by Lucy Farago
She went to give it to him but at the last minute pulled her hand back. “You don’t believe in holistic medicine?”
“I’m more on the side of science, but like anything, I’m willing to consider it if given the facts.” He leaned in and snagged the branch from her. “There’s plenty about the human brain we don’t know.”
“Do you believe in the power of thought?”
“Do you?” In his mind, if you wanted something to happen, you made it happen with hard work or perseverance. Putting it out in the universe was just dumb as far as he was concerned.
“I’m not sure. I think you have to believe in yourself to achieve your goals. Negativity can do more harm to a human psyche than physical pain.”
Was she talking about her father? How much shit had that man tossed her way?
“That’s just assholes projecting their own crap on others. I’m with you on believing in yourself. Sometimes it can be the only thing you have.” He tugged hard to get the final branch where he needed it to be. The rungs they’d built were close enough together to keep the pine needles in place.
“I know this is none of my business,” she said. “And you can tell me to back off, but I get the impression life with your mother was harder than you led me to believe.”
She was right. It was none of her business and he didn’t talk about his fucked-up childhood with anyone. If he screwed up it was on him. Just like if he succeeded it was on him, not how he’d been raised. He hadn’t become the best at what he did to prove anything to anyone…other than himself. But he surprised himself. “I think all kids can be overly dramatic when it comes to the shit their parents do.” He stopped fiddling with the snowshoe and put it aside.
“She never raised a hand to me,” he explained. “Except Archie,” he held up six fingers, “everyone pretty much ignored me. Until the last one. I was a good kid. I got good grades. I did my chores. I didn’t complain about the charity our good townspeople pushed on us. I wore those hand-me-downs like she’d bought them herself. I knew husband number three or four would come along soon and I’d get new clothes.” He snorted at the memory. New husbands meant a lot of new things…but even more loss. “I wasn’t a small kid, so when other kids teased me about my mom, I took it. Even though I wanted to ram every insult down their throats. But I was smart enough to understand that would get me in a heap of trouble.”
Taylor’s face morphed into something he didn’t like and it gave him pause. He didn’t want her pity. But she’d asked, and he was going to answer, but before he could, she did.
“Nothing you ever did was good enough.”
It wasn’t pity he’d read on her face but a deep understanding. She understood because she’d lived through it. “You too?”
She shrugged. “But I went the other route and still managed to be invisible. I got suspended more times than I can count, went through countless nannies; even some of the staff had had enough of me and quit. And he just didn’t give a shit. Pathetic, right? Rich girl, trying to get her daddy to love her? To notice her?”
“Not pathetic. Why do people have kids if they don’t want to be a parent?”
“I don’t know.”
“Aren’t we the pair?” He began to cut laces long enough to strap their boots into the shoes.
She laughed. “Except you were the good twin and I was the evil one.”
“At least you got to drown your sorrows in cash. I left home at seventeen and joined the army.”
“Don’t you have to be eighteen to enlist?”
He looked up from the laces and let the silence speak for itself.
“Sure, why not?” she said. “If you could change your name on your birth certificate, why not your age?”
“But look at you now,” he said, stringing the twine through the branches. “A smart, independent businesswoman.”
“Yeah, so smart I allowed the Russian mob to hack into my computers and didn’t even notice.”
“I’ve seen what they can do, Taylor, and it’d have taken a team of FBI experts to catch it. They’re scum, but they’re not stupid. What say we try these on?” He positioned the apex of the triangle toward him.
Taylor stood and tentatively stepped onto the shoe. “What if I break it?”
“Then it’s better we know that now. Don’t you think?”
“I…I guess. I just don’t want to muck up all your hard work.”
Something was up. She wasn’t normally this down on herself. He laced her in and instructed her to walk, then watched to make sure the boot stayed put. The true test would be on snow, but for now, he was confident they’d done a good job. “Okay, come back.”
He unstrapped her boot and tested all the laces one more time. “Grab one of the power bars. Eat half. Save the rest. Clean snow shouldn’t be an issue, which is good, as it’s our only source of water. It’ll help that stuff expands. Just don’t take too much snow at once. It might cramp your stomach, and I don’t want you getting sick.”
She reached inside the knapsack, but it wasn’t the bar she came out with. “What’s this?” she said, grunting as she held up the heavy baggie T had left behind. “It weighs a ton.”
“Explosives.”
“Take it, take it, take it,” she screamed, thrusting it toward him.
He reached out, over exaggerating the caution needed in its handling, and plucked the bag out of her hand. “Phew,” he said, managing a straight face. “That was close. You nearly blew us up.”
Her scowl was so intense, he lost it and laughed.
“That was not funny.”
He disagreed. “Totally funny.” He set it down, then retrieved the power bars, passing her one and keeping one for himself.
Still scowling, she snatched the bar from his hand and sat across from him. “What’s really inside?”
“Explosives.” He tugged at the twine ties on the shoes one last time. “But don’t worry. It’s C-4. The only way to make it go off is with the electronic detonator. I’m surprised you didn’t pull those out too.”
“Thank God,” she muttered, clearly not impressed with his sense of humor. Then her jawed dropped. “Wait, what? You’ve got something in there that can make C-4 blow. And you’ve got them in the same bag? Are you crazy?” she asked, her voice several octaves higher.
“Only on Sundays. So you’re safe for a few days.”
“Monty…” She gave him a look that warned retribution if he didn’t stop screwing around.
“Okay, okay. They’re electronic timers. You can’t accidentally set them off. We’re fine. You’re fine.” She was more than fine, but he figured now wasn’t the time for another joke.
“Are you sure? You’re a techy. What do you know about explosives?”
“I’ve been trained in all kinds of things you’d be surprised to discover.” His job was to man the technology, but he could do anything anyone of the team could; maybe not as well, but none of them had hacked into the White House either. He fished out the detonator and explained how it worked, more to put her mind at ease than showing off.
When he was done describing how the detonator had to be synced to the timer and then shoved into the C-4, she nodded, the techy having appeased her worry.
“Guess I should consider myself lucky you like a little brain over brawn.”
“Guess I should consider myself a lot lucky I didn’t have to choose.”
Her smile was sardonic, but he appreciated the compliment nonetheless.
“Did you learn that stuff in the army?” she asked.
“Mostly. When they discovered I had a brain, I was transferred to Intelligence.”
“Why did you leave?”
How much should he tell her? “I was assigned to work with one of Ryan’s operatives and discovered I would be more…appreciated…working at ICU.” His commander had thought the same thing,
but he’d been getting tired of taking orders. Ryan had offered him independence.
“Got tired of taking orders?”
He flashed her some teeth. “I’m not a control freak.”
“Little bit,” she said, holding her thumb and index finger a fraction apart.
“Okay, I’ll admit I’m a control freak…if you admit you aren’t a realist.”
Ignoring him, she fiddled with the wrapper on the bar but didn’t open it. He’d nearly given up on her admitting to anything when at last she spoke.
“I’m scared. I’m scared about what’s outside and I’m scared…I’ll be the death of us both.”
He covered her hand with his. “I wasn’t lying, Taylor. I have complete faith in you. You pushed past your claustrophobia and did a lot of things that took balls. And I won’t let anything happen to you.” As he couldn’t promise it with certainty and he’d didn’t sugarcoat things, he had no idea why he’d made such a promise. But he didn’t want her to be scared. And as much as he told her he had confidence in her, he wanted to protect her. To keep her safe. Even from her own fears. He wanted to be the one to do that. To be the man to do that. Never in his life had he ever wanted to thump his chest like some king of the jungle. Sure, in his control room he was king, but this wasn’t the same thing. He wanted Taylor to believe he could take care of her. That he was man enough to do it. What the hell was wrong with him?
Taylor nodded, but did she believe him?
“I have faith in you too, Monty. You don’t say things you don’t mean.”
No, he didn’t. But would his efforts be enough? Would he be able to keep her safe? He put aside the shoes and opened his own power bar. They ate in silence. When he was done, he stood and tucked his remaining breakfast in the survival pack, then took hers from her outstretched hand. “I know it’s not much.” He hated having to ration her food, even though it was necessary. “I wish I could give you more,” the irony of it all not lost on him.
“Well, Mr. Survivor.” She pointed to the shoes. “Got anything in that arsenal of knowledge on how to catch rabbit?”
“Sorry, we’ll have to survive on power bars for the next two days.” He wasn’t against hunting, but it wasn’t his thing.
“That’s okay. I don’t think I could bring myself to eat one anyway.”
He wrapped an arm around her waist and nestled her against him. “I promise, when we get back, I’ll feed you anything you want.” He held his mouth to hers in a light touch. “I’ll give you a warm fire.” He deepened the kiss, parting his lips only enough to sweep his tongue over hers. “And I’ll find you the coziest of beds.” His next kiss told her exactly what they’d be doing in that bed, and from the way her arms went around his neck and how her sweet body drew closer, she was all for the idea.
He wasn’t sure if her reaction was a good thing or a bad one. Nor was he certain bringing up the future had been a wise move on his part, but he didn’t care. He liked kissing her. He liked doing a lot of things with her, and of all the cornball things, he liked being with her. Their escaping the Russians was wreaking havoc on his normally analytical brain. He needed to stop getting his hopes up. Taylor wasn’t long term. But he could seriously start wishing she was.
He ran his hands down her hips and cupped her ass, bringing her as close as he could, given their coats. He groaned from the pleasure of her intoxicating taste or from the frustration of wanting more, he didn’t know. Even last night, both of them tired, covered in dirt and grime, he’d wanted her. Common sense had prevailed, and he hadn’t touched her, at least not the way he’d have liked. Common sense would have to prevail again. He released her with a frustrated sigh.
“Time to get our butts in gear.”
Taylor blinked and stepped back. It took a few seconds for his words to penetrate the urgent need to do away with their clothes and forget they were holed up in a cold cave. She caught site of her dirty fingernails and cringed, imagining what she must look like, not to mention smell like.
“Ready?”
As much as she’d ever be. She nodded. Monty was right. If she could make like a mouse and go from one end of a mountain straight to the other side, certainly she could trudge her way through snow…without freezing to death. At least, that’s what she intended to keep telling herself.
Together, they headed to the entrance, where she got her first look at the challenge that lay ahead. The sun had yet to crest, but the sky had lightened enough for fear to pick apart the confidence she had in her ability to do this. Her mouth fell open as she realized they’d not only gone through but scaled up the mountain as well. They stood on a ledge overlooking a slope far steeper than the one outside the caverns. If they had skis, this wouldn’t be so bad. As it was, they’d have been better off trying to make snowboards rather than snowshoes. “That’s a mega incline.”
“Don’t get discouraged. The snow is making it look nastier than it is. Plus, we’re not going that way.” He pointed downward. “We’re going through the trees on your left.”
While less sharp a drop, except for the trees that could break her fall, it didn’t look any easier. Heart racing, she closed her eyes and told herself once again that she could do this. Monty’s arms encircled her waist. Wimp that she was, she drew comfort from the warm lips touching her cheek and the strong body crushing her against him.
“I know what you’re thinking, but I promise, it won’t be that bad.”
“Said the guy…oh, never mind.” She found no humor in their situation. “I’m sure you can do anything you set your mind to.” Considering he’d built snowshoes out of branches, he knew a lot more about this than she did. But it didn’t make it any less terrifying.
“Stop selling yourself short.”
There was one thing she could be grateful for: “At least it’s not too cold.”
“This time of year, it ranges between twenty-three and thirty-three during the day, but it’s warmer than that now. Let’s prepare for the worst and hope for the best. Let me pack up our supplies and we’ll get started.” He pressed his lips to her cheek again and gave her a tight squeeze before letting her go.
It was nice, the way he kept trying to reassure her. And because he wasn’t a person who bullshitted, she was going to believe her mantra. She took a tentative step forward and snuck a peek down the sharp incline. Her father was wrong. Mary might have been a helpless spoiled brat, but Taylor could do whatever she put her mind to. She’d beaten her claustrophobia. What was scaling off a mountain compared to that?
* * * *
Taylor’s thighs and butt vibrated from the exertion of walking on a diagonal for one of the longest days of her life, and if she survived the night, her legs wouldn’t enjoy tomorrow. On the plus side, no workout in any gym could give her the buns of steel snowshoeing sideways provided. It had been the only way to ensure they, or she, didn’t roll, headfirst, down the mountain.
Their pace had been exceptional, and Monty believed they’d reached the halfway mark just as they began to lose daylight. Assuring her he could build a shelter, they’d long ago passed the option of bunking in another cave. Surrounded by trees, Monty searched and found the perfect spot, an open clearing between two tall cedars.
“Are you sure I can’t help?” She felt a little useless leaning against a tree. She’d followed his instructions and found all the long pieces of wood she could, but he’d refused to give her the ax or the small saw.
“No offense, but I don’t want you any stiffer than you will be tomorrow.”
She suspected that wasn’t the truth, that he knew she was tired and thought he was doing her a favor. But she’d just hiked down a mountain. She was Wonder Woman.
“Take out the compass and mark where we are, if you want. I’m almost finished. I’ll need your help soon enough.” He continued to hack away at a branch. Thick with needles, it would shield them from the night wind and, hopef
ully, hold some of their body heat. At least that’s what he’d told her.
Careful to avoid the C-4, she found the fancy gizmo in the knapsack. “How do I use this thing? And tell me again why you brought the explosives.”
“Honestly, we may need them to barter. We suspected these people aren’t on the up and up, but they’re also on no one’s radar. It’s hard to know for sure what their story is. Either way, if we can’t give them something they need, they may kick us out.”
“Oh, great. From the pot into the fire?”
“Not exactly. We think they’re running illegal booze or cigarettes. Small-time. Selling their goods to other tribes and the locals. The last time we butted heads, they had a hard time believing we weren’t state troopers.”
“The last time?” How exactly had they butted heads?
“I’ll tell you about it later. Open the compass.” He drew back his arm, and with one final thwack, the branch dropped off. He went to work on another.
She did as he’d instructed then stared down at the illuminated screen, about half the size of a smartphone. “Does this thing make coffee?”
“I wish,” he grunted. “Push the top button on the right side in the order I tell you.”
“Wait. Let me guess. Zero, zero, seven?”
“Is that your best guess, ’cause how does one push zero?”
He had a point. “Never mind,” she said in a huff.
He chortled to himself and gave the branch another thwack. “Push twice quickly, then wait a second and push three times and then once and finally six. The screen will flash if you got it right and the compass will open like a flip phone.”
She got it right. The temperature, the sunset or sunrise, the nearest gas station—which was odd—and a variety of different things flashed until, at last, the GPS icon revealed itself. “Got it.”
“Is anything blinking? That’s us. It’s a touch screen, although the feature won’t work below a certain temperature. Hold your finger over it and you’ll be prompted to tag the location. Indicate yes and you’re done. The camp is already marked. Okay, this should do it.” He tossed his last branch onto the pile he’d built.
