They lowered Logan onto a couch. Zoe grabbed an ottoman and scooted it under his leg.
“I’ll move my truck,” Yellowhorse said. “Turn on any lights you need.” He did the pointing-with-his-lips thing to indicate a pair of closed doors. “Those are bedrooms with a bathroom between. You will find first aid supplies there. I’ll be right back.”
As the Navajo disappeared outside, Zoe took her first good look at their new hideout.
The cabin wasn’t at all what she’d pictured. They were in a spacious and open great room with log walls. The couch Logan was on and a pair of easy chairs facing a stone fireplace appeared old but in good condition. Better than the second- and third-hand stuff at the Monongahela County EMS garage. On the other side of the room was a small but tidy kitchen with a range and a full-size refrigerator. The countertop was bare except for a wooden block holding assorted knives and, most importantly, a coffeemaker.
“I’m gonna check the bathroom and see what kind of first aid equipment they have.”
Logan gritted his teeth. “’kay.”
Zoe crossed the wood floor and opened the door Yellowhorse had indicated. She felt along the wall, found a switch, and flipped it. The room held three sets of bunk beds and a rustic dresser.
Another door stood open to a bathroom, which while not fancy, was clean. The bathtub looked especially inviting at the moment. She turned the knob on the sink’s faucet. The responding rush of water drew a few quick dance steps from her. “I’ve turned into a wimp,” she said to the disheveled image in the mirror.
She rummaged through the medicine cabinet and then a small closet before finding a store-bought prepackaged first aid kit. Not much to work with. But she tucked it under her arm, grabbed a stack of bath towels, and returned to Logan.
“How are you doing?” she asked him.
Pain etched deep lines in his forehead, and fear gleamed in his eyes. “Been better.”
Zoe sat gingerly next to his foot and slid the cuff of his jeans toward his knee. His leg above the boot top had ballooned. If she had her trauma shears, she’d have cut the work boot off. Instead, she unlaced it, taking care to keep his ankle immobilized. She pulled the laces as loose as possible, but when it came time to slide the boot from Logan’s foot, he cried out.
She winced as if the agony was her own. “I’m sorry.”
“I know. Just do what you have to.”
Yellowhorse came through the door as Zoe dropped the boot to the floor with a thud. She shot a questioning glance his way.
“We are safe for now,” the Navajo said.
The part about “for now” wasn’t lost on her. Somewhere out there, Wolf wanted them dead and continued to hunt for them. Even though Yellowhorse had rescued her and Logan, the reprieve was temporary.
The Navajo approached. “Do you think it’s broken?”
The moment Zoe had removed the boot and sock, Logan’s ankle and foot had blown up, like one of those inflatable life vests. “I can’t really tell without an x-ray. Doesn’t matter at this point anyway. Treatment’s the same. I need to splint it.”
“Can I help?”
She pointed to the small plastic box with the red cross on it. “Is this the only first aid equipment here?”
“I believe so. It’s all I’ve ever seen.”
She’d figured as much. “How about ice?”
“I’ll check.”
While Yellowhorse headed for the kitchen, Zoe opened the kit. At least the box was fully stocked and contained two Ace bandages.
“Considering our current situation,” Logan said, “drug dealers being after us and all, I feel funny asking. But is there anything in there you can give me for pain?”
She rummaged through the contents and found a packet of acetaminophen. Painkiller, yes. But she’d rather have an anti-inflammatory.
Yellowhorse returned with two plastic storage bags of ice. “How’s this, Medicine Woman?”
She blinked. Medicine Woman? “Umm, great. Thanks.” She took the bags and packed them around Logan’s swollen ankle. “Could you try to find some ibuprofen or aspirin please?”
Yellowhorse clomped across the floor to the bathroom. A moment later he called out, “Tylenol?”
“Isn’t there any Advil?”
She heard the rattle of pills. “Yes,” Yellowhorse replied, a note of victory in his voice. He returned and dropped the bottle in her hand. “I’ll get water.”
Once Zoe had given Logan a double dose of ibuprofen, she wrapped the towels around the ice bags and bound them with the Ace bandages. Eventually, she’d re-do the splint minus the ice when it came time to move. Right now, she didn’t want to think about that.
With Yellowhorse’s help, she swung Logan’s legs from the ottoman to the couch and stuffed some pillows under his calf to elevate the injured ankle.
“Try to get some rest,” she told Logan with a smile she hoped looked more comforting than forced.
He closed his eyes in response. But his face held its tension.
As anxious as Pete was to get to Zoe, he soon decided Morales was definitely the man to be behind the wheel, especially in the dark. The terrain here had no resemblance to what Pete was used to, and the slow going was agonizing.
Morales managed the steering wheel with one hand and answered his cell phone with the other. After a series of noncommittal grunts and one-word responses, he thanked the caller and hung up. “Our other ground unit reports there’s a second set of tire tracks.”
Another vehicle. “Following the first?”
“Can’t tell. My guess? Our shooters are the ones following this new vehicle.”
Pete ran the scenario through his mind. “Zoe and Logan.”
“Possibly.”
“They had a vehicle stashed in case they needed to make a quick exit.” But the scenario didn’t make sense. Allison had made no allusion to another car or truck. However…Pete looked at Morales.
In unison, they said, “Billy Yellowhorse.”
“Yeah.” Morales jammed the brakes and eased the truck through an obstacle course of smooth rocks and divots. “He’s been keeping the Bassi boy hidden. It’s very likely he helped them escape tonight.” The detective’s phone rang again and he answered.
Pete watched the limited view ahead of them. Listened to half of the conversation. And attempted to process the situation. Billy Yellowhorse. From what they’d learned so far, he had no known criminal background. Allison had spoken of him as if he were some freaking superhero with powers of invisibility. If Morales’s supposition that Yellowhorse had swept in and saved Zoe and Logan from certain death was correct, Pete owed the man.
But if Yellowhorse had somehow been responsible for putting them in peril in the first place, Pete owed him something else entirely.
Morales ended his phone call with a curse.
“What’s going on?” Pete asked.
“Nothing,” Morales grumbled. “Not a damn thing. That was the ground unit again. We lost them.”
“How?”
“Both vehicles hit a paved road up ahead. We know which direction they turned, but that’s all. Even Air One lost sight of them.”
“Did both vehicles head in the same direction?”
Morales shot a glance at him, the gravity of this latest development evident in his eyes, even through the glow of the dashboard lights. “Yeah. They did.”
Pete’s brain chilled. What they didn’t know—and what tire tracks couldn’t tell them—was how much distance was between the hunter and the prey. And how much time Pete had to save Zoe.
Yellowhorse moved to the fireplace and started arranging kindling and wood in it. Zoe tiptoed away from her patient and sunk into one of the worn easy chairs. The Navajo glanced in her direction. “There are two bedrooms. One just has bunks. However the other is quite nice. You go in there and t
ry to sleep.”
She gave him a grateful though weary smile. “Thanks, but I don’t think that’s gonna happen.”
He picked up a long-barreled lighter and clicked the trigger. Laying the flame to the kindling, he said, “You don’t trust me to keep watch?”
The question surprised her. Mostly because of her answer. “I do.” And she meant it. “But I’m too wired. Besides, I think I napped a little in the truck.”
For the first time since she’d known Yellowhorse, he smiled. “You were able to nap in the backseat of my truck while we had gunmen chasing us, but you are too wired to sleep in a nice bed now that we’re safe?”
She managed a quiet laugh. “You have a point.” The seriousness of the situation settled on her again. “But are we? Safe, I mean.”
His smile faded. “For now.”
“How long is now?”
The fire crackled, and Yellowhorse made one more adjustment of the wood before stepping back to sit in the other easy chair. “You ask too many questions.”
“Uh-huh.” She knew he simply didn’t want to answer. But since he’d already made the accusation, she might as well prove him right. “Do you have a cell phone?”
“We have already talked about this. Involving the police will only put our friend in more danger.”
“Actually, no. We haven’t talked about it. You have. And how could a phone call put Logan in more danger than he already is? Than all three of us are? I mean, this Wolf guy has already found us once. What makes you think he won’t find us again?”
Yellowhorse appeared to chew on something. Her words, perhaps? “It does not matter. I don’t have a cell phone.”
“Not even in your truck?”
“No.”
She looked around. “Surely there’s a landline here in the cabin.”
“No.” Yellowhorse shrugged. “No need for one. Everyone has cell phones.”
Zoe glared at him and thought she spotted a trace of a smile. “So we have no way to call for help?”
He lip-pointed at the fire. “We could send smoke signals.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but didn’t know what to say without sounding politically incorrect. She’d already insulted the Navajo numerous times without meaning to.
Then Yellowhorse laughed. A throaty, warm chuckle radiating from deep in his chest.
He had a sense of humor. She never would’ve guessed. Lowering her face, she shook her head and snickered. “All right. We’re on our own. I get it.”
Clearly pleased with himself, he fell quiet again.
“How did you know about this cabin?” Zoe asked. “Who does it belong to?”
“The company I work for owns it. When there are fishing tournaments, the men can stay here. When there are not, they allow us to use the place.”
“You have a key?”
“They keep one hidden. Those of us who use the cabin know where it is.”
She thought of something that knotted her shoulders. “Does Wolf know about it?”
“I hope not.”
She’d hoped for a more comforting reply.
Yellowhorse’s eyes drifted closed. A hint, perhaps, that he didn’t want to answer any more of her questions.
Zoe decided she’d squeezed as much conversation from Yellowhorse as she was going to for one night. She stretched her legs out in front of her, crossing one booted ankle over another. Behind her, Logan began to snore, and she smiled. The poor kid was more exhausted than any of them. Even injured he’d drifted off.
Minutes passed. Or maybe an hour. She wasn’t sure if she’d joined Logan in slumber or if she’d only closed her eyes for a moment. But a hand on her arm jolted her. Yellowhorse stood between their chairs. “We must go,” he said. His wide eyes were focused on the window.
“Go?” She looked at the window too. Saw nothing but the night. “You see something?”
“No. But I hear a car.”
Zoe listened. The fire continued to crackle. She heard nothing else. Still, now was not the time to doubt the Navajo’s sense of hearing.
“Do you still have the gun I gave you?”
She touched the pocket of her fleece vest. Nothing. Crap. “I stuck it between the couch pillows back in the trailer.”
Yellowhorse’s mouth twitched.
Zoe climbed to her feet. “What should we do?”
“Wake up our friend. Make sure he’s ready to travel. I’ll bring my truck around.”
Yellowhorse crossed silently to the door. Drew the curtain aside. Looked both ways. And then opened it and slipped out into the dark.
Zoe moved to the couch where Logan slept. The part of his face not hidden by facial hair was relaxed, but showed the wear and tear of the last couple of weeks. She wished she didn’t have to wake him, but she gave his shoulder a gentle shake. “Logan.”
His eyes fluttered open and widened in instant panic. “What?”
“Pony Boy says we need to go. Now.”
Groggy, Logan sat up. And winced.
Zoe grabbed his injured ankle and swung the leg around to the ottoman. With deft, well-practiced movements, she unwound the bandage enough to tug the melted ice bags free. She tossed them aside and re-wrapped the bath towel splint. Not a great job, but the best she could manage under the circumstances.
Somewhere nearby, an engine roared. Yellowhorse’s truck?
“Come on.” Zoe helped Logan to his feet. They took one hobbled step toward the door.
Outside, the same quick-fire rat-a-tat-tat that had shredded the trailer shattered the silence. And sent Zoe and Logan diving to the floor.
Twenty-eight
Pete and Morales stood in front of the idling pickup at the edge of a road. Considering the amount of dirt washed across the pavement, it wasn’t heavily used. The truck’s headlights revealed what they already knew.
“Our other unit tracked them this far.” Morales pointed at the two sets of tread marks in the sand, both angled to the left, vanishing on the blacktop.
Pete gestured into the dark. “What’s out there?”
“More of the same for the most part.” Morales’s phone rang. He turned away and answered it.
Pete wandered into the middle of the road and gazed in one direction and then the other. No traffic. No signs of life.
Zoe, where the hell are you? The throaty rumble of the diesel drowned out any night sounds, but did nothing to drown the accusatory voices in his head. He should have put his foot down and refused to let her come out here without him. Armed drug dealers. Good lord. What chance did she and a teenaged boy have against something like this?
Morales returned, his expression grim. “Our other unit made it all the way to Navajo Dam. No sign of anything yet.”
“What about your helo?”
“Air One’s been diverted to another incident down by Farmington.” The detective backhanded Pete’s shoulder. “Get in. We know they’re headed in that direction. We might as well keep going. Maybe we’ll get lucky and see something our other guys missed.”
Any action was better than just standing there. Pete climbed in beside Morales, who dropped the gearshift into drive and gunned the big truck nearly drowning out the ringing of Pete’s phone. Caller ID showed Baronick’s name and number.
“I hope you’re having more luck than we are,” Pete snapped.
“I don’t know about luck, but I do have some information. I’m sitting here with a very unhappy Cody Bodine who’s telling me all sorts of tales about his wayward cousin Calvin.”
Zoe wasn’t sure which terrified her more. The gunfire outside or the silence that followed. “Stay down,” she whispered to Logan and scrambled to her knees.
“Where are you going?” he demanded, his voice low and frantic.
“Just stay here.” On all fours, she scurried to the end tabl
e and reached up to turn off the lamp. That was the easy part. Taking a deep breath, she pushed to her feet, but stayed hunkered over. Half running, half crawling, she made it to the cabin’s front door. Reached up to the wall switch, and shut off the lights to the great room and the porch. She stared at the doorknob. Should she lock it to at least slow down the intruders? But what about Pony Boy? If he was all right, he’d need to be able to get in. A lump rose in her throat. What if he wasn’t all right?
Why hadn’t she kept the revolver in her pocket?
She turned her back to the wall and squatted. The only illumination was the warm flickering glow of the fireplace. Logan lay belly-down in front of the couch watching her with panicked eyes. One of the burning logs popped and sizzled, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney.
She needed a weapon.
The kitchen.
Keeping low, Zoe made her way through the dark to the counter and slowly stood. Expected a gunshot to blast through the window at her. None came.
At least the solid logs would provide more protection than the thin walls of the now-shredded mobile home.
She felt along the countertop to where she remembered seeing the knives. Her fingers hit on the square wood block holding them and her pulse quickened. Pete had once teased her about bringing a knife to a gunfight, but she’d come out on top in that battle.
One at a time, she plucked the knives from the block, cautiously fingering the blades. Chef’s knife. Good. Serrated bread knife. She pushed that one away.
A few minutes later, she gathered the chef’s knife, a long-bladed utility knife, and a paring knife and bent over to shuffle to Logan’s side.
Along with her improvised weapons, she was armed with a plan. Not a good one. But it was a start. “I need to move you into the bathroom.”
“Why?”
“Because when they bust in here, they’ll have to come through the front door, the bedroom door, and the bathroom door to get to you.”
No Way Home Page 24
