Holding Off for a Hero

by Gail MacMillan

  Ten minutes later he straightened from bending over the map on the table and looked across at her.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Well, not a hundred percent, no-room-for-error sure, but just about. Now gather up your gear while I make sandwiches and settle the dogs. I think we should leave them here today.”

  She was out the door before he could stop her.

  ****

  Twenty minutes later Frasier pointed at her headgear and chuckled. “Where did you get that thing?” A shower and a good breakfast had mellowed his mood.

  “At a state-of-the-art outdoor store.” She looked up at him, first in surprise and then in outright annoyance. “What’s so funny?”

  “It looks like the latest Elmer Fudd model.”

  “Oh, and I suppose wearing a dead animal on your head is much better,” she snapped, indicating his fur hat. “Or did you simply mug a Mountie to get that thing?”

  “Hey, not funny.” He adjusted it carefully. “For your information, it’s synthetic. I’m an anti-kill type of guy.”

  “Sorry.” She let a grin twitch her lips. “Neither of us is exactly haute couture in the millinery department, but at least we’re warm. Let’s go.”

  “You’re not coming.”

  “What!” She put her hands on her hips and stared up at him, lips pursed, forehead furrowed.

  “Look, Emma, I got shot trying to find that camp. Maybe someone has a reason not to want me to discover it. Maybe they’re using it to hide carcasses of deer meat…deer meat they’ve poached and are planning to sell. Poachers can be dangerous people.”

  “So you’ll go alone. Real smart, Frasier MacKenzie. Is finding that Eastern Panther worth that kind of risk?”

  “It is if I can prevent those guys shooting it as a trophy. You and the dogs enjoy the day.”

  He bent to put on his snowshoes. “If I’m not back by dark, feel free to call out a search team.”

  “Frasier!” she called after him as he started off down the trail through the unmarked snow, her tone full of annoyance.

  “Emma,” he paused, turned and looked back at her, his breath forming a fog in the frosty air. “I said stay here. I mean it.”

  “Killjoy!” she yelled as he strode away.

  ****

  Frasier had turned off the vehicle road and down the old logging trail between the pair of pines when his cell vibrated against his hip.

  “Frasier.” The Professor’s voice cracked over a faulty signal. “Where are…”

  “I’m heading down the logging road where I was shot. This fresh snow has provided an excellent tracking opportunity. Any new developments I should be aware of?”

  “…more information about …Prescott …arrested four years ago …assaulting a …officer.”

  “What’s that? Emma was arrested for assaulting a police officer? Under what circumstances?”

  The phone snapped and buzzed.

  “Professor!” he bellowed but the connection had been severed.

  Damn these cellular phones! He shoved it back into his pocket. Why had it taken the Professor so long to come up with this gem? Usually information like that came to the top of an investigation like cream on unprocessed milk.

  There had to be some mistake. A sick feeling rolled into his stomach. What if it wasn’t? Had Emma been trying to seduce him simply to use him? Could she be involved with students who dealt drugs? Had what he’d witnessed in her office that day been a drug deal, the story about buying gym equipment simply a smoke screen? Suddenly her explanation seemed ridiculous. What person in their right mind would trust a kid like Jesse Jones with two thousand dollars in cash? Sure, Emma had said she believed you had to give trust to get it, but still…

  He drew a deep breath and looked around. If all that were true, was he walking into a trap? Strange how she’d suddenly remembered the camp’s location.

  Only one way to find out. Keep going. Keep alert. Keep alive.

  Chapter Seven

  Someone was following him. Each time he paused he was sure he heard a slight sound in the trees behind him, as if someone else had stopped short, as well.

  He made a sharp turn into a thicket, crouched, and waited.

  For a few moments all was quiet. He was about to chalk one up to his imagination when he heard the soft swish of snowshoes. His heartbeat quickened. His tracks would lead to his hiding place. He would have to take whoever it was down fast and demand an explanation later.

  From his crouched position he saw only the legs of his stalker. When he lunged, he went for the knees.

  “Frasier, what do you think you’re doing!” Emma’s voice hit him like that snowball in the chest two hours earlier. “Get off of me, you big brute! I’m going to suffocate in the snow!”

  “Emma!” He’d fallen on her, his snowshoes tangling with hers.

  “Frasier, I said get off!” She struggled to shove him away.

  “Damn it, Emma!” He fell back into a squat beside her. “I told you to stay at the lake.”

  “Are you crazy!” she muttered, pulling herself to a sitting position and brushing snow from her face with a fuzzy mitten. “Just who did you think would be following you? You should have known it would be me.”

  “Yeah, I should have known.” He got to his feet and held down a hand to pull her upright, but she slapped it away. He looked directly into her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d been arrested for assaulting an officer?”

  “What?” She stared up at him. “Who told you…?”

  “It doesn’t matter who told me. Is it true?”

  “Would it matter if it was?”

  “Yeah, probably. I guess. Hell, Emma, I don’t know. Just tell me, is it true?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact.” Her gaze didn’t waver. “Would you like to know the circumstances, or don’t they matter? It appears you’ve already judged me and found me guilty of some heinous offense.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Fine.” She sat down on a tree stump and slanted an angry glance up at him. “I was arrested four years ago for protesting the Newfoundland seal hunt. When a Department of Fisheries and Oceans officer tried to stop me from protecting a baby seal, I hit him…with my open hand. Subsequently I was arrested.” She paused, then asked again, “Who told you? That was supposed to have been expunged from the records…my lawyer got it done in view of my career and the fact that this was my first offense.”

  “You were protesting the seal hunt?” Frasier felt as if a gigantic weight had been lifted from his shoulders. How could he have been paranoid enough to suspect her of anything truly violent or criminal? “Yeah, I can believe it.” He chuckled. “I hope you didn’t leave a mark on that officer. Were you wearing those mittens?”

  “Damn it, Frasier MacKenzie!” She lurched to her feet. “I’m tired of explaining myself to you. First it was my past love life, now it’s my so-called criminal record. Will you never learn to take me exactly as I am?”

  He saw tears filling her eyes.

  “Emma, I’m sorry. It’s just that sometimes you seem hell bent on driving me nuts. I…like you, really like you a lot, and when you hide things from me…”

  “Hide what things? Like an ancient arrest for trying to save adorable seal pups? I would have told you if I’d thought it was important, but you and your precious Professor had to go prying into my past, even setting that Lady in Leather against me. My God, Frasier, how important can finding an Eastern Panther be?”

  “Very.” He drew a deep breath and waded deeper into her contempt. “Where did you get the money to repair that car of yours?”

  “Oh, my God, Frasier! You can’t be thinking… No, I won’t believe you’re wondering if it was drug money.”

  “Emma, believe me, I don’t want to ask. I have to.”

  “Have to? Why? There’s only one reason. That’s because you don’t trust me, not even after all we’ve been through together. You’re despicable, Frasier MacKenzie!”

  She tried t
o shrug away from him, but he caught her arm. “Damn it, Emma, you can’t despise me any more than I loathe myself right now, but I do need answers. Please. I promise when this is all over you’ll understand.”

  She stopped struggling and looked up at him, tears brimming in her eyes. “Okay. I got the money from the insurance settlement for damages caused to my apartment by the fire. Now, are you satisfied?”

  “Yeah, of course, right. I should have thought of it.” A tsunami of relief flooded over him. He caught her into his arms and kissed her quick, and harder than he intended.

  “Ouch!” She pulled back and scrubbed a mitten over her mouth. “What was that?”

  “Sorry. It was meant to tell you I’m one relieved, happy critter. I knew in my heart you weren’t guilty of anything worse than being way too desirable to a man who can’t follow through, but I had to hear the words. You’d better head back to the cabin. I’ve got a lot of territory to cover today if I hope to come anywhere close to finding Midnight Jim’s camp.”

  “Go back? No way! I’m going to show you exactly where it is.” She wiped her eyes with a mitten and beat snow from the seat of her pants. “It’s a good thing I caught up with you when I did. You took a wrong turn about a quarter mile back. Come on, follow me.”

  ****

  “Come on, come on,” Emma urged him a half hour later. “I think it’s just beyond this ravine.”

  “Think,” he muttered. This was his first big hike since he’d been shot. The weariness of being out of shape was taking a toll on his energy and temper.

  “What was that?” She rounded on him.

  “Nothing, nothing. It’s just that this makes the fourth time you’ve said the same thing. I’m beginning to wonder if you’re leading me on a wild goose chase.”

  “Well, if you can find someone, anyone, else who has even the vaguest notion of where to find Midnight Jim’s camp, I’ll gladly resign my job as guide. Anyway, what possible reason would I have for attempting to lead you astray? Lord knows I’ve tried often enough and failed.” She looked over at him, her eyes narrowing suggestively.

  “Don’t get huffy.” He tried to ignore her innuendo, but his body tensed. “Lead on, Macduff.”

  “Aw, Shakespeare.” She put her mittened hands on her hips and grinned back at him. “Nothing like it to turn a girl on.”

  She resumed making her way gingerly through the underbrush.

  “Yeah, right,” he muttered.

  ****

  “Don’t move!” Frasier hissed the words. His hand shot out and seized Emma by the arm.

  “What…? She glanced up at him.

  His gaze galvanized on the branches of a huge cedar about twenty yards ahead of them.

  Draped over its branches about halfway up its height lay a big, tawny cat, the end of its long tail twitching intermittently as it sniffed the air.

  “Frasier, is that…?” Emma’s words came out in an incredulous whisper.

  “Behold the legendary Eastern Panther,” he breathed, barely able to believe what he saw. He eased his hand toward the pocket where he kept his digital camera, scarcely daring to breathe.

  “He’s magnificent,” she whispered.

  “Crouch…slowly,” he whispered, adjusting his camera setting. “We don’t want to alarm him.”

  Together they melted down into the snow. Frasier turned off the flash and lined up a shot. Even though he knew it wouldn’t be as good as he wished in the poor light of the forest, he didn’t want to risk a blaze of light scaring off the big cat.

  ****

  It began to snow again. Frasier was grateful he’d been able to get a few shots. The snow would obliterate tracks and make hair and scat difficult if not impossible to locate.

  The big cat roused itself and stood on the branch.

  “He’s huge!” Emma breathed in Frasier’s ear.

  Quite a woman. They’d been crouching in the snow for the better part of an hour, yet she remained enthralled by the situation. Yeah, she probably was arrested in an effort to protect a seal pup.

  “Shhh!” he cautioned as the panther swung its head, sniffing to left and right. “The wind’s changing. It’s caught a scent…hopefully it’s not ours. It’s getting ready to make a run for it.”

  He decided he had to risk it. He turned on the flash, got a clear shot, and depressed the shutter.

  At the jolt of light, the Panther opened its mouth and let forth its legendary, blood-curdling roar. Like a soul trapped in Hades. The scream echoed through the quiet forest. The next instant it leaped from the tree. With another hellish roar, it bolted into the forest.

  “What an experience!” Emma brushed snow from her clothing as they got to their feet. She looked up at him, her face bright with excitement. “Frasier, we’ve actually seen an Eastern Panther!”

  “Yet there’s only the slightest of chances he left anything behind that will prove his presence,” he muttered, as big, soft flakes of snow fluttered over them. “These pictures—” he held up the camera— “will probably be the only surviving evidence of what we’ve just seen. Come on, we have to try to follow and see if it will lead us to its den.”

  ****

  Frasier’s hand shot out to stop Emma fifteen minutes later. At his silent signal, she crouched with him and stared ahead as he parted the branches of the bushes that concealed them.

  Ahead in a clearing stood a long, crumbling log structure. Beyond it another, probably a stable, tilted into the ground. From a tree at the far end hung a pair of deer carcasses, one of which the Panther was tearing into shreds and gobbling.

  “A poacher’s lair,” Frasier hissed. He aimed through the branches. Again the flash, again the outraged roar. The big cat dove into the forest.

  “He probably won’t return.” Emma arose and stretched stiff muscles. “We should start back. It gets dark early among the trees, never mind the fact that this light snowfall is wiping out our tracks.”

  “In a minute.” Frasier had an inspiration. “I want to take a look inside.”

  The clearing was well trampled. He knelt and removed his snowshoes. Camera in hand, he started to cross the clearing.

  “Be careful.” He glanced back to see her following him.

  Ruts made by ATVs led around back. He followed them, Emma close behind.

  “Look!” he breathed into the frosty air. “A new road leading to the camp. Someone is definitely using this place, maybe for more than poaching.”

  “What are you talking about?” Emma caught him by an arm, stumbled over her snowshoes, and turned him back to face her. “Frasier MacKenzie, what…?”

  “I can’t explain now, Emma, but soon, very soon, I hope. Come on. We have to go inside.”

  His heart pounded, his pulse rate soared. His gut told him this was it, the end of his quest.

  With Emma following, he returned to the front of the camp and pushed open the scarred plank door. The stale, cold air of an unheated building gushed out, but as they advanced into the dilapidated structure the odor left by greasy cooking and burning wood indicated recent habitation. When his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, Frasier saw an old woodburning stove in the centre with a battered plank table surrounded by a half dozen abused ladderback chairs. In a far corner were built-in bunks that must once have held lumbermen, and a crooked bookshelf that held an assortment of liquor bottles and beer cases.

  “Someone’s been using this place recently,” he muttered. He slid back the cover of the stove to peer inside.

  “But why? They’re obviously not very good poachers.” Emma came close to his side and looked up into his face. He could see her astonishment beginning to take on a tinge of fear. “If they were, they wouldn’t have left those carcasses where every passing scavenger could get them. Oh, my God, Frasier, I’ll bet this place is being used by drug smugglers!” The last sentence burst from her in an epiphany of words. “We’re not far from the American border. It would be easy! We have to get out of here before they come back! We have to c
all the police!”

  “Hold on just a minute.” He tried to minimize her conclusion, even though he was ninety-nine percent certain she was right. “We have no evidence of that. We may just have stumbled on the stash of a couple of greedy hunters. I don’t see any evidence of drugs, do you?”

  “No.” The word held a note of uncertainty. “But…” Her tone picked up. “They’d hardly leave their illegal imports just lying around, now would they? Come on, let’s search the stable. That’s a lot more likely a place than this. After all, no one goes there anymore.”

  She turned awkwardly on her snowshoes and headed outside. Ah, damn! He turned and followed her. When he got to the cabin door, she was staggering through knee-deep snow toward the sagging horse barn about fifty yards away.

  “Emma, wait.” he risked calling out to her. His words echoed into the quiet of the snowy afternoon, and he cursed. Not a smart move, MacKenzie.

  “Come on, come on.” She turned back to him, her face bright with anticipation.

  “Quiet!” he hissed. “Voices can carry for miles in this silence.”

  He had to help her push open the jammed stable door. When they had succeeded in forcing it ajar, all that greeted them was a series of long-deserted stalls with pole dividers and a faint long-ago odor of horses, manure, and shavings.

  “Nothing here.” Emma’s tone reflected disappointment.

  “Yeah, well, what you see is what you get,” he said wearily gesturing at the deer carcasses. “We didn’t set out to be Holmes and Watson, now, did we?”

  “No.” She drew a deep breath. “But it would have been a treat to have found a drug dealer’s hideout and put him out of business.”

  “Agreed.” Frasier looked around the clearing but saw only an ancient privy, its broken door hanging on one hinge. “Need to use the facilities?” He gestured toward it and grinned.

  “Funny.” Her reply was an absent-sounding comeback.

  “What?”

  “There is one other place they could hide stuff,” she said slowly. “Every camp had one.”

  “One what?”

  “A root cellar. A room dug into a hillside or rise in the ground where they kept root vegetables in winter to prevent them freezing.” He watched as she let her gaze roam over the area.