Drew was last in line. Which might be the safest place to be if the dogs or Clay triggered an avalanche. Although, sometimes the first person crossing a fracture in the snow only loosened it, and it didn’t come free until two or three more skiers had passed by.
There is no safe place on this goddamn mountain,Drew thought.
“Avalaaannnche!”
Even though Drew had been expecting the worst, his heart took a quick leap into his throat as Clay’s warning echoed back to him. What astonished Drew was that he found himself skiing hell-bent toward the sound of Clay’s voice, rather than away from it.
As Drew looked up in horror, he saw that the snow had fractured along a hundred-foot line above them and was barreling down the mountain, pulverizing trees and burying brush. He saw Clay grab Libby’s hand and yank her after him as he sped away from the closest edge of the onrushing snow.
As he watched, Clay pulled Libby tight against his chest and braced his back against a thick aspen, waiting for the snow to race past them. Drew heard one of the dogs yelp and realized they’d been too far ahead of Libby and Clay to make it back to safety.
Drew caught up to Sarah, who’d stopped in her tracks, and slid a reassuring arm around her. “Are you all right?” he said.
She nodded, then pointed, her eyes stark.
Drew saw the silky red head of one of the dogs appear above the tumbling snow and disappear again as the thundering avalanche continued down the mountain. The second redbone hound appeared briefly, disappeared and then reappeared paddling along the top of the snow as though he were swimming.
The slide stopped sooner than Drew would have expected, only a couple of hundred feet down. The instant it did, the hound that was still on top of the snow freed itself, raced twenty feet up the mountain and began digging.
“That’s Snoopy,” Drew heard Libby cry. “He must be digging for Doc.”
Drew saw Libby take off across the tumbled snow, Clay on her heels, grabbing for the shovel in his pack.
Drew’s gaze shot to the top of the mountain, wondering if more of it was going to come down. But when Sarah took off to join Libby and Clay, he followed.
A moment later, the four of them were digging—with Snoopy, make that five. They were racing time, knowing that the buried hound would suffocate in a matter of minutes.
“I found a paw!” Clay said.
“I’ve found another,” Sarah said.
Libby carefully cleared the area where they believed the dog’s head to be and found a cold black nose. Soon, Doc’s whole head was visible. When Clay finally pulled the redbone hound free of the snow, he let out a baying howl.
Libby hugged the dog, laughing and crying, then rose to fling herself into Clay’s arms. “Thank you!” she cried. “Thank you!”
Drew watched as Clay rocked Libby in his arms, while both dogs bounded around them, apparently fine after their avalanche adventure. Libby was smiling up at Clay when he said something Drew couldn’t hear. Her smile suddenly disappeared. Abruptly, they stepped apart. Libby bent down to fondle Doc’s ears, while Clay folded up his shovel and put it back in his pack.
Drew shook his head. Those two were meant for each other, but he doubted Clay would ever allow the past to be forgotten—or forgiven.
He turned to Sarah and said, “That could have been a helluva lot worse. And there’s more snow where that came from.”
“Are you suggesting we turn back?” she asked.
Drew realized there was no turning back, no matter how great the danger. There were four precious lives at risk. Even so, the cost of saving them might be too high. He met Sarah’s gaze and said, “I don’t want to lose you.”
Sarah seemed surprised by the admission. She avoided acknowledging its import by saying, “We’d better get moving if we want to catch up to that snowmobile.”
“If we move across this slide to the other side, the dogs should be able to pick up the scent,” Libby said.
They were soon across the slide area and headed back up into the high timber. Sooner than any of them expected, the dogs found the snowmobile’s tracks.
Which was when Drew realized that the passing snowmobile had probably precipitated the avalanche.
“I wouldn’t have thought he’d keep on concealing his tracks once he got off the main trail,” Libby said.
“He probably has something tied on the back of the snowmobile to brush them out, and it’s easier just to leave it there than to stop and remove it,” Clay said.
“If the kidnapper wants the location of his hideout to remain a secret, he has to be this careful,” Sarah said.
“I wonder how close we are,” Libby said.
“We’re not going up anymore,” Drew said. Which was important to him, because it was often along the ridges that the snow fractured and an avalanche began.
Clay halted and pointed ahead. “There’s something up there. Do you see it?”
Libby called the dogs to her and put them on a lead. “I don’t want them smelling Kate and making a beeline for her,” she said. “Assuming she’s there,” she added softly.
Drew had to squint to see the strange-looking structure through the thick underbrush that surrounded it. He turned to Sarah and said, “What is that?”
“It’s a yurt!” she said. “No wonder it was never found! They probably put it up when they need it and take it down when they’re done.”
“What’s a yurt?” Drew said.
“It’s what’s being used these days as a portable ski cabin,” Sarah said. “Mongolian nomads who roamed China and central Asia thousands of years ago invented them. They’re made of locking wood poles and have a conical roof with a hole in the top for smoke to escape.”
“So it’s the Mongolian version of a tepee,” Drew said.
“Rounder and flatter,” Sarah said, “but every bit as fast and easy to dismantle and transport. In the old days they were covered by animal skins. The modern ones have a wood framework covered in canvas or some fabric.”
“How do we do this?” Drew asked. “Do we ski up there and announce ourselves? Do we sneak up? What?”
“I go. You all wait here,” Sarah said.
“No way,” Clay said. “There could have been two people on that snowmobile. There might be others at that yurt. If they see a lone woman—”
“I’m a deputy sheriff.” Sarah smiled and added, “And I have a gun to even the odds.”
Drew wondered how often men underestimated Sarah because of her sex. Her voice had been patient, but firm, as she insisted on being treated like what she was—the law in these parts.
“I wouldn’t mind having you all handy as backup,” she said. “I want to know where you are, so I’m not shooting in your direction if bullets start flying.”
Drew was right behind Sarah as they moved quietly toward the yurt, trying to stay hidden as they watched for any movement.
“The door’s on the other side,” he said to Sarah. “How are we going to get there without being seen?”
“Very carefully,” Sarah said.
Sarah had put up a brave front, but she moved toward the yurt with a heavy heart. Was it possible her children had found this remote destination and were safe inside? Even if they’d escaped the storm, how safe could they be if this place was truly the den of a murderous kidnapper?
She wanted to believe she would find all four children safe inside, but as she turned the corner and saw there were two snowmobiles parked out front, and no one to be seen, she realized that rescuing the four children—if they were all there—might not be that easy.
Should she wait for whoever was riding the snowmobiles to come back outside? Should she organize everyone to charge through the door and subdue whomever they found there? Or should they all wait while she called in the cavalry?
Sarah realized that all three options had risks. The kidnappers—there must be at least two—might even now be planning Kate Grayhawk’s death. Or how to rid themselves of three meddlesome kids who’d sh
own up on their doorstep.
She eased toward the boarded-up window, cupping her hands over her eyes against a crack in the wood planking, trying to see inside. She saw figures on the floor, but before she could determine how many and what sex, two men walked out of the entrance to the yurt, their backs to her, arguing.
“I’ve pre-armed the explosive to start the avalanche,” the first voice said. “I’m using a two-kilo charge. All we have to do is get ourselves to a safe place and light the fuse.”
“And all our troubles will be buried and gone,” the second voice said with satisfaction.
Sarah leaned back against the thick canvas wall of the yurt, making a smaller target of herself as she listened. She thought she recognized the first voice, but she couldn’t place it. Then the man turned at an angle and she nearly gasped aloud.
Jimmy Joe Stovall was a Teton County Deputy Sheriff! And he’d just announced how he planned to commit a multiple murder and make it look like an accident.
“Wonder when they’ll find the bodies,” Jimmy Joe said.
“Maybe in the spring. Maybe never,” the second man said.
Suddenly, Clay Blackthorne burst from his hiding place and crossed the trampled snow near the yurt to confront the two men, Libby beside him, her rifle aimed at the second man’s heart.
The instant they appeared, Jimmy Joe pulled his Glock and aimed it at Libby. “Keep your finger off that trigger,” he warned.
“ Youdid this, Morgan?” Clay cried in an angry, anguished voice. “ Youtook Kate? Why?”
“It was a stupid mistake,” the man Clay had called Morgan said. “But as long as I had her, it made things a lot easier.”
“What things?” Clay demanded.
“That Japanese oil deal, for one. The old man was about to step out of it. Needed him in. Mentioned the girl and bingo! He’s back in again.”
“Which old man?” Libby said. “My father?”
“Bingo,” Morgan said again.
“He knew you had Kate?” Libby said.
“Didn’t know it was me, exactly,” Morgan replied. “Just that she was being held and that he’d better do as he was told.”
Drew realized King Grayhawk had been playing his cards very close to the vest, indeed. He’d never let on that he’d previously been in contact with Kate’s kidnapper.
“What happens now?” Clay said.
“First, Libby puts the rifle down,” Morgan said.
“No,” Libby said.
While Sarah watched, Morgan reached over his shoulder into his backpack and pulled out a bulky object, which turned out to be two round cylindrical objects—each as wide as a quart water bottle, but shorter—taped together. Then he reached into his pocket for a lighter.
“In case you’re wondering,” Morgan said, “this is two kilos—4.4 pounds—of PETN and TNT. It’s already armed. All I have to do is light the fuse. So I’m going to ask you one more time, Libby, to put down that rifle.”
Libby exchanged a despairing glance with Clay, then carefully laid the rifle in the snow at her feet.
“Back away from it,” Jimmy Joe ordered.
Libby and Clay backed away.
“Let the children go,” Libby pleaded.
“Sorry,” Morgan said “No can do.”
“Kate!” Libby cried. “Are you in there? Answer me!”
But there was no sound from the yurt.
“Are you going to shoot us?” Clay asked.
“No need to do that,” Morgan said. “We can bury you alive, along with your kid. Too bad she’s out cold. She’s going to miss the happy reunion.”
Sarah had already drawn her Glock and aimed it at the two men, watching to see what they would do. She stayed hidden, unwilling to expose herself in case someone else remained inside.
Drew caught her eye from the trees, and she motioned for him to join her. He took advantage of the distraction Clay and Libby had provided to join her.
“Did you see if they both have guns?” Sarah whispered.
“The deputy’s got one,” Drew said. “My brother Morgan is the one holding the explosives.”
“Your brother ?” Sarah said.
“Stepbrother,” Drew said bitterly.
Sarah’s heart went out to him. Yet another betrayal by someone he loved.
“Kate, are you in there?” Clay shouted.
No response.
“Is anyone in there?” Clay shouted.
No response.
“What have you done to my daughter?” Clay said through tight jaws.
“She’s fine,” Morgan replied. “We just gave them something to put them out—until the snow buries them.”
“Them?” Clay said.
“Some kids took refuge here during the snowstorm. The bunch of them were getting ready to light out of here when we showed up. Bad timing for them,” Morgan said.
Sarah fought back a joyous sob of relief, even as her heart pounded with terror. Her kids were alive, and she’d found at least one of the missing girls alive and well.
But her work wasn’t nearly done. They might all still become victims of an avalanche, unless she could find a way to stop Morgan DeWitt. She was tempted to shoot first and ask questions later. But that wasn’t how she was made. She had to do this right. She also had to act fast. These men were cold-bloodedly planning the murder of six people.
“I’ll give you anything,” Clay said. “I’ll do anything. Just let the kids go.”
As Sarah watched, Morgan slowly shook his head.
“No can do, boss,” Morgan said. “I think you’re all going to be lost in a terrible avalanche.”
“People will know this was no accident,” Clay said.
Morgan shrugged. “By the time the snow melts in the spring and uncovers you, I’ll be back in Washington and the Japanese deal will be done. Get inside,” he said, gesturing with the gun.
Clay and Libby had started for the door to the yurt, when Morgan said, “Wait.” His eyes narrowed and he did a slow, visual check of the vicinity, the barrel of his gun leading the way.
Sarah put a warning hand over Drew’s chest. She made herself as small as she could against the canvas structure, and in fact, even ceased to breathe.
“How did you know to come here?” Morgan said suspiciously. “How did you find this place?”
“I got an anonymous call,” Clay said. “Someone told me there was a place up here where I might find Kate. Libby’s dogs helped us find the way.”
That seemed to satisfy Morgan, who said, “Go ahead. Get inside.”
“She’s dead!” Libby cried as she entered the yurt.
Her agonized wail nearly sent Sarah running for the door herself, but Drew grabbed her arm to keep her in place. When she turned angrily in his direction, he put his fingertip to his lips, met her gaze, and shook his head.
Sarah felt her breath catch as she looked into eyes that had become two shards of ice. The carefree playboy was gone. Every muscle in Drew’s body looked tense, and she had the sense of a savage animal, feral and merciless, ready to pounce. She felt her body quiver in response to the deadly aura of the man beside her.
Sarah was distracted by sounds of a scuffle and realized Clay must have gone for Morgan’s throat. Then she heard the sickening sound of metal against bone, Libby’s shriek of rage and fear, and the sound of a body collapsing.
Morgan’s breathless voice said, “You didn’t have to hit him so hard.”
Jimmy Joe replied angrily, “What was I supposed to do? What does it matter, anyway? In twenty minutes, they’ll all be dead. Do you want me to knock her out, too?”
Sarah realized Jimmy Joe was referring to Libby.
“She’s not going anywhere without him,” Morgan said derisively, “or her kid. And neither of them are going anywhere anytime soon. Brace that door closed with a log, and let’s get out of here.”
Sarah watched as Morgan took off his backpack, carefully returned the explosives to it, then put it back on, before retrieving L
ibby’s rifle and setting it against the wall of the yurt. Meanwhile, Jimmy Joe made grunting noises as he hefted Clay’s inert body.
She turned to Drew and whispered, “Go around the yurt to the opposite side to distract them. I’ll come up behind them.”
She was asking him to risk his life. He might be shot when Morgan and Jimmy Joe realized that Clay and Libby weren’t alone. Sarah waited to see what he would do.
Drew’s eyes were cold and menacing as he glanced over her shoulder at the two men. He caught her in a painfully tight grasp, kissed her hard, and said in a harsh, guttural voice, “In case I don’t get a chance to say it later, I love you.”
Then he was gone, stalking the two men as stealthily and ruthlessly as a panther.
She heard Morgan and Jimmy Joe close the door of the yurt behind them before Drew said, “Hey there, Morgan. What’s up?”
“Goddamn sonofabitch!” Morgan said. “How the hell did you get here?”
“Same way half the sheriff’s office is going to get here in a few minutes.”
Sarah realized the hesitation for what it was. Morgan DeWitt deciding whether to shoot his brother and make a run for it, or just to make a run for it.
It was now or never.
Sarah wished she could be sure the two men were far enough from the yurt that they wouldn’t be tempted to jump back inside. But there was no more time to think.
She stepped out from her hiding place and said, “Police. Drop your weapons and put your hands up.”
Jimmy Joe yelled “Holy shit!” and dropped Clay like a sack of potatoes, then raced for his snowmobile.
Drew launched himself at Jimmy Joe with an animal cry, but their struggle for Jimmy Joe’s gun blocked Sarah from shooting at Morgan, who reached one of the snowmobiles, revved the machine, and disappeared into the forest.
Furious at having her quarry escape, Sarah pointed her Glock at Jimmy Joe and said, “Let go of that gun, Jimmy Joe Stovall, or so help me I’ll blow your head off!”
Jimmy Joe, who’d seen her expert shooting in more than one competition at the police range, let go.
Drew backed off from his bloodied quarry, his teeth bared in a savage grimace.
The Rivals Page 29
