef with the man and the compound, but beating and abduction was a tad far-fetched, even for her.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
Evasive answers would only make him suspicious. Lying was her only option. “Jenna,” she said, thinking of a server at the Tamarack Roadhouse.
“Jenna what?” he persisted.
“Hayes,” she said without hesitation. Hayes was her mother’s maiden name and Isabel’s middle name. Even if Alec Ravissant had read the most detailed dossier on her, he wasn’t likely to remember that detail or, if he did, make the connection now.
“What were you doing—five miles, you say?—deep in the woods, when you found me?”
This was tricky. She couldn’t admit to being an archaeologist, because odds were, he would make that connection. Most non-archaeologists didn’t know a ton of archaeologists in their day-to-day lives, and whenever she mentioned her profession to someone, they immediately told her about every archaeologist they’d ever met or heard rumors about. But if she said she was just out on a day hike for fun, she had a feeling that would raise his suspicions even further. Few people hiked in bear country alone for fun.
Hell, few people hiked alone in bear country for work. Isabel was unique in that way. Her bosses didn’t mind because it was cheaper to pay one person to survey rather than two—but she’d had to sign a dozen different release forms before they’d allowed it—and she didn’t mind because being alone meant she had the freedom to stray onto Raptor land to look for the cave Vincent had told her about. If she could find the cave, she could prove his death was no accident.
Her brother had been murdered on Raptor land, by Raptor operatives. His death had been ruled a training accident, but what she knew of the incident, and what Vin had told her in his emails in the months before his death, didn’t add up, and she believed the wounded man lying on the floor eight feet away may well have covered up Vin’s murder.
“I’m waiting, Jenna.”
Pushy bastard. For someone who’d been beat to hell and who probably couldn’t take her in a staring match right now, he sure sounded confident. “I’m a geologist. I work for the Alaska Department of Natural Resources. There have been reports of poaching on some DNR mining claims.” This was true; it just hadn’t happened in this part of the forest.
“You were out looking for poachers alone?”
“No. I was looking for evidence of poaching, signs of recent digging and minerals taken. I didn’t expect to run into anyone. But I found you.”
“And you thought I was a poacher?”
“No. If I had, I wouldn’t have dragged you here. I’d have left your sorry ass to die and returned to the office.”
“Why didn’t you think I was a poacher?”
“Your clothes. You’re wearing slacks, and mineral thieves don’t wear button-down, going-to-business-meeting shirts. But the kicker is your shoes. Any man who planned to walk this deep in the forest would wear a decent pair of hiking boots. Those shoes”—she twisted her lips in derision—“probably cost four times what my hiking boots cost, and they’ll fall apart at the first drop of rain. Forget hiking across a glacier in them. Or, better yet, sell tickets. I’d pay good money to watch you ruin designer shoes and break your ass traversing a glacier in your metrosexual lame excuse for footwear.”
Alec’s mouth curved in a vague smile. “These are my campaign shoes.”
Isabel snorted. “Good thing you’re running for office in Maryland, because in Alaska, expensive shoes with no sole will get you laughed out of contention.”
He wiggled his feet as he studied his footwear with his one good eye. “I hate these shoes. I wore them on the flight and planned to change as soon as I got to
the compound. I didn’t bring a suitcase, because I keep a full wardrobe—not the campaign kind—at the compound.”
“So you just flew in today?”
His brow furrowed. “I think so. What day is it?”
“Thursday.” She glanced at her watch. “Eight forty-three p.m., Alaska time.”
“My plane landed in Fairbanks at eleven. Today.”
“Is that the last thing you remember?”
His fingers drummed against the soft, rotting floorboards. “I remember driving. I was heading toward the compound. Then…nothing.” He met her gaze. His one eye was clearer and the other opened slightly. She realized she’d never given him the promised cold cloth for his eye. “When and where did you find me?” he asked.
She inched forward. “If I give you a cold compress for your eye, do you promise not to hurt me?”
He held her gaze for a long moment, then slowly nodded. “I don’t know what I believe—if you’re innocent, or if you somehow abducted me—but I know I need you to survive. Even if I escaped here—from you—I don’t know where I am. I could step outside and walk for five days in the wrong direction. So yes, I promise I won’t hurt you.”
His words were honest. Those of a soldier used to assessing threats and making the logical decision. Vin had been like that. She remembered it well, Vin’s inner determination to do the smart thing, even if it didn’t seem like the right thing.
Hell, that type of decision making was what led Vin to join the Army in the first place. And later, it was why he took the job with Raptor.
She swiped at her eye. Now was not the time to get caught up in messy emotions over her big brother. Right now, she needed to deal with Vin’s former boss, who had just admitted that no matter what his suspicions were, not hurting Isabel was the smart thing.
She could live with that.
She grabbed the pack towel, which she’d doused in stream water, and her compass, and approached him, slowly, as she would a feral cat.
It was a good analogy. Alec Ravissant reminded her of a tiger, all sleek muscle and coiled energy. He was power and ferociousness in one beautiful package. Best to approach with caution.
He reminded her of Richard Parker, the tiger on the boat in Life of Pi. Alec needed her to survive. Lashing out, as he’d done earlier, had been instinctive. His nature. But now that he understood the situation, he’d scare her to bend her to his will, but he wouldn’t rip open her throat. Not yet, anyway.
He was a Ranger. He knew how to bide his time.
And she’d better not forget it.
She stopped just out of his reach and dropped the damp towel on the floor. “For your eye.” She lowered the compass more carefully, dangling the long lanyard from her fingers. “There is a mirror there, if you want to check out your cuts. Be careful with the compass—it’s our only one, our only hope to find our way out of these woods.”
She retreated quickly, resuming her seat with her back braced against the log wall. He took the towel first and pressed it to his eye, then took up the compass. He studied his reflection in the small mirror. “It’s too dark in here to see much.”
“If I build a fire, whoever assaulted you might see the smoke.”
He shrugged. “I’m cold. It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
As if to prove his point, the wind whistled through the broken window. It was cold, and would only get colder as the night wore on. But still, his request was shortsighted and proved he still believed she was his only threat. The risk involved in proving him wrong was too much. “Yeah, well, I’m not. I found you and dragged you here because, for some stupid reason, I couldn’t let you die, but that doesn’t mean I’m willing to risk more for you.”
He shrugged and studied his reflection in the mirror, making her wonder if she’d passed or failed some sort of test. “Butterfly bandages?” he asked.
She nodded. “You were bleeding pretty badly.”
“Probably why my head hurts like hell, but the ibuprofen is helping.”
Would it kill him to say thank you? She’d not only bandaged him and given him the painkiller; she’d also dragged all two hundred pounds of him a mile through the forest. Every muscle in her body ached from the effort, and his first greeting was his hands on her throat.
Ungrateful bastard.
She pulled a trail mix energy bar from her backpack and broke it in two. She paused before tossing him half. “You’ll get this after I get my compass back.”
He slid her compass across the floor. “You think I can’t navigate by stars?”
She laughed. His temper or his headache had gotten the best of him. He wasn’t thinking. “Go ahead and try it. But it’s early September. You won’t see a star in the sky for another week. The sun doesn’t go low enough below the horizon for full darkness. Plus tonight—it’s cloudy, with a bitter wind. You want to leave? Be my guest. But I’m staying here until morning.”
She tossed him the energy bar, then draped her compass around her neck. “I’m going to sleep. Keep in mind, I’m jumpy when I’m stuck sleeping on a hard rotting floor not far from an idiot politician whose life I saved—who hasn’t even bothered to say ‘thank you’ yet—and who may still be in danger. In such situations, I sleep with my pistol in one hand and bear spray in the other. So if you don’t want to suffer, leave me the fuck alone.” With that, she pulled out her emergency shelter and slipped between the thin Mylar sheets. If he was cold, he could cuddle with his stupid, expensive shoes.
She was off duty for the night.
3
Alec wanted to laugh and groan and maybe even punch something. At least the pressure in his head had eased. The ibuprofen had helped a lot, and the cold compress soothed in a way that almost tipped the scales from pain to pleasure.
Jenna Hayes. Just looking at her could give a man pleasure. Funny that it took him so long to notice that, but then, aside from being in agony and even blinded for a while, he wasn’t exactly inclined to find her attractive. She might have beaten the shit out of him and abducted him. That sort of diminished a woman’s overall appeal.
Did he believe she’d somehow done this to him?
The jury was still out on that question, but as his head cleared, he could admit to having doubts.
He shivered as another gust of wind rattled the unbroken window. The broken pane was leeward, but with the way the wind whipped around the cabin, some gusts still found the opening. He studied the travois. Clever of her to have built it. It was the sort of thing he’d learned to make in survival training, but he’d never needed one until today.
Holes had worn through the tarp from being dragged across acres of rock with his weight pressing down. He had scratches on his lower back and butt in matching locations. Knowing how she’d struggled to pull his weight, it was no wonder she’d been pissed to discover he could’ve walked—the last quarter mile or so, anyway. He could have made the journey a hell of a lot easier on her if he’d admitted to being awake.
He reached for the travois and stood.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asked.
“I’m going to wedge this in the window, to block the wind.”
She sat up, grabbed her pack, and scooted away from the broken window, giving him wide berth. She nodded her permission for him to approach.
Yeah, he’d been an asshole for trying to strangle her. He’d earned her distrust. But he wasn’t exactly thinking straight at the time.
He shoved the narrow edge of the travois through the broken pane. He considered pocketing a shard of glass for a weapon, but what would he do with it? He wouldn’t cut her. For all he knew, she really had saved his life.
He pushed the contraption upward until it was wedged tightly in the opening, the top half of the travois outside the cabin, the wider, flared end inside, with the gaping opening blocked by the tarp. The wind wouldn’t dislodge it, and only slight drafts would enter the cabin around the edges.
They wouldn’t be warm, but they wouldn’t
freeze either.
He returned to his spot on the floor in front of the cold hearth. “I don’t suppose you have another emergency blanket?”
“No.” She pulled the shiny blanket tighter around her. It flashed and crackled as she rolled to her side and presented her back to him.
He smiled. That answered any question he might’ve had about sharing. He eyed the tarp. He’d just used his blanket to block the wind. Well, he’d sure as hell had worse nights’ sleep in the Army, both during training and on ops. He lay down and closed his eyes.
This felt like an op. Like the old days, before bullshit campaigning and politics. He’d been reluctant to run for the open senate seat in Maryland, but Curt Dominick had convinced him he could do more good as a US senator than as Raptor’s CEO. Curt had honed his persuasive skills in the courtroom, where he’d been a hell of a prosecutor before being appointed US Attorney for the District of Columbia and eventually US Attorney General. He’d been damned convincing, but Alec had doubted his decision to run for office just about every day since throwing his hat in the ring.
The shit of it was, as much as he hated campaigning, it turned out he was good at it. He’d won the primary, and, with a little more than sixty days left in the campaign, it was too late to back out now.
He studied the woman curled up in the emergency blanket. Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape Training—better known as SERE—had never covered this situation.
He couldn’t help but wonder if this was somehow related to the campaign. But that made no sense at all. He was running for office in Maryland, not Alaska. And he might be fuzzy on the details of how he got here, but he’d seen enough of the woods to know he was definitely in Alaska.
Maybe tomorrow, today would make more sense.
Isabel felt a little guilty keeping the blanket when the man was injured. But still. He’d tried to strangle her. No blanket seemed a fitting punishment.
Vote Then Read: Volume II Page 240