Gray, Ginna (6 page)

Then he shifted his weight to that foot and repeated the process.

He darted Lauren a look. "I'd get busy if I were you. If
you're not out of those clothes by the time I'm done I'll strip them off you
myself."

Lauren sucked in her breath. Of all the arrogant, overbearing,
insufferable... He'd do it, too. She could see it in his eyes and that hard,
determined face. Since he was a foot taller than she was and outweighed her by
a good hundred and twenty pounds, there wasn't much doubt what the outcome
would be.

She was sorely tempted to tell him to go to hell. If she didn't
need him to stay alive, she would. For a moment Lauren fumed, but she had no
choice.

"Oh, all right! But I'm going over there behind those
trees."

"Don't bother. Trust me, I won't be overcome with lust at the
sight of you in baggy drawers."

Lauren lifted her chin. "I didn't think you would be. If you
must know, I have to use the...the ladies' room."

He pinned her with that dark stare and arched one eyebrow.
"The
ladies'
room?"

Refusing to be intimidated, she stared back and tipped her chin up
another notch. "Yes. Since I have to strip, I figured I may as well take
care of that while I'm there."

"Okay, fine. Just don't go too far. And remember what I said
about keeping your feet dry," he called after her as she plowed through
the snow toward a huge blue spruce tree whose snow-laden branches were bent
down to the ground.

When she returned ten minutes later Sam was fully clothed with the
backpack strapped on and the rifle hanging from one shoulder. Giving her an
impatient look, he tossed the duffle bag to her and nearly knocked her down.

"Pull up your parka hood," he ordered. "Keeping
that fur ruff extended out in front of your face prewarms the air before you
breath it in. It's easier on your lungs that way. Your breath will cause ice
crystals to form on the fur. It's important that you brush it off
periodically."

That said, without so much as a "c'mon," he turned and
started off again.

Walking through the deep snow took torturous effort, even with him
plowing a path ahead of her. Lauren struggled along behind him with her jaw
clenched, her gaze shooting daggers at his back. That she had to be dependent
on anyone for anything didn't set well with her. That she now had no choice but
to trust her very life to this man was galling.

If the loss of her career and her fiancé had taught her nothing
else, it was to take control of her own destiny. She had vowed that never again
would she allow others to direct her life and make all her decisions for her.
Now, here she was, tromping along behind this hard-as-nails man whom she barely
knew, completely dependent on him for her very survival. Oh, how that grated.

Since being released from the hospital ten months ago, Lauren had
continued her rehabilitation by working out in a gym three evenings a week.
Overall, she was in superb physical condition—or at least, she had thought she
was. However, at this altitude the air was thin, and every movement seemed to
take twice the energy it normally required. Added to that, too little sleep and
two brushes with death had left her exhausted, physically and emotionally.

Soon her breathing became labored and shallow and her heart chugged
like a locomotive. Sucking in the frigid air made her lungs burn and her throat
dry. With every step she panted and gasped for breath, but Sam would allow her
only a few sips at a time from their canteen of water.

It irritated her that he didn't even appear to be winded. He kept
the same steady pace with no apparent effort, his face set like granite.

Lauren struggled to match his speed, but the distance between them
steadily lengthened. It was snowing harder and the wind whipped the flakes into
a swirling frenzy and cut visibility to almost zero. Only ten feet ahead, Sam
was merely a ghostly gray form moving through the driving whiteness.

She frowned at his back. Did he really know where he was going? Or
were they just wandering aimlessly?

He looked back over his shoulder. "If you don't keep up
you're going to lose sight of me and get lost."

"How...can I...keep up? You're walking...too... fast."

"So hustle."

She narrowed her eyes and tried to drill a hole in his back with
her stare. After a while, though, even that took too much effort. It required
all her energy and concentration to put one foot in front of the other.

It was bitterly cold and getting colder. Through the swirling
snow, everything was gray and bleak. The only sounds were the crunching of the
snow under their feet, the howl of the wind, an occasional snap of a limb under
its weight of snow, and the heavy rasp of their breathing.

"I saw...a cave a few...few minutes back," Lauren
gasped. "Wouldn't that make...a good shelter?"

"Sure. If you don't mind sharing it with a bear."

"Bear?" She shot a terrified look around and scrambled
to close the gap between them. "There are... bears around... here?"

"Plenty of them. But don't worry, they're hibernating right
now."

"Are there...any other...predators around that...I
should...know about?"

Without breaking stride, Sam shrugged. "Mountain lions."

Mountain lions! Fear shot another blast of adrenaline through
Lauren. Casting a frantic look around, she scooted in closer to Sam's back and
picked up the pace. After that her gaze darted around constantly.

She had expected him to start down the mountainside, but it seemed
to her that they were gradually climbing. He tramped on at a steady pace, like
a man with a specific goal in mind. As they hiked Lauren glanced around at the
inhospitable terrain.

"Is there something...in particular...we're looking
for?"

"A few seconds before we crashed, I saw a log
structure," he shouted above the howl of the wind. "It's probably an
old abandoned mine, or if we're really lucky, the remains of a miner's cabin.
There are hundreds of them scattered over these mountains. They're relics from
the Colorado gold rush days in the 1800s."

"Are they still...ha-habitable?"

"Not in the normal sense, but any kind of structure that will
provide enough shelter to get us out of the wind and snow and be a dry place
where we can build a fire will help."

A fire? A fire sounded wonderful. A fire sounded absolutely
fantastic. She was so tired her leg muscles were quivering and she was almost
asleep on her feet. Oh, how she longed to lie down beside a warm fire and close
her eyes.

Sam glanced over his shoulder at her again and his jaw clenched
tighter. The mere sight of her filled him with a rage he could barely contain.
Because of this woman he'd lost an old friend and a fellow agent. He tried to
push the feeling aside, but he couldn't banish the mental image of Bob and Dave
as he'd last seen them, vacant-eyed and slumped in death.

Sam tended to be a loner, but those few he counted as a friend, he
valued. Bob Halloran had been the first close friend he'd made within the
Bureau, and the best. Though seventeen years Sam's senior, they had formed a
strong bond over the years they'd worked together. Outside of work they'd
shared the same interests, and had gone fishing and hunting together numerous
times. Bob was one of only a very few men whom Sam had trusted absolutely.

Dave Owens had been a green rookie, which was why Sam hadn't
objected to him working this assignment with him. He figured the kid hadn't been
with the Bureau long enough to have been corrupted, and therefore wasn't on
Carlo's payroll. He'd been an eager, idealistic young man who'd had the
potential to become one hell of an agent.

Now both men were dead—their lives forfeited in an attempt to save
a mobster's mistress—a woman who traded her body and self-respect to a vicious
old man in exchange for creature comforts.

Granted, she was vital to their case. With her testimony they
could finally nail Giovessi. But at what cost? So far, two good men had died
trying to keep her safe.

He glanced over his shoulder again, and his mouth twisted. He
probably should have mentioned the mountain lions when they first started out.
At least now she was no longer lagging behind.

Sam knew she wouldn't be able to keep going much longer, though.
Up until now she'd been running on adrenaline, but she was gray with exhaustion
and so wobbly she could barely keep her balance. If he didn't locate the cabin
soon he'd have to carry her.

To keep her moving he shouted over his shoulder, "The cabin
is just ahead." At least, he hoped to hell it was, and that his eyes
hadn't been playing tricks on him.

"How...how do you...know that?"

"When I spotted it from the plane I noticed it was on a
massive rock outcropping. I took a compass sighting on the rock formation when
we started hiking, before the storm hit in earnest and reduced
visibility."

She dragged along in his wake and didn't bother to answer, as
though even that much effort was too much for her.

They rounded the base of a gigantic boulder, and when the swirling
curtain of snow parted for an instant the structure came into view. Perched
precariously on the edge of the rocky outcropping above them, a derelict old
mine shack clung to the mountainside, the remains of its sluice box dangling
down the slope.

This, Sam realized, was what he'd seen from the air. As a shelter
it was next to worthless. So many boards were missing from the outer walls you
could see right through the ramshackle building. The damned thing would
probably crumble if you stepped into it, he thought. Not that it mattered.
Lauren would never be able to climb that sheer rock face, and time had
obliterated the trail.

The snow swirled again, and Sam caught a glimpse of something.

"There!" he shouted over the wind, pointing. "I
think I see a cabin!"

To the right, tucked back against the base of the rock formation
just a few feet away, another structure was barely visible through the swirling
snow.

Lauren gave a moan of gratitude and stumbled toward the shadowy
shape, but Sam grabbed her arm and stopped her. "Not yet. Wait here while
I check it out."

Dropping the duffle, he unhooked the rifle from his shoulder,
worked the bolt action to chamber a round and cautiously pushed open the plank
door. Instantly the leather hinges crumbled, and the door fell into the room
with a crash. Sam grimaced. If any creature had taken up residence inside, that
should have run it out. He paused and listened, but there was no scuttling or
rustling coming from inside.

Sam stepped into the cabin in time to see a chipmunk scurry out
through a hole in the chinking. After a quick check turned up no other
critters, he went back outside and picked up his duffle bag and motioned to
Lauren. "All clear."

"Is it safe?"

"Yeah. It's been partially protected from the elements by the
cliff wall. For its age, it's in fair condition. There's a hole in the roof,
but I can throw some brush over that. Some chinking is missing and the door
fell in, and the inside looks like it's been a nest for chipmunks, but we can
manage."

Once inside Lauren sank to the filthy puncheon floor. "Thank
heavens. I don't think I could have plowed through that snow one more
step."

Sam shrugged off the backpack and dropped it, but he hooked the
gun back over his shoulder. "Don't go to sleep," he cautioned when
Lauren started to lay her head down on the duffle. "Not until I get a fire
going in here. I'll go gather some wood. While I'm gone, go through the pack
and see what kind of food supply we have. There should be a ground sheet in
there. Spread everything out on that so we can take stock of what we've got to
work with. While you're at it, you'd better clean up that cut. Knowing Bob, I'm
sure there's a first-aid kit in that pack. And stay awake, dammit, or you'll
freeze to death. At this temperature it wouldn't take long."

"Okay, okay. You don't have to be such a grouch," Lauren
grumbled. Sitting up again, she dragged the backpack closer and unzipped it.

There were plenty of trees around the cabin, and Sam was confident
that Bob's survival pack included a small hatchet, but for the moment he stuck
to gathering deadwood and brush. Once he had a fire going, he'd come back and
chop branches.

He worked furiously, driven not only by the need, but to hold at
bay the anger and grief he'd been battling with ever since the crash.

He brought in several armloads of deadwood and brush, and when he
was satisfied that he had enough to keep a fire going for a couple of hours, he
propped the door back in place and braced it with a three foot long chunk of
wood. Then he hunkered down in front of the stone fireplace.

Poking his head inside the firebox, he looked up the chimney and
breathed a sigh of relief. Whoever had built the cabin all those years ago had
mortared in a metal grill at the top of the chimney to keep birds and other
animals out.

Sam crumbled a small mound of deadwood for kindling, stacked brush
and the small twigs and limbs in a teepee shape over it, then looked over his
shoulder at Lauren, who was hugging her upper body and rocking back and forth,
struggling to stay awake. She had evidently found the first-aid kit, but her
attempt to clean the cut had merely smeared the dried blood over her forehead
and temple

"Are there any matches in those supplies? Or a fire starter
of any kind?"

She gave him a blank look and blinked. "Um, I think I
saw...yes, here they are." She picked up the box of matches and tossed
them to him.

Within minutes a fire blazed in the hearth and Sam turned his
attention to the contents of the backpack.

"Let's see what we have," he murmured. His gaze ran over
the items spread out on the ground sheet, and he gave silent thanks to his old
friend Bob's meticulous attention to safety and detail. "A pot and
skillet, packet of utensils, matches, compass, binoculars, strips of waxed lamp
wick."

Sam paused and stared at the last, a sharp stab of grief spearing
through him. Bob never had been worth a damn at building a fire, and on every
camping trip they'd ever made his friend had carried along plenty of the fire
starter strips.

Gritting his teeth, Sam shoved aside the pain and the mental image
of his old friend slumped in the cockpit seat and continued, picking up each
item as he ticked it off.

"Ax, snare wire, sleeping bag, first-aid kit, three kinds of
cord, both braided and twisted, a three blade folding knife, a fixed blade
knife, waxed thread, sewing awl, a coil of light nylon rope. Looks like we've
also got about fifteen pounds of food—freeze-dried eggs, meat, and meat and
vegetable mixes, plus about a half pound each of jerky, beans, rice and oats.
And a bottle of vitamins." Sam's mouth quirked. Bob always had been a
health nut.

"How long will that last the two of us?" Lauren asked,
giving the pile of packets a dubious look.

"Quite a while if we stay camped here. Once we start trekking
out, our caloric needs shoot up. But supplemented with fresh meat, we'll get
by."

"How are we going to get fresh meat? You can't go hunting in
a blizzard."

"Ever heard of a snare? If I set eight or ten in about a
hundred-yard radius around the cabin, chances are good a couple will catch
something." He patted his parka pockets, and an arrested look came over
his face. Then he began to curse viciously.

Lauren winced. "What? What's wrong?"

"I've lost my cellphone. It probably fell out of my coat during
the crash. Dammit!"

He glanced at Lauren. "I don't suppose you have one."

"No." These days a cellphone was one of the many
luxuries she could no longer afford.

"Figures." He picked up the ax and stood. "There's
just enough daylight left to chop the firewood and brush we need for tonight.
While I do that, you can cook us something to eat."

"You want
me
to cook?"

He stopped at the door and pinned her with a steady stare that
somehow managed to convey utter disgust. "Let me guess. You can't
cook."

"Well..."

"Oh, that's right, I forgot. You have other talents, don't
you?"

A frown knit her forehead at his sarcastic tone. "If you mean
the piano, then yes. I am learning other skills, like cooking and keeping
house. I'm just not very good at them yet."

Sam glanced at the packages of dehydrated food. "Just throw
the contents of one of those packets in a pot with some water and boil it
according to the directions."

"But...the only water in the pack was in the canteen, and we
drank all of that while we were hiking here."

Sam stared at her again and shook his head. "Damn, don't you
know how to do anything? For God's sake, woman, look around you. There is snow
everywhere. Scoop some up in the biggest pan and set it at the edge of the fire
to melt. Keep doing that until you have a potful," he snapped.

Disgusted, he kicked aside the log bracing the door, opened it
enough to slip out and pulled it back into place from the outside.

Lauren stared at the rough plank door, her feelings a churning mix
of hurt, inadequacy and anger.

How was she supposed to know how to cook on an open fire? She
hadn't even mastered the electric range and microwave in her apartment yet.
Until ten months ago, when she'd been released from the hospital, she'd never
so much as boiled water before.

Climbing wearily to her feet, she picked up the pot and skillet
and headed for the door.

The instant she stepped out into the blinding storm she sucked in
her breath. In just the short time they had been inside the blizzard had hit
with a vengeance. The force of the wind nearly knocked her over. It howled like
a banshee and whipped the snow in frenzied swirls. Darkness was falling, and
between that and the storm, visibility was no more than a few feet.

Lauren looked around, straining to peer through the blowing snow
for Sam, but it was hopeless. Fear trembled through her. How would he ever find
his way back to the cabin in this?

No. No, she wouldn't think about that. Sam Rawlins was
resourceful. He could take care of himself. Besides, he was too hard and mean to
die.

Keeping her gaze on the weak light spilling out through the grimy
glass of the cabin's sole window, Lauren took two steps and scooped up snow in
both pans.

She packed the snow as tight as she could until it mounded high
over the rims. When done, she straightened and looked around for Sam again with
no more success than the first time, then hurried back inside.

Lauren was amazed at how little water a potful of snow produced.
It took several more trips outside to fill the large pot, but at least the chore
kept her busy and awake. Each time she tried not to look around for Sam, but
she couldn't help herself.

After the last trip, she added more wood to the fire and pushed
the pot closer to the coals. While she waited for the water to boil, she picked
up a packet labeled beef stew. It weighed no more than a couple of ounces, and
she didn't see how the contents could possibly make a pot of stew, but she
turned the packet over to see the instructions.

It was so dark and the print was so small she scooted closer to
the fire and leaned back against the duffle bag to read.

That was how Sam found her fifteen minutes later, slumped back on
the duffle with one of the freeze- dried packets in the hand that rested on her
chest, sound asleep. Beside her at the edge of the fire, a brimful pot of water
boiled over, angrily hissing and spewing.

Her lips were slightly parted and the long sweep of her lashes lay
against her cheeks like fans, but they could not hide the dark circles of
fatigue beneath. The dried blood smeared over her forehead and down the side of
her face just emphasized her pallor.

Sam's mouth thinned. She was a whore, a mobster's plaything. She
had no right to look like a weary angel.

Bending his knees, he dumped the armload of firewood. It clattered
and banged on the puncheon floor, raising a cloud of dust and a racket
guaranteed to wake the dead.

"Wha—!" Lauren jackknifed to a sitting position and
looked around in bleary-eyed confusion.

"You fell asleep," Sam accused.

She blinked twice, then panic flared in her eyes, and he could see
that for a moment she didn't know who he was or how she had gotten there. She
started to scuttle backward away from him, but an instant later memory
returned.

She slumped and released a huff of breath, raking her fingers
through her hair, which had come loose from the intricate braid she'd fashioned
that morning before leaving the Denver Police Station. Even so, it took her a
minute to process his words.

"I...uh...I'm sorry. I was reading the instructions and...and
I guess I dozed off."

"Dammit, I warned you about that."

"For heaven's sake, I didn't do it on purpose. In the last
two days I've had a total of about five hours of sleep. In that time I've
witnessed a murder, fled for my life, been in a plane crash and hiked through knee-deep
snow. I'm exhausted physically and emotionally. Is it any wonder I fell
asleep?"

It was a halfhearted protest, at best, but Lauren just couldn't
muster the energy for a more heated reply. Her eyes burned and she was so tired
and wooden-headed she couldn't think. It was all she could do to simply stay
awake.

Sam was not moved. "I told you before we left Denver that
when I gave an order I expected it to be obeyed. Fall asleep like that again,
and you may not wake up. The fire has warmed the cabin up a little but it's
still freezing in here. You have to stay awake long enough to get a hot meal in
you and for me to build a shrub mattress for the sleeping bag."

"I'll try."

"Don't try, do it. And for God's sake, why did you fill the
pot brim full?" he demanded, as globules of water continued to hiss and
pop in the flames.

Grabbing a flannel shirt from the duffle bag, Sam used it as a hot
pad to pick up the pot of boiling water. He poured some into the skillet, then
carefully refilled the canteen.

"I...the instructions call for three cups of water. I wasn't
sure how much that was."

"I see. So you filled the pot to the top."

"I, uh...I didn't find a measuring cup in the pack."

"No, and you won't find a food processor or a blender,
either. Dammit, you're supposed to approximate three cups. That pot holds four
times that amount. How the hell did you expect to add in the mix without the
water running over?"

"Well, I...uh..."

"Never mind. Give me the packet."

Sam cut open the tough plastic with one of the knives and dumped
the contents into the boiling water. After giving the contents a stir he put
the lid on and stood up. "C'mon, on your feet. If you don't move around
you're going to konk out again. You can man the door while I bring in the rest
of the wood and brush. I piled it up just outside." He stopped and gave
her a derisive look. "You can manage that much, can't you?"