“I had to. I figured I could sneak one roll past him if I was quick. I don’t know what’s on that film, but I suspect it’s something more than just one of Blake’s flings. Besides, that…creep was going to kill you.”
Now, when he thought back on it, he knew Carson would have done exactly that. “You would have let him…hurt you.” The thought of her allowing Carson to rape her to protect him was more than he could take.
“To save your life?” She looked at him in the starlight with wide silvery eyes. “I would have, but I knew I wouldn’t have to. I knew that, together, we’d be able to stop him.”
Together.
Now that was a new concept for him, one he knew he wasn’t comfortable with. He’d fully expected he would stop Carson on his own. He’d never even considered that Wendy might be able to help. But that’s exactly what she’d done. In fact, if she hadn’t distracted Carson, he would never have been able to subdue him without one of them getting hurt or killed.
He closed his eyes and tried to forget the fear he’d felt when she’d walked into Carson’s arms. “Come here,” he said, and rolled her on top of him. She was warm and soft and sleepy, and he never wanted to let her go.
“Make me forget.” She kissed him, rolling her hips seductively into his groin, making him instantly hard. “Make me forget everything.”
He did, sliding her down onto his shaft, suckling her breasts as she began to move in a rhythm that made his blood burn through his veins, that caused the sky to spin above their heads at warp speed.
She threw her head back, grinding into him, and a burst of color shimmered on the horizon, an eerie green he saw reflected in her eyes.
“Northern lights,” she whispered, seeing them, too, then gave herself up to the rising wave of pleasure neither of them could hold back, even if they’d wanted to.
Holding her hips in place, he thrust harder, flashing on the fact that they hadn’t used a condom either time. He wondered if she’d get pregnant. The thought of it made him wild, like an animal.
He drove himself inside her.
The next morning the reality of their situation settled into her bones like the icy fog blanketing the valley for the second day in a row. Wendy shuddered as Joe secured the cabin and checked, for the dozenth time, the padlock on the outside storage locker.
“He’s in there,” she said, knowing all along that’s where Joe had put the body. It was the only suitable place, protected from animals and from discovery by other hikers—not that there were any other hikers.
“It’s cold enough that…well, you know.”
So that the body would keep until the State Troopers arrived. A chill wriggled up her spine.
“Cold?” He put an arm around her shoulder.
“No, just…anxious. We should get a move on.”
“Yeah. It’s sixty-two miles to the station from here. Four days if we move fast.”
“Three if we hike dawn-to-dusk.” They were both in good shape, and the trail was nearly all downhill from here on out.
As he guided her onto the path, she glanced back at the cabin where she’d spent both the worst and the best night of her life.
A man was dead because of a roll of film, and the man who’d killed him and who walked beside her now was both everything she wanted and everything she feared.
“There was something I wanted to say last night but didn’t.”
She heard him, but kept walking, moving out from under his arm, ahead of him onto the trail. She wasn’t ready for this. Or maybe she was, and that’s what scared her the most.
“Thanks,” he said, surprising her.
She turned to look at him, thinking how foolish she was. She’d thought he was going to tell her that he— Oh, hell. “For what?”
“For what you did last night.”
She thought of their lovemaking, and how that second time she’d been a bit bold, but knew from the gravity of his expression that wasn’t what he meant.
“With Carson. What you did took guts. I just wanted to say thanks.”
She smiled at him. “It was a team effort, if I remember correctly.”
“Yeah,” he said, not returning her smile. “A team.”
They walked in silence the rest of the morning, each absorbed in their own thoughts, conscious of each other in the way that only new lovers are. Except, for her it was different.
She’d never felt like this before, and for that reason she kept her pace brisk, avoiding letting him follow too closely behind her. A couple of times while they were walking, he touched her, toyed with her hair, and she had to stop herself from turning and going into his arms.
The farther they got from the cabin, the more she resisted him emotionally, steeling herself for the moment they’d reach the station and she’d be connected again to the world she was going back to and was intent on making a life in.
She reminded herself that Joe Peterson was out here in the middle of nowhere for a reason. He’d narrowed his own world into one he could control, or one he thought he could. She didn’t have to remind herself that he was all wrong for her. He did that himself at every turn, his take-charge attitude escalating in direct proportion to her emotional distance.
They stopped rarely, only to discuss the trail or the fog, which hung on like a long winter. The river was with them the whole way, its rushing waters drowning out all other sounds. At a blind turn in the trail, Joe stepped in front of her, making it clear he was going first.
She knew what had happened with Carson last night had scared the hell out of him. Her, too. They’d almost gotten killed. He was just being extra careful today. Still, the brusque way he’d sidestepped her, without so much as an explanation, irritated her.
He charged around the corner, one hand absently resting on his holstered gun. Wendy was right behind him, her dander up. Seconds later they got the shock of their lives.
“Jesus!” Joe pulled up short.
They’d been moving so fast she lost her footing trying not to run into him from behind. The next thing she knew she was facedown in the dirt, sprawled at his feet.
“Doctor Livingstone, I presume!”
Wendy looked up to see Barb Maguire’s beaming smile fixed on Joe, her black springy curls twisted to Shirley Temple proportions in the fog.
A big, beefy guy with bright-blue eyes and an identical smile stood beside her, a gargantuan pack on his back. Before Wendy could react, he offered her a paw the size of a small ham. “And, uh, Mrs. Livingstone?”
Wendy grabbed his hand at the same time Joe took hold of her upper arm, and together the two men hauled her to her feet. She was still wiping the mud off her clothes when introductions were made.
“This is the old ball and chain,” Barb said.
“Stan Maguire.” The big man offered her his hand again. “Wendy, right?”
She nodded, watching, as Barb instantly appraised the situation, noticing the way Joe’s arm had absently slipped around her shoulder, pulling her close as Stan shook her hand.
Barb’s grin broadened. “Well, looks like you two are okay, after all.”
“What are you doing here?” Joe abruptly removed his arm.
“Four days ago,” Stan said, “I was tagging some fish in 34A and spotted a car up one of those spur roads east of the reserve.”
Wendy remembered that Barb’s husband was a Department of Fish and Game biologist.
Stan’s smile vanished, his face all business now. “Turns out it was stolen. Troopers checked it out and found this.” He retrieved a familiar-looking luggage tag from his pants pocket and handed it to her.
“It’s mine!” Wendy turned the tag over in her hand, reading her name and her parents’ Michigan address.
“Yeah, and when they jimmied the trunk they found all your gear.”
“Carson,” Joe said.
“Who?” Barb frowned.
“Anyway, we were worried. Saw your truck and her SUV at the end of the east road and decided to come in after you.�
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“You got to the pass?”
Stan nodded. “Saw what had happened, found your pack on top. Got it in the back of my truck.”
“Thanks, man.”
Barb shot him a look. “After they found Wendy’s luggage, I begged the boss to get the DF&G chopper outta Spalding, but nooo.” Wendy had seen Spalding on the map. It was a bigger town, about two hundred miles away.
“Chief wouldn’t go for it,” Stan said. “Didn’t wanna spend the money. Troopers wouldn’t send one, either, till we were sure something was really wrong.”
“Well, there is, and we’re going to need one.” Joe quickly related the events of the past week. Barb’s brown eyes widened, and when he told them what had happened in the cabin last night, her mouth dropped open.
“Son of a salmon!” Stan ran a beefy hand over his face, then looked at Wendy, more keenly this time, concern shining in his eyes. “You okay?”
She nodded. “Lucky for me, Joe was with me.” She met his gaze, remembering both yesterday’s terrible events and its tender ones.
“Geez,” Barb said, not missing a thing. “I’m glad I told you she was in here.”
It was clear from Joe’s quick change of expression that he was still angry at Barb for issuing her a wilderness permit. Warden Rambo didn’t easily forgive. “Let’s get out of here,” he said, and, not gently, took her arm.
“Maybe Barb and I should go on to the cabin and…you know, secure the crime scene. For this kinda thing, Troopers’ll call in SCIB from Fairbanks.”
“SCIB?”
“The Statewide Criminal Investigations Bureau,” Joe explained.
Wendy watched Stan’s face as he did the math in his head. “Could be five, six days.”
“Don’t bother,” Joe said. “Everything’s secure, and there’s no one in the reserve except us.”
The two men conferred for a few minutes, Joe relating more details about Dwight Carson’s actions over the past week, and what had happened in the cabin last night.
“You knew this guy?” Stan asked her.
“No.”
Joe nodded toward the trail. “I’ll fill you in while we walk. Come on,” he said, and guided her onto the path. “Fog’s lifting.”
The weather cooperated, and after three and a half days of hard, fast hiking, the foursome reached Joe’s station. Wendy was never so glad to see a place in her life. They were all exhausted. Barb had blisters, Stan looked as if he was ready to collapse, and Joe hadn’t said a word to any of them for the past four miles.
They’d spent two nights together in DF&G cabins, and one in the rough, their tents pitched side by side. Wendy and Joe hadn’t had any privacy in days, which was probably for the best, she thought, as she watched him climb the last few feet up the hill to the station.
His face was grim, his eyes cool and eagle sharp, reminding her of the day she met him, nearly two weeks ago. Joe Peterson was back in his realm and fully in charge, all business and heightened control.
They hadn’t made love since the night Carson had attacked them in the cabin, though Joe had held her each night as she slept, bone tired, and kissed her when she’d allowed it.
They’d both been holding themselves in check. She knew their cautious behavior wasn’t because they were shy around Stan and Barb. The couple had given them numerous opportunities to be alone, but neither she nor Joe had acted on them. It was almost as if their one night together had been a fantasy, as if she’d only imagined it. And now, four short days later, reality was back.
“My truck!” Joe walked toward the green pickup parked beside what she guessed was Stan’s four-wheel-drive.
“Figured you’d want it.” Stan fished a set of keys out of his pocket and tossed them to him. “I had Barb drive it back from the trailhead.” He turned to Wendy. “We had to leave your SUV. Joe can take you to get it later.”
“That’s fine. I don’t think I’ll be heading back to New York until tomorrow.”
Joe shot her a look she couldn’t decipher.
Barb evidently could, because the normally cheery woman who’d become her friend over the past few days arched dark brows at her in an “uh-oh” sort of way.
It was only midday, but Wendy was drained, both physically and emotionally. She had half a dozen phone calls to make, and return travel arrangements to New York to confirm.
She knew both she and Joe would have to go into town to make formal statements to the authorities about Dwight Carson’s death. Joe had assured her it would be written off as a clear case of self-defense.
They tromped up the stairs and into the station, packs and all, shucked their gear and outerwear and collapsed in Joe’s front room. All except Joe. He slid a hip onto his office desk and grabbed the phone. A minute later he was talking to the Statewide Criminal Investigations Bureau of the Alaska State Troopers.
Wendy closed her eyes and sank deeper into the sofa, listening, as Joe described the situation over the phone. “C-a-r-s-o-n. Dwight Carson. Right. New York driver’s license number…”
She tuned out, not wanting to remember.
“Yeah,” Joe said, winding down the call. “We’ll come on in this afternoon.” When he hung up the phone, he looked at her. “SCIB wants to talk you—about something else.”
“What?”
“I don’t know. They wouldn’t say.”
Barb mumbled something about making coffee, and disappeared into the kitchen. Stan got the hint and followed her. When Joe walked over to the sofa and sat down beside her, Wendy fought the urge to reach for him.
“You okay?”
She nodded, taking in her filthy clothes, the dirt caked under her broken nails and the assorted bruises and scratches she’d sustained over the past ten days. “I could use an hour-long shower and a steak.”
“You got it.” He squeezed her knee reassuringly, then looked at her with a question in his eyes she wasn’t ready to answer.
“I have to go back,” she said.
“Not right away, you don’t.”
“I do. I’ve got to get this cleared up. I need to call Blake. We need to know what’s on that film.”
Joe reached into his pocket and produced the exposed film canister, which he hadn’t given back to her since the incident in the cabin. “It’s evidence. I’m turning it over to SCIB.”
“Evidence of what?” She snatched it from his hand. “Before we do anything, before I do anything, I have to know what I’m involved in.”
She watched him as he considered her point. For the first time his unrelenting need to control things worked in her favor. Finally he said, “Barb’s nephew has an amateur darkroom in town. Borough cops and state troopers use it when they’re short on time and don’t want to send stuff to the SCIB lab in Fairbanks. For something this important, though, we ought to have a pro develop it.”
“I am a pro.”
His gaze raked her over appreciatively. “A damned good one, too.”
Last night she’d overheard him telling Stan about the caribou photos. Pride had bubbled up inside her like a root beer float, tickling her stomach, when she’d caught the animation in Joe’s eyes and the excitement in his voice as he related the story.
“Let’s do it, then,” she said, and pocketed the film.
“This afternoon. Right now you’re going to have that shower, and I’ll rustle us up some steaks.”
“Oh, man, don’t tempt me.” Stan lumbered in from the kitchen, his eyes lighting up at the sound of food.
“Tempt you with what?” Barb breezed past him like a seasoned Octoberfest waitress, bearing four full mugs of coffee.
“Steaks. But we gotta go.” Stan took one of the mugs from her and downed it in a couple of swallows. “Gotta get back to town. The boss is gonna have a cow when he hears about this.”
“He’s next on my list to call.” Joe started for the kitchen, and by the time he returned a minute later with a to-go cup for Barb’s coffee, Stan was already maneuvering his wife out the door.
“Take care, buddy.” Stan clapped him on the shoulder. “You don’t know if this Carson guy has friends.”
Wendy suspected he did, though they hadn’t seen signs of any accomplices, at least not here in Alaska. As much as she didn’t want to, she knew she had to call Blake. Later, she’d contact the detective in New York who’d investigated Billy Ehrenberg’s death, but first she had to know what was going on, and she had to know now.
“How about that shower,” Joe said, waving goodbye to the Maguires and steering her toward the bathroom.
Her mind leaped into overdrive, considering again all the possibilities of what had really happened that night in the loft. She crashed back to the moment when Joe handed her a stack of towels. “Um, sounds good.”
“Want me to scrub your back?” He nuzzled her ear, and she made herself back away, out of his arms.
“N-no. I, uh, think I need some time alone.”
Right now she couldn’t think about what had happened between them, what was between them. She couldn’t even think about the magazine or her caribou photos. Until she got this thing with Blake and Billy and the film cleared up, she wouldn’t be able to make any rational decisions about anything else in her life.
The look in Joe’s eyes told her he was disappointed, but that he understood.
“Thanks,” she said, and closed the bathroom door, shutting him out.
A half hour later, feeling like a new woman, clean and wrapped in a towel, her teeth sparkling, she emerged from the steam-filled bathroom. Joe was in the hall waiting for her. The smell of steaks sizzling on the outdoor grill made her mouth water.
“Better?”
“Much.”
He opened his arms, and this time she didn’t hesitate. She felt needy and unsure, and his warm embrace was like a tonic. His lips sought hers, and she gave in to his kiss, which was hot and desperate.
She knew he wanted to make love to her. She wanted it, too, but not now, not yet. She was confused, afraid—not only of what she felt for him, but of how everything that had happened in New York, and here, would play out. There were still too many unknowns, the most unnerving one looking at her now with hooded hazel eyes.
Northern Exposure Page 15
