AWOL with the Operative (16 page)

There was no noise of any careful footstep behind him. No menacing shadow falling across the floor. It was instinct, or maybe an unclean odor he couldn’t identify, that had him sensing he was no longer alone in the living room. Someone was here with him, and it wasn’t Eve.

Keeping his back to the new arrival, he pretended to examine the paddles, as if making certain they weren’t damaged. All the while, he tried to calculate just what his action ought to be. But there was only one option, and it wasn’t a good one.

The only means of defense Sam had were the stout, wooden paddles. One of them could serve him as a weapon. The other one was a hindrance, which was why he released it. It met the floor with a clatter at the same time he flashed around in a crouch, swinging the paddle in a wide arc with all the swiftness and force of a heavy club.

He’d counted on an element of surprise, hoped to connect with his adversary and strike him down before he could act. It didn’t work that way. The thug was ready for him.

Sam had only a fleeting glimpse of wire-rimmed glasses and a face like a cunning weasel before the automatic in his enemy’s hand barked. The blade of the fast-moving paddle didn’t stop the bullet. But it did deflect it a bit from its intended target.

Sam felt a searing pain at the outer edge of his right thigh and knew he had suffered some kind of wound. Refusing to let it stop him, he rid himself of the paddle and launched himself at the bastard before he could get off a second shot. His opponent staggered back under the impact of his attack. Sam was all over him before he could recover.

With contorted faces, grunts and curses, the two men struggled for possession of the gun. At some point, the pistol went off again. Sam figured the bullet went wild. It didn’t. He felt the thug sag against him, slide down his length and topple over backward on the floor.

Breathing hard, realizing the automatic was in
his
hand now, Sam stared down at the lifeless figure sprawled at his feet. He didn’t need the pool of blood bubbling up from the hole in his attacker’s chest to tell him the man was dead. The sightless eyes behind the wire-rimmed glasses were clear evidence of that.

There was no mistaking the identity of the guy. He’d briefly spotted those glasses winking in the moonlight the night he had led their pursuers away from Eve. Now one of DeMarco’s two boys was down. And the other henchman? Where was—?

Eve!

As fast as his injured leg could carry him, Sam sped out to the porch where his worst fear was confirmed. Gone! Eve was gone!

They must have crept up from the side of the cabin through the woods, their stealth so successful they’d managed to snatch her without a sound. Occupied with the paddles, Sam had heard absolutely nothing, not so much as the whisper of a scuffle.

Hard though it was, he made himself pause just long enough to sort it out. The one lying on the living room floor had plainly been left behind to deal with Sam while the other one must have carted off Eve. But where? Into the woods? Down to the canoe? Along the shore?

Making an effort to compose himself, he leaned out over the porch railing, scanning the area in all directions. There! The two of them were picking their way along the shoreline, Eve’s captor driving her ahead of him with the muzzle of his rifle in her back.

Thank God, she was still alive! But for how long? Until he could get her back to wherever the helicopter was parked, where she would be searched and questioned at length? Or would she be flown out of here and taken to Victor DeMarco himself, who would hold her only until he got what he wanted?

Sam was wasting time on these speculations. He had to recover her before they reached that chopper. Aware of the pistol in his hand and its importance to him, he turned and limped back into the cabin. His return to the living room was necessary, much as he hated losing vital seconds.

Bending over the body, he quickly dipped his hands into several pockets until he found what he wanted. It was after he helped himself to the two spare clips for the automatic and stood erect again that, FBI special agent that he was, he was unable to prevent the realization that flashed through his mind.

The United States or Canada, it didn’t matter. This was a crime scene, which sooner or later would require an investigation.

What a hell of a time to be thinking of something like this.

What he should think about, and immediately did, was the blood soaking through his pant leg, dripping on the floor. He didn’t believe the bullet had lodged in his thigh. It was a flesh wound, but if he didn’t curb the flow of blood he’d never manage to overtake Eve and her captor.

Freeing the scarf from around his neck, Sam bound his leg tightly above the wound. He’d probably have to loosen the tourniquet from time to time to maintain circulation. That the injury was hurting now like the devil didn’t matter. He could, and would, withstand the pain.

Spare clips in a pocket of his open coat, pistol thrust into his belt, he headed swiftly back to the porch. He couldn’t have been gone more than a moment or two, but Eve and her captor were already rounding the shoreline, headed along the sandy beach in the direction of the landslide stretched across the river.

Sam took off after them.

Good girl,
he silently congratulated her.

Thanks to Eve, he was beginning to close the gap between them. She was making it as difficult as possible for her captor, slowing them down by stumbling over bits of driftwood and exposed rocks, pausing to recover her balance or catch her breath.

She might be buying herself time, but it wasn’t because she had any knowledge that Sam was behind them. Not when he was careful to keep out of sight, hugging the edge of the woods. Ducking behind the nearest tree whenever her captor looked nervously over his shoulder, which was happening more frequently.

He must be wondering why his partner hadn’t caught up to them, Sam thought. Eve must be wondering, too—that and whether Sam was dead. She had to be damn scared.

Hold on, Eve. I’m coming.

But not fast enough. The wound in his thigh was burning like hell, bleeding through the scarf to leave a trail of drops behind him. He could ignore both the pain and the seeping blood but not the need to stop periodically to loosen the tourniquet whenever his leg started to go numb on him.

It seemed to take forever for the three of them to near the landslide. Close enough now for Sam to hear a low, ominous rumble behind the barrier. The broken ice on the river, he thought.

The ice, together with the rising waters, were piling up on the other side of the dam. And the gap on the left side, now even more tightly plugged with ice chunks than before, didn’t seem to be relieving the mounting pressure. Either the blocked river would spill over the top, or the force of it would tear the whole thing wide open.

And just where did that sonofabitch think he was taking Eve?

Sam watched in anger and disbelief as the butt of the rifle prodded her up the rough, uneven side of the landslide. Her captor was forcing her to the crown of the barrier, presumably intending for them to cross the ridge to the other side. The chopper had to be waiting there, out of sight behind the high, steep embankment that contained the river.

It was a risky undertaking, growing more dangerous by the second. Because the landslide was trembling like a live thing, shaken by ice and waters determined to penetrate it. And what could Sam do to stop them?

Limping seriously now, he knew his leg would never permit him to climb the ridge after them. Not when he was starting to feel light-headed from loss of blood.

Come on, McDonough, do something before you end up passing out.

They were on top of the earthen bridge now. At this distance the pistol would be no match for that rifle. But if he could use it to distract the thug long enough, it might give Eve a chance to escape.

There was an uprooted tree beside him. It would serve as an adequate cover. Flopping down on his belly behind a mass of roots, taking no chance on a bullet striking Eve, he deliberately aimed the automatic wide and fired off several shots in quick succession.

His ruse had the desired effect. The burly enemy, a bearded, mean-faced brute, whipped around, blasting the rifle repeatedly in Sam’s direction. Flattening himself, he swore he could hear the bullets whistling over his head.

When he risked looking up again, he saw that Eve must have understood his action with the pistol, realized he was here behind the fallen tree. To his satisfaction, she was backing slowly away from her captor.

Knowing he had to keep the other man pinned there long enough for her to get to safety, Sam answered his fire. The landslide was bucking so violently now that, although the rifle split the air again, its aim was useless.

And then it didn’t matter. Neither the rifle nor the brute struggling to steady it against his shoulder were any longer a threat. Nature, not to be resisted, decided the outcome. With a tremendous roar, driven by a savage power that had all the elements of an earthquake, the barrier collapsed.

The flood of water it released, carrying blocks of ice and debris with it, along with Victor DeMarco’s henchman, swept into the lake. Sam watched the huge wave as it spread out and then leveled, absorbed by the extensive surface of the larger body of water. The river was free again, nature demonstrating its approval with a sudden, strangely peaceful calm. There was no sign of the burly thug. Hopefully, he hadn’t survived.

All Sam cared about in this moment, though, was Eve. To his relief, his searching gaze found her on the other side of the river. Stranded but safe on solid ground. She was the last thing he saw before the blackness swallowed him.

He would go and regain consciousness with his pants down around his knees, Eve thought. And here she was bending over him caught in the act of…well, something that probably struck him as not entirely innocent when that was exactly what it was.

For a long moment he looked up at her in silence, that penetrating gaze of his pinned on her in wry humor.

When he finally spoke to her, his voice was like sandpaper. “This is an interesting situation. Planning on taking advantage of me, were you?”

“That’s just what I was doing. If you call dressing a bullet wound on the leg of an unconscious man taking advantage of him, that is.”

His hand reached down, fingering the bandage she had taped around his bare thigh. Frowning in puzzlement, he looked from side to side, apparently realizing he was stretched out in the canoe.

“Hey, what is this? How did I—?” Before she could stop him, he’d lifted himself up far enough to recognize their location. “We’re back at the boatshed. Am I dreaming?”

“Now, don’t be a difficult patient. You’ve been enough trouble as it is.” Hand against his chest, she pressed him back down against the pillows she’d squeezed under his head and shoulders. “The bleeding is stopped now, but I don’t need you passing out on me again.”

“And I need answers,” he demanded. “Like how did I end up here? Did I go and temporarily lose my memory again?”

A pity he hadn’t, Eve thought. She had liked him a whole lot better during his amnesia when he wasn’t judging her. When he’d been a much kinder, more understanding Sam McDonough.

“What you lost was blood, so don’t try getting up.”

“You mind if I at least get my pants back up where they belong?”

“If you’re careful about it.”

Lifting his hips, he managed to ease his trousers up around his waist, where he secured his zipper and belt. He pushed her hand away when she started to tuck a blanket around him.

“Stop playing nurse and give me those answers. The last thing I remember I was on one side of the river and you were on the other. What did you do? Swim across?”

She sat back on her heels, shaking her head. “There was enough of the landslide left—rocks and wedged logs sticking up from the water—that I was able to pick my way across.”

“Okay, so you’re back on my side, and I’m lying there like a beached whale. Then what?”

“I went for the canoe, of course. How else was I to get you back here? It was bad enough rolling and tugging you into it once I paddled out to where I’d left you.”

“And the bandage?”

“There was a first aid kit up in the cabin. I brought it down, along with the paddles and the pillows.”

There had also been the body of the other thug on the floor of the living room, Eve recalled, shuddering over the unpleasant image.

“Satisfied?”

“Yes. No. Are you going to make a regular practice of rescuing me, woman?”

“If I have to. And you don’t need to sound so grumpy about it. What do you call taking a bullet for me?”

“My job.”

It wasn’t what she wanted to hear. But she knew she couldn’t expect anything like the admiration he had expressed after she had pulled him out of the burning plane. That kind of tenderness had vanished when he’d recovered his memory, and it was pointless of her to go on longing for it.

He must have realized, however, that he owed her some form of gratitude. That had to be why he mumbled a softer “Maybe I was a little abrupt. I guess I should be thanking you.”