What Doesn't Kill Her

by Christina Dodd

  “Can I go down now, Mommy? Can I? Can I?”

  Max said Rae had never met a stranger; Kellen saw the truth of that, and the potential for trouble, right now. “Wait for me.”

  Rae looked longingly over the edge of the rocks. “They have food.”

  “Rae, I mean it.” Kellen used her Army-command voice. At least, she thought she had, but this time it sounded a little different. Oh, hell. It was a mother-command voice. She didn’t even know she had it in her. “I’m almost ready.”

  Rae put her back against the rock, slid down onto her bottom, crossed her arms and sulked.

  Kellen wrapped the head in the sleeping bag and attached it to the backpack, and as she did, she said softly, “Rae, please remember we’re secret superheroes and we don’t want to tell any of the bikers what we’re doing up here or what has happened to us. If Mommy says something that’s not quite true, that’s okay. Okay?”

  Rae still sulked.

  Kellen knelt down beside her and lifted her chin until Rae looked at her. “Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Kellen gave her a quick kiss, then stood and pulled on the backpack. To the bikers, she said, “I’m coming down now.” Best not to make any unexpected moves around these folks. She jumped down into their midst. “Come on, honey.”

  Rae bobbed up, sulk forgotten, beaming with the joy at the prospect of meeting the bikers and cajoling her second breakfast out of them. Kellen lifted her arms and caught Rae when she jumped and staggered backward.

  Rae focused right on the muscular guy with the wrench in his hand. “He’s eating granola.”

  Subtle. Kellen brushed Rae’s hair off her forehead. In her most cheerful voice, she said, “I know! But we had breakfast already. Remember?”

  “I’m hungry!”

  The guy stopped eating and, guilty and undecided, looked at his bag of granola.

  Kellen turned to Roberts—

  ROBERTS:

  FEMALE, CAUCASIAN ANCESTRY (ASSUMED), LATE 30S, 5'3", 100 LBS. BROWN HAIR, HAZEL EYES, FAIR SKIN. COMPETENT, WATCHFUL, INTERESTED.

  —who was stripping her tire from the rim and replacing it with an undamaged tire. “I can’t believe she eats so much.”

  Roberts grinned. “I’ve got twins about her age. Some days they eat nothing, but most days... Growing kids need a lot of calories.” She pulled a bag of dried apricots out of her pocket. “We do this every year. We always bring too much. Give her these.”

  Kellen called Rae over and handed her six apricots.

  She was already eating the baggie of granola. Not even Mr. Tool-as-a-Weapon was proof against her wiles. “Thank you, Mommy. Mr. Durant gave me this. He wants me to call him Brad. Did this nice lady give these to us?”

  “She did. Her name is Mrs. Roberts.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Roberts! Can you change your tire all by yourself?”

  Roberts grinned at her enthusiasm. “When you’re mountain biking, you have to be able to do everything all by yourself.”

  “Can I watch you?” Rae settled down to eat and observe.

  Kellen eased back a step.

  “Where are you headed?” One of the guys squatted on his haunches against a tree and the way he acted, as if he had the right to know, raised her hackles.

  But the general attitude here was suspicion, and she needed these people. She needed the protection of a large group, and if she could somehow wrangle transportation to safety...to the Restorer... She stuck out her hand. “I’m Kellen Adams. You are...?”

  “Wade McNomara.”

  WADE MCNOMARA:

  MALE, ASIAN ANCESTRY/IRISH SURNAME (INTERESTING), 50 YO, 5'8", SO SKINNY NO ONE WOULD USE HIS DRUMSTICKS TO MAKE SOUP. NOT THE LEADER. UNFRIENDLY.

  He lifted his index finger and waved it in a circle. “I’m the founder of the Cyclomaniacs.”

  “Cute name. We’re headed to the lookout on top of Horizon Ridge.”

  Wade moved from foot to foot. “You don’t want to do that. That guy up there—Zone.”

  “Zone? His name is Zone?”

  “That’s the least of it. He’s weird. He’s crazy.”

  “That’s reassuring.” She needed the information, so she squatted against another tree. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “His family owned Horizon Ridge way back in the day. It’s an extinct volcano, above the tree line, and you can see forever up there. Even standing on the ground, it’s amazing, and I’ve heard in the tower the view is west to the ocean and south and east for miles. When World War II rolled around, the federal government wanted to build a lookout up there, and Zone’s great-grandfather was a shrewd old bastard with good contacts. Somehow he made them agree that if he built the lookout, his family had the right to live there in perpetuity.”

  “What’s wrong with this Zone person living there? Sounds okay, if he has the right.”

  “You know how it is. When you’re in the mountains, everyone helps each other and if you visit one of the National Forest lookouts, you can go up and take photos. If there’s a ranger they’ll show you around, and sometimes you can rent the place for a night or a week.”

  Kellen didn’t know that. Her previous experience with the mountains was of civil war in Afghanistan. And this experience, in the Olympics, had been unrelenting terror driven by the hope of escape. But she said, “Sure.”

  “Zone is hostile.”

  That’s the pot calling the kettle black.

  “A loner. Barricades himself in. Two years ago, I took the Cyclomaniacs there. He came out on the deck with a shotgun.”

  “That’s not good.” She had believed she was leading Rae to the one place they would be safe. Now another worry—would she get Rae safely to the lookout and be denied access?

  “He never lets anyone come up, never leaves.” Wade shuffled his feet some more, stirring the carpet of pine needles, making aggressive eye contact.

  “He has to leave,” Kellen pointed out. “If he lives above the tree line, he hasn’t got a garden. He needs supplies.”

  “No one’s ever seen him out with the real people.”

  “Is Zone his last name?”

  Wade shrugged. “I think so.”

  “What’s his first name?”

  “Never heard it.”

  If she was getting this right, Wade had led the group up the mountain, promising a spectacular view. Zone had ordered them away. Wade had looked like a fool, and everything about him spelled anger and resentment.

  No wonder he wasn’t the Cyclomaniacs’ leader.

  Still, he tried. “So don’t go up there,” Wade commanded.

  She hesitated. Of course she did. Would she be wiser to take Rae and head back toward civilization?

  No. The Greedy Bastards and the Mercenaries were back that direction. She assumed they were headed up the mountain now, searching for her and Rae. The Restorer was closer, and even if he was everything Wade said, he was better than the men who hunted them. “We’ve got an appointment with this Zone.”

  “An appointment? You didn’t even know his name!”

  “This is a business trip. He’s an expert on restoration. I’ve been sent to take something to him.”

  “I thought you and your daughter were bonding.”

  “We are. I didn’t know there was a problem with him. Apparently I wasn’t given all the information I needed. I mean, obviously.” Damn Nils Brooks. Someday she was going to kill that bastard. “Still, I’ve got to deliver.”

  Wade watched her as if he didn’t quite believe her.

  She wanted to consider the idea of sending Rae on with the bikers. That would be safer...probably. But Wade was still behaving like she was some kind of criminal. Maybe it was better to bring their hostility out into the open.

  She looked around. Everyone was watching her, either surreptitiously or openly. �
��What’s wrong? Everybody’s acting as if we’re...as if we’re dangerous.”

  The leader had wandered close and was listening to the conversation, and at last she butted in. “You didn’t hear what happened a couple of days ago?”

  Kellen shook her head. “We haven’t talked to anybody.” Who wasn’t a gun-toting assassin and headhunter. She extended her hand. “Kellen.”

  “Liz Angelacos.” She shook but didn’t kneel with Kellen and Wade. “On President Roosevelt Road, there was a van that caught on fire.”

  Kellen had to play this carefully. “Right. I saw that. But... I assumed it was an accident.”

  “Everybody thought that, but no one knew what happened to the people inside.”

  “You suspect foul play?”

  “Right above the site, some guy was handcuffed to a tree.”

  So they had found Horst. “That’s weird.”

  Wade jumped in as if he couldn’t wait to spread the bad news. “He had his throat cut.”

  20

  “What?” Kellen didn’t have to fake shock. “Cut like...he’s dead?”

  “Real dead. Blood all over. Flies. Lots of footprints.” Wade told his story with relish. “No knife, no evidence, lots of footprints.”

  Kellen had left Horst tethered to that tree. He’d been unconscious but most definitely alive. What happened? Who had murdered him? In a sudden panic, she looked around for her daughter.

  Roberts was showing Rae how to attach the fixed wheel to the bike and inflate the tire.

  Kellen turned back to Liz and Wade. “Who found him?”

  Wade shrugged.

  “They don’t have any idea who did it?”

  “Maybe Zone.”

  Liz sighed in exasperation. “Oh, Wade.”

  That was Wade’s spite and irritation speaking—Nils Brooks wouldn’t send her to be murdered. Would he? If that was his intention, he could easily have taken care of the matter last winter.

  Liz continued, “Maybe it was those two guys who stopped us and tried to push us around.” She turned to Kellen. “They wanted our bikes!”

  The Greedy Bastards with the shiny shoes. They must be tired of walking. Kellen looked up at Liz. “Are you going toward Horizon Lookout?”

  “After what I’ve told you,” Wade said, “you’re still going up there?”

  “I really do have an appointment with Zone, and I know he has some form of communication that works. It’s faster going forward than back. If it’s possible to get there today—”

  “It is, if we give you a lift,” Liz said.

  “That would be...” Fabulous. Such a relief. The safest way to keep both Rae and the Triple Goddess safe. “If you would do that, I’ll call Rae’s father and he’ll come to get us.”

  “There’s no easy way to get up there except by helicopter.” Clearly, Liz wasn’t trying to discourage Kellen; she was giving her the facts.

  “Then he’ll do that.” Kellen felt comfortable making that promise.

  “You’re assuming Zone will let you call out,” Wade said.

  “I’m assuming if he’s a craftsman and recluse, he’ll do anything to get rid of Rae.” Kellen chose her words delicately. “She, um, talks a lot.”

  Wade darted a look at the chattering Rae. “We do this trip to get away from our kids.”

  “I understand. You don’t want us with you for the duration.” With every moment that passed, Kellen felt as if she’d made the right decision. “But if you could get us to Horizon Lookout, or at least close, we’d be grateful.”

  “We’ll do it,” Liz said. “It’s three hours to the end of the trail. That’s where we turn around and come back. The path up to Horizon Ridge goes up from there. You’ll have to walk.”

  Kellen glanced around. “How do we do this?”

  “Wade?” Liz handed it over to him. “You’re in charge of emergencies.” She walked back toward her bike.

  Wade got to his feet and began to stretch, and he said to Kellen, “Ellen and I will double up. You can take her bike and your kid can ride on the seat. It’s hard riding, but you’re in good shape.”

  She was. In good shape, with a recent injury. She was sleep deprived, undernourished and had no tolerance for these high elevations. Didn’t matter. That would work. “Sounds great.”

  He observed the low-level tremble of her fingers. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you that much.”

  “No, it’s good you did. I know there’s always a chance of trouble, but a throat slashed—that’s terrifying.” She felt compelled to check on Rae again, make sure she was close and healthy.

  The kid was eating a cheese stick.

  Kellen’s stomach growled.

  Wade handed her one of the what appeared to be endless bags of granola the group shared. “Here. Carbs will take care of that shake.”

  The granola contained oatmeal, dried cranberries, walnuts and—oh, ick—coconut, but Kellen finished the bag at record speed. “Thanks. That was fabulous.”

  “I make it myself.” He smirked. “In fact, I made all the granola for this trip. For everyone.”

  “Well done,” Kellen said weakly.

  “It’s fixed!” Roberts called.

  Wade announced, “Adams and her daughter are going with us to the Horizon trail cutoff. They have an appointment—” he used air quotes “—with Zone. Let’s hope he’s not the homicidal maniac running loose in the woods.”

  The group exchanged glances, variously amused and exasperated, and Kellen figured she was right—no one believed Zone was the villain Wade painted him to be.

  Ellen moved to Wade’s bike. Kellen settled Rae on Ellen’s bike. Liz gave her some instructions about mountain-biking rules, primarily don’t ride too close. The group gathered, they put Kellen and Rae in the middle, and they were off.

  Immediately, the trail dropped off into a gulley, and Kellen found herself roaring downhill at a thousand miles an hour, across a trickling creek and heading back up the other side. By the grace of God she managed not to fall, not to hit any rocks and not to scream with terror. She imagined poor Rae, clinging to the seat in wide-eyed fear, and slowed down.

  Immediately, behind her, Roberts called, “You’re going to have to speed it up or we won’t make it to the trailhead before dark.”

  “Go, Mommy! Ride!” Kellen’s daughter didn’t sound scared. The little traitor sounded thrilled and excited.

  Kellen rode.

  21

  Max was a Di Luca. His family roots were in Italy. He had relatives on the US East and West Coasts. While Max was in his teens, his father died and he’d been the head of his family ever since. He’d played football for Alabama and got a business degree, too. For a brief amazing few months, he’d climbed peaks in the Himalayas, lived in a monastery, traveled out of range of modern technology, concentrated on learning inner peace and began the long slow process to become a man of wisdom.

  Immediately upon his return, his niece, Annabella, had been kidnapped by her father, a worthless scoundrel intent on siphoning off the family’s money. When he’d found her, he’d also found a young vagrant woman protecting his niece with fierce reckless courage. When Max remembered that day, the way she attacked Ettore Fontina, faced pain and death to save a child she didn’t even know... He had seen a goddess, and he had fallen in love.

  In love. With a homeless woman with no name, too many scars and fears he could only imagine.

  She called herself Ceecee, and he had taken her into his home and been all kinds of a fool over her. He had courted her, romanced her and in a rush of tragic events, he’d seen his lover shot. He’d been with her as, still in a coma, she bore his child. He became a single father, and when Ceecee woke unattended and walked out of the hospital, he found himself a forsaken lover.

  The wisdom of the Far East meant nothing when compared w
ith everyday events.

  Except, he had to admit, climbing the Olympic Mountains was easier when one had trained one’s mind to concentrate on inner peace. Or maybe concentrate putting one foot in front of the other and not thinking about that body tied to a tree and bathed in blood. His mother had faith in Kellen’s survival skills for both Rae and herself. He did, too. If he continued at this pace, they could all make it to Horizon Ridge at about the same time...

  If Kellen and Rae survived the trek...

  He blocked the thought of death and fear. Whoever had slit that man’s throat would not find them.

  “Sir!” Two park rangers stepped from behind a massive red cedar onto the uphill side of his path. “May we see your ID?”

  Max skidded to a stop.

  According to their badges, the female was Ranger Holt and the male, Ranger Nicolson. Both looked grim. Both carried sidearms.

  Ranger Holt repeated, “Excuse me, sir. May we see your identification?”

  Max took a step back. “Sure.” Slinging his backpack off his shoulder, he went for the side zipper pocket.

  The sound of a safety being released made him freeze. He looked up to see Ranger Holt in a firing stance, her unwavering pistol pointed at him.

  The rangers were jumpy, and that made him jumpy, too. Jumpy and suspicious.

  “My wallet’s in here.” Max touched the zipper. “I’ll let you get it out.” He passed his backpack to Ranger Nicolson. “With all due respect, the outfits look authentic, but may I see your IDs?”

  Ranger Nicolson pulled his badge from his pocket and passed it over. “Will one do? Ranger Holt seems unready to abandon her stance.”

  “I see that.” Max examined the badge. It not only looked authentic, it looked worn, like a badge that had been carried in a pocket for many years. That, more than anything, convinced him he had the real thing. Well, that, and the fact that if they were killers rather than park rangers, they could have already shot him. “May I ask what’s up?”

  “There’s been foul play.” Ranger Holt still stood braced to fire.

  “Must be bad.” Max kept an eye on Ranger Nicolson as the ranger bought out his wallet, flipped through driver’s license and credit cards, then rummaged a little deeper. “You can search the whole backpack,” Max said. “I’ve got rope, food for a couple of days, a change of clothes, bladder of water, sleeping bag, one-man tent and a knife. Knife’s in the left zipper pocket in a sheath.”