by CJ Lyons
“Don’t move,” she said when his eyes flickered open. “You have no idea how lucky you are, mister. Can you feel any pain anywhere?”
He started to shake his head, but she held his neck still. She looked down to reprimand him, but something about his face, those eyes, grabbed her attention, forced all other thoughts away for a split second. Did she know him? She didn’t—did she? No, it was just a trick of the light, she told herself, firmly refocusing her attention where it ought to be, on his injuries.
But she couldn’t explain the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end or the way her pulse had raced into overdrive.
“I said, don’t move,” she repeated in a sharp tone that even idiots could understand. She didn’t smell any alcohol on him, maybe he was doing drugs?
The goose-egg on his forehead oozed blood. His long brown hair was tied back with a leather thong, and he wore a leather trench coat. Definitely city folk.
“Just answer yes or no,” Vinnie continued. “Can you move your arms and legs? Where does it hurt?”
“I’m fine,” he said with the slightest hint of a tremor in his voice. “Got to get going.”
“You’re not going anywhere except to a hospital,” Vinnie told him. She aimed the light into his eyes.
They were a warm, rich hazel with gold flecks. His pupils were equal in size, responding to the light. He raised an arm to bat her away, but she ignored him. Neck seemed to be all right, but what was this? she wondered as she palpated his clavicles.
He groaned, grabbed her hand with his right one as she opened the jacket and saw blood on his left shoulder.
That didn’t come from any car accident. Her stomach did a quick somersault. She knew a gunshot wound when she saw one—had seen way too many when she worked as a medic in the city. She dropped her hand, let the jacket flap close.
“Stay right here, I’m going to get some supplies from my car.” She started to back out of the car when his left hand grabbed at her sleeve.
“Wait,” he said in a weak voice.
She leaned forward to hear what he was saying and saw the gun he raised in his right hand. The very large, very black, gun pointed at her face. She sucked in her breath, tore her gaze away from the gun to meet his eyes. He didn’t look like he was joking.
He looked grim. Like maybe he was getting ready to die and didn’t mind taking her along for the ride.
“Hey mister, I just want to help,” she said, surprised by how steady her voice was. The same soft voice she used to use with psychos and crackheads in the projects.
“No time. Help me into your car.” His voice didn’t sound so weak now. It sounded determined. The gun jabbed into her cheekbone. “Now.”
“You shouldn’t be moved. I’m a paramedic, trust me.”
“Right, and I’m a priest. Hurry, they’ll be here soon.”
He grabbed onto her belt and used her weight as leverage, swinging his legs around, fighting gravity. He steadied his gun hand against the car frame as he worked to pull himself upright. This was her chance. She could knock the gun away, outrun him, get into her car and drive away.
Or she could be shot in the back. The sharp, metallic tang of gunpowder filled her memory. She of all people knew what kind of damage a gunshot at close range could do.
She looked down at him, saw desperation in his eyes, and something more, that same feeling of familiarity, of recognition that had startled her earlier.
Vinnie made her choice. Slipping her hands around his waist, she hauled him to his feet, steadying him until he got his balance. His face went white, and he winced against the pain, but didn’t fall.
He leaned his weight against her, and she led him to the Subaru, helped him into the passenger seat. She was moving to the driver’s side when he pushed his door open again.
“I can’t leave the computer,” he said. “It’s evidence. I need that.”
Here she was trying to be a Good Samaritan, at gunpoint at that, and the idiot was blathering about some computer. She moved back to his side before he could manage to get his feet on the ground.
“Get in. It’s not far to the hospital in Winchester.”
“No!” He raised the gun once more. “I need that computer.”
Vinnie stepped back, opened her arms wide, making herself an easy target. “You’re not going to get very far if you shoot me.”
“I’ll explain later. Please,” his voice dropped and the gun sagged as if he was running out of energy, “please, just get the computer. It was in the front seat. Hurry, there’s not much time.”
It was faster to comply than to stand there in the snow arguing. She ran back to the BMW, retrieved the laptop from the floor of the passenger seat and returned to the Subaru. She shoved the laptop at him, fastened both their seatbelts, and pulled back out onto the road.
“Wanna tell me who shot you?” she asked after they drove for a few moments in silence.
He ignored her question, instead peered at the speedometer. “Can’t you go any faster?”
“Excuse me, treacherous mountain road, white out conditions—I’m thinking twenty miles over the speed limit is fast enough.”
He gave her a grunt for a reply and fumbled in his pockets. “Where’s my cell phone?”
“Not my turn to keep track of it.”
“Do you have one?”
“No. There’s no signal out here if I did. No cell towers allowed in the Forest.”
“Freaking wilderness.”
“No, the Lost River Wilderness. Mister, don’t you even know where you are?”
“Middle of nowhere, going nowhere fast.”
She glanced over as he opened the computer and turned it on, the glow from the screen turned the blood on his face black and made his skin look paler than a corpse’s. Vinnie shuddered and focused on the road.
“What’s wrong now?” he asked. As if being held at gunpoint in her own car, hurtling down a mountainside in a snowstorm with a stranger giving her orders wasn’t enough?
“Nothing, I just had a premonition.”
“My luck, I get picked up by a crazy lady. You one of them psychics? I heard there was some kind of coven up here in the mountains.”
“No,” she said, disdain dripping from her voice, “and that’s witches. I’m a wildlife biologist for the Forestry Service.” Another grunt was her only answer as his fingers flew over the keyboard. “What’s so important about that computer? Who are you?”
When he answered it was as if he was talking to himself more than to her. “That’s what I’d like to know. How did they know who we were?”
He looked up, peered out the window and shook his head at the snow and trees. “How far to civilization? I need the nearest phone.”
“Gotta cash in those mutual funds, right? You need a hospital, not a phone. You’re lucky you weren’t killed back there.”
Headlights filled her rear view mirror once again. That bad feeling she had before now turned into good old fashioned, stomach-clenching fear. “There’s a car behind us, driving almost as crazy as you were. Are those the guys who shot you?”
He rolled down his window, seemed oblivious to the snow blowing in as he adjusted his mirror. He looked over at her, and she met his eyes. They were very nice eyes—but worth risking her life over?
“Oh yeah, that’s them.” Regret colored his voice. He sounded sincere. “Sorry I got you into this mess, but those men will kill us if they catch us, so don’t slow down for anything, got it?”
Like she hadn’t already figured that one out for herself.
CHAPTER 3
“If I’m gonna get myself killed helping you, think you can at least tell me why? Or who you are?” Vinnie asked, keeping her eyes on the road ahead.
“I’m a federal agent, ATF. I’m one of the good guys.” He craned his head out the window to watch their pursuers. “They’re gaining. Look, I’ll tell you the whole story over tea and crumpets if you just hit the gas and get us the hell out of here.”
> Vinnie glanced down at the speedometer. They were already going fifty miles an hour around curves posted at twenty-five. She gave the gas pedal a nudge, praying that there was no black ice on the pavement as they rounded the next one going sixty.
It was the first of three tight curves that switchbacked around the mountain, and she needed both hands to keep control of the car. She accelerated whenever she felt the wheels begin to slip, avoided the brakes and used the clutch and gears to keep the Subaru on the road. Her hands flew back from the gearshift to the wheel, both feet working in tandem, and she felt like she was channeling Mario Andretti.
It worked until the last curve, posted at twenty miles an hour, which she came out of on two wheels, holding her breath and leaning over in an unconscious effort to flip the car the right way back onto all its wheels.
They came down with a jolt that jarred the breath from her. Vinnie cut her eyes over to her passenger who was clenching the dashboard with a white-knuckled grip.
“Fast enough for you?” she asked with a grin. His window was still open, and the fresh air mixed with adrenalin to give her a pleasant head rush.
Her exhilaration was dashed almost immediately as the SUV caught up to them on the straightaway, ramming into their rear bumper.
The impact snapped Vinnie’s jaws together. She kept control of the car and pressed the accelerator to the floor, shifting down.
The SUV pulled up beside them, swerving into Vinnie’s side of the car, trying to force her off the road. She hunched forward over the steering wheel, refusing to make it easy for them.
“Hang on!” she shouted as a sickening crunch echoed through the car. She almost lost it, wheels spinning on the gravel between her and the edge of the mountain, then pulled ahead once more. Heedless of any oncoming traffic, she used both lanes as she maneuvered her way down the mountainside.
“Can’t you shoot them or something?” she asked her passenger, Mr. Federal Agent.
What good was he, anyway? She was doing all the work, it was her car getting the crap beat out of it, and all he did was sit there bleeding over everything.
Then she saw how much blood he was losing. Aw hell, she wasn’t going to lose him, not after all this. She elbowed his left side, and he straightened. “Hey, you still with me?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Just trying to get a good shot.”
She didn’t mention that his hand holding his gun was shaking worse than a quaking aspen in a windstorm. Instead, she swerved to the inside of the next curve. Which put them back on the outside of the steep drop off the mountain. Not to mention on the wrong side of the road going around a blind curve.
The driver of the SUV took the opening she gave him. His engine whined he pushed the larger vehicle to catch up in the other lane.
“What the hell are you doing?” her passenger asked.
“Trust me.”
The SUV was maneuvering into perfect position to topple Vinnie off the side of the mountain. Vinnie alternated gauging the curve ahead and looking in her side view mirror where the SUV was close enough that she could see the passenger—and his large, silver gun aimed at her.
She shifted down, the Subaru’s engine protesting but still giving her the power she needed. They surged forward as she steered out of the curve.
The next curve was a reverse of the first. Now Vinnie’s car hugged the mountain, and the SUV was vulnerable. She backed off on her speed just a notch, then hit the brakes, sending the Subaru into a controlled skid, turning the wheel so that they collided with the SUV’s back rear panel.
The SUV spun off the road, gravel spitting behind it as it roared off the mountainside, airborne. Vinnie twisted the steering wheel, straightening them out of the skid and keeping them on the road.
Her passenger let out a war cry that filled the small car and sent a glow of pride through Vinnie.
“Hot damn, lady! You belong at Le Mans!” He chuckled as he looked out his window, then finally seeming to notice the cold and snow, rolled it back up. “Where’d you learn to drive like that?”
Vinnie sighed. He had to ask, didn’t he?
“My husband,” she said, glancing at her visor where Michael’s photo was snugged beneath a rubber band so that he was always with her. “He was a cop in Pittsburgh.”
“Remind me not to mess with any Pittsburgh drivers—or cops.”
She glanced over and saw that his attention had returned to the laptop, the gun lay forgotten on the console between them. She could easily grab it. It wasn’t like he was in any shape to use it, even if he was who he said he was.
She edged her hand from the gearshift down to the console. Quick as a snake strike, his good hand was there, squeezing hers so tight she couldn’t hide her wince of pain.
“Naughty girl,” he chided her.
This wasn’t a game, she thought with a surge of fury. At him for involving her in this mess, at herself for allowing herself to get involved. And for trusting him—as if a pair of nice eyes and a kind face made up for him holding her at gunpoint.
“If you’re who you say you are,” she said as his grip loosened, but he still kept hold of her hand, “then show me your credentials.”
“Sorry. Don’t carry them on me when I’m UC—undercover,” he translated.
“I know what it stands for,” she snapped, her patience at an end. “You trust me to save your sorry ass, but you don’t trust me with your name?”
“Honey, I’ll trust you with my life. It’s what’s in this computer that has me doubting. It could get too many people killed, good guys.” He nodded to Michael’s photo on the visor. “You’re a cop’s wife, you should understand.”
“You won’t have to worry much longer, here’s the cavalry.” She pointed through the windshield down the mountainside, several switchbacks away where flashing red lights crossed the road.
His look of relief morphed into concern.
“We’ve got to get off this road. Now.” His voice was urgent.
“Why? I thought you’d want the cops—”
“I never had a chance to call them. How did they know I was here?”
“Maybe someone else called them? Saw your car wreck?”
“You see anyone else driving out in this weather? Get us the hell out of here!”
CHAPTER 4
Lucky’s chauffeur jumped and he toned it down a notch. “It’s okay. Take it easy. Just get us off this road.”
Idiot. She was probably even more frightened than he was. It wouldn’t help things to make her nervous to boot. Although she seemed like a steady customer, cool in a crisis. And that driving—now he knew where the expression hell on wheels came from.
He turned the computer off to save its battery. He’d learned enough to scare the crap out of him, enough to tell him that the Liberty Hunt Club wasn’t what it seemed. Felt like old times, like last month with Chase—stranded in the cold, out in the middle of nowhere, people shooting at him.
Someone up there was trying to send him a message. Like he should stay in his nice, friendly demolition lab and out of the field.
And stay as far away from The Preacher as he could. But here he was, up to his neck in psychofreaks who worked with The Preacher and his fanatical militia aimed at starting World War Three. Looked like they had the local police on their payroll as well.
Right about now, Chase and KC would be wondering where the hell he was. Lucky only wished he knew.
He looked over at his companion. A government-issue name tag was pinned to her olive-green wool shirt. VD Ryan, it read. She had a heart-shaped face, long, thick black hair pulled into a single braid that was tucked into the back of her parka.
Dark eyes, high cheekbones and thick lips. He couldn’t tell much about her shape beneath the thick layers of winter clothing she wore, but he knew she was strong, she’d hauled him from the BMW almost effortlessly.
Tough broad, this VD Ryan. VD? Bet that got her a lot of ribbing at the office. Victoria? Violet? Velma?
He t
urned to ask her when she hit the brakes, jolting him forward against the seat belt. Pain fired through his left arm at the sudden movement.
She spun the wheel hard and the Forester bounced off the paved road onto a narrow rutted dirt track. They headed back up the mountain, this time in a more direct, steeper path than the one they had followed down.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“Only place left to go,” she said through gritted teeth, hunched forward, straining to see in the white-out conditions. The snow swirled around them and wind lashed against the car, enveloping them in an impenetrable curtain. “Into the woods.”
“Why don’t I like the sound of that?”
She was silent, fighting to maneuver the car onto another road, this one even more rugged than the first. Was it even a road? Lucky wondered. Maybe she’d gotten them lost on a cow path or mountain goat trail.
She almost got them mired several times but was able to coax them back onto the trail without incident. Finally she stopped the car.
The headlights illuminated a wooden sign on a gate. In between gusts of snow, he could make out the words: Lost River Wilderness Area. Authorized vehicles only beyond this point.
“Wait here,” she said, jumping out and heading into the glare of the headlights.
She unlocked the gate and pushed it open. After returning to the car, she drove them past it and exited again to close it behind her. The storm swallowed her figure before she waded past the rear bumper, like something out of a Grimm Brother’s fairy tale. Or nightmare.
Ghosts and goblins and flesh-eating witches lived in woods like this. Not to mention hungry wolves and other four-legged predators.
Ryan seemed familiar with the terrain, but Lucky was feeling more and more nervous the farther they got from civilization. Who ever thought a two lane, narrow, paved road would represent civilization? Of course, with that civilization came men with guns. Shooting at them.
He would have to trust her. For now.
She opened the driver’s door, a gust of snow spreading like a blanket over the dashboard only to melt immediately. The overhead light bulb and ding of the door indicator were welcome reminders that this was twenty-first century America, not a forest primeval. Then she slammed the door shut, the light went out, and they drove into an impenetrable silence.
