“I’d just finished college, just started at DF&G. So I moved her in with me.”
“You raised her,” Wendy said, not trying to hide her admiration.
Joe shrugged. “It wasn’t so hard.”
“I don’t believe that for a second. Teenage girls are a handful. I know. I was one.”
He shot her a half smile. “Yeah, I’ll bet.”
“Wasn’t there anyone else, an aunt, an uncle, another relative who could’ve taken her?”
“Sure. But she was my sister. She was my responsibility. No way was I farming her out.”
Wendy wasn’t surprised by this admission. In fact, she would’ve been stunned had he answered her question any other way.
“It must’ve been pretty tough on you. A young guy with a kid sister tagging along.”
He shrugged.
“You must’ve missed a lot. You know…parties, girls, that kind of thing.”
“I was never much into parties.” His gaze washed over her in a way that made her suddenly overwarm.
“You never…married or anything?”
“No.” Their gazes connected. “You?”
Wendy shook her head. “No. Never even been close.”
“That’s hard to believe.”
She held his gaze and thought about what it would be like to kiss him, to make love to him, to wake up with his arms around her in the morning.
As if he’d read her mind, he quickly looked away.
Pulling the sleeping bag up to her chin, Wendy shook off the thought and focused on the topic. “So, then, Cat—”
“What is this, twenty questions?”
His abrupt change in temperament surprised her.
He pulled a couple of blankets from the blue pack and tossed them onto the tent floor. “She was a damned nightmare, if you want to know the truth.” He yanked off his boots and chucked them violently into a corner.
Wendy was stunned. “Your sister?”
“Yeah. A real pain.” Looking for something else to take out his sudden aggression on, he punched a pile of clothes into a makeshift pillow.
“Once, up at the lake, before Mom and Dad died, Cat stole the neighbors’ canoe and took it out on the water. With six or seven kids in it!” He flopped down on the blankets and slammed his head into the pile of clothes. “It capsized, of course. All the kids could swim. All of them except Cat.”
“You saved her,” Wendy said, guessing.
“Damned right, I did.” He flashed angry eyes at her. “Of all the stupid, lamebrained…”
“She was just a kid. Kids do stuff like that.”
“She almost drowned.”
“But you saved her.”
Joe sat up, launched himself at her, stopping just short of touching her. Wendy went stock-still. Their faces were inches apart.
“Don’t you get it? She could’ve been killed. She made a stupid decision that nearly cost her her life.”
“But you were there. You—”
“What if I hadn’t been? It’s just like…this.” He waved his arms in the air. “The rock slide, the bridge. You should have listened to me, damn it! You should never have come out here on your own.”
“Hey, wait a minute!” She threw off the sleeping bag and scooted closer, until they were nose to nose.
“What if I hadn’t come after you?”
“I’m not a child, Joe.”
His gaze washed over her breasts, loose beneath her T-shirt, then fixed for a moment on her mouth. “I can see that.”
They looked at each other and, behind the anger, Wendy read raw desire in his eyes, a palpable sexuality she felt beneath the skin.
“And…and you’re not my big brother.” She backed off, and so did he, but their eyes remained locked.
“No,” he said quietly. “No, I’m not.”
It rained all night.
The next morning they woke up cold and wet, the bottom of their tent soaked. Two hours, barely three miles, into the day’s hike, which was painfully slow going due to the mud and enough downed tree limbs to feed a lumber mill, they reached the second cabin.
“There it is,” Joe said and pointed up the trail to a clearing.
“Thank God. My boots are so wet they squish.” Wendy picked up her pace and made for the cabin.
Before she reached the clearing, he caught her arm. “Hang on. Let me check it out first.”
He stepped in front of her, flicking the leather trigger guard off his handgun, which, for now, he kept holstered. Scanning the surrounding woods for movement, he moved cautiously toward the cabin. Water sluiced down his face. He swiped at his eyes, narrowing his gaze over the steep, forested ridge above the cabin.
Wendy followed. “Is he…still with us?”
Joe had neither seen nor heard any signs of their mystery escort since yesterday’s mishap on the bridge. Still… “Oh, yeah. He’s out there.”
Trepidation clouded her eyes, and he was aware—though she wasn’t—of her edging closer to him, close enough for him to put his arm around her.
Which he did. “Come on. Let’s get inside.”
The cabin hadn’t been disturbed since the last time he’d visited it, about a month ago on a regular reconnaissance hike into the reserve. It was a little larger than the last cabin, and better furnished.
Wendy set her camera bag on the table. “I’m glad we stopped. It’ll take me just a few minutes to get into some dry clothes and change my socks. Want some lunch before we head out?”
“Head out? You mean keep going?”
“Of course.” She stripped off her anorak and shook it out next to the door. “We’ve got the whole rest of the day. If we pick up the pace, we could make another eight or nine miles before—”
“Whoa. Hang on a second, hotshot. We’re not going anywhere.”
“What do you mean?” Her brows pinched together in a frown. “We’ve got at least nine hours of daylight. Even with the rain, and the sky as dark as it is, we could—”
“No.” Joe plucked the wet anorak from her hands and tossed it onto on a peg on the wall. He shrugged out of his soaking jacket, which he hung next to it. “The trail’s sure to be washed out between here and the next cabin. We’d be knee-deep in mud inside an hour.” He nodded at her feet. “Look at your boots. Hell, look at my boots.”
Despite waterproof clothing and high-quality leather hiking boots, both of them were soaked to the skin, and he knew from the sky and from experience that this storm was with them to stay.
“I’m nearly out of time here, Joe. It’s been four days and we’ve only come what, twenty-four miles?”
“Twenty-five. In bad weather and with somebody on our tail who wants us stopped.” Or dead, but he didn’t say that. He didn’t want to scare her any more than was necessary.
She pulled her map out of the camera bag and smoothed it on the table. Gray light from the cabin’s only window provided enough illumination for them to see. “The caribou habitat’s here.” She pointed to the spot on the map he’d shown her four days ago. “We’re here, a good fifteen miles away. And then we’ve got to hike out—the long way!”
“And your point is?” He knew what her answer would be, but he was in the mood for a fight.
He’d never met anyone like her. She just wouldn’t give up. He’d known that about her from the moment they met, when he’d held his gun on her and she’d looked him in the eyes and told him to put that thing away.
“I need those photos, Joe. I need them now, and I need to get my butt back to New York.”
“Your butt—” he gave it an appreciative glance “—isn’t going anywhere. Not today it’s not.”
She reached for the blue pack, intending, he knew, to put it on. He read angry determination in her eyes. She was looking for a fight, too, but she damned sure had to know he’d never let her go on without him.
Mustering his control, he placed a hand around her upper arm, then squeezed.
She shot him a deadly look.
&nb
sp; “Okay, I want you to listen to me.”
A blond brow arched in one of her “go ahead, I’m waiting” looks.
He almost smiled. “I know how important getting those photos is to you.” He remembered the conversation he’d had with her editor.
She’s desperate, trying to start over, make a new life for herself. Getting away from Blake Barrett was the smartest thing she’s ever done.
“But there’s one thing more important than those photos. More important to me, anyway.”
“What?” Her tone and the way she looked down her nose at him even though he was nearly a foot taller than she, warned him she was ready to disagree with whatever answer he gave her.
“Your life.”
Surprise flashed in her eyes.
He loosened his grip on her arm, but was struck by how warm she was, even wet, through the thin fabric of her shirt.
“There’s a guy out there who’s dangerous. Under normal circumstances I’d go after him. But the circumstances aren’t normal.”
“You mean you’ve got me to think about.”
“That’s right.”
Her expression softened. “Okay, I buy that. Even though I told you before that—”
“Yeah, yeah…you don’t need a baby-sitter. You don’t get it, Wendy. It wouldn’t matter who you are. Man, woman, Barb Maguire’s dog, whoever—I’m an officer of the state, sworn to serve and protect. This is my reserve and you’re in it.”
They stood there, looking at each other, and he watched as a change came over her face.
“So…I could be anybody, and you’d be doing this. Protecting me.”
“That’s right.” He slid his hand down her arm, but didn’t let go.
What he didn’t tell her, what he didn’t want to believe, was that she wasn’t just anybody. Not to him. She was under his skin. Big-time. And Joe Peterson had a bad feeling she was there to stay.
Just after midnight he moved silently along the perimeter of the clearing, moving from tree to tree, the steady rain drowning the sucking sounds his military-style boots made in the mud as he approached the cabin.
His piece was shoved into the waistband of his camouflage dungarees, pressing at the small of his back, but he didn’t plan to use it, not tonight. He wanted her alone. It would be easier that way.
They hadn’t paid him enough to kill the son of a bitch playing bodyguard. Oh, but he wanted to. He smiled, remembering the last time, a couple of weeks ago in New York. It hadn’t been in the game plan, but he’d done it all the same.
And he’d liked it.
Listening hard, he waited a full five minutes before peeking into the cabin’s window. When he did, what he saw surprised the hell out of him. A fire burned low in the metal stove, giving off just enough light to see her.
Curled up on a single bunk inside her sleeping bag, Willa Walters was…alone. Imagine that. Hero Boy was sprawled in the bunk opposite, his face turned to the wall. The dimwit wasn’t getting any, after all.
Scanning the interior, his gaze fixed on an old green knapsack, the bitch’s camera bag.
“Soon,” he whispered, changing his focus to the blond’s mouth. Her lips parted seductively in sleep. “Oh, yeah. Very very soon.”
Chapter 8
Both of them saw the boot prints in the mud outside the cabin the next morning.
Wendy didn’t say a word.
“Starting today, right now, our number-one objective is to get back to the station as fast as possible. Got it?”
She stared at the waffle-pattern impressions under the window, and for the first time was truly scared.
Her near-accident that first day, the rock slide at the pass, the incident on the bridge…her fear reaction to those events had been instinctive, the whoosh of adrenaline completely natural.
But this…the feeling she had now, this tightening in her stomach was entirely different, the furthest thing from natural she could imagine. Nothing in her experience prepared her for this kind of fear.
“Let’s go,” Joe said, and nodded toward the washed-out trail.
He’d been right about the storm. It was with them to stay. Their wet boots and clothes had dried overnight next to the fire. Good thing, too, because the temperature was five degrees colder this morning than it had been the same time yesterday. The rain had turned to sleet, and Wendy knew enough about Alaska to know that, even in August, it could turn to snow.
Joe had also been right about the trail. She could see that now, as she picked her way carefully over downed limbs and a minefield of washed-out potholes filled with frozen mud. Yesterday afternoon those same potholes would not have been frozen, and it would’ve been dead easy to take a wrong step, twisting an ankle in the process.
She hated to admit it, but she was glad, now, that he’d forced the issue and she’d eventually given in to his demand to overnight at the cabin. Maybe she’d overreacted to his bad behavior, his need for control. Now that she knew the real scoop on his sister, she understood his motivations—even though she didn’t agree with them.
“It was smart of you to pack that waterproof sealant,” he said, bringing her back to the present.
This morning she’d retrieved the small tube from her pack, and they’d rubbed a thick layer of it into their dry boots.
“Are you actually complimenting me?” She shot him a look over her shoulder. Maybe he was beginning to think she wasn’t completely helpless after all.
“Yeah, I guess I am.”
A smile bloomed on her face. She made sure he didn’t see it.
The going was tough, but she moved at a brisk pace up the valley with Joe in sync two steps behind her. Yesterday’s rest had done them both good. She felt renewed, strong, ready for the long day they intended to put in.
“You remember what I told you,” he said, right behind her.
“Of course I do. Watch my footing, but watch the surroundings, too.” The trail ahead of them, the dark stands of trees on both sides. Be aware, he’d said.
“Any movement, anything out of the ordinary you see or hear or feel, you stop. Understand?”
“Yes.” She wasn’t about to argue. Someone was with them, either ahead of them or behind them, every step of the way.
Joe wanted her in front of him so he could watch her back. The thought of it gave her a little thrill. Not because he was watching her, so much as watching out for her, protecting her. Which was something no man had ever done for her since she’d left home at eighteen.
She knew, too, that what they were doing—running—wasn’t natural for a man like Joe. In a choice between fleeing or fighting, Joe Peterson would choose the fight every time. Not this time, though. This time he had her to think about. Something about it made her feel warm inside, despite the weather.
She wore her Nikon under her anorak, ready to go should they see any signs of woodland caribou. Joe had made it clear they were making for the station as fast as humanly possible, and she agreed with that plan to a point.
Their trail ran right alongside the caribou habitat Joe had shown her on the map, and if she’d judged the distance correctly, they’d reach it by early tomorrow at the latest.
She intended to be ready.
“How you doing?” he said.
“Fine. Good.”
“How’re those blisters?”
She’d doctored them a couple of times in the past few days. “They’re okay. The moleskin’s working like a charm.”
“Good.”
Her cuts and bruises were healing, too, as were his, from what she could see of them. The two of them looked like anybody else, average hikers, not two people on the run from someone dangerous.
“What about you?” she said.
She’d noticed that despite the fact that he was used to backpacking and hiking long distances on patrol, he seemed to be having trouble keeping up with her. It was the blue pack. It was stuffed to the gills with her equipment, extra food and emergency supplies he’d rifled from the last two cabins
.
“I’m okay,” he said.
She topped a small rise and stopped to let him catch his breath, then watched him as he readjusted his load, taking a minute to scan the tree line in every direction.
On impulse, Wendy reached for the heavy tripod sticking out of the top of the pack. “Here, let me carry that. I can attach it to my knapsack easy.”
She’d left its black case behind in the SUV, opting, instead, to house it in a light waterproof bag that would fit in the pack.
“No way. I can manage.” Joe stepped out of reach.
“You’re being ridiculous. I’m not carrying anything, just lenses and film. My knapsack’s practically empty.”
“I said I can manage.” He recinched the padded waist belt of the pack, emphasizing the fact that he wasn’t about to share his load with her.
She could have embarrassed him by pointing out that he was the one barely keeping up, that he was the one breathing hard now that the trail was steeper. But she didn’t.
Instead she arched a brow at him. “Look, whether we want to be or not, we’re in this thing together, right?”
“So?”
“So…that makes us a team.”
He snorted.
“Well, doesn’t it?”
He looked at her as if he already knew where she was headed with her argument, and he wasn’t happy about it.
“You want me to listen to you when you think you’re right, don’t you?”
“Yeah. I do.” His voice was as icy as the needles of sleet stinging their hands and faces.
“And I’m prepared to do it.” She reached for the tripod again, and this time he didn’t back away. “As long as you listen to me when I’m right.”
He grabbed her arm and she froze, eyeing him, her brow arching higher as if to say, “Well, Warden, what’s it going to be?”
She could see him mentally struggling with the idea of her helping him. In that sense, he was light-years different from Blake. Her former boss and mentor had been notorious for saddling her with not only her share of the load, but his, as well.
“Come on, Joe,” she said quietly, “let’s work together on this.”
Northern Exposure Page 9
