by Laura Scott
She froze, then hurried inside the bedroom. Something dark covered the windows, and the musty smell was even stronger in here. She wrinkled her nose, fighting the urge to sneeze.
“Chelsey?”
Duncan’s voice nearly had her weeping in relief. “In here!” She rushed out of the bedroom and threw herself into his arms.
He clutched her close, wrapping his strong arms around her as if sensing her fear. “Shh, it’s okay. We’re safe.”
“I’m so glad you’re here.” Her voice was muffled against his shirt.
“You did great, Chelsey. But we can’t stay long,” he warned. “Did you find anything useful?”
She lifted her head and forced herself to step out of his arms. She gathered herself and nodded. “Two cans of soup and two cans of beef stew but nothing to cook them in. Oh, and no cell phone service here, either. I tried.” She offered him the phone back.
“Clothes?” he asked, setting the phone aside.
She glanced back at the bedroom. “I’ll look, but it smells really musty in there.”
“Better musty than visible from a hundred yards away.” Duncan smiled and slipped past her. She followed, wondering if they’d find anything useful.
Duncan ripped aside the brown drapes over the window so they could see better. There was a quilt on the bed that may have been a bit moth-eaten, but he tugged it off the bed and handed it to her. “Be careful, but I need you to go outside and shake this out. We can use it for warmth.”
“Okay.” Beggars couldn’t be choosers, right? She eased out the door, staying well hidden behind the tress, and shook the quilt trying not to imagine bed bugs or other creepy crawlies falling to the ground.
When she was satisfied, she crept back inside to find Duncan standing near the kitchen table. “Look what I found.” He held up an army-green boxy thing.
“What is it?”
“A canteen. We’ll be able to carry water with us as we hike.”
It didn’t look like a canteen, not that she was an expert on camping equipment.
“I also found a couple of T-shirts, jeans, socks and one pair of hiking shoes.” He displayed them proudly as if they were better than gold, which was true. “The shoes are for you. I know they’ll be too big, but probably safer than the ballet slippers that are falling apart.”
She eyed them warily. “The clothes will be too big, too.”
“We’ll make a belt from what’s left of your dress.” He gestured at her filthy, torn and tattered gown that she still wore.
“Okay, I’ll see what I can do.” She swept the shoes, socks, shirt and jeans into her arms and returned to the bedroom.
She had to admit that getting out of the dress made her feel light and free. It had been weighing her down more than she’d realized. Not just the fabric itself, but the entire incident.
The wedding that shouldn’t have happened. The groom that should have been safe but was now dead.
Tossing the dress aside, she thought of Brett. Her good friend who had supported her in the aftermath of losing her mother. He’d been so sweet and so kind.
And all she’d done was gotten him killed.
Well, not her personally, but the situation.
She closed her eyes for a moment and sent up a silent apology to him.
I’m so sorry, Brett. Please forgive me.
The tightness eased and she picked up the T-shirt and slipped it over her head. It was large, hanging down to midthigh, but not bad. She removed the ballet slippers, the fabric falling away as the seams finally gave up the fight. Resigned, she pulled the socks on next, which were also large, and then the jeans.
The denim was stiff and scratchy, and the waistband gaped at her waist by a good couple of inches. She took a moment to search the room for a belt, but didn’t find one. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she pulled on the hiking boots, which were also too big.
Glancing at the remains of the ballet slippers, she decided that hiking boots that were too big had to be better than nothing which was her only alternative at the moment.
“You decent?” Duncan asked from the main room.
“Yes.” She stood and held the jeans in place with one hand. “I’ll need you to help me make a belt.”
“Happy to do that.” He entered the bedroom, wearing borrowed clothes as well that fit him far better than hers. The only difference was that he still wore his rented dress shoes so that she could have the hiking boots. He grinned. “You look great.”
“Wow, thanks.” She shook her head wryly. “Who would have thought wearing borrowed and wrong-sized clothing would feel so good?”
“We’ll be able to move through the woods easier now, which is exactly what we need.” After making her a belt from her wedding dress, he then balled up some extra fabric and knelt at her feet. He unlaced the hiking boot, then stuffed the fabric into the wide toe area. He glanced up at her. “Place your foot in and see what you think. Hopefully this will prevent your feet from sliding around too much.”
“It feels much better than what I had before,” she admitted.
He repeated the process with the other boot, then rose to his feet and offered his hand. “Ready?”
She placed her hand in his, took a deep breath and nodded. “Ready.”
He gently squeezed her fingers and drew her from the bedroom. On the table he had the canteen and the canned goods, along with a sack fashioned out of his filthy dress shirt.
Duncan slung the makeshift pack over his shoulder then tucked the moth-eaten quilt under his arm, before heading to the door, clearly expecting her to follow.
She hesitated, glancing once more around the cabin.
Leaving the shelter they’d found was more difficult than she’d imagined.
But she forced herself to move, putting her faith and trust in Duncan.
And in God.
* * *
Duncan hesitated in the narrow opening of the doorway, searching for any sign of danger. He had no idea if the gunman had gotten a glimpse of Chelsey as she’d made her way toward the cabin or not.
The last two rocks he’d thrown had not drawn gunfire. The lack of response confirmed his fear that the shooter was onto him. He’d moved swiftly after that, blending into the foliage with skills he’d learned in Afghanistan eating up the distance to the cabin in order to catch up with Chelsey.
As much as he’d hoped to stay at the cabin, starting a fire and maybe spending the night, there was no way to do that now. Not when he knew full well danger was lurking out there, waiting for them.
Seeing nothing out of place, he eased outside. Chelsey was behind him, and he reached out to take her hand in his.
They could move easier now, and he wanted to get as far from the cabin as possible. If the shooter had a scope and managed to see the cabin, he’d know to head over and look for them there.
Duncan wanted to be long gone before anyone arrived.
“Where are we going?” Chelsey asked, as he melted into the forest.
“Mostly due east.” He kept his voice low. “I think there’s a small town at the base of the mountain in that direction. If we can find the trail it should take us directly there. Brett mentioned hiking it once.”
She nodded. “The town of Moose is at the base of Moose Mountain. But it’s very small, not a lot of people.”
He shrugged and kept moving. “I don’t need a lot of people, just a way to reach the authorities.”
“Sounds good.” Chelsey fell silent, although he was glad she was able to keep up with him as they made their way through the woods. He wanted time to stop and eat, but needed to be sure they were safe first.
They hiked for nearly an hour before Duncan gave her the sign to stop. He’d filled the canteen at a nearby spring, offering it to Chelsey first.
She took a swig, then tried to hand it back. He
gestured for her to drink more. “We have to keep hydrated, remember? And there are many streams around here.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she took another, longer drink. He took the canteen and helped himself, then glanced around.
“I think we should take a quick break and eat the beef stew.”
Hope flared in her eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” His military training had taught him to survive on less, but it had been several years since he’d gone without rations for twenty-four hours. He could push on, but that wasn’t fair to Chelsey.
She needed to keep her strength up. And food was critical to that goal.
He knelt on the ground and opened the makeshift pack. The cans of soup would be good, too, but salty without the ability to water them down a bit.
“Are we eating it cold?” Chelsey asked, sitting on the ground next to him.
“Yes.” Using the knife he’d taken from the assailant, he opened the cans of beef stew and offered one to Chelsey. They didn’t have utensils, so he handed her his penknife, choosing to use the large sharp knife for himself.
Even cold, the beef stew tasted good, satisfying the rumbling in his stomach. Glancing at Chelsey, he took note of how she’d eaten hers with gusto, too.
“Never thought a can of cold beef stew could be so delicious,” she said with a wry smile.
He let out a low chuckle. “Agreed.”
“Now what?”
“I’m sorry, but we have to keep moving.” He placed the empty cans and the canteen back in the makeshift pack. “It’s best if we make the most of the daylight.”
“It seems like we’ve been walking for hours, but I understand. We should wash the wound on your arm first, though, while we have fresh water.” She pushed to her feet with a determined look on her face.
He reluctantly nodded. “Okay.”
Her gaze was earnest as she washed the nearly three-inch laceration on his arm. “I wish we had bandages,” she muttered.
“Soon,” he promised.
“Okay.” She stepped back and pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Let’s do this.”
He estimated the time was just after nine in the morning, so she was right about how it felt as if they’d been walking for hours.
They had been. But they were making good time now which gave him hope. As much as he didn’t want to use the normal trails, he felt they needed to get back to civilization as soon as possible.
The bad guys were still out there, and he wasn’t sure how many of them there were. The guy who’d attacked him, and the sniper for sure.
How many others? He had no idea.
As he picked up the pace he wondered whether or not the local authorities were out searching for him and Chelsey yet. After all, they’d taken off from the scene of a crime. His first instinct had been to keep Chelsey out of harm’s way, but now they needed help from the local police, or park rangers.
Any law enforcement agency would do.
He pulled his cell phone out and held it up again. The screen was completely blank. He pressed the power button to be sure, but still nothing.
Dead as a doorknob.
He tucked it away and continued searching for the trail he desperately hoped wasn’t too far off. Although what he knew about the Grand Tetons would fill a postcard.
A rustling noise made him stop dead, holding up a hand to warn Chelsey not to say anything. A tall man wearing a cowboy hat, of all things, emerged from the brush to his right, as if he’d come up alongside them.
Duncan reached for the gun, but the man held up his weapon and pointed at the star pinned to his shirt. “Don’t. I’m Slade Brooks from the US Marshals Service.”
With one hand, Duncan tried to tuck Chelsey behind him as he eyed the stranger. The silver star on his chest looked real, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was one of the good guys.
“How did you find us?” Duncan asked, trying to come up with an escape plan. This guy stumbling across them was too much of a coincidence.
“I’ve been looking for you both since you took off after Brett Thompson was shot and killed.” The marshal didn’t move. “I picked up your trail early this morning, following bits of fabric from Ms. Robards’s wedding dress.”
Duncan narrowed his gaze. “If that’s true, why wait until now to come out of hiding?”
“I wasn’t exactly right behind you,” Brooks said. “Tracking is one of my areas of expertise, but when I heard the gunshots, I was forced to hunker down and stay low. Fortunately, I managed to find the cabin, saw the discarded wedding dress and realized you were there. Now I finally caught up to you.”
Duncan hesitated, unsure if he should buy this guy’s story. “Why are the marshals involved?”
Brooks glanced at Chelsey. “Because we know Ms. Robards is in danger. I’m Brett Thompson’s handler—he was joining the witness protection program as soon as the wedding was over.”
“Witness protection?” Chelsey echoed, pulling away from him so that she could face the marshal. “Why would Brett do that?”
“Because he was going to testify against the owner of the Coyote Creek Construction company.” Slade Brooks frowned. “We had a job lined up for him as a security guard in Florida, along with new names and identities for the two of you. You’re saying you didn’t know anything about it?”
“No!” All the color faded from Chelsey’s cheeks to the point Duncan feared she’d pass out. He reached out and placed a reassuring hand on her arm.
Brett’s strange story about a new job made sense in a way, but still, Duncan couldn’t believe his old friend had planned to do all of this without telling Chelsey. Or him.
Obviously, Brett’s delay in going into WITSEC had resulted in his murder.
SIX
Witness protection.
The phrase echoed over and over in Chelsey’s mind, yet she was still having trouble comprehending what she’d been told by the US marshal.
Brett had witnessed a crime? And had been about to go into witness protection, taking her with him? Without saying a word ahead of time? Marrying her without indicating they’d be forced to move, to relocate to Florida of all places under a different name and identity?
A flash of anger hit hard. How dare he? How could Brett even consider doing something like that? Marry her, then turn her entire world upside down? As if the danger alone wasn’t bad enough, she didn’t like Florida. It was far too hot in the summer.
Her knees felt weak and she did her best to lock them in place, remaining upright with an effort. Wordlessly, Duncan slid his arm around her waist and drew her close, offering his support.
Gratefully, she leaned against him, her mind still reeling. As upset as she was with Brett, she was forced to accept that in reality, this was more her fault than his.
Because she’d agreed to marry him, despite not being in love with him. Why hadn’t she called off the wedding before it came to this?
If she’d looked deep into her heart earlier, maybe she’d have understood her feelings weren’t love as much as friendship. Needing someone, anyone to be with after losing her mother.
There was no denying that if she’d handled this differently, Brett would still be alive.
And she wouldn’t be in danger.
“We need to go.” The marshal’s low drawl interrupted her thoughts. “Ms. Robards’s safety is our main concern.”
“I...just can’t believe this.” She drew in a deep breath, then sternly told herself to get over it. There was no way to go back and change the past. Besides, the US marshal was right—they couldn’t stand here on the mountain sheltered by the trees indefinitely.
They had to get to civilization, the sooner the better. “Okay, I’m ready.”
Duncan gently hugged her, then loosened his grip. “We need to keep Chelsey between us since she’s the one i
n danger.”
“Agreed,” the marshal said.
“I was planning to head into Moose,” Duncan said to the marshal. “But if you have a better idea, Marshal Brooks, I’m willing to adapt.”
“Moose works, and you may as well call me Slade,” he said and she heard a hint of Texas in his voice. “Easier all around.”
Duncan nodded. “I’m Duncan O’Hare, a cop with the Milwaukee Police Department.”
“I know,” Slade responded. “We dug into your background when you arrived to stand up as Brett’s best man.” He turned toward Chelsey. “Stay behind me, Ms. Robards.”
“Chelsey,” she corrected, falling in step as directed. Duncan covered her back and as they continued on their way, she hoped and prayed he wouldn’t get hurt.
Brett had done a disservice to Duncan, too. Inviting him to come to Wyoming to stand up in the wedding, knowing he was in danger.
Not that there was anything she could do about that now. If not for Duncan, she’d be dead.
The tip of her oversize hiking boot caught a tree root, sending her stumbling into Slade. “Sorry,” she muttered.
“It’s no problem,” he drawled. “I’m glad you found something to wear other than the dress.”
“Me, too.” She wasn’t going to point out that her feet were still moving around inside the hiking boots, causing blisters to form. There wasn’t anything the US marshal or Duncan could do to change it.
All she could do was to pray they’d reach the town of Moose soon.
“Chelsey, let us know when you need a break,” Duncan said. “We can rest as needed.”
“Okay.” Truthfully she preferred to keep going, mostly because there was no way of knowing if the gunman was following them the way Slade had.
It had never occurred to her that bits of fabric from her dress may have left a trail. Slade had said that tracking was his area of expertise, but what if the gunman or the assailant had the same sort of skill?
She glanced fearfully over her shoulder. Duncan lifted a brow. “You okay?”
