Follow the Sun (14 page)

Silence was obviously her best defense.

Tess met his gaze stoically. He scrutinized her for nearly a minute, as if he were trying to force a reaction from her. She barely blinked.

Finally, fatigue and dismay clouded his expression. He chuckled, then told her in a low, tense tone, “All right, War Woman, if you want war, you’ve got it.”

T
HEY LOST THREE
hours of daylight flying east, and when they landed, darkness had fallen. Tess couldn’t see much beyond the jet’s windows, but she glimpsed tall outlines and suspected that they must be in the North Carolina mountains.

Jeopard and the pilot disappeared outside for a long time. Tess caught glimmers from their flashlights and peered into the night. She thought she saw a third man. Yes.

When Jeopard came back on board he was followed by a muscular black-haired giant with a handsome face that might have been carved from a granite block. Tess gaped. The man had to stoop to negotiate the cabin ceiling. He was easily seven feet tall. He wore western boots, faded jeans, and a khaki safari shirt.

A huge knife was strapped to his belt.

Jeopard, his face unreadable, gestured casually from Tess to the giant. “Drake Lancaster.”

She and the giant shared a speculative look. “Nice
to meet you,” he said politely in a rumbling bass voice. It was as if the mountains themselves had spoken to her.

Tess arched a brow at him and said nothing.

“She’s taken a vow of silence,” Jeopard noted drolly. “It’s nothing personal. As far as I know she still listens, even if she won’t answer.”

Jeopard leaned against a seat and crossed his arms over his chest. Lancaster sat down in the aisle and rested his hands on his updrawn knees. “Ms. Gallatin, I brought you some clothes and other necessities. In the morning I’ll take you and Jeopard into the mountains on horseback. You need to get a good night’s sleep. And please relax. You’re safe.”

When she didn’t answer, he shifted awkwardly and looked at Jeopard for help.

“I think she likes you,” Jeopard quipped. “She didn’t hiss.”

The huge man sighed as if he didn’t understand these kind of man/woman games very well. He reached into a shirt pocket and retrieved something. “Before I forget. Take a look at this, man. What a gorgeous doll. Rucker and Dinah sent this to me last week.”

Tess craned her head as Jeopard reached for what appeared to be a photograph. Gorgeous doll? Some femme fatale, probably.

Jeopard gazed at the photo, and a gentle smile touched his mouth. She watched him with dull intrigue, wondering what woman could draw such tenderness from him.

Sincere tenderness, not the fake kind he’d shown her.

Jeopard glanced over at her. “My goddaughter,” he told her, and held out a photograph of a smiling baby in a pink pinafore.

“Mine too,” Drake interjected firmly.

Tess studied the photograph, then let her eyes flicker up slowly to Jeopard’s with what she hoped was a distinctly uninterested expression.

“You’ve heard of Rucker McClure, the writer?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Drake and I helped him rescue his wife and daughter last year. The details are classified, but suffice it to say, we were quite proud of ourselves.”

Tess lifted her chin and eyed Jeopard coolly. She couldn’t resist taunting his inflated ego. “Am I supposed to be impressed because you two professional killers have a soft spot for children? Sorry, I’m not.”

She caught Drake Lancaster’s look of astonishment. He turned toward Jeopard. “What does she think—”

“She got my official background.”

“Oh.” Drake frowned.

“It’s a little difficult to prove otherwise at this point.”

“Right.”

“So she thinks I’m worse than I am. And you’re guilty by association.”

“My mother warned me not to hang around with people like you.”

“Yes. Undoubtedly.”

Jeopard straightened. Tess found his gaze back on her. It was challenging but somehow extremely sad. She felt bewildered and exhausted. What new con was he trying to pull?

“Time for bed. War Woman.” He gestured toward the tape around her wrists and feet. “Drake, get rid of this.”

Drake got up, crouched over her, and sliced the tape with careful strokes of his huge knife. Then he left the plane, his head bent awkwardly to avoid denting the roof.

Jeopard grasped her wrist. “Let’s go. There’s a sleeping bag waiting outside for you.”

“Are we sharing, godfather?” she asked tautly.

“No. I wouldn’t want to fall asleep while my throat was within reach of your hands.”

He led her out of the jet. Tess looked around, smelled the rich, cool night air of the mountains, then
glanced down at the concrete under her feet. “Drug trafficking,” she said harshly. “That’s the only reason you’d have these hidden runways.”

“I don’t sell, buy, or use drugs. You’ve watched too many episodes of
Miami Vice.
”

He drew her across an open field toward a campfire at the edge of the forest. The pilot lay on a sleeping bag, swigging a soft drink. Drake Lancaster knelt beside the fire, stirring something in a pot set among the embers.

Several horses were tethered to nearby trees. Tess gazed around at the blackness outside the ring of fire-light. In the glow of a half-moon the craggy, forested peaks seemed as mysterious to her as the masterful blond man who had hold of her wrist.

“Welcome to the Nantahala Mountains,” Jeopard told her.

He guided her to a sleeping bag at the edge of the firelight. It lay near the base of a large dogwood tree.

“Sit down.” He looked over his shoulder. “Drake, did you remember the chain?”

Her heart pounding with dread, Tess lowered herself and sat cross-legged. Chain? Drake Lancaster went to a canvas bag and pulled out a long, slender silver chain. He brought it to Jeopard, along with two small padlocks.

“Here’s the key,” he said, and dropped it into the side pocket of Jeopard’s sports coat.

Tess stared at the chain in horror. She shivered inwardly as Jeopard looped it around her waist, beneath her shirt, and fastened it with a padlock. He took the other end to the dogwood tree and locked it around the trunk.

Then he merely glanced at her and walked away to join his friends.

She numbly pushed the chain out of her way, turned to face the mountains, and hugged her knees to her chest. Only the most rigid pride kept her from crying. Tess dug her fingers into her bare legs and stared into the forest.

The medallion and the antler amulet pressed into her breasts, and the feel of them made a bittersweet chill run down her spine.

This was Cherokee land, the Sun Land of the tribe’s mythology, and she had ancestral spirits on her side that Jeopard Surprise couldn’t begin to battle. She belonged here, and he didn’t. She didn’t care what he did to her. She was strong.

Tess caught the low murmur of Drake’s voice and heard Jeopard’s laughter. Despair engulfed her.

Who was she kidding? She was miserable.

There was only one reason why she felt so hurt and betrayed by Jeopard’s treatment. She didn’t want to love him anymore, and her agony came from knowing that she still did.

CHAPTER 8

T
HE CHAIN WAS
a hard, rattling weight hanging around her waist. Tess looped it over one elbow so that it wouldn’t tug so much on her tender flesh. She slid a hand under the steel links and gingerly rubbed her chafed, sweating skin.

Tess shifted in her saddle and thought about the other chafed parts of her body. She glanced over her shoulder and glimpsed Jeopard, whose horse stayed close behind hers. She sensed that he was watching her, as usual. His unwavering attention seemed designed to force her to notice him in return.

Tess faced forward proudly and pretended to study. their surroundings. The air was sweet and the scenery spectacular, which made her situation seem even more depressing. Startled insects hummed louder as the horses’ feet crunched through the undergrowth.

To her right the land dropped into a beautiful, dramatic gorge. Massive granite boulders overhung the banks of a stream bed at the bottom, and thick, graceful trees draped their limbs toward the rushing water.

Nantahala
meant “land of the noonday sun” in Cherokee, because the mountains rose so steeply that some of the narrow passes between them stayed in shadow most of the day. The name also belonged to a river in the area that was popular with white-water aficionados.

Drake, trying awkwardly to chat with her that morning, had mentioned that they were on the edge of the Great Smoky Mountains National Forest and that the Nantahala River was no more than five miles from the landing strip. White-water enthusiasts flocked to the area to raft, canoe, and kayak during the summer. There was a small town in the vicinity.

Tess chewed on her lower lip and considered that information. Civilization was within walking distance. A long walk, but she could make it. Of course, for the past two hours Drake had led them farther from civilization and deeper into the national forest along winding, nearly indistinct trails.

Let’s see, she thought. She could follow the sun back. No, she could barely see the sun. Wasn’t there some rule about moss growing on the north side of a tree? Or was it the south side?

Landmarks. Tess looked around. Yes, there were thousands of them. Trees. Identical trees. She sighed with dismay. Weren’t Cherokees instinctively supposed to know their way through the woods?

She ran her fingers under the chain again and winced at the raw prickling sensation on her waist.

“Here. Take this.”

Jeopard nudged his horse up beside hers on the narrow mountain trail. He pulled a soft red bandanna from the back pocket of his jeans and handed it to her. “Wrap that around the lock.”

Tess eyed him coolly. Drake had supplied them both with basic clothing for this venture: jeans, leather hiking shoes, and loose cotton shirts with short sleeves. But he hadn’t known her size, and apparently liked to think everyone was as large as himself.

If the wind caught her just right, her jeans would
inflate and
float
her to safety. At least her shoes and socks fit.

Jeopard, on the other hand, looked like the Esquire Man at a cattle roundup. His tousled blond hair gave him a deceptively boyish charm, his light blue shirt bore no sweat stains, and his jeans maintained a neat crease down the center of each lean, muscular leg. Head ’em up and move ’em out, Calvin Klein, Tess thought sarcastically.

Tess ignored the bandanna as she’d ignored every gesture, word, and look of his all morning. She gazed disdainfully at the chain looped around his saddle horn. He kept her on a leash, but the last thing she’d be was his pet.

“Either tie this bandanna around the lock or I’ll tie it for you,” he ordered calmly.

“If you’re going to kill me, why do you care about my comfort?”

“Drake! Hold up a minute!”

Drake reined his horses in and looked curiously over his shoulder. Jeopard reached out, grabbed the chain, and pulled her toward him with even, firm force.

Her horse felt the off-center shift of her body and halted, sidestepping until it bumped Jeopard’s horse to a stop too. Tess clung to the saddle horn and tried not to fall off. When her face was only inches from Jeopard’s and her leg was mashed securely against his from knee to hip, he tucked the bandanna around the lock. His warning blue eyes held her defensive ones.

“I’ve killed people,” he told her in a low, controlled tone. “But I’m not a
killer
. I’ve done some ugly things, but I’ve done them for good reasons. That doesn’t make me a saint, but I’m not a monster, either. I’m not going to hurt you.”

His tense, heartfelt words made goose bumps scatter down Tess’s arms. She searched his face desperately, not knowing what to believe. She couldn’t ignore him any longer. “Then who blew up my car?”

“Possibly the people who hired me. I don’t know.”
His jaw tightened. “How many people have reason to want revenge against you and Royce?”

She stared at him, open-mouthed. “Me and Royce? I wasn’t involved in Royce’s profession. He was retired.”