by Rita Herron
She pulled his hands up then and placed them on her breasts, smiling as he moaned with anticipation. “It isn’t wrong to share passion the way we do. To feel strongly or want strongly, to care
Determined to prove that his intensity didn’t frighten her, she dipped her head to kiss his neck, then lower to bite at his nipple the way he had hers. Enjoying the tormented sound he emitted, she reached for his sex. She wanted to love him, to prove that her hunger was equally as strong as his. He caught her hands though and pulled her on top of him, so she straddled his hardened erection.
“It isn’t wrong for a young beautiful society woman to let a man take her like this?”
She wet her lips with her tongue, then plunged her hips forward to take in his length. “How can making love be wrong when it feels so perfect?” When it is making love, not sex.
Heat flared in his eyes, and he gripped her hips with his hands, lowering his head to suckle at her breasts as she began to grind back and forth. He filled her, ignited a burning heat that spiraled through her in hot molten flames. She dug her fingers in his back as he impaled her over and over, his rhythm growing more urgent and hard, his emotions raging in his eyes.
And once more, before they had to leave their private cocoon, they rode the crest to heaven, this time crying out their ecstasy together just as dawn broke the sky.
BERTRAM KNOCKED on Grace’s office door, then let himself inside. “The chopper’s ready.”
Grace grabbed his jacket. “Good. They can’t have gotten very far.”
Bertram nodded. “According to the map, there’s a series of old mines deep in the mountains near Graveyard Falls. I have a hunch they might be holed up in one of those.”
“A perfect hiding spot,” Grace said in agreement. “Let’s go.”
Bertram turned to lead the way. “Mary insists on going, too.”
Grace hesitated. Helio DeMarco’s cousin wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but she loved babies. At one time, she’d been a nurse, which he’d thought might be valuable in caring for the Langworthy baby. Years before, she’d been sued for malpractice—accused of killing cancer patients—but the authorities had no proof. She’d admitted her guilt to Bertram, claiming she had committed the mercy killings to alleviate the patients’ suffering. Her good intentions sometimes had bad results for others. Grace had taken her on as a favor to Helio. But he damn well would not let her ruin his life’s work.
“All right. But you have to keep her in line.”
Bertram nodded. “I’ve already had a talk with her.”
The two of them strode from the laboratory, focused on their mission. Grace hadn’t come this far to lose one of his best research subjects. And now that he’d studied Walker’s blood and had an entirely new avenue to explore, he was more determined than ever to complete his research. He had to trap Walker and get more blood, maybe even test some of his stem cells.
VINCENT RADIOED Colleen. “We’ve found the laboratory
Colleen sighed from the other end of the line as Vincent detailed the coordinates. “I’ll have other agents dispatched immediately. Do you have Grace?”
“No. No one appears to be at the lab at the moment.”
Colleen hesitated. “What about Night and the Langworthy woman and child?”
“No sign of them so far, although we found a woman’s coat and a baby crib. Abby and Frank are searching the facility. Jake and I are in Grace’s lab now exploring his research files. Colleen—”
“Yeah?”
“There’s a ton of stuff here. So far I’ve barely scratched the surface of one lab, and there’s a half dozen more rooms. We’ve found petri dishes with some weird growths in them stored behind plastic, quick-freeze dryers, centrifuges, eggs he’s incubating and there appears to be an isolated area at the far end of the cave that looks like it might be a decontamination chamber.”
“Damn.”
“It’s going to take a while to sort through it all and figure out everything Grace is working on.”
“Maybe when we catch Grace, he can save us some time,” Colleen said. “I just hope his absence doesn’t mean he’s moved locations or skipped the country. I’ll inform all necessary agencies to alert the airports.”
“He has a chopper, too. We found a private landing pad, but the helicopter is gone.”
“If Night managed to escape with Holly Langworthy and the baby, Grace may be tracking them down.”
“Exactly my thoughts.”
“Michael and Shawn and I will comb the mountains and look for Grace and Walker. You guys stay there and investigate the lab. We’ll confiscate all his computers and files and get some experts on them right away.”
Colleen hung up and phoned Wiley Longbottom, head of the DPS, advising him to alert national security to be on the lookout for Grace in case he decided to leave the country. Then she called in Michael and Shawn to brief them on the plan. It was time to end this thing once and for all. They had to find out how much trouble Grace could cause, or if he had already set the wheels in motion to unleash deadly germs on the public, germs that might endanger the entire safety of the U.S. population.
NIGHT AND HOLLY left the cave just as the first rays of sun glittered off the snowcapped mountain peaks. Once again, Night carried Schyler on his back, with Holly trailing close behind, although Night periodically stopped to make certain Holly’s fever hadn’t returned and to rehydrate them all. Although he wasn’t crossing the terrain as quickly as he wanted, a relapse of Holly’s illness would put them in jeopardy of being caught, a chance they couldn’t afford to take. He had already heard a helicopter combing the skies in the distance and knew Bertram and Grace were looking for them.
“We’ll have to take this path.” He gestured toward the north. “The terrain’s rougher to hike, but more isolated and hidden.”
“I’m right behind you.”
He nodded, surprised at Holly’s tenacity. Then again, he didn’t know why it surprised him—she had been tenacious in flirting with him. Tenacious in pursuing the kidnapper on her own. Tenacious in fighting to see her son when Grace had captured her.
Holly Langworthy might have once been a spoiled princess, but she was tough, stubborn and a damn good mother.
And an incredible lover.
He could not think about the intimacy they’d shared and focus on the job. Yet, each time he glanced over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of her chestnut hair or that sultry, almost shy smile she offered him, as if she, too, could not stop thinking of the two of them joined together, his body grew rock hard.
Damn. She had gotten under his skin in more ways than one. This time, even deeper, breeching walls he’d built years ago to protect himself from falling in love.
He was not in love with Holly, he told himself. He was simply protective of her because she had given birth to his son.
He veered toward a thicket of trees, then crisscrossed through the tunnel of hardwoods, the ice-coated branches snapping as the growing temperature melted the top layer. Icicles rained down, mingled with new falling snow. Holly stepped into the footsteps he made in the three-foot carpet of snow, occasionally sliding in the sludge. He came to a narrow ledge and hesitated. One slip and he might lose Holly to the jagged rocks below.
“I can do it,” she said quietly.
The helicopter rumbled nearer, dipping lower to case the sky.
“Go on, Night. I’m fine.”
He gave her a long look, then nodded. “Take my hand.”
She did as he instructed. He turned, his face toward the wall so as not to crush Schyler, plastering himself against the jagged edge, and instructed her to do the same.
“Hug the wall, and don’t look down.”
She took a deep breath, stepped slowly onto the ledge, pressing her body as far into the wall as possible. He hugged the side of the rocks, creeping along the forty-foot-long ledge to the other side, his breath catching when he heard her foot slip and rocks tumble toward the ravine.
�
�Oh, God…”
“You’re doing great, Holly. Just a few more steps.”
She had frozen, her nails biting into the protruding rocks, her eyes wide with panic.
“Don’t look down.” He lowered his voice the way he did when he whispered to the horses. “Look at me, but stay pressed against the wall.”
“I can’t move.”
“Yes, you can,” he said, his voice even lower. “You’re a strong woman, Holly. You want to get Schyler out of here. You want to see him safe in his crib at home. Picture that in your mind.”
She slowly turned her head sideways and he stared into her eyes. “I do what.”
“I know. And it’s going to happen. Believe in your own strength.”
She slid one foot a fraction of a degree forward.
“You’re going to watch him grow up. Learn to walk. To ride a bike.”
She dug her nails into the jagged rocky wall, then slid her foot another fraction of an inch. Another and another as he continued to coach her.
“You’re doing great. Just inhale, exhale. Slide your foot one inch. Another. That’s right.”
More rocks skittered down, the echo of them pinging into the canyon below a reminder of the vast distance between the ledge and the ground. Of how close they were to death.
“Yes, Holly. Move as if you belong to the mountain. The wall will not let go of you,” he whispered. “Trust your instincts. Let your mind become one with your body and soul.”
He continued to encourage her in that same low, soothing tone until her shoulders relaxed, and her steps became less jerky. Finally, they made it to the other side. Sweat dripped down the back of his neck, and she fell into his arms, trembling and panting for air. But the helicopter zoomed lower, and suddenly shots rang out from above.
He grabbed her hand and began to run, remembering the tale of his ancestors, North and Lily, running the gauntlet. Sometime, if they made it out alive, he’d have to tell Schyler the story.
HOLLY PANTED and ran, slugging through the miles and miles of snow, darting into the trees, dodging black grapevines that hung down like serpents into the woods beyond. The wind blew incessantly, swirling icy crystals around her already freezing feet. The dizzying height of the canyon below and the dense brush ahead loomed large enough to swallow them, suggesting there was no escape.
The helicopter appeared through the trees, its blades swirling lower and lower. Mile after mile, it chased them, then disappeared, then circled back, like a hawk stalking its prey, ready to swoop in for the kill.
“A few more miles and we’ll be at the jeep,” Night said.
But they’d come to a clearing of sorts, a stretch of white that shone bright with the sun. A cliff fell away to the far right, a steep hill climbed to the left. Shots rang out from the opposite direction, as if the shooter was hiding in the great canyon. Night grabbed Holly and forced her to slide down the hill toward the ravine. Her feet slid out from under her, she fell, and skidded on her butt, flying toward trees and rocks. Night was right behind her, shielding her from the bullets zinging through the air.
She screamed, fighting for control, and Night wrapped his arms around her, taking the worst of the fall, and trying to protect Schyler at the same time. Holly’s head swam with the dizzying motion. Dear God. The shots had not come from the helicopter.
If Grace and Bertram were in the chopper, then who the hell was shooting at them from the ground?
Chapter E
“Who’s shooting at us?” Holly screamed.
“Hell if I know.” Night jerked her to her feet and dragged her across the small clearing, then pitched them directly into another nest of trees that choked the hillside. Gigantic trunks covered in snow lifted their branches toward the heavens where a hawk circled, searching for the dead. Their panting breaths hurled into the air, the sounds of footsteps crunching the hardpacked snow below their feet adding to the tension. The fecund smells of growth and decay whirled stronger here, making the hairs on the back of Night’s neck raise. He paused, craning his ears to discern the location of the helicopter and other shooter. The squawk of the metal bird overhead broke the quiet.
“Where are we?” Holly asked, panting.
“Dead Man’s Cliffs.” A virtual nightmare to climb.
“How do we get out?”
“We go straight through it. If we veer out in the clearing, they’ll see us.”
Holly nodded, securing her silky hair into a ponytail, the strands damp from exertion. But she didn’t complain.
“Let’s go,” she said. “I don’t like this place.”
Neither did he. The air reeked of death—the aura of ancient ghosts reminding him of the stories of lost bodies in the wilderness that had never been recovered. Hikers eaten alive by bears or worse, falling into some unknown fate that left the imagination to ponder the eerie possibility of demons. Evils more macabre than human ones that lurked in the misty gray sea of the forest. Legends of fallen soldiers, battles with the Crows, the heinous Sun Dance and the sacrificial rituals that had eventually been banned because they were so barbaric, the ghosts of the dead…
Shaking off the sense of imminent danger, he adjusted Schyler on his back, grateful the boy was a trooper, then tied a rope around his waist and connected it to Holly so he wouldn’t lose her. Then he could also pull her along. As he climbed through the tangle of vines and trees, clearing the worst of the overgrown brush with a knife he took from the backpack, he created his own footpath. Branches slapped his face, thorny bushes clawed at his jeans, and a few times the low careening sound of an injured animal gave him pause. Where one was injured, a larger one fed. The order of the universe. A universe Grace thought he had the right to own.
To seek and destroy for his own sick pleasure. And all in the name of progress.
Holly tripped, the sound of her yelp making him stop. He turned and helped her up. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I just twisted my ankle on one of those vines, but it’s not bad.”
Again her fortitude and determination impressed him. He squeezed her hand, then they continued. They walked for what seemed like hours, the endless miles of trees and the uphill climb grating on his nerves. The helicopter soared above, scratching a path in the sky that dogged their movements. But they seemed to have temporarily evaded the on-ground shooter. One of Grace’s hired guns? If not, who?
Finally, they crossed the Continental Divide. They were getting closer to the je location. He picked up the pace, urging Holly forward. “We’re almost there. Then we can radio for help.”
Seconds later, footfalls sounded behind him. Damn. He paused. Twigs snapped. Branches broke and birds stirred above. Snow fluttered from the trees. The low click of a gun being cocked cut through the chill.
The shooter had found them.
Night headed to the right, grabbed Holly’s hand and began to run. They had to make it to the jeep. He needed to go left, but the helicopter roared, circling above in the distance. Damn it. They’d be open targets if they went that way. But they were cornered on two sides. He turned west, weaving in and out until the swell of trees thinned and opened up. The river raged nearby, crashing over rocks. They could follow it to the jeep.
But when they exited the mouth of the woods, they hit an impasse. A huge cliff overlooked the river. Damn. Boots crunched nearby. The sound of limbs being broken, their attacker closing in on their heels.
The helicopter swooped from beyond the trees, circling lower. Grace and Bertram had spotted them.
There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.
“What do we do now?”
He turned to Holly. Saw the fear in her eyes. His son babbled a small cry.
Was everything going to be lost here on the mountainside? Would Grace get Schyler again? Would the mad scientist kill Night and Holly?
No. He couldn’t let that happen.
His heart pounded as she clutched his hand.
He needed help. Help from the spirits of his ancestors. He pulle
d her beneath a mammoth oak and closed his eyes. A voice whispered inside his head. The voice of North Walker.
Trust what you sense, not what you see.
His gaze shot to the edge of the cliff. To the river below. He remembered their location. The Continental Divide. The story of Lillian’s Leap.
When North and Lily had been trapped, they’d jumped off a cliff to a ledge below, then jumped into the river and escaped. Could this be the legendary cliff where they had taken their famous leap?
Could he and Holly survive if they took the leap as well? Even if they made it into the river, the temperature this year could be dangerous. Holly had been sick. Schyler was a baby. Hypothermia was a possibility.
A shot rang through the knot of trees, pinging in their direction. He jerked Holly’s head down and covered her with his body. The helicopter lobbed downward, searching for a safe landing place.
The voice spoke to him again. Trust what you sense, not what you see.
“What are we going to do?” Holly cried.
He gathered her in his arms, forced her to look into his eyes. “I know you can swim, Holly. I used to watch you on the estate.” Those days had been torturous. He’d desperately wanted to join her in that pool.
She nodded, her wary gaze darting toward the cliff. “But—”We can make it,” he said in a low soothing tone, the same one he’d used to coach her across the ledge.
She shook her head. “It must be over seventy feet down to the river.”
He nodded. “Remember the story I told you about Lillian’s Leap?”
She searched his face, biting on her lip. “But that’s a legend, not real.”
“I have to trust my instincts, Holly.” He stroked her jaw with the back of his hand, beseeching her with his eyes. “Do you trust me?”
She hesitated so long Night heard the helicopter grinding down. Another shot pinged the treetops, closer this time. He fired back, hoping to scare off the sniper.
“We’ll make it,” he promised. “I will not let you or our son die.”
