“I don’t want to go to another shelter.”
“You don’t have a choice. If we stay together, I’ll only end up hurting you. Dammit, Hannah, I’d rather die than hurt you.”
Surprising him, she stepped forward and poked her finger into his chest hard enough to send him back a step. “Listen to yourself. How can you possibly believe you’re capable of laying a hand on me?”
“I’ve been convicted, Hannah. I put my old man in the hospital. I nearly killed—”
She poked him in the chest again. John stepped back. “You were a seventeen-year-old kid,” she snapped. “You stopped your father the best way you knew how.”
“What about Rhonda? If the cops hadn’t arrived when—”
“You didn’t hit her, John. For whatever reason, she freaked out. You took responsibility because you felt guilty. That’s the bottom line. That’s what kind of man you are.”
John stared at her, aware that his palms were icy and wet inside his gloves, his heart beating like a drum. He didn’t like the way this was working out. Didn’t like Hannah poking holes in the logic behind the reason for his solitary existence. Couldn’t she see he wasn’t the right man for her? Couldn’t she see this was hurting him as much as it was her?
She stared back at him, her mouth set, her eyes alight with anger. John thought he’d never seen a woman look as beautiful as Hannah did at that moment. The lust spiked through him with such force that he felt dizzy. His hands began to shake. His knees followed suit. If his discipline hadn’t been made of steel, he might have reached out and pulled her into his arms.
His discipline held.
“We can talk about this later.” He said the words, but he had no intention of discussing any of this with her again. When he took her back to RMSAR, John was going to turn her over to Buzz and walk away from her once and for all.
Knowing his resistance would fail if she didn’t stop looking at him with those liquid brown eyes, he turned away and pointed toward the barely visible snow-covered path that ran up the side of the rise. “There’s a road just over the ridge. A one-lane gravel road full of switchbacks. Washouts where the beavers have built dams. Once we reach the road, we’re on Elk Ridge. The road isn’t passable during most of the winter months, but snow has been light this year. Someone with an SUV could probably get through. If someone drove you up here that night, that’s the road they would have taken.”
“How far are we from the point where you rescued me?”
“The road is a hundred yards on the other side of this ridge. We’ve got about fifteen minutes of moderate climbing. Once we reach the road, the gorge where you fell is a ten-minute walk through relatively level terrain.” He frowned. “Think you can make it?”
“Of course I can.”
He knew better than to touch her, so instead he reached out and zipped her snowsuit up to her chin. “Cold?”
“No.”
“Don’t be too proud to tell me if you’re in trouble.” He let his gaze slip to her abdomen. “You’re pregnant. Pregnancy can cause fatigue, especially at this altitude.”
“I feel fine.” Her eyes searched his. “You can ignore this all you want, but I’m not going to let it go.”
John prayed he had the strength to do the right thing when the time came. “Let’s go,” he said, and started for the path.
CHAPTER 15
The climb was more difficult than she’d thought, but Hannah didn’t complain. She barely felt the fatigue sinking into her bones, the threat of morning sickness seesawing in her gut, or the cold numbing her fingers and toes. The only sensations reaching her brain at the moment were pain and grief and a stark sense of loss.
Damn John Maitland and his twisted sense of honor, anyway.
She knew exactly what kind of man he was. Courageous. Heroic. Too damn honorable for his own good. He’d proven it to her a hundred different ways in the last few days. And because she knew him so well, she knew he would keep his word and walk away from her when all was said and done.
The thought broke her heart.
But Hannah knew there was nothing she could do. She might know what kind of man he is, but John didn’t. Until he realized that the mistakes of the seventeen-year-old boy he’d been didn’t define the man he’d become, until he came to terms with his past—including the conviction for domestic violence—there was nothing she could do to change his mind. It might not have hurt so much if she hadn’t fallen crazy in love with him.
After ten minutes of climbing, they reached the ridge. Neither of them spoke as they took a few minutes to catch their breath. The terrain was rugged and steep. The pines scattered about were sparse and gnarled from mountain extremes. She’d expected the landscape to be familiar, but it wasn’t.
John raised his hand and pointed. “The ravine where you were rescued is about twenty yards that way.”
The scene flashed in Hannah’s mind. John swooping down from the helicopter. Wind and snow flying. His hands gentle and reassuring. His voice smoothing away her terror. “Even if I live to be a hundred, I’ll never forget that moment.” She risked a look at him. “I’ll never forget that you saved my life.”
He gazed back at her, his jaw set, his eyes as blue as the alpine sky. “I was doing my job, Red.”
She couldn’t help but wonder how he could look at her like that and know in the back of his mind he was going to walk away. The sense of loss staggered her. She wasn’t going to be able to reach him, she realized. And though he stood less than a foot away from her, she sensed him slipping from her grasp.
Unable to speak for the emotions spiraling through her, she walked to the edge of the road and stopped. Beyond, she could hear the rush of wind through the trees, the crackle of aspen leaves, the call of a bird from the top of an ancient pine.
“That was a tough climb,” he said after a moment. “Are you feeling all right?”
“I’m okay.”
“You’re pale. Why don’t you sit down and rest for a few minutes while I have a look around?”
She was about to decline when a glint of silver in the snow twenty feet away snagged her attention. A swirl of remembrance danced in a corner of her brain. A silver buckle. Soft leather. The flash of memory made her heart pound. Without speaking, she started toward it, first at a walk, then she was running. Something dark lay just beneath the snow. Dropping to her knees, she brushed away the snow and reached for a leather strap.
“Hannah, wait.”
Ignoring John’s voice, she tugged on the strap. A small leather handbag materialized. Navy, not black. Inexpensive. The familiarity of it jolted her. “Oh my God.”
Hannah started when John laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Yours?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Plucking off his gloves, he eased the purse from her grasp. “Easy, Red. Let me.”
“I need to see what’s inside.”
“Okay.” He unzipped the closure with trembling fingers and dumped the contents into the snow.
The memories tangled inside her like barbed wire, cutting her. Even before he reached for the wallet, she knew. “My name is Beth Montgomery,” she said.
John went perfectly still. His gaze met hers. “Beth,” he repeated.
“Hannah is a client. The note you found was for her.” She pressed the bag to her chest, let the memories wash over her. “I own an antique shop in Boulder. Hannah was trying to match some china her grandmother had given her. I was going to meet her at the shop.” She looked down at the bag. “This is my purse. I dropped it the night my ex-husband tried to kill me.”
“Do you remember his name?”
“Richard Montgomery. He’s a Boulder police officer. A detective. Vice.”
“That explains a lot. The son of a bitch.”
Beth stared at him, her heart beating out a maniacal rhythm in her chest. Tears stung her eyes, clogged the back of her throat. She looked down at the contents of her purse spread out on the snow. “He tried to kill me that night,”
she said. “I ran, but I knew he was going to catch me. All I could think about was the baby—” Her voice broke. Pressing her hand to her abdomen, she struggled on. “I threw my purse down in the snow, hoping someone would find it. He wasn’t armed. I’d…taken his gun. But I knew he would use his bare hands…”
“Easy, honey.” Grimacing, he touched her shoulder. “Why was he trying to kill you?”
“I saw…” A violent shudder wracked her. “I saw him murder a man in cold blood.”
John swore, scrubbed his hand over his face. “Tell me.”
“Richard was under investigation by Internal Affairs. It had been going on for a while. He’d been involved in a high-profile arrest several months back. The case was about to go to trial, but some evidence had disappeared from police evidence—a briefcase full of cash and a couple of kilos of cocaine. The defendant—Joseph Peretti—was going to walk. IA claimed Peretti paid Richard to steal the evidence.”
“Did he?”
“Richard never talked to me about it. I always believed he was innocent. A few weeks after the divorce, I went to the storage warehouse where he kept some of his things. I was looking for some photographs of my parents that had gotten mixed in with his things when we split. The next thing I knew Richard walked into the warehouse with Peretti. There was a third man with them. He’d been beaten. He was gagged. His hands were bound behind his back.” The vividness of the memory made her shudder. “I’m not sure how I had the presence of mind to hide, but I did. Behind some old furniture about ten feet away from them.” The images rushed at her with frightening clarity. The shuffle of shoes on concrete. The terror in the man’s eyes. The pitiful sound of his voice as he cried out behind the gag.
“There was a roll of plastic against the wall. Richard spread it on the ground. Peretti forced the man to lie down on the plastic.” Her stomach roiled when she remembered what happened next. It was an image she would never forget. One she would take with her to the grave. “The bound man was screaming into his gag. I covered my ears, but I couldn’t shut out the sound. I’ll never forget the sound of his screams. I closed my eyes, but I couldn’t block out what happened next.” She looked up at John. “Peretti shot that man in cold blood.”
The muscles in John’s jaws flexed. Simultaneously something dark and unpredictable flashed in his eyes. “You witnessed a murder.”
Because she was unable to speak, she just nodded.
“Aw, honey…”
“I remember everything,” she choked.
“Come here.” He reached for her and Beth stepped into his embrace and let herself be held.
“Did the men find you?” he asked after a moment.
“I was so shaken, I knocked over a box. Peretti went crazy. He wanted to…” She could barely bring herself to say the words. “He wanted to kill me right there. Richard talked him out of it. Said he’d…take care of me.” Pulling back slightly, she looked up at John. “I thought Richard was going to let me go. I thought maybe he was working undercover or something. I didn’t want to believe he could do something like that. But after he got me in the car, he started screaming at me, telling me it was my fault. That I’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. That Peretti would kill him if he didn’t shut me up.
“Richard had hit me in the past—that was what ended our marriage—but I didn’t think he’d kill me. By the time we reached the mountain road, he was sobbing.” She pressed her hand to her abdomen. “I tried to talk to him, but he was hysterical. We struggled. I don’t know how I managed, but I got his gun. Then I threw open the door. He grabbed my coat, so I slipped out of it and ran. Somehow I lost my shoes. He came after me. I could hear him running, shouting. I knew he was going to kill me. When I reached the ravine, I jumped.”
John cursed and an uncomfortable silence ensued.
“It’s going to be okay.” Holding her with one arm, he worked the cell phone from his coat.
“Who are you calling?”
“Buzz.”
Closing her eyes, she pressed her face against his snowsuit, let his essence surround her. A moment later, John snapped the phone closed and cursed. She looked up at him. “What is it?”
“We’re out of range. I can’t get through.” His jaw flexed. “We’re going to have to hike it back down to the snowmobile. You up to it?”
“Of course, I am.”
He grinned at her, but she knew the grin was only a facade to put her at ease. She wasn’t the only one who was scared.
“You’d say that even if you were in labor.” Taking her hand, he started toward the path from whence they’d come. “We’re going to have to hurry—”
John’s body jolted, faltered in midstride. “What the…” Cursing, he reached down and clutched his right thigh. An instant later, a rifle retort shattered the silence. Beth saw blood come through his fingers on his thigh. Terror zinged through her.
“John! Oh my God. John!”
She watched him fall as if in slow motion. He went down on his knees then rolled onto his side. For a horrible instant, she thought he was dead.
“Get down!” he said.
Beth dropped to her hands and knees, crawled over to him. “You’ve been shot!”
“Dammit.” Pain contorted his face. She saw fear in his eyes as he quickly scanned the surrounding woods, the high ridge overhead and to the north. “Crawl over to those rocks,” he said between clenched teeth. “We’re sitting ducks here.”
“Not without you.”
“Do it, dammit!” Clutching his leg, he rolled onto his stomach. “I’m right behind you. Go!”
Another bullet zinged off a rock less than two feet away from his head. Adrenaline sent her scrambling toward the rocks. Looking over her shoulder, she saw John a few feet behind her. His face had gone pale. She tried not to notice the bloody trail he left in the snow. She didn’t want to think about who was shooting at them. She didn’t want to think about why. But she knew. And she knew if they didn’t come up with a plan quickly, Richard Montgomery would kill them both.
* * *
John reached the outcropping of rock an instant after Beth. Pain blazed like fire in his thigh, alternating hot and cold, numbing his leg all the way to his toes. Nauseous, sweating beneath his snowsuit, he rolled onto his back and closed his eyes.
“God, John, you’re bleeding,” Beth said. “Tell me what to do.”
Gritting his teeth, he risked a look at the hole in his snowsuit, felt a rise of bile in his throat. The wound was bleeding profusely, but not enough so that he feared a blood vessel had been torn. Still, if they didn’t get it stopped soon, he risked going into shock. He wouldn’t do either of them any good if that happened.
He struggled out of the snowsuit. “Tear the jeans,” he said. “I need to see the wound.”
Never taking her eyes from his, Beth gently put her fingers into the hole and ripped the material. Even through the pain, John saw that her hands were shaking, her face had gone as white as the snow. “Easy. It’s just a flesh wound. Don’t panic on me. I’m going to be okay, all right?”
She choked out a laugh. “I think those are supposed to be my lines, aren’t they?”
Despite the pain and the rise of fear, a wave of affection rolled through him. She was so kind. So brave. Raising his hand, he touched her cheek. “You’re doing fine,” he said.
“It looks bad, John.”
“Hey, I’m a medic, remember? Piece of cake.” Even so, his stomach clenched when he looked down and saw the blood. John wasn’t squeamish. He’d seen all kinds of injuries in his time as a medic—compound fractures, head injuries, motor-vehicle trauma—but to look down and see his own blood pooling in the snow sent a cold wave of fear rolling through him.
The flesh was bruised and already swollen. There was no exit wound, so he assumed the bullet was lodged somewhere near the bone. “Whoever said bullet wounds don’t hurt was really full of it. Damn thing hurts like hell.”
She shot him a worried look. “Can yo
u walk?”
“We need to stop the bleeding first,” he said through gritted teeth. “Need to apply direct pressure.”
She looked at him helplessly. “Tell me what to do.”
“Your scarf. Wad it up and press it hard against the wound. Use both hands. Don’t be afraid to hurt me. You won’t.”
Never taking her eyes from his, she unwound the scarf from around her neck, folded it and pressed it against the wound.
“Harder,” he said.
She swallowed, increased the pressure by putting her body weight into it.
John closed his eyes against the pain, rode the wave of dizziness. “Good girl,” he said between gritted teeth. “You’re doing great, Red. Just keep up the pressure.”
“Don’t you pass out on me, John Maitland.”
“Just resting my eyes.”
“Open them, damn you. We’ve got some unfinished business.”
“I’m not going to touch that one.”
He sensed her nearness an instant before he felt the gentle warmth of her mouth against his. Even through the pain, his body responded. He marveled at the sensation and kissed her back. He wanted more, opened his mouth to taste her more fully, but she pulled away.
He opened his eyes, would have smiled if he could have managed it. “Ah, Red, that was cruel.”
“It got your eyes open, didn’t it?”
“I’m not sure if I’ve told you this, but I really, really like you.”
“In between all the nonsense about you being a violent man, I sort of gathered that.”
Grimacing, he looked around the small clearing where they were pinned. “I wish I hadn’t let you talk me in to bringing you up here. I shouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry—”
“It was my idea. Don’t try to take responsibility for something I did, okay?” She tossed a worried look over her shoulder. “How did he know where to find us?”
“I called Buzz before we left. If Montgomery is in vice, he could have an illegal tap on the phone at RMSAR headquarters.”
She continued pressing the scarf against his thigh. “What are we going to do?”
A Hero to Hold Page 21
