ROCKY MOUNTAIN RESCUE (13 page)

No neighbors to notice a little boy who didn’t belong there. “Our neighbors in New York probably saw plenty,” she said. “But they knew to keep their mouths shut.”

“Good point.” Patrick shifted into a lower gear to climb a steep hill. “The Willing and Able should be up ahead, just around this curve.”

Stacy looked, but saw nothing but the same empty fields and barbed wire. They drove for another five minutes before a driveway appeared, a simple W&A on the black iron gate, which was closed, though the packed snow showed signs of recent travel up the drive. Stacy craned her neck, but could see nothing past the line of trees that marked a bend in the driveway. She tried to suppress her disappointment. “I thought we’d at least see a house or something.” A house with a little boy’s face pressed to the window, watching for his mother.

“These ranch houses are set way off the road,” Patrick said. “I figured the best we could do would be to get a sense of the layout and determine the most likely locations for federal agents.”

“And what did you decide?” she asked.

“I think the feds probably have someone watching the gate,” he said. “There’s another drive across the road. My guess someone is set up in the trees.”

“Do you think they recognized us?” Her stomach lurched.

“I ducked my head and yours was turned away. They might run a check on the Jeep’s plate and they’ll find out it’s a rental, but I used a fake ID.”

A surprised laugh escaped her lips. “You have a fake ID?”

The tips of his ears flushed red. “It comes in handy sometimes.”

“And here I thought you were a strictly-by-the-book guy.”

“I do what I have to to protect my charges.”

She reached out and squeezed his hand. “Thank you for protecting me. And thank you for staying with me after Sullivan found out about us. I know you didn’t have to do that.”

“I won’t leave you until I know you’re safe.”

But he would leave her then. The knowledge started an ache deep in her chest. When had this man, whom she had hated, even feared when they first met, become such an important part of her life? The shift in her attitude had happened long before they’d slept together; something in her had recognized Marshal Patrick Thompson as someone she could depend on. Someone she could trust with her deepest secrets.

With her heart.

She pushed the idea away. She had to think about Carlo now, to focus on him. Everything else, including worries about the future, was secondary to freeing Carlo and keeping him safe. “How are we going to get to the ranch house and find Carlo?” she asked.

“We’ll have to find a back way in.”

“How are we going to do that?”

“I have some ideas. But first, let’s get out of here.”

He turned onto another gravel road marked with a green Forest Service sign. After crawling along for what seemed to Stacy like an hour, they emerged onto the highway south of town. “We need to rent a hotel room,” Patrick said. “We can talk there without being overheard and make plans.”

“All right.” Renting a room meant more delays, but so would arguing with him. And when they did find Carlo, it would be good to have a safe, warm room to bring him back to.

They found a vacancy at a small motel in town but didn’t bother to bring their luggage inside. They did bring the map, which Patrick spread out on the table by the window. “This is the road we came in on,” he showed her, tracing the route with his finger.

“There’s the ranch.” She pointed to the curve near the ranch gate.

“Right. Now, let’s see....” He punched some buttons on his phone, then turned the screen so she could see.

She studied the photo of one large roof and several smaller ones grouped among some trees. “What am I looking at?” she asked.

“That’s the Google Earth shot of the Willing and Able ranch house.”

“You’re kidding.”

He shook his head. “Forget government satellites. Anyone can look at this stuff online.”

“I wonder if Abel knows that.”

“Even if he does, there’s nothing he can do to prevent it.” He laid the phone alongside the map and zoomed out. “This picture was taken in the summer. You can see this back drive that snakes behind the house and out this other direction.” He pointed to a faint, broken line on the map. “That’s this road here.”

“It’s not really a road,” she said. “More of a trail.”

“But it’s a way in.”

“Except it’s probably not plowed in the winter.”

“If it is, the feds will have it staked out. But if it isn’t, they probably won’t bother watching it too closely.”

“But that doesn’t help us. Even with four-wheel drive we won’t get down a road that hasn’t been plowed. You saw how deep the snow was.”

“We can’t drive down it. But we can walk. Or rather, snowshoe.”

“Uncle Abel’s men will spot us a mile off. It’s not as if we can run in snowshoes.”

“We’ll wait until after dark. They won’t see us. And we won’t have to run.”

“Carlo could never walk far through snow, and he’s almost too big for me to carry.”

“I could carry him.”

She studied the image of the ranch house roof. Was Carlo really there? “I don’t know. Can we really do this?”

“We can. I think it’s the best way to get close and remain undetected. Once we determine where he is in the house, we’ll sneak in and out with as little fuss as possible.”

She regarded him more closely. “You talk as if you’ve done this kind of thing before.”

“I was with Special Forces in the service.”

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“Before long you’re going to know all my secrets,” he said. He didn’t exactly smile, but the look he gave her sent a jolt of heat straight to her belly.

“How can I say no when you put it like that?” She took a deep breath. “What next?”

“We need better winter clothing, snowshoes and a few other supplies. Time to go shopping.”

Good idea. Shopping was one thing she was good at, and searching through stores for the supplies they needed would eat up time and provide a welcome distraction from her worries about Carlo and the chances of this crazy plan succeeding.

At a backcountry outfitter around the corner from their hotel they purchased long underwear, snow pants and jackets, hats, mittens and snowshoes. “These have a narrower profile that make walking and even running easier than ever,” the clerk, a young man with a goatee and two earrings, pointed out as he helped Stacy strap on the lightweight aluminum shoes. “And you’ll want poles to help with your balance.” He shortened a pair of aluminum poles and handed them to her.

She stood in the middle of the store, poles planted on either side of her, and looked over at Patrick. He was busy stuffing their purchases into a large backpack. “I think I can get the hang of this,” she said.

“Trust me,” the clerk said. “If you can walk, you can snowshoe.”

From the outfitters, they walked down the sidewalk between walls of snow, past shops that sold everything from T-shirts to gourmet cookware. “Are we looking for anything in particular?” she asked.

“Right now we’re just killing time,” he said. “If you see anyplace you want to go into, say the word.”

She stopped in front of a window that displayed a variety of toys from an old-fashioned sled to video games. “Let’s go in here,” she said.

The store was filled with items that would have delighted Carlo, but she settled on a ten-inch-high bear with thick brown fur and a blue bow around its neck. “I think he would like this,” she said. When they took him back to the hotel later tonight—as she prayed they would—it would be good to give him this bear to comfort and distract him.

“I’m sure he would,” Patrick said, and took out his wallet to pay for the purchase.

They ate pizza at a restaurant at one end of the street. “Do you think Sullivan was right, that Carlo is safe?” she asked as she nibbled a slice of pepperoni.

“I think he didn’t want you to know at first that they’d found the boy, but I think he is safe. Abel needs Carlo to have access to the money.”

“How does Senator Nordley play into this?”

“Rumor has it he wants to run for president. That takes a lot of money. Maybe Abel promised Nordley a share of the cash if he’d help Abel get his hands on it.”

“He can have every bit of it, for all I care. I just want my son safely back with me. I don’t even want the Giardinos’ ill-gotten gains.”

“Seems to me you’ve earned your share of their wealth,” he said. “It could make you and Carlo a lot more comfortable.”

“I can look after Carlo myself,” she said. “I’d rather be poor and free of the taint of that family. I’m even thinking of changing my name when this is all over.”

“Back to your maiden name?” he asked.

She made a face. “It’s my father’s name, and he never did me any favors. I think I’ll have to come up with something new. A fresh start.”

“If you go into WITSEC, you can choose whatever name you like.” At her frown, he held up his hand. “I know you don’t want to go into the program, but I just thought I’d point out that it automatically comes with a name change, and a fresh start.”

“I’ll think about it.” Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, letting the government help her out. And it might mean she’d get to continue to see Patrick, at least some of the time.

After lunch they slowly made their way up the other side of the street to the hotel. Back in their room, she flopped down on the bed. “This waiting is killing me. When can we leave?”

“It gets dark pretty early. We can start that way about four-thirty.”

She checked the bedside clock. “Three hours.”

“Try to get some sleep. It could be a long night.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to organize our gear.” Already he’d spread half their purchases on the table and was unwrapping items—a flashlight, energy bars, water bottles, first aid kit, emergency blanket and more things she couldn’t remember.

“You can lie down on the bed and I promise I won’t attack you,” she said.

He looked startled. “What?”

“I know you feel bad about us sleeping together,” she said. “Like you shirked your duty or betrayed an oath or something.”

“You’re wrong.” He went back to wrestling with the wrapping on a small pair of binoculars. “I ought to feel bad about my unprofessional behavior, but I can’t regret making love to you.”

“Then why are you avoiding even touching me?”

He set aside the binoculars and looked at her. “Because if I touch you—if I come over there and lie down beside you—I won’t be content with just a nap.”

“Oh.” His words—and the heated look in his eyes when he said them—sent a hot shiver down to her toes.

“You must be exhausted,” he said. “You’re worried about your son and nervous about tonight. Sex is probably the last thing on your mind. I’m trying to be a gentleman.”

She was all those things he’d said, but none of that mattered now. “I don’t need a gentleman right now,” she said. “I just need you.”

His silence was like a vise around her chest, preventing her from breathing. Maybe she’d been wrong to be so frank, so open with him. Maybe he didn’t really want her that way. He was trying to find a kind way to reject her.

He stood, his gaze still locked to hers, and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. “I never was good at being a gentleman,” he said.

Chapter Thirteen

Whereas their lovemaking before had been full of the uncertainties and hesitations of any new partners, Stacy felt more sure of herself with Patrick now—and more sure of him as a man who would welcome whatever she had to offer. When they lay together, naked under the covers, she allowed herself the luxury of exploring his body—of discovering the play of muscle beneath the smooth flesh of his back and shoulders, delighting in the ticklish spot just at his waist, thrilling to the feel of the shadow of beard along his jaw.

“What is this?” she asked, running her finger along a puckered scar across the top of one hip.

“Sniper round.”

“And this?” She moved to a purple slash across his biceps.

“Bullet wound.” He covered her hand with his. “If you start inventorying my scars, we’ll be here all night.”

His kiss cut off her response, but the kiss was response enough. She’d never known such kisses, deep and sweet, both insistent and tender, leaving her dizzy and breathless and feeling so...cherished. She opened her eyes and met his gaze.

“I like that you watch me when we make love,” he said.

“I don’t want to miss anything,” he said. With Sammy—before he’d turned his back on her altogether—she’d kept her eyes closed to avoid seeing the disdain with which he so often regarded her. Patrick’s eyes held none of that scorn—only lust and longing and something that felt, to her at least, like appreciation.

They made love languidly that afternoon, each giving and receiving pleasure, teasing out the moments until they could wait no longer. After he entered her, she urged him onto his back so that she rode atop him, directing the tempo and depth of his strokes, his hands guiding her hips, the increasing pace of his breathing and the glazed look in his eyes letting her know when he was near to losing control. But he turned the tables when he reached down to touch her, sending her over the edge with a cry of delight.

Afterward, they lay together, cocooned in warmth and satisfaction, the light showing through the crack between the curtains fading from gold to muddy gray. “No tears this time,” he said.

“No tears.” She had plenty to cry about in her life right now, but Patrick was not one of those things. She might weep later, when he left her. But not now. She wouldn’t spoil the time they had together with sorrow.

* * *

P
ATRICK
HADN
’
T
INTENDED
to fall asleep, but he must have. When he woke it was full dark, the only light the faint glow from the parking lot security lights. Stacy lay curled against him. He shook her gently. “Stacy. It’s time to go.”

She stirred and buried her head deeper under the covers. “Stacy!” He shook her harder. “It’s time to get up and go find Carlo.”

“Carlo.” She looked up at him, then sat up, pushing off the covers. “What time is it?”

He checked the clock. “It’s after six.”

“Oh, no! We’re late!” She scrambled out of bed and grabbed for her clothes.

“It’s okay.” He moved to the table and began searching through their purchases. “We have plenty of time. Waiting until later is probably better. Don’t forget to dress warm.”

“All of a sudden I’m so nervous,” she said. “What if we can’t find him? What if the feds stop us? Or Abel and his men?”

“Stacy, it’s okay.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “It will be all right. You can do this.”

Her eyes met his and some of the panic faded. She nodded. “You’re right. Together, we can do this.”

Half an hour later, they were headed out of town in the Jeep, the headlights cutting through the darkness. He took a different route this time, one he’d plotted on the map to avoid the locations where federal agents were most likely to be posted. This meant traveling at slow speeds down narrow, winding back roads. Stacy didn’t say a word, but she gripped the dashboard as they bumped over ruts, tension radiating from her.

After more than an hour, they passed a break in the fence. Patrick stopped, then backed up the Jeep and angled it until the headlights shone through the gap, illuminating the faint indentations of a snow-clogged track. He checked the GPS coordinates on his phone. “This is where we get out,” he said.

“Are we just going to leave the Jeep here?” she asked.

“I think I can nose it under those trees ahead. I doubt anyone is going to come along at this time of night. There aren’t any fresh tracks since the snow this morning.”

He parked the car under the trees and they piled out and strapped on snowshoes. Stacy took a few experimental steps forward. “What do you think?” Patrick asked.

“Not bad,” she said. “Hopefully I’ll do as well in deep snow.” She tilted her head to look up at the sky. The morning’s clouds had vanished, leaving inky black sky dotted with a million stars and a thin sliver of moon. “It’s beautiful,” she said, her breath forming a cloud.

“Beautiful, but cold.” He moved alongside her and handed her a pair of chemical heat packs. “Slip these into your mittens.”

“Thanks.” She added the hot packs to her mittens, then switched on the headlamp he’d also handed her. “We’ve got about a mile trek to the ranch house,” he said. “We’ll take it slow, and no talking. I don’t think anyone’s listening, but might as well be safe.”

“What if they have dogs?”

“They aren’t likely to be roaming around away from the house in this cold. We’ll be on the lookout when we get closer. Are you ready?”

“Yes. Let’s go.”

He led the way down the snow-packed trail. Their tracks would have been clearly visible to anyone who passed by, but there was no way he could think of to hide their passage in the fresh snow. He set a brisk pace, but soon slowed as Stacy fell farther and farther behind. He stopped and waited for her to catch up. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I—”

He put a finger to his lips and shook his head, then handed her a bottle of water. She drank, then he drank and replaced the bottle in the pack and patted her shoulder.
You’re doing great,
he wanted to tell her. Instead, he gave her a thumbs-up and indicated they should move on.

He shortened his steps and she was better able to match his pace. The track emerged from the woods into open pasture and the drifts grew deeper, their shoes sinking into the soft, untrodden snow. Clearly, no one had passed this way in some time—a good indication that the feds had overlooked this route, too.

After about half an hour they saw the glow from the lights of the house, then they rounded a curve in the trail and spotted the house itself, surrounded by half a dozen outbuildings—horse stalls, a garage and storage sheds. Patrick stopped and she halted behind him, close enough he could hear her labored breathing.

He waited, listening for the barks of dogs or the rev of an engine, for shouts or voices or any indication that they’d been spotted. He pulled the binoculars from the inside of his jacket and scanned the area, wishing for the night-vision goggles he’d used in the military. Still, the outside security lights provided enough illumination for him to determine that the area was deserted.

They were going to have to get a lot closer to the house to find the boy. He touched Stacy’s shoulder and indicated they should remove their snowshoes.

Snowshoes discarded and poles laid aside, he started toward the house, keeping to the shadows, stepping in snow to his knees. Stacy literally followed in his footsteps. Though the snow made for slow going, it also muffled the sound of their approach. The house remained silent, undisturbed by their presence.

He stopped at the edge of the clearing, about a hundred yards from the side of the house, giving them a view of both the front and back yards. Nothing moved, and the only sounds were the hum of what must be a furnace and the rough inhalation and exhalation of their own breath.

Stacy tugged on his arm and he bent to her. She put her mouth against his ear. “The curtains are all closed,” she said. “How are we going to know which room Carlo is in? And how are we going to get to him?”

His original plan had been to hunker down and watch the house until he had a feel for the layout, but arriving so late, they could sit here all night and be no better informed in the morning than they were now. And the longer they stayed, the greater the risk of someone spotting the Jeep or seeing their tracks heading toward the house.

He turned and led her back down the trail until they were far enough away from the house he was sure they wouldn’t be heard. “We’ll have to get inside,” he said.

“How? The doors will be locked, and there will be guards.”

“I can pick a lock. But I don’t think there will be guards.”

“Sam always had bodyguards,” she said.

“But Abel isn’t Sam. He’s a rancher, not a mobster. And there aren’t enough vehicles for very many people to be here. That garage holds two cars, at most, and the only other car is that old truck by the shed—and it’s covered in snow, as if it hasn’t been driven in weeks.”

“Maybe they’re parked somewhere else.”

“Maybe so, but why go to all that trouble? This is Abel’s home. He feels safe here. If he does have guards, they’re probably up by the main gate—the only way in this time of year.”

“It’s still taking a huge risk.”

“Would you rather we went away and left Carlo in there?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Good. Then follow me inside. Stick close and don’t make a sound. From what I could see, there’s a front door, a side door opening to the walkway to the garage and a back door that probably opens into a kitchen or a mudroom.”

“That’s all I saw, too.”

“We’ll try the back door first. If we hear anything, we’ll move to another door, or a window.”

“What do we do when we find Carlo?”

“If he’s alone, we’ll sneak him out the same way we came in. If he isn’t alone, I’ll take care of the guard and you look after Carlo. If we’re separated, meet up back at the Jeep.”

“All right.” She hesitated, then stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For everything.”

She should wait and thank him when her boy was safe, but he didn’t tell her that, merely patted her shoulder then turned to lead the way up to the house. He’d deliberately downplayed the risk of what they were about to do, in order not to frighten her, but he had no such delusions. It would take all his skills—and a great deal of luck—to come out of this unscathed.

* * *

S
TACY
FOLLOWED
P
ATRICK
out of the shadows onto the pristine expanse of snow behind the ranch house. Their footsteps made dark holes in the snow, like a row of ellipses leading across the yard. At the bottom of the steps they halted and listened. The furnace shut off abruptly and she strained her ears, listening. From somewhere deep inside the house came the sound of voices, followed by the buzz of canned laughter—the television.

Patrick wiped his feet on the bottom steps and brushed the bottoms of his trousers, trying to remove as much snow as possible. She did the same. His eyes met hers and he nodded, then started up the steps.

The knob turned easily in his hand. Maybe he’d been right about Abel not thinking like a criminal; Sam would never have left a door unlocked, especially not at night.

Her heart hammered painfully as he eased open the door, then slipped inside, moving gracefully despite the bulky pack on his back. A few seconds later, he beckoned for her to follow.

A light over the stove cast a dim glow over scuffed red linoleum floors and white Formica countertops. A dish drainer with four plates, four forks, three glasses and a coffee cup sat beside the sink. She felt a jolt of elation as she counted the dishes. If one of the sets belonged to Carlo, that meant they had only three adults to deal with.

A door from the kitchen led into a darkened dining room. Patrick stopped to one side of the doorway and pulled her alongside him. From here they could look into the living room, where a man and an older woman sat in two armchairs in front of a large flat-screen television. She scanned the room for some sign of Carlo but found none.

They retreated to the kitchen and moved to a second door, which opened into a cramped hallway and a flight of stairs leading straight up. Patrick started up them, keeping close to the railing. She did the same, trying to make each step as light and soundless as possible.

At the top of the stairs they stopped again to listen. A commercial came on the television advertising a fast-food chain. “Is there any more of that ice cream?” a man’s voice asked.

“In the freezer,” a woman answered. “Get me a bowl, too.”

Stacy clung to the stair railing, feeling dizzy. Floorboards creaked below them as the man moved from the living room into the kitchen, where only seconds before, he would have found them. Light poured out from the room as he flicked the switch and she couldn’t breathe. Would he notice anything out of place in the room? Despite their best efforts, had they tracked snow inside?

Patrick’s hand on her arm forced her attention back to him. He indicated they should continue down the hallway to the left of the stairs. On tiptoe, she followed, toward a door beneath which a light glowed.

The light in the kitchen went out as they reached the doorway that must lead to a bedroom. Patrick put his ear to the door, and she moved past him to do the same.

A woman was speaking. Stacy gasped as she recognized
Where the Wild Things Are,
one of Carlo’s favorite books. “‘Oh, please don’t go—we’ll eat you up—we love you so!’”

“That’s my favorite part,” a little boy answered.

Stacy bit her thumb to keep from crying out. Patrick put a steadying hand on her shoulder. She nodded, though it took everything in her not to burst in and grab her child to her. She looked to Patrick, her eyes pleading.
What do we do?
she mouthed.

He gestured they should wait.

The minutes dragged as she listened to the woman finish reading the story. Had the book really been so long when she’d read it? When Max was finally safely home the woman pronounced, “The end.”

“Read it again,” Carlo said when she was done. The way he always did when Stacy read that story to him.