Bump in the Night

by J. D. Robb

  One of the photographers shouted, “Flash me that winner’s smile, Josh.”

  “No problem.” Josh leaned a hip against the skis propped up against the Swiss chalet and tipped down his sunglasses.

  Though this session had run hours longer than anticipated, he managed, through discipline, to keep his smile intact.

  A photographer leaned in and adjusted his lens. “Show us the gloves, Josh. The ones you always wear for luck.”

  It was a familiar request, and one Josh had fielded a hundred times or more. Still, each time someone mentioned the gloves, he felt the familiar jolt to his heart.

  He reached into his back pocket and held them up.

  “Is it true that they belonged to your father?”

  “Yeah.” His eyes narrowed as he slipped them on. “That’s right.”

  “Now that’s the look I wanted. Dark. Dangerous. A little bit introspective.” The photographer grinned as he snapped off several quick shots before lowering his camera. “Thanks, Josh.”

  A short time later, while the photographers hurried away to file their reports and meet their deadlines, Josh made his way inside the lodge and up the lift to his suite, where yet another crowd had assembled.

  His agent, Martin Phillips, was holding court before a cluster of reporters and publicity people who were peppering him with questions.

  “What’s next for Fearless Josh Cramer?”

  Josh looked over the crowd, recognized the speaker as a reporter from World Sports, and promptly closed himself in his bedroom. Once there he ripped off his ski gear and pulled on comfortable jeans and a T-shirt before sinking onto the edge of the bed.

  His head came up sharply when the door was opened. Martin Phillips paused on the threshold. “Good news. World Sports is calling the article ‘Man on the Run.’ They assured me that you’ll be their lead story and have the cover of their October issue.”

  “That’s great.” Josh lowered his voice. “Can we talk, Marty?”

  “Yeah. In a minute. There’re some people out here you need to meet.” His agent caught him by the arm and hauled him to the parlor while calling out to a reporter, “The timing of this photo spread couldn’t be better. You’ll want to end the article by mentioning Josh’s next adventure, which he doesn’t even know about yet.”

  At his words, Josh arched a brow.

  “How could he possibly top what he’s already done? Don’t tell me he’s about to leap tall buildings and catch bullets in his teeth before spitting them out.”

  The reporter’s remarks had the entire room full of people laughing.

  Martin Phillips joined in the laughter. “You’ve just described Josh perfectly. He’s always up for something different and challenging. Tomorrow he’s leaving for the ultimate wilderness trek. No electronics gear. No space-age gadgets. He’ll carry a mini-cam and a few basic necessities, but he’ll have to survive on what he can catch or kill along the way, until he joins a camera crew at the end of his journey.”

  Suddenly all business, the reporter’s smile faded. “Sounds like something out of a reality television show, without the lifeline of a safety net.”

  “Exactly.” Martin nodded. “I’ve just finalized the last of the details with SNN, the all-sports news network. If the public likes it, they’re hoping to make it a regular series, with Josh in a different dangerous location every month.”

  One of the photographers turned to Josh. “You don’t give yourself much time to relax, do you?”

  Josh remained mute while his agent answered for him. “Got to make hay while the sun shines. You didn’t call Josh the Man on the Run for nothing. Besides, they made an offer he couldn’t refuse. Now gentlemen, if you don’t mind, it’s been a long day, requiring some superhuman activity. I think it’s time we give Josh some space.”

  As the others set down their empty glasses and began filing from the room, one of them paused to ask, “Want to meet us in the bar, Marty? Maybe you could fill in a few more details about this latest adventure.”

  “Sure thing. Publicity is my middle name.” While the others chuckled, he glanced at his watch. “I’ll see you in an hour.”

  When the room had emptied, Martin picked up a chilled bottle of water and twisted the cap, draining it in one long swallow before turning to his client.

  Josh was sitting on the sofa, staring broodingly into the flames of the fire.

  “Okay.” Martin sat on the opposite end of the sofa. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “A trek through the wilderness?”

  Martin grinned. “Look, I know it’s not as glamorous as skiing the Alps, but the offer was too good to pass up.” He studied Josh’s face. “I don’t think that’s what’s bothering you. What is it?”

  “I told you not to book anything more. I said I needed some time.”

  “Time for what?”

  “Time for me. Just for me.”

  “You see? That’s the whole idea. That’s why I fought so hard to get this for you. After you land in the wilderness tomorrow, you’ll have all the time in the world to yourself.”

  “Yeah. With a camera recording my every move. You know what I mean, Marty. I’ve been at this for years now, without a break. I’m losing my edge. I need to recharge my batteries.”

  “Recharge your batteries? Josh, these people are throwing millions of dollars at you for doing what you love.”

  “I know but . . .”

  His agent held up a hand. “If you’d like, stay in your room for the rest of the day. I’ll handle the press. Here we are in one of the most luxurious ski resorts in the world. Pamper yourself with room service in front of the fire while you watch the skiers coming down those glorious slopes. Will that give you enough time to get back your edge?”

  “You’re talking hours.” Josh ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Get serious, Marty. You know what I mean. I need some real time off. I’d like enough time to just be lazy. You know. Doing fun, relaxing things like real people.”

  “Real people.” Martin stood and began to pace. “Listen to me, Josh. The reason you’re such a hot property is because you don’t live like real people. I don’t know anybody else who could take on your adventures and make them look like a walk in the park.” He paused, his voice lowering for emphasis. “Don’t you get it? People love seeing you sailing solo across the Atlantic, or watching you drop from a helicopter to ski down the Alps, because it’s something they couldn’t possibly do on their best day. That’s the basis of this planned television special. The director is hoping to turn it into a series that will make us both more money than we ever dreamed of. And do you know why? It’s because you’re what the average Joe will never be. Absolutely fearless.”

  Josh gave a dry laugh. “Yeah, that’s me. Fearless Josh Cramer.”

  Martin’s eyes narrowed. “Are you telling me you’re not? That somehow, between yesterday and today you’ve lost your confidence?”

  “Of course not.” Josh gave a shake of his head. “It’s not fear, Marty.” In truth, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d experienced real, gut-wrenching fear. He’d always lived for the adrenaline rush that came from placing himself in danger. “I’m just tired. I need a break. Think about it. When was the last time I went out on a date?”

  “You want women?” Martin started toward the door. “I can go down to the bar right now and bring you half a dozen gorgeous models who’d like nothing better than to spend the night with Josh Cramer.”

  “Thanks.” His frown was back. “That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

  “Listen.” Martin started back to the sofa, using his most persuasive tone. “You just get through this next adventure, and I promise you, I’ll pencil in a nice long break.”

  “Pencil in?”

  Martin grinned. “Okay. It’ll be written in stone. For as long as you want. How’s that?”

  “What if they want me to do a series?”

  “Then we’ll negotiate a contract that allows you some time o
ff between adventures.”

  “Don’t say that unless you mean it.”

  “I mean it.”

  For the first time Josh managed a smile. “I intend to hold you to that, buddy boy.”

  Martin relaxed. “Get some rest, buddy boy.” It was their favorite nickname for one another and was a signal to him that Josh’s temper was evaporating. “We’ll be meeting with the director of the television crew first thing in the morning. You’ll need to acquaint yourself with the seaplane you’ll be piloting. This is raw wilderness. The only way in or out is by landing on Spirit Lake.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  His agent hesitated for a fraction. “A lot of strange things have happened on that lake through the years.”

  “What sort of strange things?”

  “Boats and planes disappearing, without a trace. Drownings, but no bodies.”

  Josh sighed. “I’m suddenly starting to like this.”

  “If you believe in this sort of rubbish, the Native Americans believed the lake to be inhabited by spirits.” Marty grinned. “Or it could be just a strong undertow. Either way, I’ll admit that when I first heard it, it creeped me out. It still does, if you want to know the truth. But this isn’t about me. It’s about you. Sounds like you’re okay with it.”

  “Instead of being afraid.” Josh chuckled. “I kind of like the added challenge.”

  “Great. I think seeing Fearless Josh Cramer tame the demons of Spirit Lake will be a good career move.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  At Josh’s wry tone, Marty grinned. “Just doing what you pay me for. Can you master the seaplane by morning?”

  “Piece of cake.”

  “That’s what I like to hear.” Martin walked out, humming a little tune. He’d been managing Josh ever since his meteoric rise to fame ten years ago. When they’d met, Josh had been a cocky college kid who couldn’t resist taking on a challenge that most sane athletes wouldn’t even consider. Marty had been a brash young lawyer who was already handling some of the biggest names in sports. In the years since, he’d had plenty of time to learn just how to play Josh’s many moods.

  Time off. He chuckled as he stepped into the lift that would take him to the main floor and his cronies. He had no doubt that one day the public would lose interest and move on to the next media celebrity, though he fervently hoped it wouldn’t be for many years. He’d acquired a fondness for the things money could buy. But when that day came, Josh Cramer would find himself with all the time in the world. Until then, Martin would do the job he was being paid to do, and see that he kept Josh too busy to think about the things that he might be missing in his high-profile, celebrity lifestyle. Besides, though Josh would never admit it, he thrived on activity. He’d go stark raving mad if he had to stay in one place with nothing to challenge him. Marty was just doing what his client wanted done. And making a pile of money in the process.

  Marty was beaming with pleasure. “Josh, this is Wayne Thompson, who’ll be directing the television special.”

  The director, wearing baggy fatigues and a baseball cap, stepped away from the cluster of sound technicians and camera crew loading their equipment aboard the larger of the two planes parked on the runway, and offered his handshake.

  “And this is Brady Stewart.” Marty dropped his arm around the shoulders of a tall, white-haired man with a military bearing. “Brady will be piloting the second plane which will trail yours. That way they’ll be able to snap some shots of you from the air, and get some aerial shots of the rugged terrain.”

  Josh arched a brow. “Don’t trust me with a camera?”

  The director shrugged and glanced at Josh’s agent. “I’m aware of your athletic prowess, but I’m not so sure about your photography skills. I want to be certain we have good, clean shots of everything. Later we can splice your photos and theirs together, to make a continuous narrative of your adventure. We’ll land with you at your base camp and get as much of the local color as we can while you set off on foot, then we’ll fly on to the final destination where you’ll meet up with us at the end of your trek.”

  Marty chuckled. “Since there’s room for me, I’ve decided to go along on the first leg of the trip, too. After that, I’ll head to New York.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Josh looked up when one of the assistants approached carrying a clipboard. “Looks like it’s time to get aboard and do a final flight check.”

  He shook hands all around before walking away.

  Within the hour he was airborne, with the second plane trailing.

  He pressed a hand to the knot of tension at the back of his neck. Though a night at the ski lodge hadn’t been nearly enough time to recharge his batteries, it would have to do until this latest assignment was completed. Then he intended to hold Marty’s feet to the fire and take some quality time alone.

  “Below me is Spirit Lake.” Josh flipped the switch that triggered the camera mounted below the belly of the plane and watched the view on a monitor mounted just above his instruments. He’d spent the previous night on the Internet, learning as much as he could about his destination. “Native Americans named it, believing that great spirits dwelled in those depths. It’s said to be one of the coldest and deepest glacial lakes in the country. Even the most sophisticated sonar equipment hasn’t been able to locate a bottom. What makes this area so exciting is the fact that there are a thousand miles of wilderness without any of the amenities of modern civilization. You see below me no power lines. Although there are a few cabins along the shoreline, most are occupied by rugged individuals strictly in the summertime, since the only way in or out is by boat or seaplane. Winter in this isolation would be pretty brutal.”

  While circling the lake he switched off the outside camera and turned on the one mounted on the instrument panel. “I’ll be taking my seaplane down in just a few minutes, and you, my viewing audience, will be going with me for the ride. I’m looking forward to taking you along on my journey through this forest. I’m told it’s so primitive, I might be able to make the entire trek without seeing another human being.”

  Out of the corner of his eye he caught a flash of shimmering light and turned his head, assuming it was sunlight bouncing off the water far below. Instead he was stunned to see a woman dressed all in white, just settling into the copilot seat beside him.

  He had a quick impression of fiery hair and intense blue eyes as he let loose with a string of curses. A stowaway? Some stalker hoping to make a name for herself? Hadn’t security checked out this plane before he boarded?

  His tone was pure ice. “All right. Who are you and what’s your game?”

  Her voice, soft, breathy, was little more than a whisper. “Don’t worry, Josh, I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

  “You won’t let . . . ?” He swore as turned to the camera. “Brady, as you can see on your monitor, there’s a stowaway here in my plane. A lunatic female. When you follow me down, I’ll leave it up to you to deal with this nutcase.”

  Josh’s head snapped toward the woman. “Lady, when my companions get through with you, you’ll wish you’d never been . . .”

  There was a series of beeps before a siren started blaring throughout the cabin. The instruments went crazy, as did the plane, which began spinning wildly out of control.

  “Mayday. Mayday.” Josh automatically called out the words while he struggled to maintain control of his craft.

  The seaplane continued spinning, and as Josh fought to remain focused, he realized that they were too far from shore for a soft landing. Instead, they were about to crash into the forest.

  He turned to the woman beside him. “Brace yourself. Make sure your seat belt is secure, and keep your head down.”

  He saw no fear in her eyes. In fact, the word that came to mind was serene, but he was too busy fighting the controls to risk looking at her again.

  Since Brady and his crew were right behind, Josh had no doubt they were witnessing his trouble. They could be down b
ehind him within minutes, ready to help. All he had to do was survive the crash.

  Adrenaline pumping, he braced himself for impact. Was this how his father had felt when his plane crashed?

  His father.

  He reached into his pocket and withdrew the tattered gloves, drawing them on. As always, the mere touch of them against his skin brought a sense of calm.

  His passenger reached over and took hold of his gloved hand. Along with the sense of peace, he felt a wave of compassion for this stranger. However foolish she might have been to hide aboard his plane, she didn’t deserve this fate.

  Too late for recriminations, he realized. Whatever would happen now was meant to happen.

  That was his last conscious thought as his plane slammed to the ground and burst into a ball of fire.

  Two

  Grace Marin stowed her gear on the scarred wooden table in a corner of the cabin before straightening to take a look around. Rustic was too kind a description. This cabin was downright primitive. Log walls, stone fireplace soaring to a loft above, which presumably would offer a place to bunk. The small galley kitchen didn’t even have a sink, which meant no running water.

  With a shrug she snatched up her camera and made her way outside. She’d stayed in worse places. Her work as a photojournalist for the World, an international pictorial magazine, had taken her to mud huts in Africa and tarpaper shacks in South America. She’d learned to survive on a few hours of sleep a night. As for food, her coworkers accused her of having a cast-iron stomach. She could probably eat worms if they were the only food available.

  Moving to the end of a long, wooden dock, she sat with her back to one of the piers, staring at the endless stretch of water, and tried to stay focused on the photos she intended to shoot. It wasn’t easy, especially since that scene with Richard was still on her mind.

  He’d been so angry when he’d learned that she’d accepted this assignment, proving, he said, that her career meant more to her than he did.