Her Rocky Mountain Defender

by Jennifer D. Bokal

  “Oh no, no, no.” Madelyn shook her head. “You aren’t leaving me.”

  Roman paused, the constriction of indecision—like a shirt, two sizes too small—left him uncomfortable. Without question, Madelyn would be safer if she remained. He would be faster alone, too. At the same time, he wanted her with him. Besides, they worked well together as a team and she had skills—medically speaking—that he didn’t.

  She said, “I’m not going to argue and I’m not going to take no for an answer.”

  He believed her on both counts.

  * * *

  Once again on the same hill, Madelyn walked in silence next to Roman, consumed by her thoughts. She couldn’t believe that she’d had sex with a man she barely knew. But in many ways, she knew him better than she would have if they’d been together for years.

  What they lacked was a history together. Did that mean that she shouldn’t care?

  There was another problem, as well. While she technically had a prescription for birth control pills, Madelyn had not taken one in more than forty-eight hours. She’d missed one night because of rounds at the hospital and another because, well, her life had been shaken and stirred when she’d met Roman for the first time. And she was midcycle, prime time for fertility. She toyed with the idea of saying something to Roman. After all, there had been two of them in that sleeping bag. But to what end? Especially since the possibility of a pregnancy was still statistically low.

  “What will happen once we get back to Boulder?” she asked, the silence and her thoughts too much.

  Roman shook his head. He carried a backpack filled with food, water, the flashlight and a utility knife. “We have to head straight to Denver and my office.”

  “Shouldn’t we talk to the police first? You know, make a statement?”

  “RMJ will get in touch with the FBI on our behalf.”

  They walked side by side. Their hands close, but not touching. Madelyn thought of winding her fingers through his. They’d made love twice and it seemed natural to continue the connection. She moved to him, their fingers grazing, an electric surge traveling up her arm. But she stepped away. Hadn’t she warned of artificial feelings postcoitus? Funny enough, though, her affections for Roman felt true.

  “You’re an amazing woman, Madelyn Thompkins,” Roman said. “Maybe when all this is over, we can get together.”

  “And do what?” she asked, being purposefully obtuse.

  “I don’t know,” said Roman, “We can have dinner that doesn’t come out of a can.”

  Her pulse raced with the possibility. Yet, the razor’s edge she had to walk every day didn’t allow for foolish love affairs that left her breathless and her mind wandering. One misstep and she could lose her place in med school. Once she was a doctor, it wouldn’t get any better. Medical mistakes ended lives. “I’m busy,” she said.

  “I didn’t ask you about a specific day or time yet.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “I’m busy all the time.”

  “I understand,” he said, his tone steely. “Like I said, no pressure from me.”

  I understand. Madelyn doubted very much that Roman did.

  Even if she cared for Roman it didn’t change how much time and energy she devoted to her studies, or that he would eventually tire of her focus being on something other than him. Then there was a part of her that wanted Roman to press and cajole her into going out on a date. But he hadn’t.

  Roman, unaware of her mental struggle, spoke up. “In terms of your schedule, until Oleg Zavalov has been arrested, you might need to be placed in protective custody. The FBI will take you to a secure sight, probably a hotel in another area, where agents will be with you around the clock.”

  “Protective custody? No way. I have classes and my work at the hospital. I can’t hide out in some sketchy motel room in another part of the state.”

  “I’d actually prefer that they took you halfway across the country, but let’s wait to see what arrangements can be made. Maybe you can have a police detail stay with you 24/7.”

  “My patients won’t be happy. Neither will the hospital, or my professors.”

  “Would they rather attend your funeral?”

  Madelyn’s jaw tightened. He had a point.

  The sun continued to climb in the sky, promising a warm, bright and clear day—the kind for which Colorado was famous.

  They came upon Madelyn’s car, left at an angle on the rutted dirt road. She stroked it from fender to bumper, as if it were an ailing pet.

  “Does this road go anywhere beyond the safe house?” Madelyn asked.

  “No,” said Roman, “all of this land is private. So, if you’re worried about someone trying to get past you or stealing your car—don’t.”

  She nodded as if he’d cleared up every concern, but there was still the question of getting her car back to Boulder and in working order again. How much would the repair bill be, along with a tow back to town? A semester’s worth of expenses? More?

  Madelyn gave the hood a final pat. Then again, she had begun this journey to find her sister, and there was no car on the earth that was worth more than Ava’s life.

  They trekked on. The sun continued to climb and warm the thin mountain air. Sweat damped Madelyn’s back and chest. The creek, a brown serpent, came into view. She removed her blazer, tied it around her waist and moved to the bank. Murky water rushed past, foaming at points where broken branches tangled together and slowed the flow. Madelyn sucked in a breath. “That’s a lot of water,” she said.

  “I can’t wait another day. Hell, I can’t wait another hour to get in contact with RMJ,” Roman said as he massaged the back of his neck. “Which means I have to get to the other side of this stream, and this is the narrowest span for miles. I wish we had another option.”

  “I’m going to loop one arm through my backpack’s strap and you hold on to the other one. If you fall into the water and we get separated, flip on your back and put your feet downstream. Don’t try to stand up or swim against the current.”

  “Feet downstream,” she repeated. “Don’t swim against the current and don’t try to stand up.”

  “The most important thing to remember is to not panic. Panicking gets you hurt.”

  She wound her arm through the backpack strap and mentally repeated the instructions as they stepped off the bank. Within seconds, Madelyn had frigid water swirling around her knees. The current, a hand of ice, tried to push her over with unrelenting determination.

  Underfoot, the creek bed was uneven, rocky and slick with silt. She stubbed her toe, slid and wavered. She held out her arms for balance and the backpack fell from her arm.

  Roman gripped her elbow. “Steady,” he said. “Slow and steady.”

  Madelyn tried to speak, but could not find her voice. She nodded and gripped the strap. Her fingers were thick and at the same time brittle—like the dried limbs of a long-dead tree.

  “Eight feet gone, ten feet to go,” said Roman. “We’re almost halfway there.”

  Madelyn knew he was lying. The creek was more than two dozen feet across, which left them less than a third of the way done. Even though she was only submerged to the knee, cold crept out of the water and traveled upward into her thighs, pelvis and torso. She wasn’t sure she could make it to the opposite bank. Yet, she had to ask herself—did she have another choice?

  One step, she said to herself. One step closer to the bank. One step closer to getting out of the freezing water. One step closer to finding Ava, and getting her help.

  One more step...

  The ground beneath Madelyn’s feet disappeared and the sky overhead went black. Murky darkness surrounded her. She was freezing. It was a bitter and biting cold she’d never felt before. Struggling, fighting her way to the surface, Madelyn cried for help. Her mouth filled with water and she coughed, her lungs filling even as
she expelled the dirty liquid. Reaching again for the surface, she found only rocks and sand. Madelyn thrashed, searching for purchase and seeking air, but the stream kept her down, pulling her along to a dark, cold place...

  Chapter 7

  Roman stepped into a hole, a deep divide in the middle of the stream. Cold water punched him in the gut, stealing his breath and pinching his chest in a vise. The backpack looped through his arm lightened and floated on top of the water. He turned for Madelyn.

  She was gone.

  He drew a deep breath and dove beneath the surface. The muddy water stung his eyes, the silt so thick that it rendered him blind. He reached out, waving his arms, hoping to connect with flesh or cloth or hair. Anything. There was nothing. His lungs burned and he surfaced. She was still gone, vanished, but she was close—he refused to believe anything less.

  Another breath. Another trip into the icy, dark abyss.

  Roman pushed off from the bottom, letting the current carry him downstream. He waved his arms before him in a wide arc. He kicked out, propelling himself forward and sweeping his arms back and forth the whole time. Again, his breath gave out and he surfaced, gasping.

  How long had Madelyn been under? Soon, he wouldn’t be searching for Madelyn, but rather her corpse. Roman would be damned if he was going to let that happen.

  He took another breath, filling his lungs past the point of pain. The current pressed him down and dragged him along the bottom. His knees connected with something solid. He felt pressure, but not the blinding flash of pain he would expect from bone striking against a rock. Whatever he’d hit was soft and malleable. He pictured a lifeless hand floating in the current.

  Roman twisted around, and his fingers danced along the streambed. His lungs burned. His legs and feet cramped painfully and every cell in his body screamed for life-giving oxygen. He refused to give up. He turned again and searched the stream bottom again, inch by slow inch.

  It had been her. He knew it. And if he surfaced now, she would be lost. Then again, if he didn’t get some air and out of the cold water, he’d be lost, as well.

  One more foot. Just one more.

  His fingers were well past numb but they brushed against something fluid, like the creek but with substance. It was fabric. His fist closed.

  Keeping his grip firm, Roman pulled himself toward the cloth. It was Madelyn. He quickly found one shoulder and then the other. Arms hooked underneath, he pushed up and broke the surface. Madelyn’s head lolled to the side, her skin was pale and her lips were blue. He felt for a pulse and found none.

  “Madelyn?” He shook her and slapped each cheek. “Madelyn?”

  The current buffeted against Roman, setting him off balance and pulling Madelyn in a deadly game of tug-of-war.

  “I have to get you to land,” he said. He refused to believe that she couldn’t hear him, that she would never hear him again. “We’ll get you dry and warm.” He’d found a place where he could stand again in the middle of the stream as he considered his next steps.

  Head back to his cabin? Or continue to the opposite bank? He’d been in the water before and knew it was much shallower closer to the other side. While the cabin offered shelter, food and warmth, he didn’t know if he had the strength to fight the deepest part of the creek again.

  Better to get out of the water and worry about the rest later. Cradling Madelyn’s head in the crook of his arm, he moved to the opposite bank. The water level dropped, leaving Roman submerged only to his shins. He hefted Madelyn onto his shoulder and ran the rest of the way. He scrambled up a wall of mud and laid her on the dusty road.

  Once again, he felt for a pulse, hopeful that he’d missed it the first time. It wasn’t there. He listened for breath. Nothing; not that he had expected any better. Roman had used lifesaving measures before. Each incident brought him to a different gate of hell as he fought for the life of a friend or a brother in arms. But this time was different. Madelyn was his lover, and her caress still lingered on his skin. Her kiss remained on his lips.

  Placing one hand atop the other, Roman pressed down on Madelyn’s chest. Once. Twice. Three times. Four times. He tilted her head back, pinched her nose and exhaled into her mouth. Her chest rose as it filled with air. Yet, the breath was artificial and she took none on her own.

  Compress. Compress. Compress. Compress. Breathe.

  He refused to consider that she might be gone—dead and gone—yet he could think of nothing else.

  Compress. Compress. Compress. Compress. Breathe.

  He already knew, deep down, that the only thing worth caring about was her safety. Or that he would risk his own operation—heck, his own life—for her.

  Suddenly, Madelyn’s chest heaved. She bucked and coughed. He gently rolled her to her side, lest she choke. She wheezed and spat muddy water onto the dirt road.

  She pulled her knees to her chest and began to tremble.

  Roman lifted her head into his lap and stroked a tuft of hair off her forehead.

  “I,” she croaked, as her eyes found his. “What happened?”

  “Nothing happened,” said Roman. His head buzzed and his chest filled with warmth. He wiped at a leaky eye with his knuckle. “I promised to keep you safe and I did.”

  “Did I drown?”

  She stared up at him with her big, brown eyes. Her hair was slicked back and her lips still held a hint of purple. She was beautiful, fragile as the single petal on a rose and yet stronger than granite. He tried to tell her that when he pulled her from the water she was dead. The truth lay heavy on his tongue and held the taste of panic—iron mixed with salt. “There was a hole in the middle of the stream. You slipped and went under.”

  “Then you saved my life, again.”

  “Don’t say it like that, you make me sound like a superhero or something. I look bad in a cape, worse in tights.”

  She smiled. “You are a hero, though. To me, anyway.”

  Before he could think of a reply, a cloud of dust caught his eye. Roman stood and shielded his eyes with a hand. A black sedan, turned dull and gray with a coating of dust, sped up the road. A car? Here?

  “It looks like we have unexpected company,” he said. “This is a private road, so uninvited guests are never good.”

  “Or maybe it’s someone from your agency. They could have started searching for you and by now, figured you might be here.”

  “That’s possible,” Roman said, sounding dubious.

  He helped Madelyn to her feet. Still weak from her time in the water, she leaned into him. Until they knew who was in the car, they should run—or at least hide. Yet, she didn’t have the energy to move far. He could carry her, but could he move fast enough for them to hide? Then again, how much time would he lose if they got lost in the woods?

  That meant only one thing, Roman had to stand his ground and face whoever was coming.

  * * *

  A cloud of dust surrounded Oleg’s car, obscuring the road and convincing him that coming out here was a fool’s errand. And Oleg was never a fool. He turned on the windshield wipers, a half-moon of clean appeared. Leaning forward in his seat, he looked for a spot wide enough to turn around.

  Then he saw them. Two figures standing in the middle of the road. Even from a distance, Oleg recognized Madelyn and Roman. Through the grimy windshield, he assessed their state—the matted hair, the soaking clothes—and could tell they were drenched. Madelyn clung to Roman’s arm. Despite the sun, she shivered. The creek behind them ran black and thick with rushing water. Supports from a bridge that was no longer there stood as a warning to any who might try and cross. But they had dared, Oleg would bet his life.

  If Oleg believed in a higher power, he would have offered up a prayer of thanks. But, he didn’t. As far as he was concerned, mankind had been flung upon the earth and left to make their own way.

  As he pulled up, turning
the car so it blocked the road, he congratulated himself for his intelligence and daring. The two soaking wet people in the road were obviously Oleg’s reward for being superior to his opposition.

  From the glove box, he withdrew a gun. Then he opened the door and got out of the car, saying nothing. The silence he felt was more foreboding than any warning or taunt he might deliver. He aimed and pulled the trigger.

  The crack of the bullet shot through the air. The report thundered, echoing off the mountains before fading into nothing. Grit and dust billowed into the air. When the cloud cleared, Roman was on the ground. He lay atop Madelyn, shielding her with his body. Both were still unfortunately alive and uninjured, although they were both pinned down and in the open.

  Oleg lined up the sights between Roman’s shoulders. A hit to the spine and Roman Black would be no more. He only needed one person to account to Nikolai for Serge’s death, and Oleg knew that controlling Madelyn would be easier than restraining Roman. She was weak where Roman was strong.

  Oleg steadied his arm and wrapped his finger around the trigger, inhaling deeply as he prepared to pull again...

  The scene changed in an instant. A dark shape rushed toward Oleg and before he could react, the car door slammed into him. Breath was forced from his lungs and the gun skittered from his grasp. Roman grabbed Oleg by the lapel and shoved his knee in Oleg’s middle. Vomit erupted from Oleg in a hot spew that ran down his shirt.

  A punch to the face and Oleg’s ears buzzed, his vision darkening at the edges. An elbow was dropped on the crook of his shoulder, the exact place where it became his neck and world tilted. Oleg staggered before sprawling on the ground.