Love Inspired Suspense December 2013 Bundle: Christmas Cover-Up\Force of Nature\Yuletide Jeopardy\Wilderness Peril (69 page)

At her last words, Shay's smile fell and the creases in Rick's forehead deepened. Bringing up that incident hadn't been her intention. It seemed as if it would always stand between them, though.

After she'd watched her mother gunned down, her father had made sure she knew how to protect herself. Carrying a weapon and protecting herself was one thing; being surrounded by miscreants who were eager to shoot to kill was another.

Even if she fixed the backhoe, Shay wasn't sure these men would let them see another day.

TWELVE

A
fter visiting the shed full of rusty wrenches and other tools, Shay followed Kemp and his henchman to the broken excavator. There was a chill in the air that warned of a September storm. Whether it was accompanied by rain or snow didn't matter; Shay wasn't ready for colder temperatures.

As she marched with Kemp to the backhoe used for excavating the site, she grew ever conscious that all the men had stopped their work to watch her and to smile or tip their caps—or send her looks no woman wanted.

Shay opened the manual Kemp had found for her and tried to concentrate on that while she walked. It didn't work. Thank goodness Rick was beside her, and this time he wasn't even bound at the wrists. They were going to put him to work, too, knowing he'd comply with her life and Aiden's in the balance. Doing what, she didn't know. How long did it take someone to learn how to operate a backhoe? Weeks? Months? But she supposed there was plenty of other hard, backbreaking labor.

She understood better, too, why they weren't overly concerned about an escape. Escape to what? Kemp was right in that these men could gun them down and would consider it sport to hunt them if they left. And even if they got away from camp, where would they go? Any sign of civilization was miles away through wilderness that would be difficult to handle even with proper supplies and cold-weather gear.

That was why that airplane was the only way out of here. Their only chance. And she hadn't gotten her hands on it to fix it yet.

A couple of the men leaned against the boom part of the backhoe, blocking her path. When Kemp stepped aside, they held a challenge in their eyes, and something else that Shay didn't want to think about.

“Give her some room to work, will you?” Kemp growled.

He was right in guessing she'd probably be able to figure this out. She'd already been informed the loader wasn't working correctly. Shay glanced through the manual again. Of course, she knew about hydraulics. Pistons required oil to transmit the force between them. She'd brought a few tools and a container for catching the hydraulic fluid.

“Let me see it in action. Somebody get this thing moving.”

One of the men climbed onto the machine and started the ignition. The diesel fumes hit the air again along with a rattling noise. Shay cocked her head and listened. The rattling noise wasn't why she'd been called over to fix the thing, but it did signal that something else was wrong. She'd address that next. The backhoe operator worked the machine, or tried to, and Shay saw the problem with one of the pistons. She waved the operator down. He cut the ignition.

Sucking in a breath, she positioned the container to catch the hydraulic fluid, knowing she'd have to recycle that and use it again. Then she tried to grab a pair of needle-nose pliers. They slipped out of her shaking, sweat-damp hands. The men hovering around her made her too nervous to be steady.

Inhale....
She had to breathe....

Shay closed her eyes and imagined herself in the Deep Horizon hangar, working on their planes. The sounds were similar—men's voices, laughing. Jesting. But then a cold drop hit her face and she opened her eyes to reality.

She was in Alaska. The sky was getting ready to dump icy moisture in one form or another. That served as a bitter slap to her face, and Shay thrust every other thought out of her mind while she worked. If anything, she needed to prove herself valuable.

It took her just over an hour, but when she finished repairing the piston, she climbed up into the seat of the backhoe. An image popped into her head of her simply rolling over all the bad guys. Of her and Rick and Aiden escaping. Too bad it wasn't that simple.

She caught a glimpse of Rick shoveling dirt to be carted to the trommel, which would break down the dirt into the smallest particles so the gold flecks could be retrieved. She knew because Kemp had gone on and on about his operation last night before she'd finally been left to rest. Rick paused and wiped sweat from his brow.

When Kemp had threatened to hurt her or Aiden if Rick didn't comply, she almost thought she heard in his voice that he thought Rick cared about her in a much deeper way. It was probably nothing more than her pathetic imaginings. But she had a feeling something between them had shifted. If Rick ever actually cared about her like that, could she maintain her distance? Could she protect her heart? Could she forget about that afternoon in the office?

Too many questions. She had to focus. Right now she needed to test her work, and for that she'd need the backhoe operator again, who'd wandered off. In the meantime, she could listen to the engine again. Shay started the backhoe and the diesel engine roared to life. There was that rattle again that shouldn't be there. She didn't know what was causing it, but she was pretty sure she could fix it. Before she climbed down, she looked at Rick and saw him watching. Even from this distance, he looked as though he was admiring her, and warmth spread through her insides.

Rick is not the man for you.

He had too many issues. Just like her father. They were all stopped up inside of him.

Grimacing, Shay climbed from the enclosed cab and lifted the hood to see the air filter, radiator and oil. She went through a checklist of the basics but couldn't find the problem—and her fingers were growing numb. The temperature was slowly dropping.

She cupped her hands over her mouth, blowing her warm breath on them and rubbing them together. She wished there were a way she could work with gloves on, but her fingers felt too thick when she did that.

Regardless, her numb fingers had grown clumsy, and they slipped on a jagged edge, cutting her thumb open. She sucked in a hiss and jerked up, bumping her head on the hood. She hadn't finished the job. She had to finish, or they would think she wasn't worth keeping. And if that happened, it wouldn't be just her life on the line. Rick and Aiden were counting on her, too.

“Aiden.” She huffed his name under her breath. Was he even still alive?

Shay squeezed her thumb, wiping the blood on the rag, and tightened a few loose bolts. Something anyone could have done if they'd had a mind to. Maybe that would take care of the rattling noise.

Stepping down, she sat on the step between the front and rear wheel, where she'd laid a few of the tools. A shadow fell over her, turning the gray skies even darker. Shay looked up to see a man staring down at her.

Joey.

He had the submachine gun hung across him. He was one of the men who guarded instead of working the mine.

His lips slid into a nasty smirk. “I've never seen a woman mechanic before. Was betting you couldn't do the job. I see you're proving me right.”

For a moment, Shay sat frozen, unable to move, as if his stare had staked her to the spot. What was the matter with her? She forced herself to move. Without taking her eyes from him, she rose to her feet and stepped down to the ground. She slapped a wrench to his chest and he grabbed it without thinking.

“I get paid a lot more to do my job than you do to do yours.” She climbed atop the tractor, wondering why she'd chosen those particular words.

She turned the key and the backhoe roared to life. Staring at the levers to operate it, Shay swallowed down her nerves. This could be a big mistake. She didn't have a clue what she was doing, but she had to try to prove she'd done her job. On a hunch, she grabbed the two joysticks and started moving the three joints of the backhoe as she'd move her shoulder, elbow and wrist. The arm of the backhoe moved just as she'd intended. Her repairs had worked as she'd known they would.

Shay looked down at the man with a triumphant grin. Others around the camp stopped what they were doing to look at the backhoe.

A shout rang out across the camp.

She'd just put the band of criminals back in business and bought her and Rick another day. Maybe.

* * *

While digging and transporting dirt to the trommel, Rick had made good use of his time keeping an eye on Shay but also taking in everything else. His focus was split between watching the men and scanning the buildings, looking for any sign of where Aiden might be kept. Doubts snaked through his core that his brother was even still alive.

Shay smiled on top of the backhoe—she must be relieved she'd gotten that piece of heavy machinery to work again. He was relieved, too. Things could have turned extremely nasty, and fast, otherwise.

He'd told her he'd be right there to help her, but Kemp had had other ideas, and Rick was powerless to change his mind about anything. The man was beginning to believe they were going to dig up enough gold in this one season to get him out of the debt he owed. The desperate search for riches clouded his judgment.

When Shay hopped down from the excavator, she snagged Rick's thoughts and held on. Longing coursed through him. He scraped his cold-numbed fingers through his hair. He allowed himself to really look at her. He already knew she was an extremely attractive woman both inside and out, as beautiful as she was strong.

Pulling his gaze from her, Rick thrust the shovel into the ground. She was and would always be off-limits to him. In the past, he'd made sure he didn't look beyond that tough veneer she kept in place, but their current predicament made that difficult. Things were best left the way they'd always been. He didn't trust himself enough; why would Shay? Especially after what he'd put her through, nearly pulling the trigger. He hadn't realized he wasn't in the desert surrounded by the enemy until it was almost too late.

No. Shay, or any woman, for that matter, was off-limits. But in this place—the absolute worst place for her—he was losing control over his heart and mind. A severe need to protect her, save her and even be her hero scrambled his thoughts. He wasn't fit to be anyone's hero as long as he struggled with this problem he hadn't even wanted to admit that he had. No one knew about it—that is, except for Shay. Rick paused at the realization—and that made him feel closer to her than to any other person in the world.

Closer to her than to his brother.

Shay
knew....
She didn't know the circumstances, didn't know why he struggled with nightmares he couldn't escape, but she knew how they affected him. And now he had new fodder for those nightmares.

She was here because of him. He'd let it happen. Once again, he was incapacitated, made to watch helplessly as others got hurt—others he was supposed to protect.

Rick looked up at the gray sky, freezing rain kissing his cheeks.

Why, God?

Why do I have to go through this again?

The sky seemed to struggle with a decision of whether or not to completely dump its contents. What would that do to this group of men, if they were cooped up together indoors with nothing to keep them occupied for too long? They'd kill each other, that was what.

He would face off with Kemp as soon as he got the chance. They needed to have a serious conversation about what was going to happen if these men didn't find the gold they were craving. What would happen, then, to him and Shay?

If Shay was going to fix the plane, it needed to be soon. And if Rick had his way, the only passengers on that flight out would be him, his brother and Shay. He'd have to see how it played out and could only hope they could fly out of trouble in the near future.

With that thought, Rick glanced up to scan the camp.

Reconnaissance.

If the plan to fix the plane didn't work, what then? There was also the problem that he couldn't leave without Aiden.

Where are you, Aiden? Where would he keep you?

That is, if his brother was even still alive.

THIRTEEN

R
ick sat atop the backhoe, maneuvering the joystick levers to dig dirt and dump it in a pile. The skill had taken him several hours to grasp and he was still way too clumsy. To be worthy of his hire, it would take him weeks to master this. But thankfully they were too short handed to be picky about his abilities. Regardless of his haphazard maneuvering, the dirt would end up in the jig that pretty much automated the panning-for-gold process.

Though gray skies loomed, the full brunt of the storm held off, only teasing them with cold sprinkles and threatening them with more. So they continued to work through the afternoon.

The smell of diesel that fueled the excavator sent his mind back to his time in Afghanistan, to military caravans on backcountry desert roads. His thoughts hovered over the vicious fighting he'd witnessed and participated in as part of his job. You either grew numb in order to survive or your senses were heightened to every sound. Every smell. You turned to God, as had been his case, or you turned to something else. At first, Aiden had chosen the bottle.

With the men standing around him, a few of them controlling the others with their weapons, he could almost imagine he was in a war zone. He had the sense that these men had shut themselves off from feeling. There was no sympathy to appeal to, no hope that he could convince one of the men to help him. He and Shay were on their own in a situation that was only a step away from descending into pure chaos.

Though the men didn't tell him much, he'd learned that they were bringing in only a few ounces of gold a day, and Kemp had had to cash in that gold to keep the operation going.

But gold flakes or pieces weren't like the nuggets Kemp had supposedly promised the man he owed.

Rick watched Shay over at the shaker wash pan helping another guy clean it out. He hated that Kemp had kept them separated like this, but tonight he would insist they stay together so he could protect her. Kemp had all the proof he needed after last night's assault that Shay wasn't safe on her own. And what about his brother? Was Aiden safe, wherever it was they'd stashed him?

He watched every man, guarding or working, to see if anyone disappeared or went with a plate of food to one of the buildings where Aiden might be kept. But he saw nothing.

His stomach growled. It had to cost a small fortune to keep these men fed. The crack of a rifle rang out in the distance and Rick stiffened, all his senses on alert.

He reminded himself that he wasn't in the Middle East now. He wasn't a marine anymore. He shoved his focus back to digging dirt, watching the camp and forming an escape plan in case plan A involving the airplane didn't work.

An hour later, he spotted one of the men hauling in a four-point buck.

Rick's mouth watered at the thought of venison. What was he doing? He couldn't just settle into this life. For that matter, none of them could.

At the evening meal, the men washed up and sat at the table in the mess hall, the aroma of venison wafting over them. A guard nudged Rick from behind with his gun as he grabbed his plate of food, reminding him that his time was short.

His, Shay's and Aiden's time was short. The men were growing restless, just as Kemp had said they were. Rick's gut churned. Kemp was playing them all.

He plopped next to Kemp and ate quietly, Shay sitting across from him. Though she appeared exhausted, the work seemed to have exhilarated her. He knew it had to be better than being held somewhere, captive and bound.

When the guy next to him finished his meal and left the table, Rick leaned close to Kemp. “We need to talk.”

Kemp dug into his baked beans as if he hadn't heard Rick. Then he suddenly dropped his fork against the plate and jumped up. Grabbing his dish, he tossed it in the sink with a bang.

Rick had no doubt that juggling his own agenda, his accidental captives and the nonproducing mine was wearing on him. The problem was, Kemp carried a huge burden. Rick knew only too well what that could do to a man.

Kemp was going to explode, and soon. Rick just hoped the people he cared about most in the world were out of harm's way when it happened. A pang went through his heart at the thought.

Picking his teeth with a toothpick, Kemp never once looked at Rick, who'd now lost his own appetite. He glanced at Shay, her face ashen, the color brought by the day's work drained.

“Give us a minute,” Kemp said to the guard and other worker who'd remained inside.

The guard frowned at Kemp. “You sure about that?”

“Bind him, then. Toss me your weapon.”

It was Rick's turn to frown, but if having his hands tied was the price for getting a minute with the crazy man running this operation, then so be it.

While the guard bound his wrists in plastic ties for not the first time—his ankles, too—he thought about Shay. He watched her sullen features as he was being strapped to the chair, made to feel completely powerless. Impotent.

Shay.

They hadn't been bound that morning while in Kemp's quarters, but the man had something to prove now.

And Rick had to protect Shay. Not only from these men and this situation but from himself. He tore his gaze from her to slice Kemp open with his glare. The guard clomped out of the kitchen.

“The men are talking amongst themselves. They don't hold back in front of me because they think you're going to kill me anyway. Either that or they will. So they don't care what I know. But they're getting restless. The claim isn't bringing the gold you promised.”

Kemp pulled up a chair to face Rick. “Is that it? That's what you wanted to talk about? Tell me something I don't know.”

“No.
You
tell
me.
” Rick ground out the words. Fear crept into Kemp's gaze despite Rick's bound position. “I want to know your plan. What's going to happen when these men become certain that they aren't going to find the gold they were expecting? When are you going to let Shay fix the plane and let us get out of here?”

Chewing on his toothpick, Kemp waited before he answered. Almost as though he wanted Rick to remember who was in charge. But it was too late. Rick had seen the fear in his eyes. The man was near the breaking point.

“There's another storm headed this way. Not a rainstorm but snow this time. So a few of the men are leaving tomorrow to get some supplies we ordered before it gets too difficult to leave the area,” Kemp said. “That'll take them half the morning. I'll take her to the strip then. But you're staying here.”

“No,” Shay said. “Rick is coming, too. I need his help. He helps me fix the plane at the place we work.”

At most, he'd handed her a wrench a time or two—but Rick certainly wasn't going to contradict her. Shay glanced at him, never giving away the truth. He flooded his gaze with approval. Her eyes crinkled around the corners just a little. Just enough for Rick to notice.

“You try anything and you won't see your brother alive. Understand? You try anything and I just might kill the both of you right then and there.”

The wariness in his eyes told Rick he meant his words. And behind his gaze, Rick saw confirmation of another truth—Kemp would most likely leave them behind anyway, dead or alive.

“Understood,” Rick said. “We want to get out of here in one piece, just like you. Why can't you let me see my brother now? See that you're taking care of him. That he's alive.”

“Maybe tomorrow.”

Rick couldn't allow himself to hope. Kemp took pleasure in toying with him. Enjoyed the game too much. Rick let the point drop and focused on his other goal. “And for tonight I need to be with Shay. Make sure she's protected. I don't trust anyone else. You saw what happened last night.”

“That's fine by me, but both of you will be bound.” He looked at Shay for her agreement. She could choose to stay with Kemp and have the freedom to move about in the room where he locked her or remain bound with Rick.

“How can I protect her, then, if someone tries—”

“They won't.”

Rick didn't like this arrangement, either. “What happened to the guy you stabbed, anyway? Did he get away?”

“Found him dead in the woods. I didn't kill him. Animals got to him. Wolves, maybe.”

Rick closed his eyes, wishing he could drive away the image that appeared. Just another one to add to his bad dreams. At least if he was bound tonight and fell asleep, he couldn't harm Shay if nightmares accosted him.

Funny that he'd wanted to be with her to protect her when he had to protect her from himself, as well.

* * *

Rick sat in an uncomfortable hard-backed chair that was nailed to the floor. They'd bound him to the chair as promised, after he'd been allowed to clean up. Kemp wouldn't have them in the main house smelling of the outdoors, mud and dirt. Rick didn't understand why he cared.

They were both so exhausted that neither of them had spoken much once they'd been placed in the small windowless room in Kemp's main house. He'd left a small lamp on in the room so they could see, but it wasn't as if they were going to trip or stumble in the dark. Tied up like this, they weren't going anywhere.

Rick wondered if Shay regretted agreeing to be bound. She could have been free in a room of her own as she was before.

A few canned goods littered the floor as well as the shelves along one wall, making Rick think that Kemp had cleared a storage room out just for the purpose of holding prisoners. A bunk bed had been placed against the wall in the corner, and Shay rested on that, her wrists secured to the bed frame.

She'd fallen asleep within a few minutes. Rick studied her, admiring the beautiful outline of her features in the dimly lit room as he listened to her soft, featherlike snores. For a brief moment, he allowed his heart to dream. To think about the what-ifs. If he'd gotten a grip on his problem and had expressed an interest in her, would she have even been interested in him? Could they have had a chance? But a chance for what?

A chance for love and commitment?

Rick could easily see himself loving her. His admiration for her had grown exponentially in the short time they'd been together for this ordeal. And deep down he'd always admired her. He just hadn't wanted to admit it.

If only he didn't have the lethal, explosive flashbacks or dreams that sent him back to that moment in time where he'd failed. He would be a better man now if he weren't trained to respond without thinking—training that had made him scare her and nearly hurt her. Without that, perhaps he'd be someone a woman like Shay could love.

On the other hand, if he hadn't been trained, he would be dead now.

Instead, he was alive but damaged on the inside. His physical injuries had been nothing compared to the mental and emotional torture he went through almost on a nightly basis.

Shay shifted on the squeaky bed, pulling his thoughts to the present.

He planned to stay awake and watch over her, even though he knew he couldn't do anything if someone were to break into this room. He'd have to already be free from the ties to be a threat. He held on to the hope of tomorrow—when Kemp would take them to the plane. He'd let Shay sleep for a while; then they needed to make plans.

Tomorrow they could possibly even escape. He still needed to figure out where his brother was, but worst-case scenario, he could come back and get him.

And that
would
be the worst case.

Getting Shay to safety was his priority. And saving her...might just even save him. Free him from the guilt.

As for tomorrow, if Rick could distract Kemp, then Shay could make a call on the radio. The best-case scenario was for Rick to take Kemp out completely. Then, if Shay fixed the plane, they could simply take off. But he doubted Kemp would let himself be caught off guard like that.

And if either of those plans failed, Rick was out of options. He felt as helpless as he'd been in Afghanistan—a forgotten place in many American homes.

He watched Shay, listening to the wind blow through the cracks of the house. His lids grew heavy, but he fought the need to sleep. Nothing good would come of him falling asleep.

His Cobra helicopter whirled in the sky—warning signals resounding all around him. The helicopter crash-landed, skidding into a sandbank. Rick crawled from the ruins and dragged his copilot away from the burning wreckage. They needed to make it to shelter, where Rick could assess the situation. Where they could hide until help came. Rick scanned the area and made a decision. He started for a building across the street.

A bomb exploded from the building.

The concussive force of the blast, the shock wave of air pressure, sent Rick flying through the air. His ears rang, deafening him to all other sounds as he lay on the ground, only vaguely aware of the pain. Only partially conscious. But he wouldn't give in to the urge to lie still. He dragged himself to his feet and searched for his copilot, his friend—he had to get him to the cover of another building not ten yards away.

Ten long yards.

Automatic weapons spewed bullets around him.

“No!”