Courage Dares (19 page)

Connor stared thoughtfully across the few yards to Judd's two tents as the light from the campfire flickered upon their sides. A spark could easily set them aflame.

He looked down at the foot-long firebrands he held, considering them as a weapon.
What should I do, God?

The tents would burn rapidly— unless they had been fireproofed— but the end results of his actions would probably just be two damaged tents. Even if they burst into flames, he couldn't count on Judd or his men dying. Ira would slice his way out, if nothing else.

They’d probably shoot him, but they were going to do that anyway. It might give Mary the chance she needed to get away.

He lifted the brands, then stopped himself. He had seen burn victims before. There was nothing pretty about them. The sight might throw Mary's mind into oblivion, although she seemed to have grown stronger, mentally, as they progressed.

A movement in the woods, just inside his peripheral vision, caught his attention— and he froze. Wes, standing near a tree with the rifle in his hands, had shifted position just enough for Connor to spot him in the lightly falling snow.

Fool! Connor berated himself silently. He hadn’t even glanced around. He should’ve known Judd would have seen the possibilities of a fire and set a guard against it. Evil men expected evil of others. It was the only thing that kept them alive.

With a last glance at the burning sticks, he added them to the fire, then turned and stepped back inside Mary's tent, noticing for the first time that his feet were cold.

He’d wait. Fire was something to keep in reserve. Not a first choice, but it looked like they were running out of options.

Mary was curled up in her bag and had partially unzipped his for him. Shucking his outer clothes, he folded them and placed them inside the bag to use as a pillow and to keep them warm and dry. Then he crawled in, knowing everything would quickly warm up with his body heat. Once settled, he lay on his back, staring at the dim flicker of firelight on the tent wall.

"Connor?" Mary's voice, tentative and worried, rose just above a whisper. His mind snapped to attention, ready to deal with whatever bothered her.

"What?"

"They gave me a four-day limit. I don't know if that means four counting today, or starting tomorrow."

Inside he raged at Judd and his ultimatums, but he kept his voice level. "When you see Judd next, talk like you assume the four days start tomorrow morning. See what he says."

"Okay."

"It won't make any difference. Before we reach the end of whatever time is allowed, we'll have to make a break of some kind. So don't worry about it."

"All right."

"We could stop in the trees, like you did here, only where the wood isn’t so plentiful. It’d scatter the men out more, give me a chance to take them one at a time as they start to come in."

"I’d thought, maybe—"

"Yes?" he encouraged her.

"Maybe, well, what do you think of— of leading them back to the van. The police might’ve set up a trap."

"Hmmm." The idea had possibilities, but also some difficulties. It needed to be considered, that was for sure.

"Good idea. I like it."

"Really? It’ll take four full days to get there. At the least."

"That's okay."

"But what if the police aren't there?"

"They probably won't be." Hearing her sigh of disappointment, Connor turned onto his side, facing her. It made him feel closer, even though he couldn't see her very well. "We can't rely on the police or the locator. We have to be ready to act for ourselves. Now let's hash over your idea."

"I've been thinking about it all evening."

"And...?"

"I'm afraid they'll get suspicious as soon as we reach the forest-service road."

"You're right. That wouldn't work. Could you lead us somewhat parallel to the road, cross-country?"

"Yes. It’d be hard, but I could do it."

"Sounds good."

"We’d still have to cross our tracks somewhere. They'll be sure to see them, unless this snow keeps up enough to blanket everything. If it does, we can go back down the same trail and they won't notice."

"You sure? Won't they recognize things?" Connor asked.

"Not if we're going in a different direction. Trails never look the same when you're traveling the opposite way."

"You don’t think they’ll know?"

"Not with a new layer of snow on it. That's why so many people get lost. They don't recognize the terrain on the return trip. You must make a point to stop and look behind you as you travel, to see what it's going to look like on the way back. Judd's group has never looked around much at all, except at Mount Rainier."

"Then we'll go for the van."

"But we can only go in that direction when Rainier is clouded over or when I'm in the woods, like now. It may take us more than four days."

"Fine."

"But if we get there and there's no police, what’ll we do?"

"Let's see." Connor thought a moment, then realized the obvious. "We won't lead them all the way to the van."

"No?"

"No. Plan your route so that we'll stop for the night just before we reach the forest service road, while we’re still in deep snow. We'll leave after dark, drop down to the road and run to the van."

"But the van is locked—"

"We'll break in."

"We have no keys."

"I know how to hot-wire a vehicle. We'll drive off and leave Judd and his band of murderous thieves in the woods."

"It could work." Hope charged Mary's voice, giving it enthusiasm. "It's got to work!"

If it didn't, he was dead, but Connor didn’t voice the fact. Judd wouldn't put up with him again.

"We'll have to make camp before we reach snow line," Mary said, her voice again carrying that edge of worry. "And hope no one hears us leave."

"We can't have everything, Mary. To have a definite plan is the main thing, so we have hope."

"I wish I could do more."

It intrigued Connor that Mary felt like she wasn't doing enough, when he felt she carried the entire burden. "You're doing plenty, Mary. I wish I could help you more."

There were moments in the tent with Mary that he wouldn't trade for any others in his life. Just the sound of her voice meant so much to him. He had never run into anyone before who had her magnitude of spirit.

He felt her hand move across the edge of his sleeping bag before she touched him, her fingers gliding across his beard which had grown fairly thick over the past few days. He shifted his head enough to lightly kiss them as they passed.

Her hand returned to tug gently, making him smile.

"If you had looked like this the first night we met, I really would've panicked," she said.

"Are you trying to say you didn't?"

She chuckled. "You looked like a one-eyed pirate. The beard would’ve completed the image."

"I'd like to take that meeting back."

"Don't. It’ll make an interesting story when people ask how we met."

Would she want to see him after this nightmare was over? Or would the sight of him bring back too many memories? "Don't make me out too much a pirate, although I did want to grab you, put you in my car, and skedaddle."

"That would've really scared me."

"Better that than what we're up against."

"A lot better. But I wouldn't have believed you. So as soon as I could, I would’ve returned home. And Judd would’ve been waiting." Her voice echoed the fear she’d have experienced without him.

"Unless the police caught them first."

"If not, I would’ve had to face them alone. And I don't even want to consider that."

"I think you're doing a pretty good job. You'd have handled them, Mary. You're scared, but you're thinking. That's what matters. It's when your mind freezes that you're helpless. You've fought back all the way."

"As long as we don’t have to kill anyone."

"Maybe we won't have to. Not if your plan works."

"Have you ever, ever killed anyone, Connor?"

He hated to answer that, but knew he couldn't lie to her. Not if he wanted a future with her. And, he realized, he did want that. Very much so.

He hesitated. Only the truth would do, but would it turn her away from him?

Connor had killed during battle when ordered to, but that hadn’t made it easier. He knew that if he had met the same enemy during a time of peace, they might’ve been friends, because people didn’t make war, governments did. But would Mary understand?

"I shot down four aircraft. Fighter planes."

She shuddered, but didn't draw her hand away from his. "How had you feel, afterwards?"

He shifted in his sleeping bag, wishing she wouldn't ask questions which probed at feelings long buried. "It’s sort of impersonal. But you know someone has died. You harden yourself against the thought."

"And still you'd like to kill Judd and his men?"

"Don't say 'like.' Say 'must.' I've never killed anyone, hand to hand, but I think if I
had
to, if I
must
, then I'd be able to."

"I see." She paused a moment then continued. "I couldn't. I don't see how you can—"

"It's got to be somewhat the way a policeman feels, Mary. You don't want to kill the crooks, but you do if you've no choice."

Mary sighed, the sound heavy in the still night air. "I know. A policeman in my therapy group shot a man to save himself. It haunted him. I couldn't live with that."

"If we must, we must."

"Not me. Never."

"Then me. If I've no choice, I'll kill to keep you alive."

"It's hard to accept, yet..."

"What?"

"I can't be a hypocrite. The reason I feel even the smallest bit safe is because of you. And that includes your willingness to kill them."

"That's why I joined the Navy."

"You wanted to kill people?" She sounded shocked, and this time pulled her hand away.

"No. That's not what I meant."

"Then what...?"

"Protection. The military is all that stands between our nation and our enemies.”

"True. But if we didn't have all those bombs— or all those guns— the world would be a safer place."

He had heard that argument before. "That's rubbish, Mary. Don't you believe it."

"But...."

"I'm not just guessing. There’s a town in Georgia— Kennesaw— which requires all homeowners to own a gun. Crime rate dropped as soon as they put in the law. It’s quite famous.”

“Everybody has to have one?”

“You can opt out. But the crooks don’t know who has them and who hasn’t. They don’t like that. The criminal mind feeds on weakness. When you get a criminal in a position of power, the innocent suffer."

"But if the victim hadn't fought back—"

"Are you trying to say all victims fight back, and so deserve their deaths?"

She took a moment before she answered. "No, that can't be."

Connor noticed the light cast from the fire had grown dimmer. He wondered how long Wes would stand out in the cold. How many people had Wes murdered? Innocent people, unable to defend themselves, slain because they had something he wanted?

"Think of the children, the elderly," Connor said, wanting to prompt Mary to reconsider her stand, but reluctant to add "your neighbor." That scene had to be fresh in her mind.

"I guess I've never thought much about it."

"There’s a mental difference between the innocent victim and the one who commits a crime. To the killer, a life is nothing."

"And to me, a life is precious."

The way she said that almost melted Connor's resolve to change her mind. "As it is to me, Mary," he avowed. He paused to consider his next words carefully before he spoke. "A murderer must be stopped. Otherwise he keeps killing innocent people. Do you understand what I'm getting at?"

"Yes."

"Do you agree with me?"

"It's hard not to. I'll have to think on it some more."

"Do. Just don't hate me if I have to kill them to save us."

"Are you sure they mean to kill us, once they get the chest?"

"I'm positive. It’s all that stands between us and a bullet. As for me, even that is questionable. They don't need me anymore to carry the supplies. I think they're just keeping me for leverage with you. They seem to think I'm special in your life."

"Aren't you?"

"I'd like to be."

"Very special, Connor. Very, very special."

She moved forward into his arms, and Connor felt the sweetness of her lips.

Afraid of frightening her, Connor let her set the pace. Her kisses were tentative and he felt a surge of protectiveness toward Mary. He wasn’t going to scare her away from him, no siree, and to do that he had to brake his skyrocketing emotions and clamp down hard on himself.

He had sworn to protect the innocent and Mary was about as innocent as they came. Being in separate bags with their clothes on was a good idea. It helped him keep control.

He was beginning to struggle with that control when Mary pulled back and asked, "Am I special in your life, Connor? Or is there—"

"There's no one else. Nowhere."

"Then—"

"And yes. You’re very special to me, Mary."

"And you to me. But I must have a man who’ll be with me, and not gone half my life. I couldn’t endure the separations."

She gazed at him with sorrow-filled eyes and a great sadness passed between them. They needed each other, yet even if they escaped alive, their togetherness wouldn’t continue. His job would keep them apart.

If he wanted Mary, he’d have to give up his entire life's work and start over again. It might turn him bitter, like a caged eagle, so that he’d eventually resent her. Or spoil their feelings for each other— and he’d end up with nothing.

"As much as I feel for you, Mary, I'm not the man for you. I couldn't give you what you need. We both know that."

She sighed. "Will you return to your ship, if we get away?"

"Yes. It may take awhile. In the meantime, I'd want to see you. If you'd let me."

"We might not make it to the van."

"We'll make it, Mary."
We have to.
“It's our best way to escape.”

But would Judd let him live four full days?

The next morning Mary hardly looked at the spectacular red sunrise as she brushed the loose layer of snow off the remains of the campfire. She only wished the snow had lasted longer and covered their tracks better.

The dying fire had melted all but a fine film of snow on top, so the ashes were only slightly wet. Last night she had pulled out chunks of burned wood and placed them under cover. Now she used the dry pieces of charcoal and the remaining dry wood to start a quick breakfast fire as the men took down the tents.

Hot coffee. Hot soup. Not much of a breakfast, but hot liquids were enough to keep people going. She cooled the last pan off with a hiss and tied it to her pack frame.

"We're running out of food," she remarked to Judd as he stopped to watch her. "Didn't you consider the fact that we have to eat on the return trip?"

"You're the one traveling in circles," he growled. "You'll have to travel hungry."

"We've got to hurry, to make the cabin in four days."

"Three days."

"Three? But you said four," Mary almost cried in frustration.

"That was yesterday. A day has passed, in case you didn't notice."

"But—"

"Three days."

"It's impossible. We can't make it in three days."

"Then your boyfriend starts losing fingers," he said with a smile that sickened her. "One per day."

Judd sneered, wagged his five fingers, then turned and limped away, leaving Mary chilled.

A finger a day?

Sick at heart, she looked up to see Connor standing nearby. "You heard?" She forced the words out, in a hoarse whisper.

"Yes. Sounds like we better start moving." He took it calmly enough, his eyes steadily gazing into hers, their dark depths assuring.

"But... but, I can't make it in three days," she cried, feeling the pressure explode within her. It was all too much to ask of anyone. She wanted to stop, right now, and end the struggle against these evil men.

Connor moved closer, placing an arm around her while his voice dropped to whisper in her ear, "This way they have a reason to keep me alive. I'll give up a finger or two for that, wouldn't you?"

Mary's stomach churned in protest. She pictured the blood, the pain. "Not willingly!"

He chuckled and she wondered how he could treat it so lightly. "True. We might leave them sooner than we thought and push on through to the van."

"I don't think I can get us close enough."

"We can still do it."

"Maybe."

"Double time them, Mary. You've been taking it too easy."

She clamped her teeth in fierce determination. She’d walk the blisters off these men to save Connor's hands. "That's for sure."

"Atta girl!" He patted her on the shoulder and walked away.

She didn't want him hurt. He had become very special to her. A solid rock, a tower of strength whenever she needed him. He constituted the only one between her and complete despair.

And... she loved him. Completely, without reservation. She felt more for him than admiration, much more than ‘like.’ Although she had been denying it, she loved him. She felt the surge of joy within and wrestled it down. She couldn’t tell Connor. He loved his job.

She had caused her father to leave the job he loved, and she remembered the light going out in his eyes. After he changed jobs he trudged to work. He never again went off with a spring to his step.

She had clung to him, smothering him, ruining his chances of ever gaining happiness. She would not do that to Connor.

Three days. Mary gazed at the gray sky. The low-hanging clouds blocked out the sun, but she knew these mountains well enough to be able to tell directions by nearby landmarks.

The clouds effectively hid Mount Rainier. That meant she could travel straight back toward the van. Maybe she could do it in three days after all.

"Let's go," she called out, shrugging her shoulders into the straps of her pack. It weighed hardly anything by now.

An hour later snow began to fall, a few flakes that quickly compounded. Mary's spirits lifted as she laid a semi-straight trail through the woods, wishing there were more level spots where she could hike straight across. These mountains were rough enough that hikers either went up, down, or along the ridges. A cross-country attempt could easily end by dropping off a cliff.

She welcomed the heavy snow that covered all tracks. She could cross their former trail with impunity now. The men would never notice. Heads down, they slogged along behind her. If she led them off a cliff, they’d follow.

If only Judd hadn’t threatened to cut off Connor's fingers. Was he just bluffing to force Mary to lead them directly to the cabin?

Connor didn't think so.

Connor. A strong name for a strong man. She leaned on him mentally and emotionally as well as physically. He gave her mind a steady focusing point, keeping her thoughts from whirling wildly, like a falling rock, bounding in all directions. Connor provided contact with reality. She didn't agree with him on some basic things, but she loved him and depended on him to make this nightmare go away, so she could return to safety.

Which was a joke. Safety used to mean her home and father. The only place she felt safe anymore was in Connor's arms.

A glow of pleasure warmed her as she thought about the few precious moments they had shared.

"Aieee...! The high-pitched cry told Mary one of the men had mis-stepped, and she looked back as Ramone slid several hundred feet downwards before coming to a stop in a clump of trees. The slope pitched at about thirty degrees, enough to shake him up, but not enough to do him harm. She sat down and waited with the others while he scratched and crawled his way back to where they sat.

Frowning, she studied the terrain ahead for avalanche danger. The heavy snowfall made it difficult to see. Under other conditions, she would’ve stopped, but with the three day time limit hanging over her, Mary disregarded her normal caution and led them onward.

The trail grew steeper, more deadly as the drop-off became a cliff. She should stop and rope them together, she knew, but that took time. It was only a short distance to the trees, where they’d be safe and would have to unrope, anyway. She moved on, choosing time over safety.

A sharp shout alerted Mary. She spun around to see...
Connor
... sliding slowly, inevitably downward toward the edge.

"Connor!" Too far away to do anything, she could only stand and watch, terrified.

With his hands bounds, he couldn’t save himself. As he neared the edge, he spread his legs wide, trying to kick in his snowshoes— but Mary knew in her heart he wouldn’t stop in time.

Her mouth opened in a soundless protest, her life collapsed around her. In her haste to save his fingers, she had lost him. She loved him— and she had killed him by not roping up.

The mountains acted swiftly. They offered no second chance.

No, Lord. It wasn't meant to end this way.

He plunged downward, gaining momentum— quickly speeding out of control. He made no sound as his body careened out of sight.