Dead Aim

by Iris Johansen

  She nodded. “It's like learning a foreign language.”

  “Your eyes just have to train themselves to see the signs. There are four indicators to watch out for. Flattening, when dirt, rocks, or twigs are pressed into the ground by the weight of a foot. Regularity, which is an effect caused by straight lines or geometric shapes or anything not generally found in nature. Color change, which is a difference in color or texture from the area that surrounds it. Disturbance, which is a recent change or rearrangement.” He moved ahead of her. “Come on, we'll go to the first place you hid and we'll go over the signs there.”

  She hurried to keep up with him. “I might as well have left a sign pointing to where I was.”

  “Well, yes. But I didn't have to look at the ground when I got near those shrubs.”

  “Why not?”

  “I smelled you.”

  She missed a step. “What?”

  “Deodorants, toothpastes, shampoos are the scents of civilization. But nature gives everyone their own individual scents.”

  “You're saying I stink?”

  He looked at her. “No, you smell intensely female. It couldn't be more enticing.”

  She glanced quickly away from him. “Or identifiable, evidently.”

  “I'd know you in the dark.”

  She inhaled sharply and searched wildly for something to say. “And did your Apache friend educate your nose as well as your eyes?”

  “No, it's a talent. I just had to refine it.”

  “Sarah's dog, Monty, has a wonderful nose.”

  He started to laugh. “You're comparing me to a dog?”

  The tension was gone, she realized with relief. “Well, he's an exceptional dog.”

  “Then I guess I'll have to accept that as a compliment.” He knelt down and pointed to a spot some forty yards away. “Here's where I first picked up your trail. Do you see the shine?”

  She squatted down beside him. “Yes, how did I do that?”

  “Your footprints pressed into dirt particles, which formed a reflective surface. But you can only see them in an oblique light angle.”

  “As shine.”

  “But you might miss them if you were right on top. That's why distance is good.”

  “Well, you're definitely an expert on distance.”

  “I'm not bad on top either.”

  She didn't make the mistake of looking at him this time. She quickly rose to her feet. “Let's go. I can't wait to see what else I did wrong.”

  “You're pretty incredible out there.” She stared into the fire as she slowly sipped her hot chocolate. “How did you meet this Indian who taught you to track?”

  “The Army sent me to him. It was part of my training.” His pencil moved swiftly over the sketch pad. “You never know when you're going to have to seek out and find. Actually, it took me longer than it should have to become proficient. At first, I didn't like hunting. I had to learn to block out the thought of the final kill and concentrate on the chase itself. You know, you look really good in the firelight. . . .”

  “You'd better draw fast. This heat is making me sleepy.”

  “Just a little while longer. . . . You said you went hunting with your father. That surprises me. I can't see you with a rifle.”

  “We didn't take rifles. My father didn't like shooting animals. We took cameras.”

  “Now I understand. Much more in character.”

  “Do most people in your profession have problems learning to”—she searched for a word—“hunt?”

  “Kill. Say it.” His gaze remained on the sketch. “Some do, some don't. Occasionally, you find someone who loves it. Loves the hunt. Loves the kill.”

  “Not you?”

  “No.”

  “But you've known someone who does?”

  He nodded. “And for a short while he infected me with his enthusiasm.”

  “Was he as good as you?”

  “No, but he came close.” He put the sketch pad on the end table beside him. “Go on to bed. I've captured the essence. I'll fill in the rest tomorrow.”

  He didn't want to answer any more questions. Well, she probably shouldn't ask any more. She wasn't sure whether those moments in the cold mountains or these last hours beside the blazing fire were the most intimate.

  She rose to her feet. “You may have the best part of our deal. I have a hunch I'm not going to be very good at this tracking business.”

  “You'll be good. You have good eyes. You're smart and you learn fast. Tomorrow you'll remember everything I've said and it will be harder for me to find you.”

  “Until you get close enough to smell me. I'm still not sure I like that idea.”

  He smiled. “The teacher has to have some perks. Then the day after tomorrow I'll let you take me back over your trail and tell me how I tracked you.”

  “That soon?”

  “Like I said, you have good eyes.”

  So did he. Ice blue, and yet right now they didn't look cold at all. . . .

  “Good night.” She moved toward the bedroom. “I'll try to give you a little more of a challenge tomorrow.”

  “Don't try too hard. Believe me, you're a constant challenge, Alex.”

  Where was Morgan?

  Alex stamped to keep the circulation going in her feet. It had turned colder in the last hour and she was ready to go back to the ranch. It had snowed during the night, and Morgan had called off her tracking lesson because the snow would hide the signs beneath its white blanket. She was surprised how disappointed she'd been when he handed her camera to her and then left her on the hillside. She felt . . . abandoned.

  God, how pathetic. Forget the cold. Forget Morgan.

  She lifted the camera and focused on the tops of the Tetons, now wreathed in a cloudy mist.

  “Are you ready?”

  She whirled to find Morgan behind her. She should have been able to hear him on the ice-crusted snow, but she hadn't. “Where were you?”

  He gestured to the tree-dotted hill to the south. “I needed to stretch myself.”

  “And I was keeping you back.”

  “Yes.” He went past her down the slope that led to the ranch. “But you've kept up damn well the last couple days, considering your injury. I ran you hard.”

  “Considering my injury? How patronizing.” She smiled. “Even if it's true. Give me a couple weeks and I'll meet your pace.”

  “We don't have a couple weeks.”

  “I know that.” She had spoken without thinking. The last few days had been amazingly tranquil. It was as if they were caught in a time warp. Maybe it was being surrounded by all this beauty and serenity. Or maybe it was that she wanted to run away from all the turmoil her life had become. “Galen's not coming through for us, is he?”

  “It'll happen. I told you, he said Ralph Scott was on his way to Texas yesterday. He gave him copies of the sketches of the two men at the dam. Galen should hear something from him by tonight.”

  “Do you know anything about Scott?”

  “Only that Galen chose him. That's enough for me.” He glanced at her. “But I'm not going to sit on my ass and hope everything's going to break if we don't hear from him. We've been here too long already.”

  “I didn't think you would. You don't impress me as a patient man. I'm surprised you haven't been more restless.”

  “Oh, I've been restless.” He looked away from her. “And very impatient.”

  Dammit. She felt a wave of heat move through her. It wasn't the first remark he'd made that she recognized as boldly sexual. The sexual tension had been there, ebbing and flowing, ignored but always present.

  Morgan wasn't ignoring it now. He wanted her to know, to bring it out in the open.

  “It's okay.” Morgan's gaze was once more on her face. “Don't panic. I'm not going to jump you. It's just . . . I need it. And I think you do too.”

  “You don't always take what you need.”

  “I do. These days I live every day as if it were my last. You never
can tell.”

  “No, I guess you can't.” She moistened her lips. “But that isn't how I want to live my life. It's a gift and I intend to cherish it.”

  “Cherish it. I'm not into making memories. Just come to bed with me. You'll like it, I'll like it, and that will be the end of it. You won't find me hanging on when you walk away.” He climbed the porch steps and unlocked the door. “That's all I wanted to say. What do you want for supper?”

  “What?”

  He smiled. “Food isn't nearly as satisfying as sex, but it is a necessity. What about an omelette? I'll cook it, but you have to chop up the onions. They make my eyes tear in a most unmanly fashion.”

  He was backing away as he always had during the last few days, but it was too late. The words were said, and she wouldn't be able to forget them. He probably didn't want her to forget them. He wanted her to think, to envision them in bed together.

  And she would, blast him.

  She drew a deep breath and went past him into the house. “You have to chop onions under cold tap water. I'll show you.”

  He followed her and hung up his coat in the closet. “Always glad to profit from someone with experience. Teach me.”

  “I don't think you need anyone to teach you anything.”

  “Then share the experience.” He headed for the kitchen. “That's always more fun anyway.”

  Morgan's phone rang when he was breaking the eggs for the omelette.

  “Scott just called,” Galen said. “He struck pay dirt at the hotel in Fairfax. The desk clerk recognized both men in the sketches. The shooter is Thomas Powers and the other man is Calvin Decker.”

  “He's certain?”

  “About eighteen months ago Powers and Decker were in and out of town almost every week for an extended period. They told everyone they were designers for the textile company. The townspeople doubted that was true, but the money was good so they turned a blind eye.”

  “They thought they were into drugs?”

  “There were all kinds of stories about what was going on at the plant. Fairfax is very close to the border. Drug running is rampant in South Texas.”

  “Had the clerk seen Powers any time lately?”

  “Negative,” Galen said. “But the last two weeks of his stay, he paid for the room rent by credit card. Scott bribed the clerk to look up the records and give him the credit-card number. I'm checking it out now. Scott's going out to the plant tonight to look around.”

  “There's a hell of a lot of security there.”

  “Not anymore. The plant closed down six months ago. It's deserted except for a night watchman. Scott said he'd call me from the plant.”

  “Call me when you hear from him.”

  “I'll do that. How's Alex? Putting up with you?”

  “Barely. I've got to hang up. I'm making an omelette.”

  “You?”

  Morgan looked at Alex. “I'm discovering all manner of skills and qualities I never knew existed. Let me know as soon as you do.” He hung up. “The shooter's name is Thomas Powers. The other man is Calvin Decker. Galen is checking out one of Powers's credit-card receipts right now.”

  Alex's expression lit with excitement. “Hot dog.” Then she frowned. “It could be an alias. It probably is.”

  “Or it might not be. Anyway, it's a lead.”

  “Yes, it is. At last something's going our way. I was getting discouraged.”

  “I'm still discouraged.”

  She tensed. “Why?”

  He smiled. “You haven't chopped those onions for me. I'm afraid you're going to make me do it.”

  “I'll make coffee, you turn on the television,” Morgan said after supper. “We need to see what the opposition is up to.”

  “I can hardly wait.” She went into the living room and flipped on the television set. “Just what I need for indigestion.”

  She glanced up when Morgan came into the room carrying a tray with coffee cups and a carafe. “They're still searching Colorado for us. They're having trouble identifying the helicopter because the numbers on the aircraft were phony.”

  He poured her coffee. “Imagine that. Anything else?”

  “Not about us. There's been another embassy bombing. This time it was in Quito. Same MO as the last one in Mexico City. The Matanza terrorist group. Same threats to President Andreas.” She shook her head wearily. “Won't it ever stop? I used to feel so safe, and now I'm looking over my shoulder all the time. Hell, I wonder how Andreas feels. His neck is on the line twenty-four/seven.”

  “He's got a tough job.” Judd sat down opposite her. “But he can handle it. I'd bet he's got guts to spare.”

  “I remember you said you liked him.”

  “I think he's honest. That elevates any politician to automatic sainthood.” He took a swallow of his coffee. “We may have to have Logan try to get to him. I don't know who else we can trust.”

  Her eyes widened. “The President?”

  “Galen says Logan has some pull with him these days.”

  She shook her head. “Without evidence we wouldn't have a shot.”

  “You may be right.” He took the remote from her and turned off the TV. “That's enough news. You're getting depressed. Lean back in the chair. I'll get my sketchbook.”

  “Lord, you must have dozens of sketches of me now.”

  “I like your face.” He sat back down and started to sketch. “It's a very special face.”

  “You like wimps?”

  “That's what you saw, not what I drew.” He stopped sketching and looked at her. “Why are you so afraid that I see you as a weakling?”

  “I'm not. You just drew me as—” She was silent a moment. “I suppose I'm afraid that deep down I'm like that. I try not to be. But what if—”

  “Bull.”

  “A person never knows how they're going to react. I fell apart once. I could again.”

  “The World Trade Center?”

  “I was helpless. There was nothing I could do. He wasn't there. He wasn't anywhere. I went to the hospitals. I posted his picture everywhere.” She could feel the tears sting her eyes. “I couldn't find him. No one has ever found him. I wailed and sobbed like a madwoman.” She swallowed. “Yes, I'm afraid of being that helpless again. I won't be that helpless.”

  “So you overcompensate.”

  “The hell I do.” She cleared her throat. “And you'd better not have made me look like that woman I was all that time ago. You had some excuse after I was injured, but not now.”

  “Would you like to see this one?”

  “You're damn right.”

  She watched him come toward her. She shouldn't have confided in Morgan. She didn't feel more vulnerable, but she felt closer to him. Heaven knew, she didn't need to feel closer to Morgan.

  He knelt beside her and put the sketch on her lap. “Alex.”

  And Alex was the name scrawled at the top of the sketch.

  Strength. Alertness. Intelligence. Radiance.

  She couldn't speak for a moment. “I'm . . . overwhelmed.”

  “Good.”

  “Is that how I look to you?”

  He grinned. “Hell, no. It's just a ploy to get you into bed. I use it on all the babes.” His smile faded. “You know me well enough to know that I'll be honest with you. Even if I weren't honest with you, I'd be honest with the work. The work always has to be honest and clean and true.” His fingers lightly traced the line of her cheek. “It was no problem with you. I had it all right in front of me.”

  She couldn't breathe. His fingers were warm and whisper-light, but it was as if she felt that touch in every nerve of her body. His face . . . hard, totally focused, intent.

  She slowly lifted her fingers and touched his lips.

  He went still. Then he moved his head so that his lips were pressed to her palm.

  She went rigid. Heat. Jesus, her whole body was ready.

  She shuddered as his tongue touched her palm. Then it was gone. He was gone as he rose to his feet.
“No.”

  She watched him in bewilderment as he backed away from her. What did he mean, no? She was so hot she was about to melt into a puddle.

  “Not fair. You were breaking apart from talking about your father and then I threw the damn sketch at you.” His lips twisted. “And I did it on purpose. I was hard and hurting. I wanted you and it was a way to get you.”

  “What?”

  “Manipulation. Only I forgot I wasn't dealing in that particular commodity anymore.” He moved toward his bedroom. “You want me, you come and get me.”

  She sat there, dazed, as the door slammed behind him. What the hell? She felt as if she'd fallen into the center of a volcano, only to have it turn to ice. No, not ice. She was shocked, but she was still as sexually aroused as the moment he'd first touched her.

  It had been totally unprincipled of him to try to manipulate her. Just what she'd expect of a man of his background.

  But that was a generalization, and you couldn't generalize with Morgan. He was a law unto himself. Who knew what he'd do next?

  You want me, you come and get me.

  Damn him.

  She got to her feet, strode toward his bedroom, and threw open the door. He was standing in the middle of the room, unbuttoning his shirt.

  “Am I supposed to appreciate having to make the moves? Well, I don't. It's damn difficult.” She drew a deep breath. “I want you. I've come to get you. Now, dammit, it's in your court. I want a little seduction.”

  “You're sure?”

  She crossed the space between them and laid her head against his chest. His skin was smooth, warm, except for a thatch of springy hair. She rubbed her cheek against him and felt the muscles of his stomach clench as a shudder went through his body. “I don't want to be saved from you. I can save myself.”

  “You're not doing a very good job.”

  “Didn't you say live every moment as though it was my last?”

  “But you don't agree with that philosophy.”

  “Tonight I do.” Her voice was uneven. “It will take forever to get my shirt off with this blasted shoulder. Will you stop standing there and help me, dammit?”

  His hands slowly closed on her shoulders. “Oh, yes. I'll help you. Any way, every way. Just tell me. . . .”