Courage Dares (15 page)

Who had grabbed her foot? Flicking on the pen light, Mary aimed it toward the roof of the tent while she stared down at the man directly below her. She hadn't wakened him, she’d swear to that, although she had almost dropped the boots on his head.

A movement made her glance at the second man in the tent. He waved the long-bladed knife slowly back and forth, like the head of a cobra, warning her not to proceed.

Ira.

The knife did his talking for him—motioning her to put the boots back. She did so, her hopes dashed low in the fleetest of moments, her spirits crushed by failure.

Releasing her ankle, Ira motioned her outside. She went, heavy-hearted, her legs hardly able to support her.

He followed her out. He wore long johns, his feet in heavy socks.

"Don't try that again," he said, his voice a harsh raspy whisper that made it even more threatening.

Mary nodded, shivering. She wanted nothing else than to run back to Connor.

"I want your other boots."

She looked at him, startled.

"I heard you get 'em. McLarren!" He raised his voice. "Bring 'em out here."

Connor tossed back the tent flap and charged out, carrying the boots in one hand. Ira stopped, ready to fight, and Mary ran to intercept Connor, her arms spread wide. "I'll take them."

"Here." He thrust them at her, glowering at Ira, then looked down at her. "You all right?"

"Yes." She saw the relief in Connor’s eyes before she turned away, then she took the few steps necessary to hand them over to Ira.

Ira didn't look at the boots. His entire being remained focused on Connor.

"You ever send her again, you’ll pay," he growled. "I know lots of ways to cut a man and have him live."

"He didn't send me," Mary said, feeling sick. "Connor wanted to come, but I insisted. I knew you wouldn't kill me— at least, not you."

Ira flicked a look her way, then nodded as if placing her statement beside what he knew of her character. "And what if Ramone had been on guard?"

She shuddered.

"Get back inside, both of you," he snapped, and Mary scurried inside like a rock pica finding its hole. Seeking refuge, she almost knocked Connor over as he followed her in.

Kneeling, he scooped her close to him. "It's all right."

The fear that something might’ve happened to her edged his voice with a timbre harsher than its normal tone. He had probably agonized every second she had been away.

His arms tightened in a fierce hug. "It was worth a try," he said, his voice becoming gentle.

She had been trying not to cry. His gentleness destroyed her control.

"But I was so close," she sobbed. She had never felt so down. "I had them in my hand."

"We'll think of something. There has to be some way to escape these brutes."

For Mary, the loss of hope led to complete exhaustion. "It's no use," she cried. "We're never going to get away. Judd’s always one step ahead of us."

"We can't give up." He swayed slightly as held her, making her feel sheltered and safe. After a while the downward plunge halted and turned around.

Gaining strength from Connor's arms, she sniffed away the last of her tears— slightly ashamed of her outburst and once again in control of her emotions. She felt better, although Connor probably wondered how he would ever escape with a blubbering female on his hands.

Her feet felt frozen. Mary pulled away and sat cross-legged to rub some warmth into them. Connor reached beyond her and unzipped her sleeping bag, then urged her to sit on it while he pulled it up over her shoulders. He did the same with his bag.

"Body heat is best," she commented, wiping her eyes dry, glad it was dark enough he couldn't see how red they were. She must look as washed-out as she felt. "Just rub your feet with your hands. I'll do the same with mine."

"I can do better than that," he said, pulling up his two shirts. He placed her cold feet against him, covering them first with the silk undershirt, then his wool outer shirt. The heat of his body cocooned her feet in warmth, while his thoughtfulness comforted her spirit.

"Ah. Cold feet on a warm stomach. That's gotta be love," Mary said.

The words made her feel awkward and gauche. Why did she say that? It was what her father said, whenever she had done something special for him— but Connor wouldn't know.

"I... I mean...."

Connor interjected smoothly, "I know what you mean. If you're going to walk barefoot in the snow, you had better have someone to put them on, don't you think?"

"Yes."

"If nothing else, I'm good for that!"

She could hear his disgust at being unable to rescue her. She could almost feel the frustration boiling within Connor. She wasn’t the only one having a hard time with Judd and his men, emotionally as well as physically. As a fighter, the game of patience must be particularly hard on him.

"I need you, Connor," she declared, finding that as she searched for a way to help him, she could also help herself. "Like right now. You must realize I’d never have made it this far without you."

He waved his hand in a depreciating gesture.

“No, I mean it. I’d have gone to pieces if I had to face them alone. Your time’ll come. They're already not as sharp as yesterday."

"True. For now, we focus on staying alive. But when the chance comes, we've got to be ready to take it. Just keep leading them in circles."

She nodded. "A large triangle, actually. We'll complete the first side tomorrow. I have to make sure I don't get too close to the ski areas up at the Pass. I don't want to run into anyone."

"Right. We don't need another innocent bystander murdered. Or have Judd take another hostage."

Mary nodded. She could easily vision a cross-country ski party slaughtered by Judd's men. She had to be very careful where she went.

They broke camp early that morning, Judd yanking Mary and Connor's coats from under his sleeping bag, while Wes sorted out the boots. Mary realized her snowshoes were missing at about the same time Judd retrieved them from underneath his tent.

She wondered if Ira had reported her aborted attempt to escape. He had put their boots back into Judd's tent. Had he done it to keep her from getting into trouble, or just to make it harder if she tried again?

She thrust her feet into her cold boots, regretting not having an opportunity to warm them properly.

Wes yelped as he tried to put his on, and Ramone cast him a superior glance. "You should leave them on all night. That's what I did."

Mary could see Wes considering the idea, and she nodded to herself. Frostbite— from not removing their boots at night and allowing their feet to warm up— would definitely slow the killers down.

The four silently packed their gear, hardly bothering to look around at Mount Rainier, Mount Adams, and Mount Baker, all three peaks shining white against the deep blue of the crystal sky. The stately, snow-covered volcanoes never failed to elevate Mary's spirits, and they raised them now.

"
I will lift my eyes to the mountains
," she said softly, repeating the psalm she loved. "
From whence shall my help come? My help comes from the Lord who made heaven and earth.
" She smiled as she recalled the next line,
He will not allow your foot to slip.
She needed that verse, literally, up here.

Putting on her snowshoes, she straightened her pack, then adjusted her glacier glasses. Today would be a true test of the sunglasses their kidnapers used.

With everyone ready, Mary returned to the trail. No overhanging cornice threatened them, as Ramone's two shots the day before had avalanched it completely.

The area looked as though a giant hand had swept across the landscape, wiping out all distinguishing forms with one rough swipe. Mary spotted the blaze on the tree where the trail started up again, halfway down the slope. She set off across the chunks of broken snow to reach it, the men strung out behind her, keeping Connor in the middle.

Mary could hear the men's awed comments as they slowly worked their way across the avalanche's path. The size of the fan-shaped area impressed them. Good. It’d make it easier for her to insist they avoid certain areas.

No one could predict an avalanche with surety. Mary knew all the warning signs. She also knew that snow could avalanche even when it seemed safe.

She moved one foot at a time, setting each snowshoe down on the crusted lumps with care before lifting the other foot. It wouldn’t do if she sprained an ankle.

Or would it? If they didn’t think she could travel, they might relax their guard. She’d run with Connor, however much it hurt. Mary walked a little faster, clumping carelessly across the avalanche field.

"Slow down!" Judd yelled. She looked back. The men were struggling to walk—their stiff boots making each step agony. She sat down and waited. They weren’t going far today.

That evening, Connor removed his warm coat and boots and handed them over. He wasn’t so exhausted tonight. He quickly vetoed Mary’s suggestion of an injury.

"No. Definitely not. I don't want you hurt. Even faked. It’s too hard to maintain the deception." He chewed thoughtfully on an energy bar. "It’d buy us time, but is that what we want? Ira's wrist is swollen. He hasn't thrown his knife since he got hurt. If we lay up for a few days, he'll get well. Their feet’ll heal. It’d be better if we work on setting up accidents for them. Major accidents."

"I don't know if I could do that."

Connor snorted, frustrated with her. It was the same old story, peace at all costs. "Then let nature do the work," he suggested. “Take them through dangerous places.

Her gray eyes looked troubled as she considered this. "I don't know...."

"Just do it. Start crossing the streams where there are logs to fall between. Go down the cliffs instead of around them. Strike out cross country. That’d certainly be more dangerous."

"But what if you got hurt?"

He hesitated to assure her that he wouldn't, as all people thought that an accident would never happen to them. "Then I wouldn't have to fake it," he said, trying to sound cheerful. "Although if I were injured and you weren't, they might just leave me behind."

"Or shoot you."

He smiled at her, touched by her determination to keep him safe at all costs. He could rail silently against Mary's concern for others— her tender heart— but it was one of the dearest things about her.

"My pack is lighter, now the food is being eaten. I'm not as likely to get injured as those three, who are footsore— and so weary they keep stumbling over their own feet."

"True."

"Lead them into the woods, among the deadfalls and the hidden drop-offs. Just watch yourself.
I
don't want
you
injured."

She smiled at him, a crooked smile that lit her eyes and touched off an answering smile in him. She pursed her lips, then slid them to one side in a "that's life" gesture. The movement delighted him and he found himself waiting for it again.

Mary's beauty lay in her determination to do right, whatever the cost. It shone in her face when she lifted her head to meet the challenge of the mountains. She had more character than any woman he had ever met.

A lovely lady, who couldn't be beaten down by the evil that surrounded her. Connor wanted to bring the sparkle back into her eyes. "Whatever we do has to sort of 'happen.' If one or two of them gets injured, they'll have to rig up a litter to carry him. It'll make it much easier to escape."

Mary swallowed the last chunk of the energy bar she had been chewing on, trying to make it last so she wouldn’t feel so hungry. It went against all her training to injure someone rather than rescue them. But she wouldn’t have to kill them, just get them hurt.

Killing was out. She couldn’t ever do that, for any reason. When you caused someone's death, he invaded your dreams, even if you killed to save yourself. She didn’t want Ramone or any of the others haunting her.

"All right," she agreed. "We'll give it a try. A minor accident only."

"Right, partner. We'll get out of this, somehow."

Partner. She liked the word, that he considered her worthy.

The next morning Mary entered the woods about fifty feet from where the trail actually began— with Judd right behind her, then Ramone, then Connor. Next came Wes, then Ira, carrying the rifle. No signs pointed the way and with the snow so deep, all openings in the trees looked like trails. Mary felt Judd would believe her if she claimed to have lost the way. If Mary hadn’t known this area like her own back yard, she could’ve gotten lost several times.

The going became rough as she entered a small ravine filled with the deadfall of several trees. The light branches supported the snow, but not her weight.

Five feet out and Mary dropped headfirst into an opening, the snow falling on top of her. After her initial drop, she lay where she had landed— at a forty-five degree angle, head down, her snowshoes tangled in the branches above. If anything, cross-country hiking would slow them down so much she wouldn’t need to worry about getting close to the ski areas.

"Help," she yelled.

Judd had already entered the deadfall, and floundered around, breaking branches.

"Take off your snowshoes," she called out. "Then work your way down."

He fought his way through the tree limbs from a different angle, spilling snow over both of them.

"What happened?" he asked, trying to pull the branches down enough to free her.

"I missed the trail."

If this had happened when she was alone, she might’ve been able to break herself free, but Mary knew about hunters whose bodies hadn’t been found until the following spring.

It never paid to take the mountains lightly. Any mountains.

"I've wondered how you've managed to stay on the trail as much as you have." Judd pulled futility at the branch that held her trapped.

Turning, he yelled back over his shoulder. "Ira! Hand down a knife. We need it."

"Sure." They could hear Ira working his way forward past the others, then a silver blade whirled through the air, landing with a thump into the bore of the tree next to Judd's arm.