Naked Edge (44 page)

Then Kat looked up the specific wording of the federal statute that protected American Indian burial sites and added that to her story. She read through the article once more, checking for holes and typos, and finally satisfied, she e-mailed it to Tom, who replied almost immediately.

Great work, James. We're running it front page, above the fold. Once again the Denver Indy and the I-Team are making headlines.

This was why she'd become a journalist--to do a day's work and know that it made a difference in the world.

Of course, there were still many unanswered questions. Was there any connection between Martin and Daniels? Was Martin tied to the looting in any way? If so, why would he wait to steal the artifacts until after the property had passed out of his family's hands? What did any of this have to do with the raid on the
inipi?
And how did Grandpa Red Crow's death--and the attempts on her life and Gabe's--fit into the picture? She hoped Martin would fill in the missing pieces once he'd spent a little time in a police interrogation room.

Could this nightmare truly be drawing to a close? Oh, she hoped so. She was trying to be strong, trying to be brave, but she'd be lying if she didn't admit she was feeling the strain of it. If it weren't for Gabe ...

If it weren't for him, she wouldn't be alive to feel the strain.

Wondering what he would like most for dinner--besides frybread--she closed her laptop and walked over to the woodstove to see how much stew was left from lunch. There wasn't much--certainly not enough for a big man like Gabe. Then it occurred to her that she no longer heard him shoveling. He must have finished and have gone back to the woodpile for more wood. She wasn't surprised to hear the front door open.

"Have you worked up an appetite?" She turned to face him. "We've ..."

Whatever she'd been about to say died on her tongue.

In the doorway stood Chief Ranger Webb. It took a moment for her to recognize him with ski goggles over his eyes, a thick growth of stubble on his jaw, and a hat on this head. Beyond him lay Gabe facedown, unconscious or dead, in the snow.

He grinned. "You're surprised to see me, aren't you, sweetheart ? As for Gabe, I don't think he's hungry at all."

CHAPTER 29

KAT'S HEART BURST inside her chest, knocked the air from her lungs, her knees almost buckling. "Gabe!"

Webb looked over his shoulder, then back at Kat. "He's not dead--not yet, anyway. It's a damned shame to have to kill him, but he got himself into this."

Webb's words penetrated Kat's shock and confusion, relief that Gabe was alive shining like a light through a dark fog of terror. "H-he's not dead?"

Webb smiled as if he were proud of himself. "I shot him with a tranquilizer dart. I had to neutralize him to get to you, but I couldn't just pop him, could I? This has to look like an accident."

Just like Grandpa Red Crow's death.

Panic turning her blood to ice, Kat took a step backward, then realized she had no place to run. "B-but why? Why are you doing this?"

"We can talk about it on the way there." Webb tossed something at her feet. A climbing harness? "Get dressed for the outdoors and put that on. We're going for a little winter adventure."

A winter adventure? Where was he taking them?

On the table beside her, her cell phone rang.

Her pulse spiked. If she could reach it, if she could just open it ...

Webb reached inside his coat, probably grabbing for his gun. "Let it ring."

But Kat wasn't going to die without a fight, no matter how terrified she felt. The worst thing he could do was kill her, and he was going to do that anyway.

She lunged for her cell phone, grabbed it--then felt her body explode with pain. She couldn't help but scream, every nerve ending on fire. Her legs fell out from under her, her body dropping to the floor as if boneless, the cell phone slipping from her hand and sliding beneath the table.

And then the pain stopped.

Panting, her body shaking, she lay against the cabin floor, struggling to understand what had just happened.

"Want some more?"

She screamed as pain ripped through her again--and then stopped, leaving her feeling as if the room were spinning.

He'd shot her with a Taser. That had to be it.

Two booted feet walked toward her and kicked the climbing harness toward her face. "Do exactly what I tell you to do. It won't save your life, of course--I'm going to kill you either way--but you'll suffer a hell of a lot less if you do."

She felt him tug at her blouse and realized he was removing the gun's probes. She wanted to throw herself against his legs and knock him to the floor, but she still hadn't regained control of her body yet, her muscles caught in painful spasms.

"I'll tell you one more time--put some real clothes on and get into the harness. If you don't cooperate, I'll fry you again."

Slowly, Kat got to her hands and knees, then to her feet, Webb watching her every move. Hands shaking, her muscles strangely weak, she walked on unsteady legs to her suitcase, and took out a pair of jeans, her mind racing for a way out of this.

She couldn't call for help. Her laptop was closed and in sleep mode, her cell phone under the table. Whoever had called would call back and wonder why she didn't answer. But they wouldn't know something terrible had happened, so they wouldn't send help--at least not in time to help her.

And slowly the full horror of her situation became clear.

Unless and until Gabe woke up, she was on her own with a killer, and if she couldn't find a way to stop him, both she and Gabe would die.

She had to find the strength to fight Webb, no matter how much it hurt to get stunned. She had to slow him down somehow. She had to give Gabe time to recover. Webb might have the upper hand now, but he wouldn't have such an easy time of it once Gabe was on his feet again and he had to contend with both of them.

Sending a silent prayer skyward and fighting to subdue her fear, she stepped into her jeans, drew them up beneath her skirt, turning her back to Webb for modesty's sake--but also so that she could look around the room without him seeing.

What she needed was a weapon, something that would take Webb by surprise, something she could hide. Gabe's rifle stood next to the bed, but there was no chance she could get her hands on it. Her gaze moved over the room. Lantern. Comb. Gabe's ski hat. A half dozen little strips of paper.

Her throat constricted, those fantasies they'd lived together now swallowed in this nightmare.
Oh, Gabe!

Cell phone charger. Coffee beans. Dirty coffee mugs and...

A paring knife.

It sat on the counter by the sink on what was the far side of the cutting board from Webb's point of view. Could he see it?

Deciding she had nothing to lose if Webb caught her--and her life and Gabe's to gain if he didn't--she slipped off her skirt and put on a pair of warm woolen socks. Then, heart thudding, she walked toward the sink. "I-I need a drink of water."

Stun gun still in hand, Webb frowned. "Hurry up. We're not on Indian time."

Kat rinsed one of the coffee mugs, filled it, then began to drink, letting her left hand come to rest on top of the knife, steeling herself against the searing pain that would likely follow. But nothing happened.

And then her moment came.

Webb glanced over his shoulder toward Gabe.

Kat quickly closed her fingers around the handle and snuck the knife into her front left jeans pocket. Then she set the mug down on the counter again, her pulse skipping with the thrill of having accomplished this small act of defiance. She hid it under a mask of fear. "C-can I have time to pray? Please?"

He sneered. "You'll be talking to your Great Spirit face to face soon enough. Say whatever you have to say then. Get that damned harness on."

CHILLED TO THE bone, Kat lay facedown in the snow, her lungs aching for breath, her left wrist broken, the pain almost unbearably sharp.

Gabe, please wake up!

"Get up! Get on your feet!" Webb shouted at her from the snowmobile, his face red with fury, Gabe lying, still unconscious, on the supply sled behind him.

"Please ... I just ... need to catch ... my breath." Sucking air into her lungs, she struggled against pain, exhaustion, and the awkwardness of snowshoes to stand. "You're going ... too fast! I'm not used to ... altitude ... or snowshoes!"

It was the truth. They were above timberline now, the air thin and bitter cold, the cabin she'd shared with Gabe swallowed by distance and evening shadows. Even if she'd been in a hurry to die, she wouldn't have been able to keep up.

As soon as Webb had gotten her into the harness--she hadn't been able to figure out the confusing arrangement of leg holes and straps on her own--he'd tied a rope through a strange steel device that hung from its waistband and dragged her outside, where he'd insisted she put on snowshoes. Next, he'd put a harness on Gabe with gloved hands and tied him into the rope, as well, the two of them separated by a thirty-foot length of orange-and-yellow rope. Then Webb had tied Gabe onto the supply sled together with his own backpack and skis, climbed onto the back of the snowmobile, and had driven it slowly westward. Kat found herself being hauled forward at a near run.

At first Kat had thought that Webb was using the rope and harnesses to prevent them from escaping, and she hadn't understood why he'd left her hands free. All she had to do was cut through the rope or unclip the harness. Then she'd realized he was trying not to leave any marks on her that would indicate foul play. Rope burns and fibers on her wrists would have done just that. Besides, he didn't need to bind her hands. One pull of the Taser's trigger, and she was rendered helpless.

Now, seeing where he was taking them, she guessed that the rope and the harnesses weren't just meant to restrain her and drag her along. They were also props. He was planning to throw her and Gabe off the cliff and make it seem like some kind of climbing accident.

Kat had seen this cliff from a distance and admired it. Eagles had soared above it. Gabe had skied down to her from the snowy slope hundreds of feet beneath it. And unless she could delay long enough for Gabe to come around, the two of them were going to die where he'd stood that wonderful afternoon, grinning to himself as he planned how he would show off for her.

She whispered another prayer, let the wind take it.

She'd done everything she could think of to slow Webb down except pull the knife--something she wouldn't do until she had a clear opportunity to use it. It was her only true weapon, and she couldn't squander it. So she'd unclipped the rope from her harness and run, only to be stunned and dragged back. She'd pretended to trip and fall more times than she could count. She'd kicked off her snowshoes. She'd even wrapped the rope around her left arm in an effort to pull Gabe off the sled.

That's how she'd broken her wrist. She'd jerked on the rope just as the snowmobile had surged forward, and the bone had snapped. She'd collapsed to the snow, nauseated and shaking from pain.

"I know what you're trying to do. You're stalling, hoping your boyfriend will wake up and rescue you. If I'd known you were going to be this goddamned much trouble, I'd have tranqued you, too!" Webb shouted.

Kat knew Webb couldn't do that now because the drug would still be in her bloodstream when she died--just as it would apparently still be in Gabe's. A major glitch in Webb's plan.

And yet ...

Just a moment ago, she thought she'd seen Gabe move. She thought she'd seen his fists clench and his head bob, as if he were trying to raise it. And that had given her hope. If only she could hold out, if she could only be strong ...

It wasn't much farther. They had almost reached the top of the ridge. Then they would veer to the left and head uphill toward the top of the cliff. And one way or another, this nightmare would end.

Gabe, wake up!

Tears of pain and desperation pricking her eyes, she lost her balance and sank to the snow again. "You said you'd tell me.... why you're doing this. Can't I know why ... you want to kill me?"

"You're a smart girl." He turned off the snowmobile, climbed off, and trudged toward her. "How about you tell me?"

So exhausted that she found it hard to think, Kat made a guess. "You and Paul Martin were ... making money looting the burial site at Mesa Butte ... and Grandpa Red Crow found you stealing from the land. The two of you killed him. Did you try to make that ... look like an accident, too?"

"I tried to get all of you Indian people off the butte, but the old man just wouldn't cooperate. He came back to set up another sweat lodge ceremony and discovered what I was doing. He took a pot from me as evidence. I had to get rid of him." Webb grabbed her coat, jerked her to her feet. "I wish I'd remembered he had that damned pot in his pocket. That's what tipped you off, isn't it? That was my one mistake. Still, I have to give myself credit. For something I hadn't planned in advance, I handled it well."

Kat got the sense that he was proud of himself. "You forced him to drink alcohol, didn't you?"

Webb nodded. "I hit him over the head--not enough to kill him, just to knock him out. Then I carried him up the butte, coaxed some rotgut down his throat--and dropped him over the edge. It was easy."