by Pamela Clare
A winter adventure? Where was he taking them?
On the table beside her, her cell phone rang.
Her pulse spiked. If she could reach it, if she could just open it ...
Webb reached inside his coat, probably grabbing for his gun. "Let it ring."
But Kat wasn't going to die without a fight, no matter how terrified she felt. The worst thing he could do was kill her, and he was going to do that anyway.
She lunged for her cell phone, grabbed it--then felt her body explode with pain. She couldn't help but scream, every nerve ending on fire. Her legs fell out from under her, her body dropping to the floor as if boneless, the cell phone slipping from her hand and sliding beneath the table.
And then the pain stopped.
Panting, her body shaking, she lay against the cabin floor, struggling to understand what had just happened.
"Want some more?"
She screamed as pain ripped through her again--and then stopped, leaving her feeling as if the room were spinning.
He'd shot her with a Taser. That had to be it.
Two booted feet walked toward her and kicked the climbing harness toward her face. "Do exactly what I tell you to do. It won't save your life, of course--I'm going to kill you either way--but you'll suffer a hell of a lot less if you do."
She felt him tug at her blouse and realized he was removing the gun's probes. She wanted to throw herself against his legs and knock him to the floor, but she still hadn't regained control of her body yet, her muscles caught in painful spasms.
"I'll tell you one more time--put some real clothes on and get into the harness. If you don't cooperate, I'll fry you again."
Slowly, Kat got to her hands and knees, then to her feet, Webb watching her every move. Hands shaking, her muscles strangely weak, she walked on unsteady legs to her suitcase, and took out a pair of jeans, her mind racing for a way out of this.
She couldn't call for help. Her laptop was closed and in sleep mode, her cell phone under the table. Whoever had called would call back and wonder why she didn't answer. But they wouldn't know something terrible had happened, so they wouldn't send help--at least not in time to help her.
And slowly the full horror of her situation became clear.
Unless and until Gabe woke up, she was on her own with a killer, and if she couldn't find a way to stop him, both she and Gabe would die.
She had to find the strength to fight Webb, no matter how much it hurt to get stunned. She had to slow him down somehow. She had to give Gabe time to recover. Webb might have the upper hand now, but he wouldn't have such an easy time of it once Gabe was on his feet again and he had to contend with both of them.
Sending a silent prayer skyward and fighting to subdue her fear, she stepped into her jeans, drew them up beneath her skirt, turning her back to Webb for modesty's sake--but also so that she could look around the room without him seeing.
What she needed was a weapon, something that would take Webb by surprise, something she could hide. Gabe's rifle stood next to the bed, but there was no chance she could get her hands on it. Her gaze moved over the room. Lantern. Comb. Gabe's ski hat. A half dozen little strips of paper.
Her throat constricted, those fantasies they'd lived together now swallowed in this nightmare. Oh, Gabe!
Cell phone charger. Coffee beans. Dirty coffee mugs and...
A paring knife.
It sat on the counter by the sink on what was the far side of the cutting board from Webb's point of view. Could he see it?
Deciding she had nothing to lose if Webb caught her--and her life and Gabe's to gain if he didn't--she slipped off her skirt and put on a pair of warm woolen socks. Then, heart thudding, she walked toward the sink. "I-I need a drink of water."
Stun gun still in hand, Webb frowned. "Hurry up. We're not on Indian time."
Kat rinsed one of the coffee mugs, filled it, then began to drink, letting her left hand come to rest on top of the knife, steeling herself against the searing pain that would likely follow. But nothing happened.
And then her moment came.
Webb glanced over his shoulder toward Gabe.
Kat quickly closed her fingers around the handle and snuck the knife into her front left jeans pocket. Then she set the mug down on the counter again, her pulse skipping with the thrill of having accomplished this small act of defiance. She hid it under a mask of fear. "C-can I have time to pray? Please?"
He sneered. "You'll be talking to your Great Spirit face to face soon enough. Say whatever you have to say then. Get that damned harness on."
CHILLED TO THE bone, Kat lay facedown in the snow, her lungs aching for breath, her left wrist broken, the pain almost unbearably sharp.
Gabe, please wake up!
"Get up! Get on your feet!" Webb shouted at her from the snowmobile, his face red with fury, Gabe lying, still unconscious, on the supply sled behind him.
"Please ... I just ... need to catch ... my breath." Sucking air into her lungs, she struggled against pain, exhaustion, and the awkwardness of snowshoes to stand. "You're going ... too fast! I'm not used to ... altitude ... or snowshoes!"
It was the truth. They were above timberline now, the air thin and bitter cold, the cabin she'd shared with Gabe swallowed by distance and evening shadows. Even if she'd been in a hurry to die, she wouldn't have been able to keep up.
As soon as Webb had gotten her into the harness--she hadn't been able to figure out the confusing arrangement of leg holes and straps on her own--he'd tied a rope through a strange steel device that hung from its waistband and dragged her outside, where he'd insisted she put on snowshoes. Next, he'd put a harness on Gabe with gloved hands and tied him into the rope, as well, the two of them separated by a thirty-foot length of orange-and-yellow rope. Then Webb had tied Gabe onto the supply sled together with his own backpack and skis, climbed onto the back of the snowmobile, and had driven it slowly westward. Kat found herself being hauled forward at a near run.
At first Kat had thought that Webb was using the rope and harnesses to prevent them from escaping, and she hadn't understood why he'd left her hands free. All she had to do was cut through the rope or unclip the harness. Then she'd realized he was trying not to leave any marks on her that would indicate foul play. Rope burns and fibers on her wrists would have done just that. Besides, he didn't need to bind her hands. One pull of the Taser's trigger, and she was rendered helpless.
Now, seeing where he was taking them, she guessed that the rope and the harnesses weren't just meant to restrain her and drag her along. They were also props. He was planning to throw her and Gabe off the cliff and make it seem like some kind of climbing accident.
Kat had seen this cliff from a distance and admired it. Eagles had soared above it. Gabe had skied down to her from the snowy slope hundreds of feet beneath it. And unless she could delay long enough for Gabe to come around, the two of them were going to die where he'd stood that wonderful afternoon, grinning to himself as he planned how he would show off for her.
She whispered another prayer, let the wind take it.
She'd done everything she could think of to slow Webb down except pull the knife--something she wouldn't do until she had a clear opportunity to use it. It was her only true weapon, and she couldn't squander it. So she'd unclipped the rope from her harness and run, only to be stunned and dragged back. She'd pretended to trip and fall more times than she could count. She'd kicked off her snowshoes. She'd even wrapped the rope around her left arm in an effort to pull Gabe off the sled.
That's how she'd broken her wrist. She'd jerked on the rope just as the snowmobile had surged forward, and the bone had snapped. She'd collapsed to the snow, nauseated and shaking from pain.
"I know what you're trying to do. You're stalling, hoping your boyfriend will wake up and rescue you. If I'd known you were going to be this goddamned much trouble, I'd have tranqued you, too!" Webb shouted.
Kat knew Webb couldn't do that now because the drug would still be in her
bloodstream when she died--just as it would apparently still be in Gabe's. A major glitch in Webb's plan.
And yet ...
Just a moment ago, she thought she'd seen Gabe move. She thought she'd seen his fists clench and his head bob, as if he were trying to raise it. And that had given her hope. If only she could hold out, if she could only be strong ...
It wasn't much farther. They had almost reached the top of the ridge. Then they would veer to the left and head uphill toward the top of the cliff. And one way or another, this nightmare would end.
Gabe, wake up!
Tears of pain and desperation pricking her eyes, she lost her balance and sank to the snow again. "You said you'd tell me.... why you're doing this. Can't I know why ... you want to kill me?"
"You're a smart girl." He turned off the snowmobile, climbed off, and trudged toward her. "How about you tell me?"
So exhausted that she found it hard to think, Kat made a guess. "You and Paul Martin were ... making money looting the burial site at Mesa Butte ... and Grandpa Red Crow found you stealing from the land. The two of you killed him. Did you try to make that ... look like an accident, too?"
"I tried to get all of you Indian people off the butte, but the old man just wouldn't cooperate. He came back to set up another sweat lodge ceremony and discovered what I was doing. He took a pot from me as evidence. I had to get rid of him." Webb grabbed her coat, jerked her to her feet. "I wish I'd remembered he had that damned pot in his pocket. That's what tipped you off, isn't it? That was my one mistake. Still, I have to give myself credit. For something I hadn't planned in advance, I handled it well."
Kat got the sense that he was proud of himself. "You forced him to drink alcohol, didn't you?"
Webb nodded. "I hit him over the head--not enough to kill him, just to knock him out. Then I carried him up the butte, coaxed some rotgut down his throat--and dropped him over the edge. It was easy."
"You tried to kill me, too." Kat felt a surge of loathing for the man who stood in front of her.
No, not a man. A monster in the skin of a man.
A true skinwalker.
She pushed harder, needing answers. "The death threats. The break-in at my house. The human bone that was mailed to my office. The shooting at Mesa Butte. The leaves in Gabe's furnace flue. You were behind all of that, weren't you?"
"I kept trying to scare you off the story, but you just didn't get the point. After you found the trenches, I knew it was only a matter of time before you uncovered the truth, so I had to get serious. But now I have a question for you. What do you know about Paul Martin?"
She cradled her left wrist with her right arm, breathing easier now, her nausea subsiding. "I know his brother-in-law used to own the land. I know he got the city to buy it and hid the fact that there are Indian burials there. Did you learn about the burials from him?"
Webb gave a snort, his breath rising in a mist. "I've known what was out there since before I became a ranger. At first I just picked stuff up off the ground--pots, arrowheads. It was good money. Then I had to dig. Bones, moccasins, beads--that was better money. Martin and his brother-in-law caught me trespassing once when the land was still theirs, but they didn't call the cops because they didn't want anyone to know that shit was there or they'd have never sold the land. Instead, they asked for a cut of whatever I took. When Martin talked the city into buying the land, I made a deal with him. He would let me take what I wanted, and I wouldn't give away what I knew about him."
Webb spoke of desecrating graves as if it were just a business, showing no respect for those whose bones rested in the earth, or his role as a ranger, or for life. He'd been witched--by money. During the workday he hid behind the face of man who cared for the land. When his uniform came off, he plundered it.
"So this is just about money?" She couldn't help the disgust that leaked into her voice. "That's disappointing."
"Taking artifacts was about money. I've got kids in college, and I like to wager. I have to come up with the money somehow. But killing you isn't about money. It's about saving my own ass. I'm not going to prison."
Kat hoped he'd step closer, her fingers itching to draw the knife. She kept her voice steady. "Was Officer Daniels in on that deal?"
"Daniels? Hell, no. Daniels is just so stupid and so hungry to get promoted that he does whatever Martin tells him to do--and thinks it's his own idea. Martin tells him people are complaining about Indians building illegal bonfires on Mesa Butte and hints that someone needs to act, and the next night, Daniels breaks up your little sweat lodge ceremony. Then Martin gives him a pat on the back. Good dog."
And Kat knew. "You put the file with my articles in his trunk, didn't you?"
But Webb ignored her question. He grabbed her left wrist and bent it back.
She screamed, her knees buckling, the pain so terrible she forgot all about the knife, her mind going blank in a rush of agony.
Webb leaned over her, pressed his grizzled face close to hers. "My turn to ask questions. Who else knows about Martin?"
She sobbed out the words, fighting to hold on, tears streaming down her face. "Everyone! Everyone knows! I wrote about it ... for tomorrow's paper!"
He seemed to study her, his eyes still hidden behind goggles. "You're lying."
"No!" she sobbed. "I'm not!"
He released her. "Fucking bitch! You'll pay for this."
Dizzy and panting, Kat sank to the ground, then choked out a laugh as the absurdity of his implied threat hit her. "What will you do? Kill me?"
He glared at her, then reached down and took her chin between his fingers. "Watch yourself, or I might find more interesting ways for you to die. Then again, you seem to enjoy pain."
Willing herself to stand, Kat watched Webb's back as he trudged back to the snowmobile. "It's falling apart, Ranger Webb. Your whole plan--it's crumbling. You wanted to make this look like an accident, but there's evidence of a struggle all over this mountainside. The drug is still in Gabe's system. You struck a deal with Mr. Martin, but he's been exposed. I doubt Martin will sacrifice himself to protect you. You'd be better off just leaving us here and making a run for Mexico."
Webb's back stiffened, but he ignored her. He straddled the snowmobile, started it, and Kat felt herself jerked forward once more.
TRAPPED IN HIS own private hell, Gabe drifted in and out, listening but unable to do a thing while Kat fought Webb with every bit of strength and courage she had, her screams tearing a hole in his chest.
I know what you're trying to do. You're stalling, hoping your boyfriend will wake up and rescue you.
He was trying. God knew he was trying.
Webb had hurt her. Gabe had gotten pieces of it--his threats, her agonized cries and whimpers. But he couldn't put the pieces together, too fucked up to focus.
More than a few times he'd thought he'd shot Webb or beat the shit out of him and freed Kat from this nightmare. But then he'd realized he was still dreaming--or hallucinating. And he'd find himself drifting again.
Still, the ketamine-induced haze was lifting. Little by little it was lifting, his mind growing clearer, his thoughts sharper.
He willed his eyes to open, got a view of darkened sky above him. He willed his eyes to open again, looked toward his feet, and saw Kat being pulled along behind them, barely able to stay upright, her face a mask of pain and fatigue.
I'm so sorry, honey. Hang in there. You're not alone.
KAT ALWAYS THOUGHT she'd die at home surrounded by the Four Sacred Mountains, children and grandchildren beside her, her last words carried into the sky by the wind. Now it seemed as if she would die here, on a mountain whose name she didn't know, no hataathlii to sing for her, the man she loved dead beside her in the snow.
She trudged along behind the sled, more exhausted than she could ever remember feeling, her thighs aching, her clothes wet from falling in the snow so many times, her body wracked with cold. She'd quit struggling a while back, realizing she'd need whatever strength she had lef
t at the end. No matter how tired she was, no matter what it cost her, she would fight him.
They were near the top of the cliff now, the wind so cold that it stole her breath.
Or maybe that was fear.
And without realizing it, she began to sing, tears trickling down her wind-burned cheeks. It was a corn-grinding song, something her grandmother had taught her when she was a very little girl pretending to grind corn while her grandmother sat stringing her loom or weaving one of her beautiful rugs. Even though Kat could barely hear herself over the drone of the snowmobile, the words came to her easily, the feel of Dine on her tongue soothing her, easing her fears.
Though she was in pain, exhausted, and freezing cold, she felt strangely alive. A frigid wind caught her hair, its icy breath cleansing, the scents of snow and pine fresh and invigorating. The moon rose over the horizon making the snow sparkle, the landscape coldly serene. Overhead, stars glowed like little campfires, and she found herself remembering the dream she'd had about Grandpa Red Crow.
You must do what I asked you to do. This will be the fight of your life. Be strong, Kimimila.
And then it struck her. Maybe it hadn't been a dream after all. Maybe she'd been so close to death that some part of her had actually spoken with him. Maybe he could see her now and knew that she was still fighting.
I haven't given up, Grandpa. I won't give up.
She kept singing, her words growing stronger as they moved toward the highest point above the cliff. Slowly and carefully, she drew the knife from her pocket, holding it tight in her right hand.
CHAPTER 30
GABE FELT THE snowmobile stop, heard Webb cut the engine, the world silent apart from the melancholy sound of Kat's singing and the beating of his own heart. He felt the sled rock as Webb climbed off the snowmobile, heard the crunch of Webb's boots in the snow. He willed himself to stay limp, to wait just a few more seconds.
Then Webb spoke, clearly facing away from the sled. "Here's as good as any place else, I guess. It's three to four hundred feet to the ground here. I don't imagine it'll hurt as much as what you've put yourself through today. Be grateful for that at least. I could've done anything to you I felt like doing."
