by Cassie Miles
Emily eased up beside her and whispered, “Sometimes, it’s nice to let somebody else carry the load.”
The symbolism wasn’t wasted on Sarah. “I’m not used to having help.”
“Accept it and smile,” Emily advised. “There’s nothing wrong with being treated like a lady.”
“As long as he knows who’s boss.” She stepped back and started issuing orders. “You and Jeremy stay here and wait for Kovak. Blake, follow me.”
The space behind the waterfall was a miniature cave that was open across the front. The path was about twenty feet long, and the ceiling was only six feet tall at the highest point. Blake had to duck to avoid hitting his head. With the additional bulk of the backpack, he barely fit inside. He didn’t complain.
And she didn’t point out that it would have been easier for her to carry the pack. Emily was right. Sarah didn’t have to do everything by herself.
Inside the cave, the air was cool, quiet and mysterious. She’d always loved this secret hideaway. In the warm days of summer, rainbows danced in the glittering water. In winter, the falls formed a jagged, icy curtain.
She picked her way carefully across the frozen granite floor. “Watch your step.”
“It’s beautiful in here.”
She turned to face him. Though it was urgent for them to reach the injured man, she wanted to make a memory of her and Blake in a place that was special to her. An odd blue-tinted light filtered through the ice and shone on his high cheekbones and sharp jawline. She blinked, taking a mental snapshot of this moment. Softly, she confided, “I used to come here when I was a kid and hide from the rest of the world.”
“When you got in trouble with your parents,” he said.
“That wasn’t the reason. I don’t run away from trouble. If I’ve done something wrong, I’ll stand up and take my punishment.”
“Why did you need to hide?”
Talking about herself wasn’t Sarah’s favorite thing. She’d never gone to a therapist, and she kept a distance between herself and most other people. Sharing made her vulnerable. “There isn’t time right now for me to explain.”
His blue-eyed gaze locked with hers. “You can tell me anything, Sarah.”
“Maybe I will, but not right now.”
She emerged on the other side. The path clung to the side of the steep, rocky cliff. A few yards away, they could see the place where the intruder had stumbled over a protruding, slanted rock at the edge.
“Looks like he plummeted straight down,” she said. “That scraggly pine tree broke his fall, but he didn’t stop there. He bounced off the rocks the rest of the way down.”
“There was blood on his head,” he said, “but he was conscious when he hit the bottom.”
“He could still have a concussion,” she said. “We need to hurry.”
Moving quickly but cautiously, she followed the narrow path on the cliff around a fat, jutting boulder. Someday, she hoped to improve this path enough for her guests to explore this area. For now, she kept it blocked off with warning signs.
On the other side of the boulder, the path widened and the descent was more gradual. A thicket of pine trees marked the beginning of the forest. She stepped off the path and went into the trees, clinging to branches to keep from slipping. Though the waterfall was to the west, she went in the opposite direction where the land was more level.
At the edge of a four-foot drop, Blake joined her. “How much farther?”
“There’s the creek.” She pointed. “We follow that, and we’ll be at the waterfall in a couple of minutes.”
“Is there a place around here where he could have parked a snowmobile?”
“Anywhere,” she said. “The snow is kind of light under the trees in the forest, but you don’t need tons of snow to use one of those nasty things.”
“Not a fan of snowmobiling?”
“They’re too loud. They scare the animals. And they tear up the landscape.” She paused. “But it’s kind of fun to ride really fast.”
They slipped over the drop and covered the ground quickly, walking side by side near the creek. Blake didn’t seem to have any difficulty keeping up with her pace. “The elevation doesn’t bother you,” she said.
“I’m acclimated,” he said. “Much of Afghanistan is mountains.”
The terrain in that foreign land on the other side of the globe hadn’t occurred to her. She’d never left the United States, hadn’t spent much time away from her native Colorado. Afghanistan sounded unbelievably exotic. His life was very different from hers. “Are you going to miss the travel after you retire?”
“I can still travel,” he said, “and the best part is being able to visit places I want to see. The army didn’t give me a choice.”
“Where do you want to go?”
“Australia,” he said without hesitation. “I’ve never been there.”
“I’d like to go to Naples and see the ruins at Mount Vesuvius.” She’d read a book about the eruption of the ancient volcano and the excavation at Pompeii. “After that, I’d tour the Mediterranean, especially the Greek islands.”
“Have you done much traveling?”
“It’s hard to get away from the B and B.”
But she had always dreamed about faraway lands. When she was a kid hiding inside her cave behind the waterfall, she fantasized about opening her eyes and seeing a whole different world. And she would be different, too. No more practical, down-to-earth Sarah. She would be sophisticated and smart, like an artist in Paris or an archaeologist in the tombs of ancient Egypt or an explorer on the Amazon. Childish dreams, she’d never shared them with anyone.
As they came around the last curve in the creek, she saw the fallen man in gray-and-white camouflage fatigues and hurried toward him. He lay on his side with his arms pulled up against his chest. His right foot twisted at an impossible angle, probably due to a broken ankle. The red smears of blood from a head wound contrasted his ashen complexion. His lips were blue.
Before she reached him, Blake stopped her. “Let me do a body check for hidden weapons.”
He shrugged off the backpack on the rocks beside the barely conscious man and knelt beside him. In a thorough pat-down, Blake found the man’s wallet and a hunting knife in a belt sheath. Not that the injured man appeared to be capable of attacking them.
She glanced toward the place where he’d fallen and saw a flash of metallic blue. Crossing the rocks, she picked up a cell phone and held it so Blake could see. “Do you think this is his?”
“Be careful with that.” His tone was sharp. “Don’t press any numbers.”
“What’s the big deal?”
“That’s the detonator for the bomb.”
Not what she wanted to hear. Handling the metallic phone as carefully as an egg with a cracked shell, she tiptoed across the rocks toward him. “Most of a phone number is already on the screen.”
“If the last numbers are punched, I expect the bomb to blow.”
“Where is it?”
“I’m not sure.” Standing, he took the phone from her, turned off the power and stashed it in the pocket of his leather bomber jacket. He was casual as though he handled bombs on a regular basis, which he probably did.
But she didn’t. A shudder went through her. She tried to tell herself there was nothing to fear. Even if the bomb exploded, the fire wouldn’t spread in this damp air. Controlled explosive charges were common in the mountains. The ski patrols used them to control avalanche danger and to clear landslides.
“Do you think the bomb is nearby?”
“I threw the pack from the high point on the path. It’s probably over that way.” He pointed over his shoulder. “Are you going to help me with this guy or what?”
“Of course, I am.”
Being with Blake had
triggered her imagination, and she couldn’t afford the luxury of dreaming. She needed practical focus. In the backpack, she found a thermal blanket that was a little more heavy-duty than most of those thin Mylar sheets. Keeping him warm was the first step in treating shock. When she tucked the silver blanket around him, he winced and moaned.
“I’d like to get the blanket under him,” she said, “but I don’t think we should move him.”
Blake squatted on the opposite side of the injured man. He opened the black leather wallet and flipped to the ID. “The driver’s license says his name is Norman Franks, and he’s from Denver.”
She took a water bottle from her backpack and twisted off the cap. “Norman,” she said loudly. “Norman, I want you to take a drink.”
His eyelids pinched but there was no other reaction to his name. His breathing was quick and shallow. Knowing that dehydration was an issue, she held the bottle to his mouth and tilted his head so he wouldn’t choke. He barely managed a sip.
Blake leaned over him. “Too bad you can’t talk to me, Norman. I’ve got questions.”
“You’ll have to wait,” she said.
Blake didn’t give up. “Norman, who are you working for? Give me a name.”
“Stop it. He can’t talk.”
“I guess not.” Blake moved down the body to inspect Norman’s ankle. “There’s a lot of swelling. I should get his shoe off.”
“There are supplies in my pack for splinting.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
It made sense that Blake would know how to handle emergency procedures; he was a soldier who had gone to the aid of those injured in battle. While she cleaned the head wound, he used bandages and an inflatable splint to immobilize the injured ankle so Norman could be transported when the rescue team got here.
After she bandaged the bloody gash on his forehead, she made another attempt with the water bottle.
Norman grabbed her arm. His eyes flashed open. His mouth gaped. He was trying to speak.
“What is it?” she asked. “What do you want to tell me?”
Blake was close beside her. “Talk to us, Norman.”
His fingers were like claws digging through her parka. His body convulsed. He shivered from head to toe. Then his eyes slammed shut and he released his grasp.
He lay very still, barely breathing.
Chapter Twelve
If there had been a way to keep score, Blake would have said that his team was winning. Kovak and the mountain rescue team had evacuated Norman Franks, aka the kidnapper, aka the intruder, to the hospital in Aspen. His injuries had been treated. He was under guard and still unresponsive. There was no indication that he had been working with an active partner. The arrest status of his dupes, Farley and his friends, hadn’t changed. And there hadn’t been any other threats.
On the minus side, a search team from the sheriff’s department failed to find the bomb. Their theory was that when Blake threw it, the pack had gotten hung up in high tree branches. When the weather cleared, they’d come back with a chopper to search from overhead.
At two o’clock in the afternoon, a light snow was beginning to dribble down from cloudy skies. The forecast for tomorrow was eight to twelve inches. The morning after that was the wedding ceremony, and then he’d be leaving on Sunday. Not sure how he felt about that.
Blake stood on the landing at the top of the staircase in the B and B and rested his elbows on the rail as he looked down at the front entrance. Senator Hank Layton and his wife, Rebecca, were expected to arrive at any minute.
He quietly watched as Sarah steamed across the entryway and caught up to Alvardo, who was on his way out of the front room. She waved her mobile phone, connected with the landline, at him. Her angry voice carried.
“I’ve got a bone to pick, Alvardo.”
He slowly turned to face her. His jaw was tight. His earlier appreciation of her charms was no longer evident. “What’s your problem?”
“You called the florist and told them they weren’t allowed to enter. Really? Do you really think that somebody who works for a shop named Roses and Ribbons is dangerous?”
“I ran a background check,” Alvardo said. “Two employees have criminal records. They were arrested for causing a public disturbance four years ago.”
“So what?” Sarah planted one fist on her hip and gestured with the phone. Though Blake couldn’t see her face, he knew she’d be glaring, shooting lightning bolts from her dark eyes. “Emily has a worse criminal record than that, and she’s the most innocent person I’ve ever known.”
“I’m doing as I was ordered. Nobody with a record gets access to the house.”
“Then, you’re going to meet the florist’s truck at the kitchen door and unload all the flowers yourself. I’ll inform you when they arrive.”
She turned on her heel and stalked down the hall toward the kitchen. Alvardo cursed under his breath at her retreating form.
Blake almost laughed out loud. As far as he was concerned, Alvardo had gotten the dressing-down that he deserved because he hadn’t followed orders precisely. Blake had said to inform him before taking action, and he would have given a pass to the Roses and Ribbons crew. Alvardo’s obsessive-compulsive behavior was annoying. Still, it was better for him to be too careful instead of too lax.
The honking of a car horn from the front brought Emily running from the kitchen. She unlocked the front door and dashed onto the porch. Her shouts of delight rang through the house as she dragged a tall, thin man with graying hair inside and hugged her mother—a slender, graceful woman in a white ski jacket with a fake fur collar. When Jeremy joined them, there were hugs and kisses all around. Everybody talked. Everybody laughed.
The touchy-feely reunion of the Layton family contrasted the air of formality when the general had made his entrance. If it was true that opposites attracted, these two families would be bonded in no time. Blake doubted that would happen.
He noticed Sarah standing at the edge of the excitement. She wore her professional, innkeeper smile, welcoming her guests and assuring them that they’d be well cared for. She was good at masking her deeper emotions under a layer of efficiency and practicality, but he’d seen a different side to her. In the cave behind the waterfall, she had relaxed her guard. Last night when they’d kissed, he had felt her passion.
She glanced up and saw him on the landing. Her lips curved in a smile that seemed to be meant only for him. He might have been reading too much into her expression, but he imagined that she was thinking of their kiss. Holding her gaze, he came down the staircase and was immediately engulfed in a whirlpool of Layton family goodwill with introductions and hugs, even from the senator. Sarah had also been sucked into the happy vortex.
A young blond man with puppy-dog eyes came through the open door, carrying two large suitcases. “Hate to interrupt,” he said, “but there are six more of these to unload.”
“Eight suitcases?” Emily rolled her eyes. “Mom, you’re only going to be here for three days.”
“Half of it is yours,” Rebecca Layton said. “I have your bridal gown. And a perfect dress for you, Sarah. And I brought supplies for a spa day tomorrow.”
Under her breath, Sarah said, “Please don’t tell me you packed your own masseuse.”
“Lotions, potions and oils,” Rebecca said. “We’re going to smell like a garden.”
Blake introduced himself to the blond man—the senator’s speechwriter, whose name was Horatio Harrison Waverly-Smythe III. He asked to be called Skip.
Blake waved him toward the door. “Come on, Skip. Let’s get that van unloaded.”
“Their rooms are upstairs in the left wing,” Sarah said. “I’ll show you when you come back in.”
“Where’s Jeremy’s father?” the senator asked. “I’ve been looking forward to
meeting him.”
The happy merry-go-round stalled. The senator versus general confrontation wasn’t anybody’s idea of a good time. In the back of their collective minds, they’d all been dreading it. The time was almost here.
Emily giggled and laced her arm through her father’s. “Daddy, I want you to come upstairs with me first. Let me show you around. You’ve never been here.”
Her mother backed her up. “That’s right, Hank. You weren’t able to come with me when I visited Bentley’s B and B. You’re going to love the history. Teddy Roosevelt slept here. Isn’t he one of your favorite presidents?”
“I like Teddy.”
“Lots of celebrities have stayed here,” Emily said. “Sarah has a wall of photos in her office. Clark Gable and Marlene Deitrich and Gregory Peck.”
“Oh, I’d like to see those pictures.”
“First, we go upstairs,” Rebecca said. “Let’s unpack.”
The senator allowed himself to be dragged up the staircase.
Crisis averted.
Outside in the light snow, Blake hoisted a trunk-size suitcase from the airport van and glanced at Jeremy. “What do you think is going to happen when they meet?”
“They’re civilized men,” Jeremy said tentatively. “They have their differences, but they won’t lose control. They’ll probably just stare at each other in icy silence.”
“You think?” Blake went up the steps to the porch. “I’m betting on a slap fight.”
“I’ll take that bet,” Skip said as he met them at the door. “Senator Layton has been working out. Fifty bucks says they never get past the handshake that turns into a test of who can squeeze harder.”
Inside the house, Sarah heard just enough to guess what was going on. In a whisper, she said, “I can’t believe it. Are you betting on what happens when they meet?”
Blake nodded. “What do you think—icy silence, slap fight or aggressive handshake?”
“None of the above,” she said. “The general has been drinking since lunch. He’s going to throw his single malt whiskey in the senator’s face.”
