Tough Enough

by Jayne Ann Krentz

Tears stung her eyes. “How could he get mixed up in poaching, especially with someone like Cal?”

  J.D. sighed. “I’ve asked myself that same question.”

  She squeezed his hand back. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. “Thank you,” she said, letting her gaze settle on his handsome face. “For being here.”

  He grinned. “My pleasure.”

  The white world outside glistened as the new day continued to break around them. She leaned against J.D.’s strong shoulder and closed her eyes. Pete. His face came to her, so clearly she almost reached out to him. But it wasn’t the face she’d seen in the middle of the trail in front of the snowmobile. It was the face of her friend—Pete Williams. Smiling at her. Promising to help her forget about J.D. Telling her to trust him. How could she have been so wrong about him? She opened her eyes. If they gave the death sentence for deception, Pete Williams would get the chair.

  The highway remained empty, just a stretch of snow-packed pavement splashed in daylight. J.D. drove up the mountainside to Roland Marsh’s cabin. It sat pushed back into the mountain, the front windows looking out over the still-frozen dam arm of Hebgen Lake. The drapes were closed, everything quiet, but smoke was curling out of the chimney. Denver felt a chill she couldn’t explain. Why hadn’t Pete or Cal tried to stop them? Because without the photographs, they had no proof. She was certain that Pete and Cal would move the caches of antlers as quickly as possible. It would be her word and J.D.’s against theirs.

  As they walked up to the house, Denver could tell that J.D.’s ankle hurt him. Her heart wrenched watching him. This had to end. She pulled his arm over her shoulders and tried to take some of his weight.

  As they stumbled up the not-yet-shoveled steps to the front door, Denver had the feeling that they were being watched again. Was she losing her mind or had they been followed? J.D. tapped at the door. If Pete had somehow followed them here, why didn’t he make his move now? What was he waiting for? She pushed her hands deeper in her coat pocket; her fingers touched something slick and cold. A roll of exposed film. Then she remembered. She’d put a completed roll of film she’d taken of the poachers in her pocket. Pete hadn’t stolen all the film after all.

  “J.D., I forgot this last roll—”

  Just then the porch light flashed on and the door opened.

  Ranger Roland Marsh tugged at his faded blue bathrobe and squinted at the bright light. Slim, with graying short hair and a cropped silvery mustache, Marsh looked to be in his late fifties. Sleepy blue eyes blinked from behind angular wire-rimmed glasses. “Yes?”

  “We’re sorry to bother you this early,” J.D. said, glancing over his shoulder at the highway below.

  Marsh blinked again, the last of the slumber leaving his eyes. “Please, come in,” he said, stepping aside. He smiled as he motioned for them to sit down. “J. D. Garrison. My wife’s not going to believe this. She’s quite a fan of yours. She’ll never forgive herself for not being here.”

  J.D. sat down on the edge of the couch. Denver joined him.

  “And Denver McCallahan.” Marsh beamed at her. “This is an unexpected surprise.”

  “I didn’t think you’d remember me,” Denver said. A year ago, she’d done some photography for a park-service brochure.

  He took a chair across from them. “I was so sorry to hear about your uncle. A terrible loss.”

  Denver clung to the couch with a feeling of relief soaking in. He knew Max. That could explain his name being in Max’s wallet. Solid ground. Finally they had someone who would help them.

  “Now, what can I do for the two of you?” Marsh asked, still smiling as if he expected their visit to be a social one.

  “We’ve stumbled across a poaching ring,” J.D. said.

  Marsh frowned.

  “We followed two horn hunters into Yellowstone Park at Fir Ridge,” Denver added.

  “Horn hunters?”

  “They’re part of what we suspect is a very large poaching ring,” J.D. said.

  Marsh shook his head. “I’ve never heard of a horn operation on this side of the park. Gardiner, yes, with all the elk that winter-range in that area, but not West Yellowstone. You’re sure about this?”

  “I was hoping you knew about this poaching ring,” Denver said, near tears. “I was hoping Max—”

  “We think Max found out about the poachers,” J.D. finished for her. “We thought he might be working with you because your name and number were in his wallet.”

  Marsh shook his gray head, his brows furrowed. “This is the first I’ve ever heard of such a thing. I’ve seen residents this time of year picking up horn along the park boundary, but—”

  “These are huge caches of antlers in the park,” Denver explained, giving him the location. “We saw one of the poachers shoot a bear. Unfortunately, the poachers saw us, too.”

  “They tried to kill us,” J.D. added.

  Marsh stared at him. “You can’t be serious.”

  “They tried to keep us from getting out of the mountains with the information,” Denver assured him.

  “I’m sorry if I sound skeptical,” Marsh said quickly, “but with the low fines poachers get if they’re caught … I mean, why would they try to … kill you?” He looked shocked. “I can’t believe this.”

  J.D. took Denver’s hand. His fingers moved slowly, reassuringly over her palm. She concentrated on his touch.

  “We have proof,” Denver said, reaching into her pocket with her free hand.

  “Proof?” Marsh asked.

  “Photos of the antler caches, the horn hunters and one of them standing over the bear he shot,” she said, and handed him the roll of film.

  He stared down at it for a moment, then pushed himself up from his chair and started for the kitchen. On his way he dropped the film into his robe pocket. “Let me get us some hot coffee or tea.”

  Denver pulled her hand free of J.D.’s and followed the ranger. “I’m sure they’ll try to move the antlers as quickly as possible.”

  Marsh stopped in the kitchen doorway so abruptly she almost collided with him. “As you have the men on film, does that mean you also recognized them?”

  Denver swallowed. She didn’t want to tell him about Pete but she knew she had to. “As you’ll see in the photographs—” Through the kitchen door, she spotted something that stopped her heart in midbeat and silenced her tongue. Then she found her voice again. “The storm blew in and the visibility wasn’t great. Then they saw us.”

  Denver turned to find J.D. staring at her in puzzlement. She fought the tears that burned her eyes, feeling more weak and tired than she’d ever been in her life.

  “Of course, the storm,” Marsh said. “So we might not have a positive ID of the men on this film?” He studied her with an intensity that made her heart pound with fear; he had to know she was lying. Would he try to keep them from leaving? “You must be exhausted,” he said as he shifted in the doorway. “You could stay here if you like.”

  “No, thank you. I want to go back to my place at the lake and wait there,” she said, feeling like a mechanical doll as she moved toward J.D. He got up and limped to her side, his arms encircling her with what should have given her a feeling of safety. Her eyes felt full of sand; her muscles ached. She wondered if she’d ever feel safe again. “You’ll call when you’ve found the antlers?” she asked.

  Marsh nodded, looking relieved. “I’ll be in touch with you by this afternoon.”

  “Thank you so much for your help, Mr. Marsh,” J.D. said as they made their way to the door. Denver reached for the doorknob.

  “Just a moment,” Marsh said behind them. Denver stopped, her heart pounding. She turned, afraid of what she’d find. Marsh was holding out a scratch pad and a pen. “Would you mind giving me your autograph for my wife?”

  J.D. took the pad and pen. “What’s your wife’s name?”

  “Annabelle.” Denver watched J.D. scribble on the pad. He handed it to Marsh, who read it and smiled. “You two be
careful,” he said as they left. “And don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.”

  “I’m sure you will,” Denver said as J.D. took her arm. They walked quickly toward the pickup, J.D. limping at her side.

  “What in the world was that all about?” he demanded the moment they were out of earshot.

  “Just keep walking. The sooner we get out of here, the better. If we get out of here.”

  J.D. shot her a look of surprise. “Were we followed?”

  “No.” They reached the pickup and climbed in. “That’s just it. We weren’t followed.” She tried to laugh but it came out a sob.

  J.D. looked at her as if she’d gone mad as he started the pickup and headed down the mountain.

  “We walked right into a trap.” She leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes, fighting fresh tears of pain and frustration. “Pete’s hat. I saw it on the counter in Marsh’s kitchen.” She opened her eyes. “Pete was there.”

  J.D. stared at her. “How could he have known where we were going? How could Pete have beaten us there?”

  “Marsh’s lake place was the closest, and he is the district ranger.”

  J.D. glanced in the rearview mirror, then at the highway ahead. “They’ll be watching us. If we turn toward Ennis, they’ll know we’re double-crossing them. We have to head back toward town to make it look as if we’re going to the lake cabin.”

  “But at the Duck Creek Y, we’ll go north to Bozeman,” Denver said, sitting up straighter. “We’ll go to Bozeman and then …” She looked over at J.D. “Then what?”

  He put his arm around her and pulled her closer. “It looks like we’re on our own, Sunshine.”

  “J.D.,” Denver said thoughtfully, “How did Pete find us at the cabin on Duck Creek? And beat us to Marsh’s? Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  He swore. “A tracking device. They’ve got us wired.”

  “Not us,” Denver said, looking down at her wrist and the watch Pete had given her the day after Max’s death.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The moment Pete left Marsh’s, he turned on the tracking unit. He held his breath as he watched the monitor. The last thing he’d expected Denver to do was go to her cabin and stay out of trouble. But the steady beep verified that J.D. and Denver were on their way toward West Yellowstone and the Rainbow Point turnoff to the lake.

  He smiled and relaxed a little. Maybe everything would work out after all. He doubted they’d cause any more trouble for a while. And right now, he had more urgent worries. Such as saving his own neck. Midnight hadn’t told him where they’d be loading the last of the shed horn for the shipment. Pete hoped this oversight wasn’t personal, that Midnight just mistrusted everyone. But it made him worry. He didn’t like working for a man he’d never met; it would be too easy for Midnight to double-cross him.

  DENNY WOKE CRYING.

  “It was just a dream,” J.D. said, pulling over to the side of the road and taking her in his arms. “Just a bad dream.”

  She snuggled against him. “It was so real.”

  “Dreams are like that sometimes.” He thought of his own nightmares in strange motel rooms in the wee hours of the morning. They were more real than life. And because of that, much more frightening.

  She sat up and looked around as if she didn’t recognize the countryside. They were just coming out the Gallatin Canyon. The early-morning sun hung over the Bridger Mountains, glazing the new snowfall in blinding brightness.

  They’d flagged down a bread truck at Duck Creek Y on its way into West Yellowstone. Denver knew the driver and asked him to take the watch to the sheriff’s office after he’d made his delivery rounds. If he thought the request strange, since he had to make a large loop through the lake area before going into town, he didn’t say anything. J.D. had then headed the pickup for Bozeman, and Denver had fallen into an exhausted sleep.

  “Was the dream about your father and mother again?” he asked.

  She nodded. “But this time, the past and present were all mixed up. You were there, and Maggie.” She shook her head. “And Cal Dalton. Like I said, it was all mixed up.”

  He reached over to push a wisp of hair back from her cheek and kissed the spot. She seemed to avoid his gaze.

  “You said you were in this for the long haul.”

  “I am,” he assured her, taking her hand.

  “Then … I think it’s time I find out about this dream.” She searched his face. “I was thinking I might try hypnosis like you suggested. There is something in that dream that keeps bothering me and has ever since Max’s murder. The bank robber was wearing a ski mask but there is something about him, something I just can’t put my finger on. I keep thinking if I could just see it a little more clearly …” She glanced toward the foothills glowing in the sun. “I keep seeing something silver spinning in the man’s hands.” She shook her head and smiled at him. “I know it doesn’t make any sense. I just feel the answers are in that dream. But I promised Max I’d leave it alone, that I’d never try to remember.”

  “Sometimes there are good reasons to break a promise,” he said, hoping that was true as he turned his attention to the highway ahead. “What do you say to a hot bath, some new clothes. And breakfast first?”

  She nodded. “I want to call Maggie, too. You don’t think she went to Missoula after we warned her not to, do you?”

  “Are you asking if she’s as stubborn as you and Max?”

  She elbowed him gently in the ribs.

  “And don’t forget Cline. He’s probably gotten that hitchhiker to confess by now,” J.D. said.

  This time she elbowed him a little harder.

  AFTER A LARGE BREAKFAST, Denver used the phone at a gas station on the east end of Bozeman. When Maggie didn’t answer at the Missoula number or at her home in West, Denver called Taylor at the Three Bears.

  “Maggie?” Taylor said, sounding a little surprised. “I guess she hasn’t come back from Missoula.”

  Denver shot J.D. a look. So she’d gone to check out Pete’s alibi on her own. Denver swore under her breath. Maggie had probably picked up that stubbornness from all those years around Max.

  “I think she just needed to get away for a few days,” Taylor said, confirming her suspicions that Maggie hadn’t even told him what she was up to. “I’ll tell her you called when I see her.”

  When he saw her. “So you’re staying around for a while?” she asked.

  He chuckled softly. “It looks like it. I was thinking I might buy a business here.”

  Denver couldn’t help smiling. She’d resented his attentiveness to Maggie at first, but only because she felt as if he was cutting in on Max. But Max was gone. And Maggie was alone. She supposed if Taylor wanted to settle in West, it would be all right.

  “I’m going to be out of town for a few days myself,” she told him. “I’ll catch Maggie when she gets back.”

  Then she dialed Cline’s number. The dispatcher said he wouldn’t be back until later in the day.

  PETE STARED AT the tracking monitor for a few moments, then at the sheriff’s office, and swore. Denver had done it. Somehow she’d realized the tracking device was in the watch he’d given her. He swore again. She’d suspected him of being a liar and a murderer, and now she knew just how low he’d go.

  The two-way radio squawked and Cal’s voice filled the pickup’s cab. “Come in, Cowboy.”

  Pete could tell by the tone of Cal’s voice that he’d told Midnight about what had happened and Midnight wasn’t pleased. He picked up the headset. “What do you want?”

  Static. “Somebody wants to talk to you. Now.”

  Great, Pete thought. And what was he going to say when Midnight asked him, “Where is Denver McCallahan?”

  Good question. He wished to hell he had the answer.

  J.D. LEFT DENVER SLEEPING on the queen-size bed that took up most of the motel room. They’d both spied the bed the moment they walked into the room. He’d taken one look at her and knew she w
anted him as badly as he did her. He’d waited until she fell asleep before he’d gotten up and gone into the bathroom to shave off his beard. For a long time, he stood in front of the mirror staring at himself, wondering how long he’d been hiding beneath the beard.

  “Oh, J.D.,” Denver cried when he came back into the bedroom. She jumped up to take his face in her hands. She studied him for a long moment, her eyes brimming with tears, and then she kissed him. “I’d forgotten what a wonderful face you have.”

  They made love again in the big, soft bed, then reluctantly got dressed in their new clothes for the appointment with the psychologist they’d found in the yellow pages. The doctor specialized in hypnotherapy.

  Trembling, Denver leaned against the wall as they took the elevator up to his office on the third floor of the old Bozeman Hotel building. The other night when the man in her cabin had tried to choke her, she’d known fear, but she’d never experienced sheer terror. J.D. gave her hand a reassuring squeeze as they entered Dr. Richard Donnley’s office. “I’m here for you,” he said. She smiled in answer, hoping that would always be the case.

  The doctor was a tall, thin man with kind eyes and a soft voice. His office was much like him, with a soft and peaceful feeling. Denver sank into a comfortable, overstuffed love seat. J.D. sat beside her, holding her hand.

  “It’s true that dreams can be a way for the subconscious to communicate with us,” Dr. Donnley said carefully after Denver explained about the nightmares.

  “Does that mean that under hypnosis I might be able to remember more?” she asked.

  “Sometimes you can access a memory through hypnosis,” he agreed. “But the whole area of memory retrieval is very controversial.”

  “Controversial?” J.D. asked.

  “It’s rare that you get a pure memory,” the doctor explained, steepling his fingers against his chin. “It will only be your perception of what happened.”

  “Does that mean what I recall under hypnosis won’t be real?” she asked in surprise.

  “It will be the way you remember that day, which may not be exactly the way it was,” he replied.