by The Witness
The man charged inside and spun to his left, the barrel of his gun pointed at Sam's midsection. Surprise registered in his eyes when he spotted Sam, but in that split second of time before he could pull the trigger the butt end of Sam's rifle smashed into his face.
He emitted a grunt and went down like a pole-axed steer, blood spurting from his nose and mouth.
Sam quickly grabbed the unconscious man by the collar of his parka and dragged him deeper into the shed, out of sight. He paused, then reached down and snatched the ski mask off the downed man, and found himself staring at a fellow FBI agent. Sam's mouth tightened. "Wayne Pickens, you sorry scumbag."
Tamping down his anger, he took up his position by the door again, and peered around the frame just as the other two men disappeared around the front of the house. Sam's gaze switched to the back porch, willing the door to open. Dammit, Lauren, where are you?
Left with no choice, he braced himself and charged outside.
Lauren headed for the kitchen and the back door, zipping up her parka on the way. Barely a step inside the cabin's main room, she stopped cold. "Oh, dear God."
Horrified, she stared through the glass in the front door at the two armed men stealthily climbing the front porch steps.
Lauren darted a panicked look toward the kitchen. She'd never make it to the back door before they were inside.
Quickly she stepped back inside the bedroom and closed the door. To her horror, she discovered that it didn't have a lock! Her stricken gaze darted around the room and when it landed on the wooden, ladder-back chair she snatched it up and wedged it under the knob, just as the front door of the cabin was kicked open.
Lauren jumped and gave a stifled cry. In a fullblown adrenaline panic, she spun around and raced to the window. She was operating on instinct now, the only coherent thought in her mind that she had to find Sam. Sam would protect her.
With no attempt at silence, she jerked up the window sash just as something thudded against the bedroom door. Whimpering, Lauren sat down on the sill, threw her legs over and jumped.
The window was only about six feet above the ground, but she sank up to her knees in snow and toppled forward. With single-minded purpose, sputtering and spitting snow, she scrambled to her feet and headed for the shed, plowing through the deep drifts like a woman possessed. Gasping every breath, she rounded the corner of the service porch and ran smack into a solid male chest.
"Lauren!"
A scream burst from her, but the sound was cut off almost at once by a gloved hand over her mouth. "Lauren, it's me! Sam."
"S-Sam?" She clutched his parka. "Oh, Sam. T-two men...they're inside!"
"I know. C'mon. Let's go!" With an arm around her waist, he turned and hauled her back the way he had come. Behind them, from inside the cabin, they heard a crash as the bedroom door gave way.
They charged inside the shed just seconds before one of the men stuck his head out the open bedroom window and shouted, "Pickens! You find anyone out there?"
"No! No one here!" Sam shouted back.
The instant the man drew his head back inside Sam pushed one of the snowmobiles out into the snow. "There's no time to teach you how to drive one of these things, so you're riding with me," he announced. Plucking Lauren up as if she was a sack of feathers, he tossed her onto the back of the seat, hopped aboard himself and fired up the engine.
"There they are!" The two men burst through the back door onto the service porch.
"Hold on!" Sam hollered. The rear treads dug in, slinging snow twenty feet into the air, and the snowmobile leaped forward on its skis and took off at full throttle.
Lauren locked her arms around Sam's middle, buried her face against his back and held on for dear life. They skidded around the corner of the shed just as a burst of automatic weapon fire erupted behind them. Lauren made a distressed sound, squeezed her eyes shut and clutched Sam tighter.
Sam drove like a madman. Going flat out, they bounced over bumps and swerved around rocks and trees and half covered deadfalls, went sailing over small drop-offs and drifts. Within seconds they were out of sight of the cabin and streaking down the valley.
After a minute or so, Lauren cautiously raised her head and looked around at the peaceful scenery whizzing by. She couldn't believe it! They were alive. They'd made it!
Just as her heart rate began to settle she heard the unmistakable rat-tat-tat-tat-tat of gunfire, and a shower of pockmarks dug up the snow to one side of the snowmobile.
She looked over her shoulder, and a fresh rush of fear knifed through her. "They're coming after us!" she shouted over the roar of the engine. "Two of them on snowmobiles! I thought you emptied the gas tanks!"
"There wasn't time to do them all!" he shouted back. "I'd emptied one and about three quarters of another one when they showed up."
As they swerved around an aspen tree a spray of bullets splatted against the trunk, cutting off a small limb and sending chunks of wood and splinters flying. Lauren screamed and buried her face against Sam's back again.
She stayed that way until she felt the snowmobile tip upward. Opening her eyes, she looked around and saw that they had begun to climb a slope. Unable to resist, she glanced over her shoulder again, and caught her breath. "They're gaining on us!"
"Yeah! We're riding double! They're not!"
The slope became so steep the snowmobile's engine began to labor and slow down. Lauren feared they would topple over backward. Even more, she feared that at any second she would feel bullets ripping into her.
Then she realized that the men were no longer shooting at them, and she glanced back again.
Though the gunmen were still gaining, for the moment, they seemed to have their hands full coaxing their machines up the sharp incline.
The gap between them and their pursuers grew steadily smaller. Lauren pressed her forehead between Sam's shoulder blades and moaned. "They're going to catch us!"
"Like hell they are!"
Sam urged the snowmobile up the last few feet of the incline, alternately cursing and cajoling. The engine whined and struggled, and several times Lauren was certain it was about to stall.
Miraculously they finally reached the summit and once they leveled off they began to pick up speed. Then they were flying down the slope on the other side, while behind them the other two snowmobiles still struggled.
Lauren and Sam descended into yet another valley and sped toward the opposite end, taking a wide, arcing route around the base slope of an enormous mountain.
"What are you doing? Why are you going around this way?" Lauren yelled. Even to her inexperienced eye it was obvious that the more direct, and certainly the quicker way, would have been to cut across the base slope. They had just climbed a pass far more difficult.
Sam ignored her and continued to skirt the gently undulating ground. Lauren glanced back, and had her worst fear confirmed. The two snowmobiles crested the summit and headed down after them. She and Sam had gained a little distance during the descent, but now the gap was rapidly closing again.
Partway down the mountain, one of the other snow- mobiles began to slow down, and after a dozen or so yards it came to a stop.
"One of them stopped!"
"Out of gas! That's the one I was draining when they arrived."
The second man reached the bottom of the pass, and as Lauren had feared, he cut across the base slope to intercept them.
"Oh Lord, here he comes!" she cried. "And he's closing the distance fast!"
As though to underscore Lauren's statement, the other man opened fire again. Bullets pinged off the tail section of their machine and others kicked up the snow all around them. Lauren screamed and clutched Sam tighter.
Though she knew full well that he had the throttle wide open, she yelled at him to go faster. Instead, to her horror he brought the snowmobile to an abrupt stop, skidding around until they were almost broadside to the approaching machine. Like sitting ducks.
"What are you doing! Are you crazy?"<
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"Calm down," Sam ordered. Never taking his eyes from their pursuer, he lifted the rifle strap over his head and brought the butt of the Winchester to his shoulder and took aim at the assassin.
Steady as a rock, he waited.
"Shoot. Shoot!" Lauren screamed.
The man drove straight for them. Steering with one hand, he raised his assault weapon with the other. Lauren put her hand over her mouth to hold back a scream and braced herself for the bullets that would rip into her any second.
Suddenly Sam swung the rifle barrel away from the assassin, took aim on a cornice of snow near the top of the mountain and fired. The crack of the high-powered rifle echoed through the mountains.
Then came an ominous roar, and tons of snow, ice and rock came roiling down the mountainside.
Fifteen
"Oh, dear Lord!" Horrified, Lauren stared at the avalanche rumbling down toward them. "We're going to die!"
"The hell we are. Hang on!" Sam shouted and poured the gas to the snowmobile.
The machine took off like a horse out of the chute and flew across the snow at top speed, its engine revved up to a high-pitched whine. Eyes closed, Lauren clung to Sam, cringing against his back as the horrendous roar grew louder. At any second, she expected to be engulfed and crushed beneath a ton of snow.
Lauren did not want to look, but an irresistible morbid fascination drew her gaze upward. Her eyes widened, and she screamed again, but the sound was swallowed by the roar of tons of snow, ice, boulders and trees plunging down the steep slope in a giant white wave.
Lauren looked over her shoulder and saw that the other man was no longer following them. In that moment she realized that Sam had waited to set off the avalanche until the man was directly in the center of its path.
Now the pursuer was being pursued.
He had turned and was racing out in front of the roiling mass, trying frantically to outrun it.
He wasn't going to make it. As Lauren watched, the advanced tip of the avalanche gobbled up the gap behind the man like a ravenous monster and boiled over him.
On the edge of the slide area, Sam headed for the sideline and safety, racing ahead of the avalanche's curving left flank.
Fist-size pieces of snow and ice, shaken loose by the vibrating earth, raced out in front of the deadly white wall. Lauren screamed when the chunks pelted the left side of the snowmobile and knocked it slightly askew.
"Hang on!" Sam shouted. "We're almost clear!"
For the next hundred yards or so more chunks struck the side of the snowmobile and their legs before they finally began to outrun them.
Then suddenly, except for the snowmobile streaking away across the snow and the drone of its engine, all was quiet and still.
Twilight had fallen by the time they reached Durango Mountain Resort. Only a handful of diehard skiers glided down the slopes. Sam felt Lauren tense and clutch him tighter as he maneuvered the snow- mobile down the ski slope toward the cluster of lighted buildings.
He could imagine the mixed emotions she must be experiencing. They'd been cut off from the rest of the world for almost a week, and though she was probably relieved to be out of the wilderness, she knew that contact with other people would increase her chances of being found.
"Don't worry. For the time being, getting lost in a crowd like this is the safest move," he said over his shoulder.
Sam drove slowly around the perimeter of the resort until he found the cluster of snowmobiles. He'd known they had to be there somewhere. Every ski resort used them for search and rescue.
He stopped in the shadows and scanned the area. When he was sure no one was around, as quietly as possible, he drove over to the fleet and parked between two identical machines bearing the Durango Mountain Resort logo.
"Remember. Just act casual," Sam said when he and Lauren dismounted. "As far as anyone knows, we're just a vacationing couple, here to enjoy a few days of skiing." He unhooked the duffle bag from the back of the machine and slung it over his shoulder and put his arm around Lauren's waist.
The resort resembled a European village, and when they reached the open courtyard area they merged in with the skiers returning from a day on the slopes and the others milling around.
"What now?" Lauren asked.
As they passed a restaurant, Sam noticed the longing look she cast through the plate-glass window at the diners inside. They hadn't eaten since breakfast, and the pack with their food supplies had been left behind on the snowmobile she was to have ridden.
"I need to make a couple of calls."
That brought her gaze snapping up to meet his. "Who are you going to call? You said we couldn't trust anyone."
"Easy. I'm not calling anyone inside the Denver office. I'm going to call Ed Stanhope. Remember, I told you about him? If anyone will know what's going on, he will."
"And you trust him?"
Sam could see the doubt in her eyes. He couldn't blame her, after all that had happened.
"Yeah, I do. Anyway, we don't have a choice. We need help."
Lauren gnawed at her lower lip and cast a nervous look around the courtyard. "I suppose you're right. Who else are you going to call?"
"A relative of mine. I'm going to ask him to come pick us up."
"Your father?"
Sam's jaw clenched. He met her hopeful look with a flat stare and an even flatter voice. "No. My aunt and uncle."
"Oh. I see. Do they live near here?"
"Not really. They live about ten miles outside of Monticello, Utah. They own the ranch next to my father's. They'll come, though, if I ask them."
He could tell by her expression that she wanted to ask why he wasn't going to call his father, but she didn't quite dare. It was just as well. He didn't want to argue with her, nor was he in the mood to discuss his strained relationship with his father.
Ahead a security guard walked toward them, checking inside the stores and scanning the street as he strolled. Turning his back, Sam stopped with Lauren in front of a shop window and pretended to look at the display until the man walked by.
"What was that about?" Lauren whispered.
"Just a precaution. The fewer people who get a good look at us the better." He patted his parka pockets. "Damn, I wish I had my cellphone. I don't suppose you have a prepaid telephone card on you?"
"No, I don't."
"Great." He thought a minute, then grasped her elbow and steered her toward the entrance to the inn. "We'll check in for the night, and I'll make my calls from the privacy of our room. I'll ask my aunt to pick us up early in the morning. Which will work out better. This way we can order room service and avoid other people while we're eating, plus get some rest."
"But...what if those men catch up with us? What if they check and find out we're registered?"
"Relax. I'm going to register under the alias Roberto Montera and speak with an accent. With my coloring I can easily pass for Hispanic. I keep a credit card under that name which no one knows about. You never know when you'll need to use an alias. So remember, while we're here, you're Senora Montera."
Inside the hotel lobby, Sam left Lauren standing with her back to the room pretending to check through a rack of brochures, and went to the front desk. On the surface she appeared calm, but he knew her nerves were eating her alive. He only hoped no one passing by noticed her hands. They were shaking so much she could barely hold the pamphlets.
He returned a few minutes later and touched her shoulder. Lauren jumped like a scalded cat.
"Easy," Sam murmured. "It's only me. C'mon, we're all set."
He grasped her elbow and led her toward the elevator, doing a quick study of her pale face on the way. "You okay?"
"Yes. I'm fine."
But she wasn't. Sam could feel the tremors vibrating through her.
Once they were inside their fourth-floor room with the door double bolted and chained she sagged against the entrance wall and closed her eyes. "Thank God. I felt as though I had a target painted on my back out th
ere."
Sam tossed the duffle bag onto the luggage rack, shrugged out of his parka, peeled hers off and tossed both on top of the bag.
Without a word, he pulled her into his arms. He half expected her to resist, but Lauren melted against him. With a sigh, she rested her cheek against his chest and slipped her arms around his lean middle.
"Oh, Sam," she said in a small, plaintive voice.
"I know, babe." He held her close and rocked her from side to side. He rubbed his chin against the top of her head and inhaled the sweet smell of her hair. "It's been rough. But you're doing great. Just hang in there, and we'll get through this."
"I want my life back, Sam," she murmured in the same mournful tone. "Maybe it wasn't all that exciting or fulfilling anymore—or easy, for that matter— but at least no one was trying to kill me."
"Yeah, I know," Sam murmured. "I wish I could tell you it will get better soon, but I can't promise that. I won't lie to you, Lauren. The agent or agents who're working for Carlo aren't going to give up. They can't afford to."
A shiver rippled through her. "I know."
Sam cupped her chin and tilted her face up, and looked deep into her eyes, his own glittering with turbulent emotions. When he spoke his voice was a husky whisper.
"One thing I can promise you. I'll do whatever I have to do to protect you." His thumb brushed along her jaw, touched the corner of her mouth. Her lips trembled in response, and something clenched inside him.
The hand cupping her chin slid around to the back of her neck and his fingers speared through her hair. She gazed up at him, her eyes soft and trusting, her unadorned face so beautiful it made him ache. Through his palm Sam felt her shiver again, but this time he knew it wasn't from fear. His chest grew so tight it was almost painful, as though a giant hand were squeezing his heart.
Slowly, almost reverently, he lowered his head. The kiss was as soft as a butterfly's wing, a warm, whispery touch, a gentle rub of flesh on flesh, a mingling of breaths.
Even when his mouth settled fully on hers, the caress remained gentle and unhurried. The exquisite richness of the kiss inflamed Sam's desire, but he could not bear to hurry. He wanted to savor the sweet, sharp pleasure, draw it out as long as possible, absorb it deep into his soul.
