The guy had really done a number on her head. “What about the drugs?”
“I didn’t know about that. No one did. Not for days. Blake took off, and I waited with Billy until the ambulance arrived. I went with him to the hospital, to make sure he was going to be okay.”
“But he wasn’t okay.”
“No.” She fiddled nervously with the fabric of his pullover, which she was still wearing. He liked seeing her in it. “Billy Ehrenberg died later that night.”
“And still you stuck to the story that it was you and not Blake.”
She nodded. “He begged me. He was desperate. And I was stupid. God, was I ever.” She stood and warmed her hands over the potbelly stove. Shaking her head, she said, “Never again. Never again will I allow someone to manipulate me like that. Never.”
He reached for her hand, but she pulled away. “Please don’t touch me.”
She was wound tighter than a Swiss watch. He wanted to hold her, to tell her everything was going to be okay, but she didn’t want that from him. He backed off and just let her talk.
“Over the next couple of days all kinds of rumors were flying around about what had gone on that night. Weird sex—I mean really weird. Drugs. The whole nine yards. Reporters started showing up at my door, at work. Blake left town without a word, and I didn’t know how to reach him. The whole thing just spun out of control.”
“You lied to the police.”
“The paramedics told them I was the one with Billy. I just didn’t refute it. The official E.R. report was a heart attack, after…sex.” She shrugged. “I told you. I was stupid. I just let the lie stand that it was me and not Blake.”
“And then?”
“A week later the police were at my door. Billy’s autopsy report came back positive for drugs. The official cause of death was listed as an overdose.”
Joe’s stomach clenched. He still had a copy of Cat’s autopsy report, her death certificate. If he closed his eyes, he’d still be able to see the ink on the page.
“I’m so sorry,” Wendy said, and unexpectedly placed a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t want to hear this.”
“No.” He shook off her well-intended sympathy. “I do want to hear it. All of it. Go on.”
“Okay.” She sat down again, across from him, and looked him in the eyes. “The second I learned about the drugs, I told the police everything, that it was Blake all the time, that I wasn’t even there when it happened.”
“And…?”
“At first they didn’t believe me. And by the time they did, it didn’t matter. The tabloids had gotten hold of the story and…well, you know the rest.”
“Yeah.” New York Fashion Photographer Willa Walters Overexposed in Deadly Sex/Drug Scandal. “I know the rest.”
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and rolled her head first to one side, then the other. “A few days later I finally reached Blake. He denied any knowledge of the drugs. He told me Billy must have taken them before he arrived at the loft.”
“And you believed him.”
“Blake can be very convincing.”
“I’ll bet.”
“I did believe him. I guess I needed to. If he was lying, it would have meant that he’d used me in the worst of ways. What I started to realize was that he’d always used me, from the very beginning, to his own advantage. It was his career, not mine, that flourished in the seven years I spent as his assistant.”
“What happened next?”
“Blake fired me, on the spot, when he found out I told the police the truth. He said I’d betrayed him.”
“Bastard.” Joe hoped it was Blake Barrett who was tracking them. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on him.
“A bigger one than you can imagine. A couple of days later I went to the office to clear out my stuff and ran into Blake’s new assistant—a young protégé he’d had his eye on for months. We started talking about Billy Ehrenberg’s drug overdose, about how tragic it all was.”
She stopped talking and looked into the fire. He perceived a struggle going on in her mind, a brittle sort of confusion twisting her delicate features. Then her expression suddenly cleared and, when she looked at him, anger flashed in her eyes.
“Blake’s new girl made a point of telling me that Blake not only had access to drugs like the one that had killed Billy, but that he used them himself all the time. Oh, and wasn’t I stupid not to have known that?”
“I hate this guy. I swear to God, if he’s the one following us, if he so much as touches you—”
Wendy laughed, but their was no joy in it. “Our mystery escort has hiked nearly forty miles and has slept out in the rain every night. Blake’s idea of the great outdoors is the ten feet between a taxi and the lobby of his Upper East Side condo. No way is it Blake.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“Positive.”
Joe let out a breath, his head spinning with new information. “What else?”
“That’s it. My little chat with the new assistant was the last straw for me. I hated my life, myself and everything I’d become. A doormat for a manipulative jerk.”
He reached for her hand, and this time she let him take it. “It wasn’t your fault. It was Barrett who—”
“It was my fault.” She snatched her hand away. “Don’t you get it? I let him use me, control me, all those years.” She left him sitting at the table and climbed into her bunk, pulling her sleeping bag over her. “It was my life, Joe. I did it to myself.”
“You were young, impressionable.”
She snorted under the covers.
He got up, closed the door to the stove, and the cabin was instantly draped in darkness. He felt his way to the bunk opposite Wendy’s and eased himself between the blankets.
“I’m twenty-nine, Joe. Not young and impressionable anymore. What happened in that loft, the events following it, was only a month ago.”
“It’s over now. Try to get some sleep.”
But it wasn’t over. Someone was after her. He needed to know more about what had happened that night—a lot more. And specifics about Blake Barrett that he knew she wasn’t up to sharing. Not tonight, anyway.
The luminous dial of his watch read midnight. She needed to sleep, and he needed to think. Tomorrow would be soon enough to find out the rest.
He slipped his forty-five out of its holster and shoved it under the pile of clothes he used as a pillow. He was ready for this guy, whoever he was.
She slept all of a few hours, but badly. Most of the night she’d tossed and turned, wondering what Joe thought of her now that he knew the truth about what had happened. She didn’t know what was worse, having him believe she was into drugs and kinky sex, or having him know that she was a total loser.
She ran her fingers through her hair to comb it, and reminded herself that, regardless of what she’d done in the past, she wasn’t a loser anymore.
“Almost ready?” Joe said, stuffing the last of their gear into the blue pack.
“Yeah.” She adjusted the chest harness housing her Nikon, then grabbed her knapsack from the table. “Let’s go.”
“Wendy.” His hand slid over her forearm. “Why don’t we take a minute?”
“For what?” She knew he wanted to talk more about the things she’d told him last night. She’d been avoiding it since they’d gotten up, but supposed she might as well not hold anything back now. What was the point?
“Who’s the guy? What happened that night that would make someone follow you all the way to Alaska?”
“Honestly, I don’t know.” She’d racked her brain a hundred times over, but couldn’t come up with a connection between what had happened with Blake and Billy in New York and the guy who was following them now.
“Well, think about it.”
“I’ll think about it while we walk.” She started to pull away, but he held on to her. His gaze washed over her face, and her mouth went dry.
“I want to help you,” he said quietly.
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“I know. And I appreciate it. It’s just that…” She shrugged, trying to not think about how warm his hand felt on her arm, how wonderful their kiss had been. “You can’t fix my life for me, Joe.”
He didn’t say anything, and she used the opportunity to disengage her arm and move to the door.
She thought again about her stolen purse, the burglary at her apartment, her luggage, the unlocked SUV. It occurred to her that maybe someone wasn’t after her, so much as something she had.
But what?
“Stick close to me today, understand?” They stepped into the cold morning, and he locked the cabin door behind them.
“I will.” She couldn’t get her mind off it. What could she have that someone wanted? And what, if anything, did it have to do with Billy’s overdose or Blake’s lies?
She shook off her fears and focused on the new day before them. The rain had stopped, though a thick ground fog curled its way through the valley, reminding her of the long cold fingers of a skeleton. It gave her the creeps.
“When did you leave New York, exactly?” Joe said as they walked alongside the tributary they’d crossed yesterday and moved onto the trail.
“About three weeks ago. I didn’t tell anyone where I was going, not even the police. I’d lost my job, and my reputation was shot. Blake had made sure of that. You wouldn’t believe the lies he told about me.”
“I’d believe it.”
“Anyway, I’d had it. I had to get out of there, go somewhere where I could think.”
“So you came here.”
“No, I went home. To Michigan. My parents’ house.”
“Makes sense.”
“I was there about two weeks, during which time I called every fashion magazine and every freelance photographer in New York looking for a job. No one would hire me.”
“Barrett again.”
“You got that right. God knows what he told people about me. And the tabloid articles didn’t help.”
“You could have sued the bastard and those newspapers.”
She sighed, and picked up the pace, despite the poor visibility. “I could have, but I didn’t want to wallow in it. I wanted to move forward, not backward. Start over, fresh.”
“So you called Wilderness Unlimited.”
“The senior editor, Crystal Chalmers, is a friend of mine. It’s the chance of a lifetime for me. Wildlife photography was something I’d been interested in as a college student.”
“Why didn’t you pursue it then?”
She turned and flashed him a raised eyebrow.
“Barrett.”
“He recruited me right out of school. The rest is history.”
And that’s how she wanted to think of it, as history. She was a new woman, with a new chance at making something of herself, on her own. She wasn’t going to let anyone stop her—not Blake, not the creep following them, not even Joe Peterson.
“So now you’re determined,” he said, nodding.
“Damn right, I am.”
“Well I’m determined, too. To get us the hell out of here. Let’s go.”
She turned and started up the trail again, conscious of the fact that he was less than a step behind her, his hand on his gun. The man wasn’t kidding. At every turn she glanced back at him through the fog, taking in the hard set of his jaw, those sharp eyes methodically sweeping the forest for any signs they weren’t alone.
Two hours later, mist still curling around them like a shroud, they reached a fork in the trail, one that she’d marked on the map days ago. Wendy pivoted, hands on hips, steeling herself for what she knew, and had known for days, would be a battle.
“What?” Joe said, pulling up short.
“This is it.”
“This is what?” He narrowed his gaze and looked past her.
“The fork.” She nodded toward the steep game trail cutting a zigzag of switchbacks across the bald ridge to their right, snaking in and out of the fog.
“Uh-uh. Absolutely not. We keep moving.”
“But this is why I’m here.” She unsnapped her camera from the chest harness and popped the lens cap. “Up there is where I need to go.” The rocky canyon on the other side of the ridge was the place Joe had told her about—prime habitat for woodland caribou.
“That’s the last place you’re going.” He took her by the arm, not gently, and urged her forward.
She resisted, digging her boot heels into the mud. “You can’t stop me.”
“The hell I can’t!” He spun her around and caught her about the waist. She struggled, startled by his sudden show of strength, but he wouldn’t let go. “There’s a man out there. You’re in danger. Get that through that thick, blond head of yours!”
He pulled her to him, and she dropped her camera. It lay in the mud, forgotten, as her hands pressed up against his chest. His heart beat wildly under her palm. His breath was hot on her face, his eyes as hard as she’d ever seen them.
“That guy wants you, Wendy. He wants you!” He shook her. Then, all at once, his expression softened.
Gently he pushed a wet strand of hair away from her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek, caressing it. Her stomach did a somersault.
This guy wants me, she thought.
A heartbeat later he kissed her.
Leaning into him, she simply gave up, went with it, surrendered to the confusion of feelings spiraling inside her. His tongue was hot glass, his hands everywhere at once. A breathy little sigh escaped her lips as he pulled her closer, close enough to feel that he meant business.
She wanted him so badly. More than anything, more than—
A sharp echoing clack startled them both.
Joe broke the kiss before she had a chance to do it herself. She snatched her camera from the mud and followed his gaze to the top of the ridge. The clack sounded again. Then another.
Her heart nearly stopped.
On an outcrop far above them, two caribou bulls squared off, velvety antlers tangled, one against the other, engaged in a battle as old as time. The mist swirled around them like a ghostly dervish.
“Look!” she said. “We found them!”
Chapter 10
By the time Wendy cleaned the mud from her camera and checked her light meter, the caribou were gone. Up and over the ridge to the rocky habitat on the other side. She looked at Joe, and he responded with one of his don’t-even-think-about-it looks.
“I have to do this,” she said. “I’m going to do this.”
She watched him as he thought about it, turning a slow circle, peering into the mist, listening hard for any signs of their pursuer.
It didn’t matter to her if he wanted her to do it or not. She was doing it. She was going, with or without him. She didn’t need his permission. It would be nice if he’d go with her. She wanted him with her, she realized, and that’s probably why she wasn’t already gone, still standing there in the mud, waiting for his reaction.
“Okay,” he said, at last. “You first. Let’s go.”
The old Wendy would have said thank you. Thank you for letting me. She was grateful for Joe’s compliance, but not the way she’d been grateful in the past with Blake, when he’d allow her a special assignment, making it clear she’d probably botch it on her own. No, that’s not what she felt at all as they scaled the ridge. She was simply happy to have Joe with her, by her side, sharing the experience of a lifetime.
Just before they reached the top, he stopped her. “Let me go first and check it out.”
Warden Rambo was back. She could see it in his eyes and knew it was useless to argue. Not that she wanted to argue. Someone was stalking her, and until they found out who it was and what he wanted, they needed to be extra careful.
“Okay,” she said, and let him pass. “You won’t scare them away, will you?”
“I’m a game warden, remember. My job is to keep track of animals. So, no, I won’t scare them away. Come on, stick close.”
She intended to, and gave one long look b
ack the way they’d come, just to make sure no one was behind them. Joe had already done that, ten times if he’d done it once, but she felt the need to do it, all the same.
Who are you?
As they topped the ridge and the rocky canyon spread out before them on the other side, mist swirling up its walls, her heart sank. “They’re gone!”
“Shh!” Joe placed a hand on her shoulder. “No, they’re here, over there.” He pointed to a craggy knob that shot up from the canyon bottom, obstructing their view. “On the other side of that. Listen.”
She closed her eyes and listened, and heard the unmistakable clack of antlers. “You’re right!”
“Of course I’m right.”
They smiled at each other, and she felt warm all over. She remembered their kiss, and wanted another, but now was not the time. Peering through the mist, she narrowed her gaze on a rocky promontory directly across from where the caribou were hiding on the other side of the knob.
“Right there,” she whispered, pointing. “That’s where I need to be.”
He nodded. “Yeah. Downwind, good visibility, and it’s fairly protected. If you were careful, they wouldn’t even know you were there. There’s only one problem.”
“What?”
He pulled her a few feet to the right to get a better view of the location, and she saw what he must have already known about before they’d come up here—a two-hundred foot drop-off, directly below the promontory. It was a situation not unlike the one she’d gotten herself into that first day, the day she met him, the day he saved her life on the cliff.
As they cautiously made their way down the ridge line toward the promontory, she realized just how narrow it was. It was really more of a ledge, protected on one side by a sheer basaltic wall, dropping off into oblivion on the other.
“No,” he said. “This isn’t going to work.”
They stopped and listened again to the clack of antlers, but had no line of sight to the caribou.
“Yes, it is,” she said, slipping off her knapsack and quickly changing lenses. She felt a surge of adrenaline as she stepped closer, inspecting the narrow ledge.
“It’s what, two feet wide, max?” Joe shook his head. “No way. We can’t go out there together, and I’m not letting you go alone.”
Northern Exposure Page 11
