Carly had voted for the ER.
She was beginning to wonder if it had been the right choice. It had been a busy night. One facial numbness of unknown origin lay on the bed just beyond the left curtain, waiting for test results. In the other adjacent bed lay a slip and fall, which was headed for knee surgery just as soon as the doctor finished with an emergency appendectomy. Another slip and fall, broken wrist, was waiting for a second X-ray to make sure the cast was keeping the bones properly aligned. A screaming child with a high fever and a frantic mother were just beyond the curtains.
Then there was Dan, the gunshot wound. He had a bandage over a short, nasty-looking furrow at his hairline. He'd been X-rayed and CAT-scanned, cleaned up and disinfected, and given pain pills, which he ignored. The doctor had also told him he was lucky to be alive, which Dan already knew.
Carly looked at the grim line of his mouth. "Are you sure you don't want the pain pills? I'm driving whether you take them or not."
"The stuff they hand out doesn't work on me any better than aspirin and a pat on the cheek," he said. "And yes, you're driving. If you hadn't been there to help me on that last part down to the truck and drive us out, I don't think I'd have made it."
"Then why didn't you ask for something that works?"
Because I don't want to be half whacked if a sniper draws down on you again.
But all he said was, "It doesn't hurt that much." Which was true. Once the burning and dizziness had worn off, the dull pain was easy to ignore. He'd been hurt a hell of a lot worse. "It's a scrape."
"From a bullet."
"Yeah, velocity does add a certain bite. Good thing I have a hard head."
She muttered under her breath and gave up trying to get him to take something stronger than aspirin.
Sheriff Mike Montoya's voice carried clearly through the background noise of the ER. "I'm looking for the gunshot wound."
"Curtain five," the nurse answered. "Don't take long. He's ambulatory and we need the bed."
A few seconds later, the curtain whipped aside and a sleepy, irritated sheriff glared at Dan.
"Nice to see you, too," Dan said. "I'd have been happy with the night duty officer."
"What the hell is going on?" the sheriff demanded.
"Why don't you shout?" Carly asked. "That way people won't have to strain to hear what's none of their business."
"You want privacy," the sheriff said, "we can go to the jail."
"No thanks," Dan said. "Whatever we say will be all over town anyway, just as soon as your clerk types up your report. Good old Doris has a mouth a lot bigger than her IQ."
"She's not the only one," Montoya retorted. He flipped open a notebook, took out a pen, and said, "What happened?"
Carly and Dan had already agreed that Dan would be the one to answer the sheriff's questions. She was exhausted, had never liked Montoya or his attitude, and was likely to let him know just how much. Then, Dan had assured her, what should have been a brief interview would take hours. Dan pretty much felt the same way about the sheriff, but had gotten over it a long time ago.
"Carly and I went out to see Winifred at about eight o'clock last night," Dan said. "Afterward, we decided to spend some time on the ranch outside, so Carly could get the feel of the place."
"Or the feel of something," Montoya said under his breath.
Dan's fingers curled around Carly's hand and squeezed gently, a reminder of their deal.
She gave the sheriff a smile that was all teeth.
"We spent some time in the graveyard, looking for gravestones and taking pictures," Dan said.
"How much time?"
Dan shrugged. "Half an hour, forty-five minutes. Long enough to get cold."
Montoya waited, pen poised.
"Carly wanted to climb to the top of the ridge-Castillo Ridge-to see the view from there," Dan said.
"In the dark?" The sheriff's voice was rich with disbelief.
"The moon was quite bright," Carly said, giving the man another double row of teeth.
Montoya grunted. "So you decided to go flounder in the snowdrifts. Then what?"
"We went up the windswept side of the ridge," Dan said. "It was an easy walk."
"Beautiful," Carly said softly, then remembered what had happened and shivered. "For a while."
Dan thought about mentioning that he'd sensed he was being watched several times. And then he thought about Montoya's reaction to a touchy-feely thing like sensing.
"As soon as we got to the top of the ridge," Dan said evenly, "I was spun around and knocked down the other side by a bullet. I managed to yank Carly with me so she wasn't skylined while the bastard took another shot at her."
"So you're assuming it wasn't an accident," Montoya said, giving Dan a black stare.
"Yeah," Dan drawled. "That's what I'm assuming. What with all the other attacks on Carly, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what the agenda was."
"Keep talking."
"Somebody wants Carly out of town," he said succinctly.
"Maybe. And maybe somebody was poaching cats or bears for the Chinese trade and bagged a human by mistake."
Dan felt Carly tense beneath his hand. He squeezed gently, hoping she'd keep her temper.
"It's possible, I suppose," Dan said, his voice neutral. "You have a lot of poaching up at the Quintrell ranch?"
"It happens," Montoya said. "What did you do after you took a header down the ridge?"
"We lay there and listened to see if the 'poacher' was going to finish what he'd started."
"What were you going to do, throw snowballs at him?" the sheriff asked.
"I'm licensed to carry. You know because you checked."
Montoya grunted. He didn't know what it was about Dan that had always pissed him off, but it sure did. "Yeah, yeah. Did the guy come after you or not?"
"No. I waited until it became more dangerous to stay than to go," Dan said.
"What does that mean?"
"We weren't dressed for a night in the snow."
The sheriff looked at Dan's calm face and unflinching eyes and sighed. Whatever else he could say about la bruja's son, Dan wasn't a coward or a fool. It took cojones to lie out in the snow waiting for someone to put another bullet in you.
"Did he make another try for you?" Montoya asked, curious despite his prejudice.
"I gave him as little chance as possible, but no, there weren't any more shots."
"Well, that sounds like a poacher to me," Montoya said. "He made a mistake and ran like hell. What did folks at the ranch say?"
"We didn't stop. We drove right to town."
That surprised the sheriff. "No matter how you caught that bullet, it must have hurt like a bitch in heat. Why didn't you stay at the ranch until an EMT or a deputy could help you?"
"Most of the bad things that have happened to Carly have happened at the ranch," Dan said.
Montoya's eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Exactly what I said. Would you like me to repeat it?"
The sheriff thought about giving Dan an attitude adjustment, then decided it was more trouble than it was worth. Besides, the ER had gotten so quiet you could hear yourself breathe, which meant that everyone was eavesdropping.
"I got it the first time," Montoya said. "Anything else?"
Carly thought about where Dan had seen signs that a car had parked at the base of Castillo Ridge and someone had gone hiking up the hill. She waited for him to tell the sheriff.
"Not that I can think of," Dan said.
"If you remember anything else, call."
"Will do."
Carly watched the sheriff stuff the notebook in his hip pocket and stride through the ER. She leaned very close to Dan.
"Why didn't you tell him about the place where that car had parked?" she murmured against his ear.
He nuzzled against her neck and said softly, "Because I didn't want some clubfooted deputy messing up the sign before I get back there." He looked at his
watch. "C'mon, if we hurry, we can get some sleep before dawn."
"Dawn?"
"Great time for tracking. Or backtracking."
"Dawn."
Carly closed her eyes, sighed, and wondered if she'd ever get a whole night's sleep again.
Chapter 52
CASTILLO RIDGE
DAWN SATURDAY
DAN PARKED HIS TRUCK JUST BEYOND THE PLACE WHERE ANOTHER VEHICLE HAD parked last night.
Carly shook herself awake and reached for the door handle. "I hope we don't need snowshoes. I haven't used them since I was a kid."
"You don't forget how. It's like-"
"Riding a bike," she finished. "And all strange white meat tastes like chicken."
Dan thought of some of the things he'd eaten. "Don't you believe it. Some of it tastes like what it is-disgusting. Stay here where it's warm while I check out the tire tracks."
"Disgusting? What was it?"
"Do you really want to know?"
She thought about it. "No."
"Good choice."
Dan got out, closed the truck door, and zipped up his parka. The sky was overcast and smelled of snow. The air felt almost warm after the stark, clear-sky iciness of last night. Swirls and veils of snow drifted out of the dawn. The air was hushed, the silence thick with falling snow.
As he'd feared, the vehicle had parked on top of the tracks left from the time when Dan and his father had hiked up the back side of Castillo Ridge to watch a funeral they hadn't been invited to. Though six inches of snow had fallen between the funeral and sunset last night, it was nearly impossible to find any pure tread marks. Obviously more than one car had used the turnout since the funeral. Tire tracks crisscrossed every which way.
He looked from the turnout to the ridge rising dark and silver with the dawn. As he'd expected, the "poacher" had used the trail that Dan and his father had already broken to the top of the ridge. Unfortunately, some sightseers and snow-sledders had done the same. The informal trail was trampled flat. Nothing to learn from it.
He went back to the truck.
"Well?" Carly asked.
"More than two vehicles have parked here the past week. More than two parties have gone up the ridge."
"Is that unusual?"
"Not really. The locals have been playing in the snow here for decades. When wind sweeps the snow off of other, more accessible places, there's always the back side of Castillo Ridge for an outing."
"So there's nothing we can find from tracks?"
"Pretty much. I'm going to take a look anyway. I might get lucky and come up with a bullet."
"Shouldn't we let the sheriff do that?"
"If he doesn't get out here in the next few hours, there won't be anything to see."
Carly got out of the car and felt the tender bite of snowflakes. Then she thought about the chance of an overworked, skeptical sheriff bucking a snowstorm for a look-around at the site of what he was sure was an accidental and therefore unsolvable shooting.
"No harm, no foul?" she asked sardonically.
"Yeah. If the bastard had killed me, then we might see some action. As it is…" Dan shrugged. "I can't say as I blame Montoya."
"I do."
Dan pulled her close, and melted the snowflakes on her lips with a kiss. "Have I mentioned how much I like you, Carolina May?"
"Same back," she said. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at the bandage on his forehead. So close. So damn close. Why do we always think
there's more time? She kissed the rough, cool line of his jaw. "Next time don't let me sleep in. Wake me up early enough to play."
He turned his head, caught her mouth beneath his, and gave her the kiss he'd wanted to give her before dawn. When he finally lifted his mouth, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were smoky gold.
"It's a deal," he said. "And if I don't let go of you real soon, we're going to be rolling around in the snow."
Her eyelids went to half-mast. "Really?"
"Stop it," he said, letting go and stepping back from her. "You're supposed to be the sensible one."
"What? Since when?"
"Since I can't trust myself around you."
She licked her lips and laughed at the look on his face. "Okay, I'll be good. Really, really good."
"Starting when?"
"Right after I jump you."
Laughing, shaking his head, hands in his pockets so he wouldn't do anything stupid, Dan started off up the ridge.
"Wait," Carly called. "What about the snowshoes we borrowed from your folks?"
"We won't need them. This trail is pounded flat. Watch out for icy spots."
She didn't point out that she had on snow boots. She'd decided that watching out for others was built into Dan's bones. Giving unnecessary directions was the vice of his virtue of caring about others. She followed him up the bumpy trail and only slipped once.
Dan slipped more than that; his excuse was that he was watching other things than the trail. He glanced back, saw that Carly was keeping up, and concentrated on his footing.
At the top of the ridge, the trail unraveled into sled runs, snow angels, and some marks that defied explanation. Dan turned left, toward the spot where he and his father had watched the Senator's family funeral. Very quickly the trail drew together again. From the look of it, no one but Dan and his father had walked there. Jim Snead-if it had been Jim-had taken a different route to the ridgeline.
"Wrong turn," Dan called to Carly.
She waited while he came back to her, passed her, and went in the opposite direction along the ridgeline. Again, tracks unraveled in all directions. Again, they came together in a single trail. Dan stopped and studied the blurred prints. It looked like the man had come and gone in the same tracks.
"Figures," Dan muttered.
"What?" Carly asked, coming up beside him.
"He didn't break trail twice."
Carly looked down at the valley where the Quintrell ranch lay all but hidden by falling snow. "Weren't we about over there?" she asked, pointing back to the left.
"Yes, but he didn't know that when he started out. He worked along the ridge'this way."
"Somehow I think you know more about tracking than I learned in Girl Scouts."
"Somehow I think you're right." He touched her mouth with a snowy glove. "I hunted a lot as a boy, both with Dad and the Sneads."
"Why them?"
"They were the best hunters and stalkers in a hundred miles. At least they were until Blaine started seriously screwing with drugs and went to jail. He lost his edge real quick after that."
Carly hesitated, looking at the valley softened by swirling white veils. "Should I be worried that the snow is falling faster than it was when we parked?"
"Not yet."
"When?"
"About the time we're back in Taos." He touched her smile. "Try to stay in my footprints. It could get sloppy in the ravines and you're such a little thing I don't want to lose you."
Carly looked shocked, then threw back her head and laughed. "Little! I haven't been little since fourth grade."
"To me you're a fragile little flower."
She almost fell down laughing.
He winked at her and turned back to the man's trail. It was easy to follow. The man hadn't worn snowshoes, so he'd left holes in the snow that wouldn't fill up until the wind blew hard again. From the look of the storm moving in, that wouldn't be long.
Carly was so busy leaping from footprint to footprint that she almost ran into Dan where he'd stopped by a thick, bushy pinon.
"What?" she asked.
"See how the trail has zigzagged? Almost like he was picking a blind."
"Like he was blind?" she repeated dubiously.
"Looking for one," Dan said. "A secure place to shoot from, a place where he wouldn't be seen."
"He's sounding more like a poacher."
"Or a sniper."
Dan's matter-of-fact tone made Carly wonder all over again exactly what he did for a living. Sh
e didn't think it was selling shoes.
"So what could he see from the places he looked at and decided against?" Carly asked.
"The road from the highway to the Quintrell ranch, among other things."
"You're scaring me."
"It's about time."
Dan followed the man's trail, walking swiftly, mindful of the increasing snowfall. There were several more blinds or observation posts that he'd abandoned. Then he'd found one he liked and settled in.
Without hesitating, Dan went down on his belly and sighted along an imaginary rifle barrel.
Carly watched and swallowed a rising feeling of dread.
"And?" she asked finally, when she couldn't bear to watch him shooting imaginary targets anymore.
"Whatever he was waiting for probably was on the road, but could have been on the ranch," Dan said. "He's got the high ground and a clear field of fire in both directions."
"Which means?"
"Nothing useful. The sheriff would be the first to point out that poachers love roads and ranch pastures because animals have to cross them to get from one place to another, and they make such easy targets without cover around them."
Dan stood, looked at the tracks, and began crisscrossing the area. A few minutes later he found what he was looking for. "He switched directions here. See where the tripod rested? Probably heard us talking and started tracking us through a nightscope."
"I don't like the sound of that."
"It gets better." Dan walked to the side of the trail, where it crossed over and blended into the windswept side of the ridge. "He shifted positions again here, and here. He knows something about the country-all right, he knows a hell of a lot about the country-because he knew where the animal trail we were on would top the ridge. So he picked his spot and waited for us."
"Cougars and bears don't talk. If he was a poacher, why would he stalk us?" Carly said through cold lips.
"The sheriff would say he was afraid of being found."
"What do you say?"
"He didn't come up here on the ridge to shoot us while we walked on the ranch, because he had no way of knowing we were going to do more than drive in and drive out."
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