“I need that. My team can’t find me without—”
He stopped, slowly turned just his head toward her, and stared. “Your team?”
Every hair on her body stood up. “I’m not alone.”
Another movement from him, just as slow but more theatrical, as he took in the room, then faced her again with the grim, flat expression that appeared to be his baseline. “Look pretty alone to me.”
“I need that gear.” And what about her sat phone? Had he found that? She tried to remember. Did she have it with her when she crashed? No. She’d tucked it into the plane’s storage pocket. Gone. She could kick herself right now. Food poisoning or not, she’d gotten herself into quite the bind here.
“Making sure we don’t double up.” He was all business now, returning items to her pack and discarding others—like her bright orange vest, which would be useful if her guys, indeed, came looking for her.
Had he taken her weapons? There was no sign of her Glock 20. She’d had it in the Cub. She knew that. She shut her eyes and tried to remember. Nothing. No idea what had happened to her firearm. This was bad. Slowly, she rubbed one leg against the other, knocking her shin bone into the knife strapped to her ankle. Good. She wasn’t entirely unarmed.
Her eyes followed his movements as he repacked her bag along with his and set them both against the back wall beside the wood stove.
“They coming?” He turned.
The dog woofed from its place by the front door, dragging Leo’s gaze back in that direction. It was one of those fuzzy white-and-gray animals that looked like it was made for Alaska. Made by Alaska. Right now, it stared at the door, its big, pointy ears standing at attention.
“Time to get up.”
That wasn’t happening. If she sat here unmoving, the pain in her head was bearable. Almost.
The man—whose bulk took up most of the space—grabbed a pile of clothing and set it on the bed beside her. “Clothes are a mess. Put these on.”
“I’m not getting undressed.”
“Bad idea to be—”
A sound echoed, outside the house. It sounded like a scream. Leo pictured the scene—cabin, woods, harsh screams in the night. What Alaska Chainsaw Massacre nightmare have I fallen into?
“Forget it. Time to go. Got two choices right now, lady.” He glanced at the dog, who’d stood and started a low, ominous growling. “Now’s the time to tell me who you are and why you’re here, or I send you out there.” He pointed at the front door. “To the wolves.”
With effort, she pushed herself to standing, knowing as well as he did that the biggest threat in this wilderness—in any wilderness—wasn’t wolves or bears or even the goddamn cold.
It was humans.
***
A scream pierced the night’s subtle cacophony.
Lightly poised on the balls of his feet, Ashwin Benton went very still and listened. The agonized sound went on for a few seconds before cutting off abruptly.
Whoever had let out that godawful shriek was in terrible pain. A foothold trap, perhaps, with tightly sprung steel jaws. The kind that sliced through flesh and crushed bone. He’d seen two in the last few minutes. They had told him a few things. First: the traps had just been sprung. This was clear because very fresh tracks led to it and the greenery hiding it had been put there quite recently. Which confirmed that the traps weren’t meant to kill animals. They were meant to slow humans down. Second: the man expected pursuit. And he was well prepared. Interesting.
There would be no emergency medical evacuation tonight. The poor bastard who’d been caught in their quarry’s trap would never walk the same again. This job wasn’t starting well. At all. Already, the complex plan had been thwarted. By someone in an antique aeroplane, no less.
Oh, Deegan—the one in charge of this venture—hadn’t liked that at all. Ash, however, had found it rather charming. The irony of it was rather poetic.
He went on as before, slowly and carefully, studying the soggy, half-frozen ground. He took another silent step, paused, took another. Another. He wouldn’t be stepping in any traps tonight. But then he didn’t rush into things the way other operatives did—impatient Americans with their high-tech gadgets and thirst for violence.
He thought back to the crash site—a treasure trove of information that the others had glanced at before taking off in hot pursuit. Ash knew, for example, that the pilot was injured—likely a head wound, given the splash patterns in the cockpit, and the volume of blood. He also knew that the pilot was a woman and that the person she’d met with was a large male who left very little sign of his passage, accompanied by a canine. Neither was Campbell Turner.
Patting the handgun he’d slid into his pocket, Ash pulled in a satisfied breath.
Movement up ahead made him freeze again, this time watching as the people he was purportedly working with forged on, utterly insensitive to the destruction they wrought. Thankfully, their heavy, steel-toed footprints were easily identifiable. They were also at least an inch shorter than the ones belonging to the man he was stalking, whose feet were a size sixteen American, he’d venture to guess. There had been no mention of either a woman or a bigfoot in their briefing. Their target—Campbell Turner—was a midsized fifty-three-year-old man.
Curiouser and curiouser.
Eyes hitching on an irregular shape, he paused. There, hidden alongside a fallen branch, was another trap. He squatted to get a closer look. It was clean, not marred by a single speck of blood, as if it had never been used before. This little monster would do significant damage.
Up ahead, the injured operative groaned deeply. Someone else spoke—a woman. So much for stealth.
Ash watched as the woman helped the man up. Once Ash was close, he cleared his throat. They both jumped and reached for weapons, searching the dark in vain.
“All right, mate?” Ash asked, letting them know where he stood.
It took them a few seconds to spot him. “Uh, yeah,” whispered the injured American—a tall Black man whose name Ash hadn’t bothered getting. This wasn’t a team he’d get to know. Or trust. Or, hopefully, spend any significant time with.
Ash moved closer and nodded toward the bloke’s foot. “Looks fucked.” He didn’t keep his voice down. No point after all the yelling, was there?
“Be fine,” the man replied with admirable bravado, given the sad state of his appendage. He was breathing quickly, though. Close to hyperventilating.
“Shelter’s not far.” Ash sniffed the air.
The other two exchanged a look. “You smell something?” the woman asked, nose raised as if trying to locate the odor.
Silly question. There was always something to smell. Blood and sour sweat just now, from the injured man. On the frozen river, the air had been greasy with the stench of fuel and, again, blood. With a little distance from the wreckage came the soggy newspaper scent of a boreal forest rising from hibernation, a heady cocktail of sweet conifers, moist bark, iron-rich mud, and bear. Now above it all came a sharp high note that his animal mind had picked up before his conscious brain.
An extinguished wood fire.
They were close to the giant’s lair.
“Have you got what you need to care for that?” Ash asked the woman. At her nod, he set off without looking back. Something much more intriguing drew him forward. Something he’d always had a hard time resisting: a mystery.
Yes, the identity of the big man piqued his curiosity, of course, but that wasn’t what made him as eager. No, what he really wanted to know was why the giant had led this team of hunters straight to his home instead of away from it.
***
Elias grabbed a few plastic water bags and canteens, stuffed some more dried fish into the pack, and made sure he had a supply of watertight wet bags.
The woman swayed on her feet, doing her damnedest to stare him down, her eyes dark, shi
mmering daggers in her sculpted, brown face. If she weren’t in such bad shape, she’d attack, of that he had no doubt. He’d bet anything the bulge at her ankle was a blade. Bound to be more knives hidden on her.
Who the hell was this woman? She was stubborn and strong. Unwilling to back down against some pretty tough odds, and a pilot who’d handled her aircraft with precision, finesse, and great big fiery balls of steel.
Despite the head wound and the blood and everything else, he noticed, she was attractive. In a dangerous, bristling-with-weapons kind of way. Black, tightly shorn hair hugged her skull, as if to show off a fine, delicate bone structure that needed no added ornaments. Below it, her brown skin looked soft and warm.
Dammit, if he’d gone to town and gotten laid already, he wouldn’t be letting this distract him.
Liar. He’d like her looks and her prickly attitude no matter what. Everything about her was tightly wound, as if she weren’t made of flesh and bones but of pure energy, barely contained in what looked like a muscular body, although that was hard to tell with all those layers on. Her expression was in no way inviting. More like calculating the exact moment she’d put her knife through his jugular.
Whoever she was, her presence here didn’t make any sense.
She wasn’t with the helicopter people. But what was to stop more than one group from coming after him? Though the world thought he was dead, he’d always suspected the authorities had doubts. For all he knew, the entire National Guard could be hot on his trail, along with an army of mercenaries and bounty hunters from the lower forty-eight.
What was it Daisy had said on the phone? On her way to get you. Right. Well, get you could mean any number of things. No way could he trust this woman. But no way could he leave her to die, either.
Bo growled again. Time to go. His cabin would come under fire any minute now and in here, they had a stalemate. He needed to make a move.
“You don’t want to talk to me? Fine. Talk to them.” He stalked to the door, reached for the bar he’d installed as a barricade, and started to slide it up in what he hoped wasn’t an obvious bluff.
“Wait!”
He let out a long, silent exhale. When he turned back, he caught her eyes racing around the room. Looking for something to say? Trying to buy time until that team of hers showed up? Searching the corners for a weapon or a way out?
“Listen, lady. I don’t know who you are and I don’t know who you’re looking for, but I’m not it. I don’t have time for this bullsh—”
“Leo.”
“What?”
Something thumped outside and Elias dropped the barricade back in its slots.
“My name. It’s Leo.”
“That’s a start. What’re you doing here?”
“Look.” Her attention shifted from him to the door and back. “Maybe we want the same thing, you and I.”
A cold beer? A warm bath? His eyes flicked over her body before returning to meet hers. “Doubt that.” Bo stood, the hair on the ridge of her spine tufted straight up. Elias swallowed back a curse. He couldn’t leave the woman behind to die, but he couldn’t take her with him until he knew more—namely whether she’d been sent by Amka to help him, or whether she’d stolen the plane after all and was here to stab him in the back the minute he turned around. There were too many people who wanted him dead to give anyone the benefit of the doubt. “Who sent you?” Elias demanded. Bo growled in warning. This was cutting it close. Too damned close. “What do you want with me?”
“With you? Nothing.”
“Lady, you don’t give me something worthwhile, I’ll throw you out there.”
She looked at him for five seconds—which was four seconds too long—and appeared to come to some sort of decision. “Will you? Then open the door.” She folded her arms over her chest, her expression clearly saying I dare you.
If he opened that door, all three of them were dead, with at least one of them being tortured first. Bo’s growl turned urgent. She backed away from the door, hackles raised higher than he’d ever seen them. “Dammit.”
The woman half smiled.
In that moment, three things happened: a foot landed carefully on his booby-trapped porch step, setting off literal alarm bells; someone yelled; and Bo started barking, out of control.
There wasn’t time for more questions. He’d have to take her or leave her here. To die.
Elias grabbed a gas can and uncapped it. Bo went wild. Heavy footsteps shook the floor beneath their feet. The people out there weren’t even trying to be stealthy. Bad news. Very bad news.
He slung his pack on his shoulder and soaked everything with gas. “Let’s go!”
As if she’d done her own quick math and decided she liked her odds better with him than with the operatives who’d shot down her plane, Leo grabbed her bag and followed him to the back of the cabin.
“Campbell Turner!” a voice yelled from out front. The name barely threw a hitch in Elias’s stride, though something broke inside him every time he heard it. His gaze connected with the woman’s, whose eyes narrowed on him. Whatever her role here today, this woman was well aware that Elias was not Campbell Turner. “We’re here to discuss a peaceful surrender. We know you’re in there.”
Yeah? he thought, though he kept his mouth firmly shut. You don’t know the first damn thing.
With that, he squatted, pulled the rug back, and pried out the panel he’d created for just such an occasion.
“Hop in, Leo.” Whoever the hell you are. When she appeared to balk, he bared his teeth—half snarl, half smile. “Sorry, lady. But this is it. Do or die.”
Chapter 6
The dog jumped into the hole and the man shoved his pack inside, followed by Leo’s.
More aggressive pounding on the door made her jump and, though it hurt to bend and crawl, that was exactly what she did, cursing under her breath as she went.
“Go. Go.” There was no arguing with the urgency in his voice. “The passage is flat, then it dips. Push the bags ahead, if you can. Be right behind you.”
As fast as she could, she slithered through the stone crawlspace, shoving at the packs. She wouldn’t let herself imagine what kinds of creatures lived in the cave beneath the cabin.
After what felt like an eternity of crawling, one of the packs tipped over the edge ahead of her and fell to land somewhere below. She pushed the other down, almost entirely blind now. One outstretched hand encountered nothing but cold air.
A glance back showed only the smallest hint of light seeping down from above. What was he up to? Was he coming or had this been some creepy ruse to get her under his house? Crap. She could be trapped here.
“Hey! Are you—”
“Go!”
He doesn’t want to kill me. He doesn’t want to wear my skin. Bolder now, she waved her arm out and down, expecting a sharp drop. Instead, she slapped canvas a foot or so down—his backpack. She shimmied to the edge. Impossible to tell how big the space was, but it felt cramped and damp.
Sounds came from behind—banging, more fuel splashing. It stank even this far. The place would go up in seconds.
“Keep going! Don’t stop!” He didn’t bother whispering now, as if the urgency had amped up. As if he were barely holding the enemy back, waiting for her to advance before he could leave.
Faster than she’d meant to, she pulled forward until she dropped onto the pack, glad for the cushioning, though the fall sent a wave of nausea through her. She barely held in a shriek when something cold and wet touched her cheek.
It was the dog. Just the dog. “Geez, you scared me.”
For a precious second or two, she let herself sink to the cold, damp earth, leaned against the animal’s soft fur, and breathed, willing her head to clear. Up was down in this darkness. Down was up. Were her eyes even open?
The sounds behind her were muffled by distance
and, she figured, tons of rock. Were they battering through the door? Had they made it in? She scrabbled for something to guide her, connected with rough stone, and pushed slowly to standing.
“Grab your pack and go! Far as you can get!” he ordered, his voice low and terse, closer now. She’d made it maybe a dozen stumbling steps when a red light infused the cave. She turned in time to see what looked like a handful of flares disappear before something slammed shut, leaving them in the dark. Then, judging from the quick, frantic sound of fabric scuffing against the ground, she guessed that he was army-crawling through that tight tunnel—fast.
Carefully, hand to the stone wall, rough even with gloves on, she felt her way forward. Something crashed so hard it resonated through her feet. The front door? Were they in?
Time’s up.
Light suddenly blinded her. She raised her hand to shield her eyes. After a few dull seconds, she realized that the man was moving toward her, wearing a forehead lamp.
“Run.” He hefted his bag. “Now.”
She moved, pushing her body as fast as it would go, and focused on the narrow illumination he provided. After they’d advanced maybe ten, twenty, or infinity feet, something, he grabbed her hand. Though she didn’t like it, she didn’t pull away. He knew where they were going, clearly, while she was running half-blind into… What was this place?
The space felt huge, though she couldn’t see enough to tell how big. Was there an echo to their steps? The dog’s glowing body was the only thing to focus on in this black hole.
Suddenly, her view narrowed and the man’s hand loosened. “Duck,” he said before nudging her slightly ahead of him. “Once you’re out, crawl up the rocks, then through the opening at the top. Follow Bo. Keep moving.” He shoved a flashlight at her. “Don’t wait for me. Just go.”
Gritting her teeth, she ignored the inner voice screaming Don’t leave me here alone! and scrabbled up a pile of boulders to a tiny, dark opening, barely big enough to fit through. Every movement hurt her body, but she used it, focused beyond the pain, and stuffed herself into the hole, wondering what fresh trick this incredibly well-prepared stranger had up his sleeve.
Uncharted Page 5
