Gray, Ginna (20 page)

Sam quickly grabbed the unconscious man by the collar of his parka
and dragged him deeper into the shed, out of sight. He paused, then reached
down and snatched the ski mask off the downed man, and found himself staring at
a fellow FBI agent. Sam's mouth tightened. "Wayne Pickens, you sorry
scumbag."

Tamping down his anger, he took up his position by the door again,
and peered around the frame just as the other two men disappeared around the
front of the house. Sam's gaze switched to the back porch, willing the door to
open. Dammit, Lauren, where are you?

Lauren headed for the kitchen and the back door, zipping up her
parka on the way. Barely a step inside the cabin's main room, she stopped cold.
"Oh, dear God."

Horrified, she stared through the glass in the front door at the
two armed men stealthily climbing the front porch steps.

Lauren darted a panicked look toward the kitchen. She'd never make
it to the back door before they were inside.

Quickly she stepped back inside the bedroom and closed the door.
To her horror, she discovered that it didn't have a lock! Her stricken gaze
darted around the room and when it landed on the wooden, ladder-back chair she
snatched it up and wedged it under the knob, just as the front door of the
cabin was kicked open.

Lauren jumped and gave a stifled cry. In a fullblown adrenaline
panic, she spun around and raced to the window. She was operating on instinct
now, the only coherent thought in her mind that she had to find Sam. Sam would
protect her.

With no attempt at silence, she jerked up the window sash just as
something thudded against the bedroom door. Whimpering, Lauren sat down on the
sill, threw her legs over and jumped.

The window was only about six feet above the ground, but she sank
up to her knees in snow and toppled forward. With single-minded purpose,
sputtering and spitting snow, she scrambled to her feet and headed for the
shed, plowing through the deep drifts like a woman possessed. Gasping every
breath, she rounded the corner of the service porch and ran smack into a solid
male chest.

"Lauren!"

A scream burst from her, but the sound was cut off almost at once
by a gloved hand over her mouth. "Lauren, it's me! Sam."

"S-Sam?" She clutched his parka. "Oh, Sam. T-two
men...they're inside!"

"I know. C'mon. Let's go!" With an arm around her waist,
he turned and hauled her back the way he had come. Behind them, from inside the
cabin, they heard a crash as the bedroom door gave way.

They charged inside the shed just seconds before one of the men
stuck his head out the open bedroom window and shouted, "Pickens! You find
anyone out there?"

"No! No one here!" Sam shouted back.

The instant the man drew his head back inside Sam pushed one of
the snowmobiles out into the snow. "There's no time to teach you how to
drive one of these things, so you're riding with me," he announced.
Plucking Lauren up as if she was a sack of feathers, he tossed her onto the
back of the seat, hopped aboard himself and fired up the engine.

"There they are!" The two men burst through the back
door onto the service porch.

"Hold on!" Sam hollered. The rear treads dug in,
slinging snow twenty feet into the air, and the snowmobile leaped forward on
its skis and took off at full throttle.

Lauren locked her arms around Sam's middle, buried her face
against his back and held on for dear life. They skidded around the corner of
the shed just as a burst of automatic weapon fire erupted behind them. Lauren
made a distressed sound, squeezed her eyes shut and clutched Sam tighter.

Sam drove like a madman. Going flat out, they bounced over bumps
and swerved around rocks and trees and half covered deadfalls, went sailing
over small drop-offs and drifts. Within seconds they were out of sight of the
cabin and streaking down the valley.

After a minute or so, Lauren cautiously raised her head and looked
around at the peaceful scenery whizzing by. She couldn't believe it! They were
alive. They'd made it!

Just as her heart rate began to settle she heard the unmistakable
rat-tat-tat-tat-tat
of gunfire, and a shower of pockmarks dug up the snow to one side of the
snowmobile.

She looked over her shoulder, and a fresh rush of fear knifed
through her. "They're coming after us!" she shouted over the roar of
the engine. "Two of them on snowmobiles! I thought you emptied the gas
tanks!"

"There wasn't time to do them all!" he shouted back.
"I'd emptied one and about three quarters of another one when they showed
up."

As they swerved around an aspen tree a spray of bullets splatted
against the trunk, cutting off a small limb and sending chunks of wood and
splinters flying. Lauren screamed and buried her face against Sam's back again.

She stayed that way until she felt the snowmobile tip upward. Opening
her eyes, she looked around and saw that they had begun to climb a slope.
Unable to resist, she glanced over her shoulder again, and caught her breath.
"They're gaining on us!"

"Yeah! We're riding double! They're not!"

The slope became so steep the snowmobile's engine began to labor
and slow down. Lauren feared they would topple over backward. Even more, she
feared that at any second she would feel bullets ripping into her.

Then she realized that the men were no longer shooting at them,
and she glanced back again.

Though the gunmen were still gaining, for the moment, they seemed
to have their hands full coaxing their machines up the sharp incline.

The gap between them and their pursuers grew steadily smaller.
Lauren pressed her forehead between Sam's shoulder blades and moaned.
"They're going to catch us!"

"Like hell they are!"

Sam urged the snowmobile up the last few feet of the incline,
alternately cursing and cajoling. The engine whined and struggled, and several
times Lauren was certain it was about to stall.

Miraculously they finally reached the summit and once they leveled
off they began to pick up speed. Then they were flying down the slope on the
other side, while behind them the other two snowmobiles still struggled.

Lauren and Sam descended into yet another valley and sped toward
the opposite end, taking a wide, arcing route around the base slope of an
enormous mountain.

"What are you doing? Why are you going around this way?"
Lauren yelled. Even to her inexperienced eye it was obvious that the more
direct, and certainly the quicker way, would have been to cut across the base
slope. They had just climbed a pass far more difficult.

Sam ignored her and continued to skirt the gently undulating
ground. Lauren glanced back, and had her worst fear confirmed. The two
snowmobiles crested the summit and headed down after them. She and Sam had
gained a little distance during the descent, but now the gap was rapidly
closing again.

Partway down the mountain, one of the other snow- mobiles began to
slow down, and after a dozen or so yards it came to a stop.

"One of them stopped!"

"Out of gas! That's the one I was draining when they
arrived."

The second man reached the bottom of the pass, and as Lauren had
feared, he cut across the base slope to intercept them.

"Oh Lord, here he comes!" she cried. "And he's
closing the distance fast!"

As though to underscore Lauren's statement, the other man opened
fire again. Bullets pinged off the tail section of their machine and others
kicked up the snow all around them. Lauren screamed and clutched Sam tighter.

Though she knew full well that he had the throttle wide open, she
yelled at him to go faster. Instead, to her horror he brought the snowmobile to
an abrupt stop, skidding around until they were almost broadside to the approaching
machine. Like sitting ducks.

"What are you doing! Are you crazy?"

"Calm down," Sam ordered. Never taking his eyes from
their pursuer, he lifted the rifle strap over his head and brought the butt of
the Winchester to his shoulder and took aim at the assassin.

Steady as a rock, he waited.

"Shoot. Shoot!" Lauren screamed.

The man drove straight for them. Steering with one hand, he raised
his assault weapon with the other. Lauren put her hand over her mouth to hold
back a scream and braced herself for the bullets that would rip into her any
second.

Suddenly Sam swung the rifle barrel away from the assassin, took
aim on a cornice of snow near the top of the mountain and fired. The crack of
the high-powered rifle echoed through the mountains.

Then came an ominous roar, and tons of snow, ice and rock came
roiling down the mountainside.

"Oh, dear Lord!" Horrified, Lauren stared at the
avalanche rumbling down toward them. "We're going to die!"

"The hell we are. Hang on!" Sam shouted and poured the gas
to the snowmobile.

The machine took off like a horse out of the chute and flew across
the snow at top speed, its engine revved up to a high-pitched whine. Eyes
closed, Lauren clung to Sam, cringing against his back as the horrendous roar
grew louder. At any second, she expected to be engulfed and crushed beneath a
ton of snow.

Lauren did not want to look, but an irresistible morbid
fascination drew her gaze upward. Her eyes widened, and she screamed again, but
the sound was swallowed by the roar of tons of snow, ice, boulders and trees
plunging down the steep slope in a giant white wave.

Lauren looked over her shoulder and saw that the other man was no
longer following them. In that moment she realized that Sam had waited to set
off the avalanche until the man was directly in the center of its path.

Now the pursuer was being pursued.

He had turned and was racing out in front of the roiling mass,
trying frantically to outrun it.

He wasn't going to make it. As Lauren watched, the advanced tip of
the avalanche gobbled up the gap behind the man like a ravenous monster and
boiled over him.

On the edge of the slide area, Sam headed for the sideline and
safety, racing ahead of the avalanche's curving left flank.

Fist-size pieces of snow and ice, shaken loose by the vibrating
earth, raced out in front of the deadly white wall. Lauren screamed when the
chunks pelted the left side of the snowmobile and knocked it slightly askew.

"Hang on!" Sam shouted. "We're almost clear!"

For the next hundred yards or so more chunks struck the side of
the snowmobile and their legs before they finally began to outrun them.

Twilight had fallen by the time they reached Durango Mountain
Resort. Only a handful of diehard skiers glided down the slopes. Sam felt
Lauren tense and clutch him tighter as he maneuvered the snow- mobile down the
ski slope toward the cluster of lighted buildings.

He could imagine the mixed emotions she must be experiencing.
They'd been cut off from the rest of the world for almost a week, and though
she was probably relieved to be out of the wilderness, she knew that contact
with other people would increase her chances of being found.

"Don't worry. For the time being, getting lost in a crowd
like this is the safest move," he said over his shoulder.

Sam drove slowly around the perimeter of the resort until he found
the cluster of snowmobiles. He'd known they had to be there somewhere. Every
ski resort used them for search and rescue.

He stopped in the shadows and scanned the area. When he was sure
no one was around, as quietly as possible, he drove over to the fleet and
parked between two identical machines bearing the Durango Mountain Resort logo.

"Remember. Just act casual," Sam said when he and Lauren
dismounted. "As far as anyone knows, we're just a vacationing couple, here
to enjoy a few days of skiing." He unhooked the duffle bag from the back
of the machine and slung it over his shoulder and put his arm around Lauren's
waist.

The resort resembled a European village, and when they reached the
open courtyard area they merged in with the skiers returning from a day on the
slopes and the others milling around.

"What now?" Lauren asked.

As they passed a restaurant, Sam noticed the longing look she cast
through the plate-glass window at the diners inside. They hadn't eaten since
breakfast, and the pack with their food supplies had been left behind on the
snowmobile she was to have ridden.

"I need to make a couple of calls."

That brought her gaze snapping up to meet his. "Who are you
going to call? You said we couldn't trust anyone."

"Easy. I'm not calling anyone inside the Denver office. I'm
going to call Ed Stanhope. Remember, I told you about him? If anyone will know
what's going on, he will."

"And you trust him?"

Sam could see the doubt in her eyes. He couldn't blame her, after
all that had happened.

"Yeah, I do. Anyway, we don't have a choice. We need
help."

Lauren gnawed at her lower lip and cast a nervous look around the
courtyard. "I suppose you're right. Who else are you going to call?"

"A relative of mine. I'm going to ask him to come pick us
up."

"Your father?"

Sam's jaw clenched. He met her hopeful look with a flat stare and
an even flatter voice. "No. My aunt and uncle."

"Oh. I see. Do they live near here?"

"Not really. They live about ten miles outside of Monticello,
Utah. They own the ranch next to my father's. They'll come, though, if I ask
them."

He could tell by her expression that she wanted to ask why he
wasn't going to call his father, but she didn't quite dare. It was just as
well. He didn't want to argue with her, nor was he in the mood to discuss his
strained relationship with his father.

Ahead a security guard walked toward them, checking inside the
stores and scanning the street as he strolled. Turning his back, Sam stopped
with Lauren in front of a shop window and pretended to look at the display
until the man walked by.

"What was that about?" Lauren whispered.

"Just a precaution. The fewer people who get a good look at
us the better." He patted his parka pockets. "Damn, I wish I had my
cellphone. I don't suppose you have a prepaid telephone card on you?"

"No, I don't."

"Great." He thought a minute, then grasped her elbow and
steered her toward the entrance to the inn. "We'll check in for the night,
and I'll make my calls from the privacy of our room. I'll ask my aunt to pick
us up early in the morning. Which will work out better. This way we can order
room service and avoid other people while we're eating, plus get some
rest."

"But...what if those men catch up with us? What if they check
and find out we're registered?"

"Relax. I'm going to register under the alias Roberto Montera
and speak with an accent. With my coloring I can easily pass for Hispanic. I
keep a credit card under that name which no one knows about. You never know
when you'll need to use an alias. So remember, while we're here, you're Senora
Montera."

Inside the hotel lobby, Sam left Lauren standing with her back to
the room pretending to check through a rack of brochures, and went to the front
desk. On the surface she appeared calm, but he knew her nerves were eating her
alive. He only hoped no one passing by noticed her hands. They were shaking so
much she could barely hold the pamphlets.

He returned a few minutes later and touched her shoulder. Lauren
jumped like a scalded cat.

"Easy," Sam murmured. "It's only me. C'mon, we're
all set."

He grasped her elbow and led her toward the elevator, doing a
quick study of her pale face on the way. "You okay?"

"Yes. I'm fine."

But she wasn't. Sam could feel the tremors vibrating through her.

Once they were inside their fourth-floor room with the door double
bolted and chained she sagged against the entrance wall and closed her eyes.
"Thank God. I felt as though I had a target painted on my back out
there."

Sam tossed the duffle bag onto the luggage rack, shrugged out of
his parka, peeled hers off and tossed both on top of the bag.

Without a word, he pulled her into his arms. He half expected her
to resist, but Lauren melted against him. With a sigh, she rested her cheek
against his chest and slipped her arms around his lean middle.

"Oh, Sam," she said in a small, plaintive voice.

"I know, babe." He held her close and rocked her from
side to side. He rubbed his chin against the top of her head and inhaled the
sweet smell of her hair. "It's been rough. But you're doing great. Just
hang in there, and we'll get through this."

"I want my life back, Sam," she murmured in the same mournful
tone. "Maybe it wasn't all that exciting or fulfilling anymore—or easy,
for that matter— but at least no one was trying to kill me."

"Yeah, I know," Sam murmured. "I wish I could tell
you it will get better soon, but I can't promise that. I won't lie to you,
Lauren. The agent or agents who're working for Carlo aren't going to give up.
They can't afford to."

A shiver rippled through her. "I know."

Sam cupped her chin and tilted her face up, and looked deep into
her eyes, his own glittering with turbulent emotions. When he spoke his voice
was a husky whisper.

"One thing I can promise you. I'll do whatever I have to do
to protect you." His thumb brushed along her jaw, touched the corner of
her mouth. Her lips trembled in response, and something clenched inside him.

The hand cupping her chin slid around to the back of her neck and
his fingers speared through her hair. She gazed up at him, her eyes soft and
trusting, her unadorned face so beautiful it made him ache. Through his palm
Sam felt her shiver again, but this time he knew it wasn't from fear. His chest
grew so tight it was almost painful, as though a giant hand were squeezing his
heart.

Slowly, almost reverently, he lowered his head. The kiss was as
soft as a butterfly's wing, a warm, whispery touch, a gentle rub of flesh on
flesh, a mingling of breaths.

Even when his mouth settled fully on hers, the caress remained
gentle and unhurried. The exquisite richness of the kiss inflamed Sam's desire,
but he could not bear to hurry. He wanted to savor the sweet, sharp pleasure,
draw it out as long as possible, absorb it deep into his soul.

Lauren responded to the soft seduction like a flower opening to
the sun, kissing him back with the same trembling restraint.

As one, they sank down onto the bed together. Hands explored
leisurely, boldly, while their lips caressed, their tongues twined and stroked,
their teeth gently nipped.

Sam strung kisses down Lauren's neck, over her collarbone. "I
want you," he murmured against her skin.

"Oh, Sam. I want you, too," she whispered back.

It was all the encouragement he needed. Buttons and zippers and
clasps were dealt with and clothing stripped away and tossed aside. When they
were naked Sam placed his palm flat against her chest and pressed her down onto
the pillow, his intense gaze holding hers all the while.

He circled her breasts with his fingertips, trailed his hand over
her collarbone, down the silky valley between her breasts, lower still over her
rib cage, her belly. The silken texture of her skin fascinated him. So did the
erotic contrast between its pale creaminess against the deep bronze of his
hand.

"Sam?" Lauren smoothed her hands up over his chest and
tagged on his shoulders, pulling him down to her. An instant later a long moan
hummed from her throat as he took one pink nipple into his mouth and drew on
her.

They explored each other's bodies, played and teased, tantalized,
stretching the pleasure out. Finally, just when Sam thought he would surely go
mad, Lauren moaned, "Please, Sam. Oh, please. Now."

He rose into position between her thighs and braced above her on
his stiffened arms. "Look at me, Lauren," he ordered in a husky
voice, and she complied. Holding her gaze, he sank into her in one smooth,
powerful stroke that pulled a groan from each of them.

Neither spoke. Their passion was running too high for words. Sam
made love to Lauren slowly, intently, telling her with his body, his eyes, his
touch, what he could not put into words.

The only sounds in the room were soft sighs and moans, the rustle
of sheet and the rhythmic squeak of the bedsprings as they made slow, sweet
love to each other with an intensity that touched their souls.

Then there was only their hoarse cries of completion.

For several long, languorous minutes, while their heartbeats
returned to normal and their breathing steadied, they lay sprawled together,
unmoving. Then Sam startled her by abruptly rolling out of bed and scooping her
up in his arms.

"Sam! What are you doing?" she squeaked.

"Time to head for the shower." He marched into the bathroom
with her in his arms, plunked her down inside the glass-walled stall and
stepped inside with her.

"Sam, this is positively indecent," she protested when
he picked up the soap and began to wash her, but it was a halfhearted effort at
best.

"So? Are you complaining?" Cupping her breasts with his
soapy hands, he kneaded lightly.

Lauren's breath caught. She closed her eyes and tipped her head
back. "I...no. No."