His Best Friend’s Baby

by Mallory Kane

  “Here.” He held out the cup.

  She couldn’t move. She still clutched the covers to her chest like a shield.

  “Come on, Aimee. Take the cup. You need to drink some water.” Slowly, carefully, he reached out a hand and took hers, gently prying her fingers loose from the blanket, and pressed the cup into her palm. It was cool.

  He turned and went back to the fire, where he picked up pieces of clothing. For the first time she noticed two straight-backed chairs by the hearth.

  He piled the clothes on the hearth and spread other pieces over the backs of the chairs.

  She watched him as she lifted the cup to her lips. The flat, tepid water tasted wonderful. She drank the whole cupful.

  “Our clothes will probably be dry by morning.”

  “Could I have some more?” she asked, and at once felt guilty because she was warm and safe and enjoying water while her baby was out there somewhere—alone. Maybe thirsty. Maybe cold. The pain hit her again, swift and sharp.

  “Oh—” she gasped.

  Matt took the cup from her hands. “What’s wrong? Are you hurting?”

  “I want—I need my baby.” Tears stung her eyes, but she lifted her chin and swallowed them. “Do you—” She paused, terribly afraid she knew the answer to the question she was about to ask. “Do you know where he is?”

  He filled the cup and handed it back to her, then filled another one and drank it himself. He went back to checking and rearranging the clothing. “No. I don’t know where he is right now. But the storm is almost over and I’m hoping that by morning the clouds will have cleared away. We’ll meet Deke at the rendezvous point and he can take you back with him. As soon as I find William, I’ll—”

  “What?” She was still having trouble sorting everything out, but her brain finally put his words together in the proper order.

  He can take you back with him.

  “No!” She slammed the cup down on the wooden floor with a clang. “I am not going back without my baby.”

  “Aimee, you have to. You can’t stay up here. I don’t have the supplies or shelter to take care of you.”

  “Why can’t Deke bring supplies?”

  “Because he’s going to get you to get you to safety while I rescue William.” He picked up a pair of dark leggings, pulled them up and tugged a matching long-sleeved shirt over his head.

  “But—”

  “Listen to me, Aimee. I can’t concentrate on rescuing William if I’m worried about you.” He sorted through the clothes until he found her silk turtleneck and handed it to her.

  “You need to put this on and get back under the covers. It’s still a couple of hours until morning. After the snowstorm started, you got hypothermic. So from now on you’re going to be susceptible to the cold. You need all the strength you can muster.”

  She took the shirt and pulled it on. “Don’t ignore me, Matt. And don’t treat me like I’m going to break. I was confused when I first woke up, but I’m not now.” Not completely.

  She smoothed the shirt down over her abdomen. “I can’t sleep anymore. William is out there. I have to get ready. We have to go find him.”

  Matt sat on his haunches, tossed back the rest of his water and sat the cup on the hearth. He picked up a stick and poked the fire.

  “You need to rest,” he said again, not looking at her.

  She wanted to be angry at him, needed to be. But his quiet, deliberate actions didn’t invite attacks. In fact, his composure was calming.

  For a moment she was mesmerized by the silhouette of his profile, outlined by the orange glow from the coals. It was classic and grim. She could believe he was an ancient warrior, staring into the flames as he prepared his mind for battle.

  Suddenly, a memory from the night before flashed across her mind. He’d been lying next to her on the cot, his legs and chest pressed against her from behind. She remembered the thick warmth of his skin against hers, the rapid rise and fall of his chest and belly. The feel of his erection, hard and hot against her. He’d groaned, then whispered something.

  I promise.

  That was all she remembered. But she knew that, whatever that promise had been, he’d keep it.

  It occurred to her that he was in his element here. Weather and survival had been his specialties in the Air Force. There were probably only a handful of people in the world as well trained as Matt to rescue her baby.

  He hadn’t been exaggerating when he said he couldn’t take care of her and do his job. She was definitely a handicap. She knew that. He couldn’t move as fast or as stealthily with her along. He couldn’t focus all his concentration and energy on overpowering the kidnapper and rescuing William if he had to be concerned about her safety. But she was right, too. When he found William, she had to be there.

  Matt might be the only person she could trust to find her child, but she was the only one who could protect him.

  BY THE TIME they got away from the shelter, it was after 0700 hours. Matt had figured out hours earlier that they were going to miss the 0800 rendezvous point he’d arranged with Deke. To have any chance of making it, they’d have had to leave before daylight, while the wet snow was still falling. And he wasn’t about to expose Aimee to the possibility of hypothermia again.

  He’d ventured out of the shelter several times during the night to check the weather. The storm had done exactly what he’d figured it would do. It had moved in ahead of predictions. But what he hadn’t expected was the second front that had moved in right behind it. He’d seen the low pressure system that had been building behind the first. It hadn’t looked significant, and it had been hours behind the first, larger storm.

  But then the first storm had stalled, hovering over the mountain for hours after its predicted movement eastward. The extra time gave the second storm plenty of time to catch up and gain strength.

  Yesterday’s weather forecast had the second storm not moving in for another twelve hours. However, by the time the first storm passed through, the second one was already rolling in.

  The good news was that it was a weaker front, and hadn’t dropped nearly as much snow. By 0630 the snow had stopped and the storm was beginning to dissipate.

  Matt figured that within another hour the skies might be clear enough for him to use his satellite phone.

  He’d found a pair of snowshoes in the shelter. He gave them to Aimee, despite her protests. He could survive, even if his feet got wet. She couldn’t.

  In the place of the snowshoes, the firewood, a liter-sized plastic bottle filled with melted snow, and two of the wool blankets, Matt had left four of his eight remaining fire-starter sticks and extra all-weather matches for the next traveler who sought refuge there.

  He’d fashioned one of the blankets into a makeshift pack, tying the corners into knots and using duct tape from his daypack. So this morning he carried the makeshift pack containing his electronic devices, the water, the other blanket, several high-calorie protein bars, and the money, and Aimee carried the daypack with the sleeping bag and the lighter items. He had the heavy machine pistol and she had the Glock.

  “Let’s go, Aimee,” he called. He’d told her to stay in the shelter until he was sure they were ready to go.

  She appeared at the opening, stuffing strands of hair inside the balaclava she’d folded up and donned like a ski cap. Her face was rosy and fresh-looking. Thank God her pallor from the night before was gone.

  “You walk in front.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked. “Wouldn’t it be better if you set the pace?”

  He looked at her in surprise. “That’s a good question.”

  “You don’t have to act like you’re about to faint. I told you, I’ve done a little hiking in my time.”

  “Letting me set the pace would be a good idea, if we were evenly matched. But you wouldn’t be able to keep up with me. If I lead, I’ll be tempted to walk too fast, and then I’ll have to slow down to let you catch up. That’ll be extremely tiring for me. At the s
ame time, you’ll be trying to keep pace when I speed up, which will make you very tired. If you set the pace, you can adjust it to your level of conditioning, and I can find your rhythm. That way we’ll both conserve our energy.”

  Aimee sent him a little smile. “All that and good-looking.”

  His brows rose. She’d surprised him again.

  “Yeah,” he replied. It was good to see her smile. He suspected it was unlikely that she was genuinely amused. She was probably just putting on a front, hoping he wouldn’t figure out how scared she was.

  As if he could miss it.

  She moved in front of him, a little uncertain balancing on the snowshoes.

  After the third time she almost stumbled, he called out, “I thought you’d done some hiking.”

  “I didn’t say it was in snow.”

  He smiled again, and a warmth that had nothing to do with the temperature spread through him. “Now you tell me.”

  He looked at his watch. By his best calculations, they were about six miles away from where Deke would be circling, looking for them.

  Judging by the time they’d made last night, allowing for the fact that they weren’t battling a snowstorm and Aimee wasn’t handicapped by hypothermia this morning, it would still take them at least two hours, maybe more, to get there, trudging through the wet, packed snow. He figured the temperature was about thirty degrees.

  And it would rise as the sun rose. While that meant they’d spend the day peeling off layers of clothing so they wouldn’t sweat, at least the heat would burn off the rest of the clouds.

  Aimee said something that the wind picked up and blew away.

  “What?” he called out.

  She turned her head. “Do the clouds look like they’re thinning? Can you get a signal on your phone?”

  He looked up at the clouds that hung heavily above them. They were dissipating behind them, to the west. Pulling out the satellite phone, he checked the signal.

  Nothing.

  “Not yet.”

  He kept checking over the next hour. Finally, the phone responded with a weak signal. He dialed Irina.

  “Matt!” she cried as soon as she picked up the phone. “What happened? Where are you? Do you have the baby?”

  “No. But the kidnapper doesn’t have the money, either. We’re headed toward the first rendezvous point, but we’re not going to make it in time. Tell Deke we can be there by 1000 hours for sure—”

  “Matt, listen. The helicopter’s been sabotaged.”

  Had he heard right? “Sabotaged? There at the ranch with all your security? That’s impossible!”

  “It happened. We don’t know how. Someone drained all the oil. When Deke tried to take off, the motor burned up. It’s going to take all day to put in a new motor.”

  “Deke would never take off without checking everything.”

  “Right. The oil gauge registered full. It had been tampered with.”

  “What can he do? I need to get Aimee out of here. She’s not trained for this weather or this terrain, and most of my supplies burned up in the Hummer.”

  “Repeat. I missed that.”

  “My supplies burned up in the Hummer.”

  “The Hummer burned? You’re on foot?”

  “Yeah.”

  “—get Deke right on it. But listen. There’s something—at least two more—”

  “You’re breaking up.”

  “More storms—this way.”

  “Okay. I’ll check it out.”

  “There’s one blowing in now. It’ll probably reach—area—Ragged Top within the next two hours.”

  “Damn,” Matt breathed. “Okay. I can deal with the weather. What else?”

  “It’s big, Matt. Schiff got an anonymous call early this morning. The caller said—Aimee’s ba—the Vick cabin—get that?”

  “Baby? Cabin?” Matt looked at Aimee. She’d been listening to his side of the conversation the whole time. She met his gaze. He knew shock and relief were plastered all over his face.

  Her face lit up, tempered with hesitancy, as if she weren’t quite sure she should actually dare to be excited yet.

  He nodded at her and smiled. “Got it.”

  “—gave him the kidna—”

  “Gave him what?”

  “Name. It’s Kinnard.”

  “Kinnard?”

  “The police are familiar with him. He’s a small-time hood—muscle for some local loan sharks, that sort of thing. And years ago—arently did work for Boss—”

  “For who?”

  “Boss Vick.”

  That shocked Matt. He turned away from Aimee’s curious gaze. For the moment, it might be wise to keep that last tidbit of information to himself.

  “Can you verify that?”

  “Margo denies ever hearing—less knowing him—warrant for—papers. But—to take—”

  “Irina, I can barely understand you. Can Deke make the Sunday rendezvous?”

  “—get in—pick up—Sunday 0900.”

  “Got it, 0900. Out.”

  Matt disconnected, and then tried to access the weather reports via satellite. But the cloud cover was getting thicker, and reception was spotty.

  He’d have to continue to rely on old-fashioned methods of reading the weather and predicting what would happen next.

  “Matt?” Aimee had waited patiently while he talked to Irina, but he could see that she was bursting with curiosity. “Did she say baby? At the cabin?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Someone called in an anonymous tip this morning, letting the FBI know that your baby, your William, is there.”

  “He’s there? At the cabin? Oh—” Aimee capped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears. “Oh, Matt. Do you think the caller was telling the truth? Do you really think he’s all right?”

  Matt nodded. “From what Irina said, it sounds like he’s fine.”

  She pressed her fingertips to her lips for a few seconds, then ran toward him.

  Before he realized what she was doing, she slammed into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him tighter than he’d ever been hugged in his life.

  He stood there for a second, not knowing how to react. But her joy, her relief, her sheer happiness at knowing her child was safe, began to seep in past his reserve. He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her back.

  She buried her face in the hollow between his neck and shoulder and hung on. After a few seconds, he realized that he felt tears against his neck.

  “Hey,” he said, gently pushing her away and peering at her. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded as tears flowed down her cheeks and ran over the corner of her mouth. She sniffed. “I’m so—so relieved. I was so scared.”

  His heart was twisting again. He’d never known an internal organ could warp in so many different directions. “I know you were. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry.”

  She swiped her fingers across her cheeks. “I don’t. Ever.”

  “I guess this is a pretty special occasion then.”

  Her smile broadened and she laughed. “I guess it is.” She blew air out between her lips, wiped her cheeks again, and then straightened and looked him in the eye.

  “So how far are we from the cabin? How fast can we get there? Who’s there with him?”

  “Whoa,” Matt said, holding up his hands. “I can’t tell you who’s there with him, but I can tell you that we’re about ten miles from the cabin and we can get there in four or five hours. But only if you turn around and walk.”

  She grinned at him. “Which direction?”

  The maps he’d memorized suddenly went completely out of his head, knocked out by the dazzle of her grin. He’d seen it before, of course, but not in a long time. And never directed solely at him.

  “Hang on a minute,” he croaked, holding up a hand. He pulled his glove off with his teeth and retrieved the printed maps from his pocket. After a little shuffling, he came up with the right one.

  “Okay. Bea
r 18 degrees north of east.”

  “Bear what?”

  He laughed ruefully, held up the compass and took the reading, then pointed. “Go thataway.”

  She turned and looked. “Thataway?”

  He shook his head. “Walk!”

  With a swish of her hips, the impact of which was mostly lost under the down parka, Aimee turned and started walking.

  Matt stuffed his maps back into his pocket and tugged on his glove, all the while lecturing himself about how uncool it was to be lusting after his best friend’s widow.

  Especially here. Especially now. They were in a dangerous situation. His job was to take care of her, to protect her. Getting emotional led to screwups. He knew that from personal experience.

  Twenty years ago, he, Deke, Rook and Bill had found themselves trapped on a mountain ledge when a storm blew in. He’d been the youngest of the four, and the most scared. Rook and Deke, and even Bill, only two months older than him, had stayed calm. But he’d sobbed as the reclusive Vietnam vet Arlis Hanks had pulled him up using a rope and a block and tackle. That was the last time he’d cried.

  Shaking his head at the memory, Matt looked up.

  Aimee was nowhere in sight.

  Chapter Eight

  SATURDAY 0900 HOURS

  “Aimee!” Matt shouted. “Aimee!” His heart slammed against his chest wall, ripping the breath from his lungs.

  He broke into a run. The terrain here was fairly even, and the trees were sparse. He could see for several yards. How could she have disappeared?

  God, please don’t let her have fallen over a ledge.

  That thought stopped him in his tracks as alarm sheared his breath.

  Stay calm. Cool. Rational.

  The words echoed in his head with each cautious step he took. Combined with deep, even breaths, they helped to slow his pounding heart. He placed his feet into her snowshoe prints.

  Within about ten paces he saw the indented ribbon of snow that marked a creek bed. She must have fallen in.

  “Aimee!” he shouted.

  “Matt! Here!” Her voice was shrill with fear.

  “Stay still. I’ll be right there.” Within a few steps, he could see the hole in the snow. He approached carefully.