by Elle James
James McKinnon tugged up the collar of his coat around his chin to keep a blast of wintery wind from snaking down his neck. He listened silently as the sheriff explained why they were there. With each breath James took, he blew out a little cloud of steam.
Rucker, his bay gelding, pawed at the ground impatiently.
James had chosen Rucker because he was the most sure-footed of the horses in his stable. For the manhunt they were about to conduct, the gelding was the best bet. The Crazy Mountains could be as dangerous as the man they were searching for. And the weather wasn’t helping.
The sheriff gave them a steely glance. “We don’t know at this point whether or not Reed is armed but assume that he is.”
James’s hand went to the pistol in the holster he had strapped to his hip.
“Sheriff, what do you want us to do?” one of the men in the crowd called out.
The sheriff straightened, with his shoulders pushed back and his mouth set in a firm line. He stared at each of the people gathered around, making eye contact with each person. “Bring him in.”
“And how do you want us to do that,” another man called out.
The sheriff’s chin lifted. “Most of you follow the news. Reed was in prison for multiple counts of murder. He killed two guards during the armored truck robbery. When he was cornered, he killed two cops. The man was serving a life sentence without parole.
“While being transported to a high-security prison, his transport vehicle ran off the road. The driver was killed on impact, but the guard in back with Reed wasn’t. He was injured. Reed finished him off. Now, I’m not telling you to kill Reed, but if at any time you believe your life is in danger, shoot to kill the bastard. If at all possible, don’t engage…report. Our primary goal is to bring Reed in before he hurts anyone else.”
James’s hands tightened into fists. He hadn’t killed a man since he’d been a member of Delta Force more than two decades ago. Not that he’d become squeamish about killing a man in his old age, but it was just that he’d thought his people-killing days were over when he’d left the military.
The only killing he’d done lately was the occasional coyote in the chicken coop and deer or elk while hunting in the fall.
From the news reports he’d been following, he knew Reed had turned into a really bad character. James was glad the bastard had headed into the mountains instead of the city. He reckoned that if the convict was cornered, he would take whatever hostage he could to get out of a situation.
James had left instructions with his wife and daughter to stay inside the ranch house and keep the doors locked. But he knew they were stubborn women and wouldn’t stand by and leave the animals to fend for themselves, especially in bad weather. They’d venture out into the barnyard to feed the chickens, pigs, horses and goats to keep them from going hungry. With the winter weather making a reappearance, they’d likely put some of the livestock in the barn.
Which would leave them at risk of being captured if Reed circled back to the Iron Horse Ranch. Hopefully, they’d be smart and enlist the help of their ranch foreman, Parker Bailey.
Sheriff Barron held up a paper with an image of William Reed. James didn’t need to see the picture. He knew Reed. However, others amongst them were newer to Eagle Rock and the county. “This is our man. Right now, we think he’s up in the mountains. The longer he’s free, the hungrier he’ll get. It’s imperative we bring him in quickly. All of our families’ lives are in danger as long as he runs free.”
“Then let’s stop talking and start tracking,” Marty Langley called out.
The sheriff nodded. “All right, then, gather around the map. We’re going to split up into different quadrants so we’re not shooting at each other.” Sheriff Barron spread a map over the hood of his SUV, and the group gathered around him. He gave instructions as to where each person would be during the hunt and what signal they should give if they found something. He handed out as many two-way radios as he had, distributing them to every other quadrant.
Once James had his assigned area, he mounted Rucker and rode into the mountains, his knee nudging the rifle in his scabbard, his hand patting the pistol on his hip.
He’d known Reed for years. When you lived in a small community, everyone knew everyone else. Some were better at keeping secrets than others but, for the most part, everyone knew everyone else’s business.
Reed had been a regular guy, working in construction and hitting the bar at night. He’d been a ladies’ man with a lot going for him. How had a guy like that ended up robbing an armored truck and killing the people driving it? What had driven Reed down the wrong path?
James could have been home with his wife of thirty-five wonderful years, holding her close in front of the fireplace, instead of riding out on a cold winter’s night in search of a killer.
He knew he had it good. After twenty years in the military, he’d settled in Montana on the land his father had passed down to him. He’d wanted his kids to have what he’d had growing up. Ranching had made him the man he was—unafraid of hard work, determined to make a difference, able to take on any challenge, no matter how physically or mentally difficult.
He’d been damned proud of his sons and daughter and how they’d taken to ranching like they’d been born to it. Even Angus, who’d been twelve when they’d moved to the Crazy Mountains of Montana. He’d been the first to learn to ride and show the other boys how wonderful it could be to have the wind in their faces, galloping across the pastures.
A cold wind whipped into James’s face, bringing him back to the present and the bitterness of an early spring cold snap. Just when they’d thought spring had come and the snow had started to melt at the lower elevations, the jet stream had taken a violent shift downward, dipping south from Canada into the Rocky Mountains of Montana, dumping a foot of fresh snow all the way down into the valleys.
He nudged Rucker in the flanks, sending him up the path leading to a small canyon that crossed over a couple of ranches—including his, the Iron Horse Ranch.
He knew the area better than anyone, having lived on the ranch as a child and as an adult since he’d returned from serving in the Army. As his father’s only child, he’d inherited the ranch upon his father’s death. Now, it was up to him to make it sustainable and safe for his family and ranch hands.
Again, he thought about his wife, Hannah, and his daughter, Molly, and worried for their safety.
Clouds sank low over the mountaintops, bringing with it more snow, falling in giant flakes. The wind drove them sideways, making it difficult to see the trail ahead.
About the time James decided to turn back, he’d entered the canyon. Sheer walls of rock blocked some of the wind and snow, making it a little easier to see the path in front of Rucker.
James decided to give the hunt a little more time before he gave up and returned to the highway where he’d parked his horse trailer.
He knew of several caves in the canyon suitable for a fugitive to hole up in during a brutal winter storm. They weren’t much further along the trail, but they were higher up the slope. Snowcapped ridges rose up beside him. He was careful not to make any loud noises that might trigger an avalanche. Spending the next couple days in a cave wasn’t something he wanted to do.
If he survived an avalanche, he could make do with the natural shelter until a rescue chopper could get into the canyon and fish him out. But Hannah and Molly would be sick with worry. James tried not to put himself in situations that made his sweet wife worry. Unfortunately, the Reed escape had worry written all over it. The man had escaped. He’d already proven he’d kill rather than go back to jail. He wouldn’t go peacefully.
Rucker climbed higher up the side of the canyon wall, following a narrow path dusted in snow. The wind blew the majority of the flakes away, keeping the rocky ground fairly recognizable.
The trail had been there for as long as James could remember. His father had told him it was a trail created by the Native Americans who’d once used the
caves for shelter over a century ago.
Rucker stumbled on a rock and lurched to the side.
James’s heart skipped several beats as he held onto the saddle horn.
Once Rucker regained his balance, he continued up the slope, plodding along, the snow pelting his eyes. He shook his head and whinnied softly.
James patted the horse’s neck. “It’s okay. Only a little farther, and we’ll head back to the barn.” The weather in early April was unpredictable. It could stop snowing altogether or become a white-out blizzard in a matter of minutes.
The first in the row of caves James remembered appeared ahead and up the slope to his left. He dropped down from his horse’s back and studied the dark opening. If he recalled correctly, the cave was little more than five or six feet back into the mountain side. Not enough to protect a man from the cold wind and driving snow.
James grabbed Rucker’s reins and moved on to the next cave, glancing up the side of the hill as he approached.
The hackles on the back of his neck rose to attention. Had he seen movement in the shadowy entrance?
He stopped beside a small tree growing out of the side of the hill and looped Rucker’s reins loosely over a branch. The horse wouldn’t attempt to pull free. Rucker knew to hold fast. A loud noise might scare him into bolting for the barn. Otherwise, he’d stay put until James returned.
Pulling his handgun from the holster, James started up the incline toward the cave, his focus on the entrance and the overhang of snow on the slope above the cave. With the recent melting and the added layer of fresh snow, the snow above the cave could easily become unstable. Anything, including a gust of wind, could trigger an avalanche, sending snow and rocks crashing down the hillside.
James hoped he’d left Rucker well out of the path of the potential avalanche. If the snow started down the side of the hill, James would be forced to run for the cave and take shelter there. Possibly with a killer.
More reason to get up to the cave, check it out and get back down to Rucker as soon as possible. He should have turned back when the snow got so thick he could barely see the trail. If one of his sons or daughter had continued on, he would have reamed them for their irresponsible behavior. And here he was doing what he would expect them to avoid.
However, since he was there, he would check the cave. Then he’d head straight back to the highway and home. The search for the fugitive could continue the next day, after the snowstorm ended. Reed wouldn’t make much headway in the current weather, anyway.
With his plan in mind, James trudged up the hill to the cave. He had camped in this particular grotto one fall when he’d been caught in a storm while out hunting elk. It went back far enough into the mountain to protect him from the wind and rain and was open enough to allow him to build a fire. He’d even staged additional firewood in case he ever got caught in a storm again. Then at least, he’d have dry wood to build a warming fire.
If Reed was up in this canyon, this cave would be the perfect shelter from the current storm. The next one in line was harder to find and had a narrower entrance.
As he neared the mouth of the cavern, he drew on his Delta Force training, treading lightly and keeping as much of his body out of direct line of fire as possible as he edged around the corner and peered into the shadows.
The sound of voices echoed softly from the darkness near the back of the cave. He smelled wood smoke before he spotted the yellow glow of a fire, shedding light on two figures standing nearby.
“Where is it?” one voice was saying, the tone urgent, strained.
“I’m not telling you. If I tell you, you have no reason to keep me alive.”
James stiffened. He remembered having a conversation with Reed outside the hardware store in Eagle Rock several years ago. That husky, deep voice wasn’t something a person forgot.
His pulse quickening, James knew he had to get back down the mountain to the sheriff and let him know what he’d found. They weren’t supposed to engage, just report.
But he hadn’t expected to find Reed with someone else. If he left and reported to the sheriff without identifying the other man and the two men managed to get out of the canyon before they were captured by the authorities, no one would know who was helping Reed.
“I got you out of there, the least you can do is share your secret.”
“I put it somewhere no one will find it. If I die, it goes to the grave with me,” Reed said. “I did that on purpose. I can’t trust anyone. If you want to know where it is, you’ll have to get me out of Montana alive.”
“I told you I would. You have my word. But you can’t leave Montana without it.”
“No, but I can leave Montana without you. If I’ve learned one thing in prison,” Reed’s voice grew deeper, “the only person you can trust is yourself.”
“Damn it, Reed, we don’t have time to dick around. Sheriff Barron has a posse combing the mountains. The only thing keeping them from finding you is the storm moving in. Get the money, and let’s get the hell out of here.”
James strained to see into the darkness, but the man with Reed had his back to the cave entrance and appeared to be wearing a knit ski hat. The voice was familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on who it was. He leaned into the cave a little more, waiting for the man to shift into a position where the fire would light up his face.
“You know, there’s a bounty on your head,” the man told Reed, in a threatening tone. “Maybe I don’t want your bag of money. It’s probably marked anyway. I could turn you in and collect the reward. I’d have the money and be a hero for saving the world from a killer.”
Reed lunged toward the other man, knocking him back, his face even deeper in the shadows, or was it covered in a ski mask? “You dare threaten me?” He lifted the man off his feet and shoved him against the wall. “Do you know the hell I’ve lived in for the past thirteen years? I’ve seen men like you who’ve had their tongues carved out with a spoon. I didn’t get out of prison to put up with the likes of you.”
The man being held against the wall gagged, his feet scraping against the hard rock surface behind him.
James couldn’t let Reed kill the other man, even if the other man happened to be the one who’d helped him escape from prison. Taking a deep breath, he called out, “Drop him, Reed, or I’ll shoot.”
The convict froze with his hand still gripping the other man’s throat. “Guess you’re gonna have to shoot.” Then he spun, dragging his captive with him, and using his body as a shield.
Since his back was still to James, James couldn’t see who it was.
“Go ahead,” Reed taunted. “Shoot. This piece of shit deserves to die.”
The man he held fumbled in his jacket pocket, pulled out something long and shiny and then shoved it toward Reed.
Reed gasped, his eyes widening. “Bastard,” he said, his voice more of a wheeze. His grip loosened on his captive.
The man slumped to his knees and bent over.
Reed stood for a long moment, his hand curling around the knife protruding from his chest. He gripped the handle and pulled it out. He stared at it, and then at James, and collapsed on top of the man he’d almost killed.
James rushed forward, jammed his handgun into his holster and felt for a pulse in Reed’s neck. He had one, but it was faint and fluttering erratically.
The man beneath him, grunted and pushed at the bulk of the dead man weighing him down. “Help me,” he said.
James grabbed Reed’s arm and pulled him off the other man, laying him flat on his back.
Reed stared up at James, his eyes narrowing. He whispered something.
James leaned close, barely able to hear.
“Where the…snake…threads…needle’s eye,” Reed coughed, and blood dribbled out of the side of his mouth.
James pressed his hand to the wound in Reed’s chest. Having seen similar wounds in Iraq, he figured the knife had damaged a major organ, and Reed wasn’t going to make it out of that cave alive.
<
br /> Reed raised a hand and clutched his collar in a surprisingly strong grip. “They’ll never find it.” He chuckled, a gurgling sound that caused more blood to ooze from the corner of his mouth. Then his hand dropped to his side, and his body went limp.
James pressed two fingers to the base of Reed’s throat, feeling for a pulse. When he felt none, he started to straighten.
Something cold and hard pressed to his temple. “Move, and I’ll shoot.”
His heart hammering against his ribs, James reached for the gun at his side. A cold feeling washed over him that had nothing to do with the gale-force winds blasting down through the canyon outside the walls of the cave.
His holster was empty. He couldn’t believe he’d helped the other man, only to have him take his gun and turn it on him.
“What did Reed say before he died?” the man behind him demanded.
James held up his hands, shaking his head. “I don’t remember.”
“You better start, or you can join him in his cold place in hell.”
“Seriously, I couldn’t hear what he said. It was all garbled.”
“He said something about a needle. I know you heard him. Tell me.” The angry guy behind him fired the gun, hitting James in the right arm.
Pain knifed through his arm, and it hung limp against his side.
“Tell me, or I’ll shoot again.”
Outside, a rumbling sound made James forget about being shot at again. “If you want to get out of this cave alive, we have to leave now.”
“I’m the one with the gun. I say when we leave.”
