Mystique

by Charlotte Douglas

  After a long, arduous climb, they finally crested the ridge to the path that led back to the resort. Trish stopped to draw breath. Bent over with her palms flat against her thighs, she stared at her feet to avoid the view that dropped away in every direction. She was certain, if she had the nerve to peek, she could see all the way to South Carolina and Georgia in the morning’s clear, crisp air.

  She shifted her gaze from the ground to O’Neill. The lines of his face were as sharp and chiseled as the boulders that lined the trail. A strong updraft ruffled his dark hair and he squinted in the blinding sunlight until she couldn’t see his eyes. Nor could she read his face, set in its harsh, inscrutable expression. Even in the glare of day, he appeared withdrawn, mysterious, dangerous. The approachable man who had laughed and joked with her at Stevens’s hideaway, now replaced by this silent sentinel, seemed as unreal as the spirit of the Cherokee warrior.

  Considering her options, she wondered if she should forget the charade they’d planned and report directly to Captain Metcalf when she returned to Endless Sky. O’Neill had already told the sheriff’s officer the truth about her identity and the attack on her sister. She’d leave the mess to Metcalf to sort out and discover Deb’s attacker. Then she’d check out of the resort and join her sister at the hospital in Asheville.

  A sharp crack broke the stillness of the morning air, followed almost instantly by the impact of a projectile against a rock beside her. Before Trish could react or register what had happened, O’Neill launched himself at her, knocked her to the ground and covered her with his body.

  The fall forced the air from her lungs. She gasped for breath to question what the hell was happening, but another crack sounded and kicked up dust beside her head.

  Someone was shooting at them.

  O’Neill wrapped his arms around her and rolled, taking her with him toward the edge of the ridge. A scream rose in her throat. He was forcing her off the ridge, over the mountainside.

  She was going to die.

  A third shot sounded, but, rolling through the scrubby underbrush and mud created by melted snow, Trish couldn’t tell where the bullet landed. She had two alternatives—to scramble back to the ridgetop and be shot, or continue careening down the slope, which seemed to drop off into nowhere. She tried to grab at the nearby bushes to stop her deadly slide, but O’Neill had her arms pinned to her sides. They slithered rapidly downward through mud and wet underbrush on the south side of the slope. Trish held her breath, expecting any moment to launch into thin air for a fatal fall of thousands of feet to the forest far below.

  Certain she was going to die, she was flooded with regrets, sorrow at the living that she’d miss, the husband she’d never love, the children she’d never nurture, Deb left with no family—

  She came to a jolting halt, still gripped in O’Neill’s embrace.

  “Close your eyes.” His voice was urgent, his ragged breath warm against her ear. “And do what I tell you.”

  She needed no coercion to follow his advice. Ecstatic not to be flying to her death, she scrunched her eyes shut against the dizzying panorama.

  “Just stay still,” he whispered. “Let whoever was shooting think we went over the side.”

  “We did go over the side. And why are you whispering?”

  “Sounds carry in the mountains. I don’t want anyone to hear us.”

  “Are you okay? Were you hit?”

  “I’m fine. Just stay quiet.”

  With the muddy, rock-strewn ground at her back and O’Neill’s hard warm body covering her, Trish kept her eyes shut and whispered back. “Maybe it’s a hunter who’s mistaken us for bears.”

  She felt him shake his head. “We were profiled against the sky. A person would have to be blind to think we were bears. And a blind person couldn’t shoot that well.”

  “But he missed us.”

  “Probably only because the updraft from this side of the ridge ruined his shots. But he came close enough.”

  A tremor shook her. “So those shots were meant for us?”

  “Either you or me.”

  “Or both.” She couldn’t stop shivering.

  O’Neill pulled her closer, encircling her with his warmth. “We’ll be okay. But climbing back to the ridgetop will be tough. The terrain’s steep.”

  “What if the shooter’s still out there?”

  “That’s why we have to wait. Make him think we fell to our deaths over the edge.”

  “What if he comes to check?”

  “He’s a long way from us,” O’Neill said.

  “How can you tell?”

  “The time lapse between the rifle shot and the bullets’ impacts. He’s probably on another ridge. He’d need a long hike to reach us, more than enough time for us to make it back to Endless Sky.”

  “Can I open my eyes?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “We’re safe where we are, but the view will make you dizzy. Just relax and save your strength for the climb.”

  Relax?

  He had to be kidding. They were practically hanging by their fingernails from the top of the world, and he wanted her to relax. She stifled an hysterical giggle. “Got it. Relax, but don’t enjoy the view.”

  With her eyes closed, her other senses kicked it. She recognized the sharp, coppery taste of blood where she’d bitten the inside of her mouth as she fell. The wind keened up the slope, slicing into her skin, accentuating the discomfort of her wet clothes. The damp wool of O’Neill’s sweater and his distinctive balsam scent filled her nostrils. He’d pressed his cheek against hers, but whether as protection from the wind or to prevent her from gazing outward, she couldn’t tell. His steady heartbeat thudded against her chest, a counterpoint to the rapid rhythm of her pulse.

  After lying still long enough for her muscles to stiffen, she breathed a sigh of relief when O’Neill finally shifted his weight and spoke.

  “Don’t open your eyes. Just do as I say, okay?”

  “Okay.” He must really think her a wimp, with her vertigo and fear of heights, and he was right. The last thing she wanted was to see how close to the edge they’d come.

  “I’m going to stand up now,” he said, “but don’t move until I tell you to.”

  She nodded and felt the weight of his body lift from hers. He grabbed her hands. “I’ll pull you to your feet. Ready?”

  “Okay.”

  She stood upright, but struggled to balance without her sight. O’Neill released her hands, grasped her shoulders and turned her, staying behind her with his hands steadying her back. The wind at her back indicated she was facing upslope.

  “You can open your eyes now,” he said, “but don’t look down or behind you. Stay focused on the ridge above us.”

  She opened her eyes, blinked in the morning glare, gazed up the slope and closed her eyes again. How in the name of heaven did O’Neill expect them to climb that steep grade slick with mud? Then again, what choice did they have? Staying where they were until they were hunted down wasn’t an option.

  “Take it slow,” O’Neill said. “Make sure you have both a firm handhold and foothold before you lift your body weight. I’ll be right behind in case you slip.”

  Trish reached above her head, grasped the branches of a large bush and lifted one foot to a slab of stone protruding from the muddy earth. She gingerly hoisted herself a few inches, then continued moving upward.

  “That’s the way,” O’Neill said. “You’re doing fine. Keep climbing.”

  After an agonizingly long time, several slips on the slick ground and pushing her muscles to their limit, Trish reached the top of the ridge. O’Neill scrambled up behind her. Even plastered with mud and debris, he maintained his rugged good looks. She was glad she didn’t have a mirror.

  Thoughts of her appearance vanished when she glanced down the mountainside at the trail they’d left in the mud. It ended on a ledge, like the one where Deb had fallen, that dropped off into nowhere. Realizing how clos
e they’d come to dying, Trish felt her already-punished leg muscles threaten to give way.

  O’Neill grabbed her arm and pulled her along the path. “We have to get off this ridge, just in case our shooter still has us in his sights.”

  Trish didn’t need to be told twice. The dizzying trail along the ridgetop was preferable to another precipitous descent. She forced her weary legs to hurry.

  “I don’t get it,” she said, her breath coming in brief pants. “Why is somebody shooting at us?”

  “Maybe for the same reason Deb was pushed?” O’Neill didn’t slow down.

  To keep up, Trish was moving at a trot. “But that doesn’t make sense. No one knows I’m Deb’s sister, except you.”

  Her stomach clenched at that sickening realization, and the memory of O’Neill on the phone in the middle of the night flashed through her mind. He’d insisted he’d slept through the night, but her recol lection was too strong to have been a dream. Had he called in an assailant? But O’Neill as a suspect didn’t make sense. He’d done everything to save Deb earlier and to protect Trish from this morning’s shooter. Why would he ruin his own plans?

  Unless he was covering his tracks, setting up an alibi for later.

  She hated where her suspicions led and wondered if her conclusions came from her sixth sense or following too many high-profile court cases in the media.

  “Metcalf knows you and Deb are sisters,” O’Neill said, “but he wouldn’t have told anyone. It would hinder his investigation.”

  She knew nothing about Metcalf, so she couldn’t dispute O’Neill’s assertion. “What have we done to make someone try to kill us?”

  “None of it makes sense.” His long stride ate up the path, bringing them closer to the resort and safety with each step. “You have to leave Endless Sky. Go to Deb at the hospital. Stay in Asheville under an assumed name, like your sister.”

  His suggestion had its appeal. And its drawbacks. “Deb and I have to return home to Tampa eventually. If someone wants to harm us, we won’t be safe until whoever it is is caught.”

  Without slowing his steps, he cast her a side ways glance, his demeanor dark and threatening. “I can’t make you leave, but I strongly recommend it.”

  She wanted him to convince her that the secrets he hid had nothing to do with what had happened to her and her sister. But, as much as she was attracted to him, her instincts wouldn’t allow her to lay her suspicions to rest. No one had known where they’d been, so how could a shooter have been lying in wait for them this morning unless O’Neill had tipped him off?

  “What makes you so sure someone was shooting at me, not you?” Her words came in short puffs, like her breath.

  O’Neill, however, wasn’t the least bit winded. He returned his gaze to the trail ahead. “Why would anyone want to kill me?”

  “You tell me.”

  He shook his head. “I’m a nobody. And I have no enemies that I know of.”

  She wasn’t convinced. O’Neill had depths she’d never plumbed. His past, for all his claims of ordinariness, was shrouded in mystery, laden with secrets. Who knew what he was hiding?

  “If I’m leaving soon,” she said, “we won’t need our charade to make people think we’re involved with each other.”

  He shook his head and reached to steady her when she stumbled over a rough patch in the trail. “Hiding your true identity would be smart until we can get you out of here.”

  She had to laugh, in spite of their dire circumstances. “How are we going to explain our appearance? We look like we’ve been mud-wrestling.”

  A ghost of a smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “With any luck, the guests are off on excursions for the day and we can slip in unnoticed.”

  “What about the staff?”

  “To work at Endless Sky, they’re required to be discreet. No need to worry about them.” His hand still grasped her elbow. “I’ll take you into Asheville as soon as you’ve had a chance to clean up and pack.”

  The prospect of a long, hot shower quickened her steps. Within fifteen minutes, they were crossing the lawn of Endless Sky, where patches of snow lingered, despite the brilliant sun. The sheriff’s command tent still stood on the edge of the drive, but it was empty and the convoy of rescue vehicles had left. The huge log resort, even in the midday glare, appeared abandoned, forlorn and forbidding, its empty windows staring at her like lifeless eyes.

  They approached the terrace doors and a tall, middle-aged woman with cropped gray hair and dressed in a smart, navy blue suit stepped out to meet them. “My god, O’Neill, what happened to you?”

  “Janine Conover,” he said, “meet Erin Fairchild. Janine’s my assistant manager. Erin and I slipped in the mud on the ridge trail.” His neutral tone gave nothing away.

  “Nice to have you staying with us.” Janine’s blue eyes flashed a warm welcome. “You probably want to get cleaned up right away. I’ll send Ludie May to take your clothes for laundering.”

  “There won’t be time for that,” O’Neill said. “Miss Fairchild is checking out after lunch.”

  “You’ll be leaving by helicopter?” Janine asked.

  “No!” Trish replied quickly. “I’ll go by Hummer.”

  Janine shook her head. “I’m sorry, but that’s not possible.”

  “Why not?” O’Neill asked.

  “Judd Raye used it to transport the guests this morning,” Janine said. “Don’t you remember? Today’s the scheduled hunting trip.”

  Trish exchanged glances with O’Neill, but his bland expression showed no reaction, and she wondered what thoughts were flitting through his mind. Her own mind filled with suspicions. The outing had been scheduled, so O’Neill had known about it in advance. She recalled again the middle-of-the- night call he’d denied making, the call he’d insisted she had dreamed.

  “The guests went hunting?” she asked Janine. “With guns?”

  Janine laughed as if Trish had made a joke. “That’s how most folks go after bear around here.”

  O’Neill’s eyes darkened and his jaw tensed. The ferocity in his look sent a shiver down Trish’s spine.

  “Who signed up for this hunting trip?” he asked.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Let me think.” Janine ticked off names on her well-manicured fingers. “Almost everyone. Chad Englewood, Michael Redlin, Austin Werner, Dan Beard and Victoria Westbrook.”

  Trish flashed another glance at O’Neill, but his eyes were hooded, his expression guarded. Was he thinking, as she was, that everyone on her list of possible suspects had been hunting, with access to a rifle? Any one of the named guests could have fired shots at them on the ridge.

  Before she could comment, O’Neill changed the subject. “Any damage from the blizzard?”

  Curiosity danced in Janine’s eyes. She had to be wondering where O’Neill and Trish had been during the storm, but apparently knew better than to ask. “A few roof shingles ripped away, some trees down near staff housing, but otherwise we came through okay. The guests, however, didn’t like being cooped up by the weather. That’s probably why so many chose to hunt this morning.”

  “Thanks for taking care of things,” O’Neill said. “I’m sure you’re ready for a break.”

  The assistant manager shook her head. “No problem. I was on my way to the kitchen to approve tonight’s menu when I saw you coming. Nice to meet you, Ms. Fairchild.”

  Janine returned inside and Trish waited until the assistant manager closed the door behind her. “Do you think one of the guests was our shooter?”

  O’Neill wrinkled his forehead and frowned. If he’d had anything to do with the shooting, he hid his involvement well. With a smear of mud across his high cheekbone and his thick black hair wild and tousled, he looked more dangerous, more attractive than ever. Except for the anger flashing in his dark eyes, an emotion so intense it frightened her. Was he furious that someone had shot at them? Or angry that the shots had missed her? Her thoughts spun in circles that made her stomach qu
easy.

  “One of them could have taken the shots at us,” he admitted. “Too much of a coincidence to think otherwise. But which one, that’s the question.”

  “At least we’re safe here until they return.” She spoke the words, but she didn’t believe them. Her gut was screaming danger. While part of her wanted to throw herself into O’Neill’s arms, a more rational segment of her brain urged her to run, to get away from O’Neill and Endless Sky now, to take a terrifying chopper flight out if necessary.

  “Get cleaned up,” he said quietly, his low voice like a caress. “You have to leave as soon as possible. Even if you have to fly out.”

  His echo of her intention threw her into more confusion. Stressed and exhausted, she couldn’t make an intelligent decision. She needed a shower and some sleep before she could put events into perspective and think straight.

  Exhaustion dulled her fears of remaining at the resort. “Unless there’s an emergency with Deb and she needs me, I’m not riding in the helicopter. I’ll take my chances on waiting for the Hummer.”

  The lines of his face softened and the anger vanished from his eyes, replaced by a tenderness that squeezed her heart. “Then get some rest. You’ve had a tough couple of days.”

  “Will you have someone drive me to Asheville later?” Eagerness to escape the dangers of Endless Sky battled with her reluctance to leave O’Neill. But Deb needed her, and her attraction to O’Neill was irrational, futile at best, dangerous at worst.

  “I’ll take you,” he said, “right after dinner.”

  “Why wait?”

  “When the guests return from their hunting trip, observing them at dinner will give us the opportunity to gauge their reactions. The shooter may give himself away when he realizes we didn’t fall to our deaths. Get some rest,” O’Neill ordered, “then call me when you’re awake.”

  Isolated and without transportation, what other choice did she have? “Okay.”

  He turned on his heel and headed toward his residence. Trish, shoes squishing with dampness, entered the hotel. Stepping from brilliant daylight into its dark interior, she waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.