Prey (20 page)

Angie was hanging over his shoulder again. They had changed position every time they stopped, but that was the position that seemed to be most comfortable for her, maybe because it required the least effort on her part.

The periodic stops had kept pulling her back from hypothermia, but each time she seemed to lose a little ground. Since the last stop she’d been just hanging there, limp and completely silent.

Two hours ago he’d decided they could relax their vigilance,
at least as far as not needing to have the rifle instantly at the ready, and he’d been able to sling it on his shoulder and use both hands; he’d taken over carrying the flashlight, because Angie had begun drifting off and letting it drop. Each time she would startle awake and apologize, but the fact was she’d pushed herself almost as far as she could go.

He never would have thought it, but now he wished she’d light into him, giving him hell for everything he’d done wrong: for losing the horse, for not finding her sooner, for not making an appearance in her camp to let her clients know she wasn’t alone. The last two points wouldn’t be fair, but he didn’t care about fair right now, he just wanted her awake and spitting fire. He wanted her complaining about everything he did. He didn’t like it when she didn’t talk.

Keep them talking
. He’d done that with wounded men, but Angie had stopped answering him a half-mile back. She was traumatized, hypothermic, possibly in shock. He’d forgone the last rest period, because getting her to shelter was more important than resting for ten minutes.

With nothing to distract him, he’d begun wondering about things he didn’t want to think about. The events she’d described were bad enough, but he couldn’t help thinking there might be more to the story, something she hadn’t told him. He and Harlan had talked about the dangers of a woman guiding two men, especially men like Davis and Krugman, the bastards.

Had she been raped? It didn’t make sense, not with the scenario she’d described, but then again he couldn’t be positive that her version of the incident had been a complete one. Was there something she hadn’t told him?

He hadn’t wanted to kill anyone for a long time, but at the moment he could cheerfully have put a bullet into Krugman.

All through the long trek he’d not only been watching for an armed man and a killer bear, he’d also been looking for his fucking horse. He’d hoped, for a while, that the buckskin would find
its way back to him, or maybe to the cabin. Horses were herd animals; they didn’t like being alone. But there hadn’t been any sign of the animal, and though he could now see the building ahead, there still wasn’t.

Damn it all to hell, he might never find that damn horse. If it didn’t manage to find its way here—not likely, considering this was its first trip here, and it wasn’t familiar with the area—they’d have to walk off the mountain. He would, anyway. If Angie’s ankle was broken, she’d have to stay here while he fetched help. If the damn knuckle-brained horse hadn’t taken off, he’d have been able to use the sat phone to call for help.

Instead he was up here with a murderer, a killer bear, an injured woman, and no easy way out. The way things had gone to hell, he was surprised they
hadn’t
been struck by lightning; that was about the only thing that hadn’t happened. Of course, a lightning strike would have wiped away all his worries about the other stuff.

Dare was good at focusing. After allowing himself a brief respite by silently cursing at everything, he pulled his frustration back in and stuffed it away, so he could concentrate on what had to be done. Taking care of Angie was number one. Get her inside, get her dry and warm, check out her ankle—and any other injuries she hadn’t bothered to tell him about—and get her to eat. Survival always came down to basics. She needed medical attention, food, water, and sleep.

He couldn’t provide a hospital or a restaurant, but he did keep the basics on hand. Once she was taken care of, he’d make a plan for what came next.

“We’re almost there,” he said, jostling her a little to make her stir. “Are you okay?”

When she finally responded, her voice was thin and slurred. “You keep asking me that.”

“Yeah, well, you’re too fucking quiet.”

She mumbled something he didn’t catch.

“What?” he barked.

She lifted her head. He couldn’t see the motion, but he felt it, felt the shift of her weight. “I said, you curse too much.” Her voice was still weak, and she shook like a leaf, but she’d found the strength to criticize him.

He felt a little more cheerful. Things were looking up.

Dare stepped into the lower level of his cabin, out of the rain at last. He stopped, shuddering with relief, as he shone the flashlight around the stalls on the bottom floor, looking for any sign of disturbance. Everything was quiet, just as he’d left it. Only when he was certain that nothing else was in there did he close the door and throw the heavy latch, as glad as he’d ever been that his design made this place a defendable fortress.

Exhaustion dragged at him. He made it a point to stay in shape, but he wasn’t Superman. He hadn’t gotten much sleep last night before the storm had jarred him awake and the pistol shots pulled him out into the dark rain. For the past several hours he’d been pushing himself hard, so hard all he could do was thank God the cabin hadn’t been even a hundred yards farther, because he might have had trouble making that hundred yards.

He couldn’t rest yet, though. The next step was to get Angie up the damn ladder. Everything he needed to take care of her was on the upper level, and that was the safest place to be, anyway.

He stared at the ladder, debating with himself whether he
should carry everything up in one trip, or leave the gear here and take Angie up unencumbered. The second way would make getting her up there easier, but then he had to think about the effort of making another trip.

When he thought about the possibility of dropping her, that made the choice obvious. Angie first, then the rest. He put the flashlight on a shelf, unslung both rifles and propped them against a stall. “I’m going to put you on your feet,” he explained, gripping her waist with both hands to shift her weight. “Foot, rather. Can you stand?”

There was a pause while she processed what he was saying, then she said, “I don’t know.”

Not what he wanted to hear, but honest. He lifted her off his shoulder and carefully let her slide down his body, and once he had her upright, close to the ladder, he kept one arm around her until she had her balance. She grabbed the ladder, leaning into it, and put all her weight on her left foot.

The lower level was dark with shadows, but enough light came through the two windows above that he could see she was trembling from head to foot. The hard rain had washed away a lot of the mud that had been covering her when he’d found her, but she still looked like hell, her face paper white in the dimness, her dark eyes huge and glassy and rimmed with the bruised look of utter fatigue. She stood there swaying and shaking, watching him without even a flicker of curiosity in her eyes, waiting for whatever he told her to do next.

He slid the heavy saddlebags from his left shoulder and let them drop, then glanced up, considering the different ways he could get her up there, visualizing each one. Piggyback would be easiest on him, but he didn’t think she had enough strength left to hang on, so that was a nonstarter. Putting her in front of him and basically pushing her up would require too much effort on her part, and right now she probably didn’t have the strength to handle that anyway. Only one way was left. He removed his hat
and tossed it to the floor beside her saddlebags. “Over my shoulder one more time.”

She didn’t comment. He took in a deep breath and gathered his own strength, then gripped her waist, tossed her into position, and went up the ladder. He took it slow and steady, because he sure as hell didn’t want to drop her on her head. The upper floor was a long flight up—fourteen rungs, to be precise. He had to hold her with his left arm and use his right hand for climbing, at the same time keeping her angled away from the ladder so he wouldn’t bang her ankle.

The last two rungs, and stepping from the ladder onto the ledge of the sleeping platform, were the trickiest parts. He had to shift his balance, and he was reaching down for support rather than gripping something at eye level. He’d gone up that ladder hundreds of times without giving it a single thought, but with Angie on his shoulder he thought about every move, made sure it was the right one, then cautiously executed it. He was too tired to take anything for granted, not even muscle memory.

When he was standing solidly on the sleeping platform, he eased her off his shoulder and held her steady; if he didn’t hang on to her, she’d collapse to the floor. Her knees weren’t steady, and it wasn’t just the ankle, it was sheer exhaustion.

He guided her hand to one of the partition walls. “Hold on for just a minute. Can you do that?”

Silently she nodded.

As swiftly as possible he removed her sodden coat and let it drop to the floor, then unsnapped and unzipped her slicker and tossed it to the side, too. While he was at it, he removed his own slicker and coat. The air inside the cabin wasn’t warm, but they had to get dry before they could get warm.

Stepping inside the sleeping partition where he’d set up his mattress and sleeping bag, he turned on the small propane camp heater he’d brought, and the LED lantern. The too-white light that lit the small space was eerily, uncomfortably similar to lightning,
but minus the drama. For a brief second Angie looked a little spooked, then fatigue washed the expression away.

“Okay, let’s get you more comfortable,” he said as he threw the sleeping bag off the mattress so it wouldn’t get wet. Going back to her, he didn’t waste time helping her hop to the bed; he simply picked her up and carried her the short distance, going down on his knee to lay her down, then carefully easing her right foot down. She shuddered, then sighed and closed her eyes.

“Thanks,” she said, slurring the single word.

“I’m going to get our stuff and bring it up here. I’ll be right back.”

This time she didn’t answer. Dare was down the ladder and back up in less than a minute, bringing everything, even Angie’s muddy rifle. After dumping it all on the floor, he pulled the ladder up and laid it on the ledge, making the sleeping platform inaccessible to both man and beast.

Angie hadn’t moved since he’d laid her on the mattress; it looked as if she’d fallen into a deep, instant sleep … one in which she was still shaking and shivering.

He hated to wake her up, but he didn’t have any choice. “Come on, Sleeping Beauty, shake it off,” he said as he pulled out the clothes and provisions he’d need. “We have to get you out of those wet clothes.”

Things were definitely screwed up when he actually wanted to hear her say,
“In your dreams, buster. I’d rather die of hypothermia than let you see me naked.”

But she didn’t say that, or anything else. She was either asleep or unconscious.

Shit
.

He went through the clothes he’d brought, which didn’t take long. Everything he owned was way too big for her, but it would have to do for now. He hadn’t gone through her saddlebags yet, but even if she had packed a change of clothes they’d likely be damp, at the very least, and who the hell wanted to sleep in jeans,
angyway? He grabbed a flannel shirt, a pair of long johns that would be too big but would be warm and comfortable—and easy to get on her—and the first-aid kit. Then he got a pack of wet wipes and sat down on the floor next to the mattress. Food and water would be next, but he wanted her dry and warm first, and he wanted a look at that ankle. He hoped like hell it was just a bad sprain. Sprained they could handle; broken would be a huge pain in the ass to deal with.

“Sit up,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder and shaking her.

Clumsily she knocked his hand aside. “Lea’ me alone,” she mumbled.

“No can do. Come on, sit up. You’re going to die if you don’t get out of those wet clothes. You’re already hypothermic. You won’t get warm until you’re dry. So sit up.” He put brisk command in his voice, as if he were still in the military.

She opened her swollen eyes a little and, like a good little soldier, tried to struggle to a sitting position, only to fall back when her muscles refused to obey.

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. I’ll help.” He slipped a hand under her back and very gently eased her up, then grabbed the saddlebags and stuffed them behind her to help prop her upright. As pillows, they sucked, but they were all he had. “Just sit up long enough for me to get you cleaned up and in dry clothes. That’s all you have to do. I’ll handle the rest.”

“ ’kay.”

She clutched the side of the mattress, swaying, but she stayed upright, with her solemn dark gaze fixed on his face. “You can’t look.”

“Bullshit,” he scoffed. “You think I’m going to get you naked and not look?” Maybe he should have promised, but he’d have been lying and they both would have known it. He was a man; of course he was going to look.

“You’ll laugh. I don’t have any boobs.”

She was definitely on the verge of being completely out of it, or she’d never have said something like that. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, because he figured if he did it would hurt her feelings. He needed her cooperation, not a battle. “That’s okay. I have a little dick.” And this time he lied without compunction.

He watched her brow knit in a frown as she processed that, laboriously forcing her tired and hypothermic brain to work through whatever barriers of modesty and insecurity she had.

Finally she gave a tiny nod, and allowed him to undress her.

He kept his mind out of the gutter, which was tough because that was never a long trip for him, but this time he resolutely refused to let his thoughts go there. She had put her trust in him, and by God he’d honor that. He’d keep his mind on the chore at hand, and the reason for it, and save the lusting for later.

Once she’d given her permission, she seemed to sink back into deep lethargy, not showing any reaction at all as he peeled off her wet clothes, not even when he reached around to unsnap her bra, which wasn’t much of a bra as far as he could tell, really just an extra layer of cloth. The bra wasn’t as soaked as the rest of her clothes, but mud and water had seeped beneath her slicker and shirt and it was damp in places. He tossed it onto the sodden heap with the rest of her clothes.