Kessler never stood a chance. Wouldn’t have seen the knife coming. He’d been more watchful of Kate and Monty than a trusted fellow agent.
Jack gave Kate’s hands a reassuring squeeze then turned and reached for her boots. “Let’s eat,” he said. “Then we’ll figure out our route. And make a climbing rope.” He snagged one of her boots, surprised by the weight. His thumb brushed something hard, something on the inside of the leather. He reached in and slowly pulled a knife from a leather sheath. He stared in disbelief, struggling to absorb its significance.
This wasn’t a rider’s standard pocket knife but a serious weapon: a three-inch long, combo edge blade with a balanced skeletonized handle. The sheath was unique, crafted from leather with a Velcro strap and a snap-in clip. Few knives fit nicely into cowboy boots. This one did.
Kate was busy pulling her jeans up over those shapely legs, unaware of his discovery. Jack turned his back. Didn’t want to look at her, hit by the realization she might be involved in this.
She had been a last-minute replacement. Kessler confirmed she’d been thoroughly vetted but why the wicked-looking knife? And how had it been missed during the security check?
Aw, fuck me.
His jaw clenched when he remembered how unbalanced he’d been simply running his hands down those beautiful legs. Still lusting after dancing with her the night before. If someone had wanted to pick the perfect woman to distract him, they’d done a helluva job.
But he still couldn’t believe she’d slit Kessler’s throat. Maybe she only carried the knife? She’d definitely kept it secret though, removing both the sheath and the knife before passing her boots over for drying after the river drenching.
His mind whirled, automatically clicking over every possible scenario. Perhaps it wasn’t even Kessler who was dead. Maybe it was Logan lying there and Kessler was the dirty one. That would explain why Kessler had maintained she was safe, even as the agent ostensibly kept a hostile distance.
No one else had seen a body. Kate had charged into camp, shocked and bloody, infecting everyone with the need to flee. And Jack had sent Courtney off, alone with Monty. A civilian, Kate’s friend, and probably a collaborator.
His mind churned with a web of suspicions, each one darker and more tormented than the last. Damn, he’d been gullible. He wanted to yell and curse and pound his knuckles against the bedrock. Punish himself for his stupidity.
He sensed her behind him, stooping to pick up her socks, her movements graceful and composed. She was like that, gathering herself quickly when only minutes before she’d acted too upset to button her shirt. Yet she’d recited minute details of Kessler’s death, even the color of the straps. The average person wouldn’t remember that. And she’d talked about the blood specks on the knife. How Logan hadn’t left anything for her.
So that probably did mean it was Kessler who was dead. And she was colluding with Logan and Monty. Jack couldn’t remember whose idea it was to take Courtney and flee on the mules, but he’d fallen right in with the plan.
Escape and evade. Normally acceptable tactics. But where the hell was Courtney now? Was it still possible to save her? On the other hand, if Logan had Courtney, why was he still following? Why wasn’t he trying to whisk the girl out of the country before the alarm was raised?
His mind felt sluggish, struggling to make sense of the events, hating to accept the extent of his stupidity. He just stood there, unmoving, feeling like a dolt.
Until Kate reached for his shirt...and his gun.
He shot forward, his hand clamping around her wrist. “How much are they paying you?” he growled. “Is Monty dirty too?”
She just stared at him, blinking prettily.
“No need to pretend any longer.” He raised her knife and tossed it on top of his shirt. Then he wrapped his hands tightly around her upper arms.
“Talk,” he said. “Now!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
KATE YANKED AT HIS arms, trying to loosen his grip. He could hear her shallow gasps but it was the panic in her eyes that made him loosen his hands.
“Just tell me where Monty fits in this,” he said. “And I promise I won’t hurt you.”
It was patently clear, at least to him, that he wasn’t going to hurt her. Just seeing her panic had been enough to make him queasy. But it was good she was afraid. People talked quicker when they were frightened, and he’d always been very good at scaring—
Her fist slammed into his stomach, making his breath ooze in a surprised whoosh. She didn’t try to run, just glared with defiant eyes.
He took a painful breath then snagged both her wrists and yanked her forward, this time taking care to keep both her arms shackled.
“You’re going to tell me everything,” he snapped, furious at his weakness. “Starting with Monty and what his plans are for Courtney.”
She was shaking her head so he twisted her arms behind her back, pinning her wrists with one hand. “Is that a no?”
She just glared up at him. Obviously she knew he’d never hurt her, and his helplessness mingled with a rising panic. There might still be time to save Courtney if he could climb the mountain high enough to find cell phone coverage. But he needed information. And he needed it fast.
He turned her around, releasing her hands and forcing her to look out over the ledge. “Tell me where Monty’s headed.”
He’d assumed she had a respectful fear of heights, simply from the painstaking way she’d handled the climb. But now he suspected she’d merely wanted their pursuers to catch up. Like a lovesick fool he’d let her set the pace, giving her time to feel comfortable, hoping she’d trust that he had her back. And the knowledge that he’d been so completely suckered fueled his hot anger.
He pushed her closer to the edge. “Struggle and you’ll fall,” he said, raising his voice so she’d hear it over the howling wind. “Now tell me where Monty’s headed. Where is he taking Courtney?”
She didn’t answer but he could feel a change in her body. From proud defiance to a sudden wilting. Good, he was getting to her.
“Where’s Monty headed?” he asked, using his coldest voice.
“To the f-fire tower,” she said, gripping his arms, as if afraid she really would tumble over.
He didn’t give an inch, just kept her posed close to that yawning edge. “Who’s meeting them there? And who’s paying you? Is it Kessler or Logan?”
One of her hands clutched at his bare chest, no longer fisted but merely struggling to hang on. Her nails were sharp but she wasn’t using them as a weapon. She seemed more like a helpless kitten about to be tossed into a bucket of water and unable to do anything to stop it. Her obvious fear cooled his anger. He pulled her back a step. But kept his voice steely.
“Tell me who’s dead. Kessler or Logan?”
“K-Kessler,” she said. She kept running her hands over his chest, as if looking for a place to grip. Then she seemed to realize she was scratching his skin and simply fisted both her hands over the waistband of his jeans.
Even in her terrified state, she was trying not to hurt him. And that knowledge broke him. There was no way she could have killed a man, at least not with a knife. He moved back, drawing her another foot from the ledge. “Logan really did kill Kessler?”
She just looked at him, her face so mystified his confusion grew. She couldn’t be acting. Not the way she was shrinking against him, her heart pounding. One couldn’t fake fear like that. And he couldn’t dismiss the fact that someone was still following. If Monty were involved in the abduction, the man would have just waited in the woods. Then ridden out on the mules and handed Courtney over. Job complete. There’d be no reason to waste time with a pointless pursuit.
He squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, Kate’s face was still a mask of fear, her hands clenched around his jeans in a death grip. He eased her back toward the mouth of the cave, more bewildered than ever.
“Just take some big breaths,” he said gruffly. “You know I’m not g
oing to throw you over.”
He kept his hands on her arms, waiting for her breathing to settle. Still needing answers.
“Did Logan pay you to bring that big knife?” he asked. “Maybe you didn’t know his plans? You probably didn’t expect him to take Courtney. Or kill anyone.” He eyed her hopefully.
She just stared, a pulse pounding erratically in her beautiful neck.
“Dammit, Kate.” He gave her a frustrated shake. “You have to tell me. I know some good lawyers. But I can’t help you unless I know everything.”
“Y-you already do,” she said.
Her voice was ragged, her chest heaving, but at least she was talking. Logan had probably bribed her, maybe even threatened her. Threats would be better. Certainly the courts would be more sympathetic, especially if Kate helped Jack turn things around and save Courtney.
“So Logan forced you to bring the knife,” he said, studying her face. “But you had no idea of his intentions. Do you even know where they’re taking Courtney?”
She looked at him, her expression not evasive or fearful or furtive. She just seemed blank.
A sick feeling built in his gut. Smuggling in a knife was risky. She and Logan had no idea if her boots would be checked. And Logan hadn’t even been present at the pre-dawn check. Surely he would have made sure he was the agent to frisk her. But it had been Kessler who’d initiated the search, and Kessler hadn’t objected when Jack stepped in.
Jack jabbed his thumb at the lethal-looking knife lying on his shirt. “Who owns that weapon?”
“Me.”
“No one told you to bring it? So you’re saying Monty is really taking Courtney to safety?”
“Yes,” she said.
He lowered his arms. Scrubbed his jaw with his fist. She was still shivering, still frightened, but she was clearly cold as well. He could see the tips of her toes, curled against the rock, vainly seeking shelter from the wind.
He walked back to the mound of clothes, grabbed her socks and his shirt, along with the offending knife. Tossed the socks at her feet. “Put on your socks,” he said. “And your jacket.”
She just stood there.
“Sit,” he said, angling her to the ground. He kneeled down, stuck her arms in the sleeves and yanked on her jacket.
“Can you tell me why you hid a knife in your boot?” he asked, his resentment still swirling. He’d returned her little jackknife yesterday, had thought she’d earned carrying privileges. Yet the entire time she’d possessed a killer shank. She must have been snickering.
“I don’t like to feel helpless,” she said.
“What if I found it at the security check?” He pulled up the zipper of her jacket, so fast it almost clipped the skin on her throat.
She winced. “Then I wouldn’t have been able to bring it.”
Her grimace showed she was aware it wouldn’t have been so simple. She would have been treated as a suspicious person and the ensuing treatment by government security wouldn’t have been pleasant. Quite likely her employment would have been jeopardized as well.
It was apparent she loved her trail job. Enjoyed working with Monty. Just last night she’d stood beside the guide, facing down a charging grizzly. When she’d grabbed her boot, he’d assumed it had been in shock. Now he realized she’d been trying to get her knife to fight the bear. And who would take on a grizzly with just a knife?
He shook his head, recalling that in the river she’d also been clutching at her boot, probably reaching for her blade to cut Slider’s reins. Clearly, a conditioned response.
More significantly, on both occasions she’d been willing to expose the knife. Not keep it hidden for any nefarious purpose.
Still, his resentment bubbled. Anyone would have jumped to the same conclusion. It just wasn’t normal for a woman to carry a lethal boot knife in a specially handcrafted sheath. If he’d found it on Monty, he might have been more understanding. A grizzled trail veteran wouldn’t want to hit the trail without his knife. But Kate was a beautiful young woman. Her big knife was...unexpected.
He blew out a sigh, accepting that he was guilty of gender profiling in the very worst way, despite his considerable training. Dammit though, she’d had plenty of time to tell him. That would have made all the difference.
She should have told me.
He straightened and stalked over to the knife, his chest painfully tight. Of course, she might still be lying.
He switched on his light, angling the beam over the knife blade. There’d been no time for a thorough cleaning and it was hard to rub off every speck of blood, especially close to the handle. A part of him, his most desperate chauvinistic side, even hoped he’d find telltale specks. Otherwise he’d made a colossal mistake.
One she might never be able to forgive.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
KATE WRAPPED HER ARMS around her chest, too numb and cold to move. He was still examining her knife, inspecting it from all angles. She had an irrational fear that maybe he would find a drop of blood, even though it had been months since she’d used it for anything except children’s carving classes. And even then she always cleaned her tools. Certainly she’d scrubbed that knife hundreds of times since the mountain accident.
But if Jack truly believed she’d endangered Courtney, there was no doubt he’d go to any lengths to make her talk. His job took precedence. He was a professional warrior. Maybe he’d throw her off that ledge after all, especially when she had no answers to give.
Her arms tightened over her chest, clasping so tightly it hurt. She should have told him about her boot knife. There’d been several opportunities: yesterday, when he’d demonstrated his trust by returning her jackknife or last night, when he kissed her by the fire, or even this morning, when he’d worried about her hiking alone and unarmed. But then he would have asked questions she didn’t want to answer. Kessler’s snide comment about her ability with a knife had already left her bruised. And she’d been too enamored with Jack, hadn’t wanted to see that tender look in his eyes turn to revulsion.
Well, neither she nor Jack were enamored now. Part of her wanted to explain. He was wasting time and energy worrying about her as a threat, rather than Logan. But the words were too difficult, her heart too broken. Because once again she was stuck on the side of a mountain, frightened and powerless.
She heard Jack’s steps, but didn’t look up. Just clasped her arms a little tighter, wondering if he’d come to drag her back to the edge of the cliff. He was far stronger than her. She’d already experienced the way he’d pinned her with one powerful hand. Clearly he’d been trained in the most effective way to subdue a suspect. And though she told herself former SEALs didn’t just fling people willy-nilly over a cliff, her terror was too real.
Something touched her arms. She flinched. But Jack had only draped the blanket over her shoulders.
“You need to warm up,” he said, his arm moving again. “And eat.”
She stared at the pita wrap he’d dropped on her lap. Only an hour earlier it had looked delicious. Now, her throat and stomach were so tight it would be impossible to force down. On the positive side, he probably wouldn’t waste food if he intended to dangle her over the cliff, looking for information she didn’t have.
That rationale made her feel better, but her appetite seemed to have permanently disappeared, and she was unable to summon the desire or energy to pick up the wrap. Her arms were too heavy, her body drained, the way she felt after a particularly tortuous nightmare.
“I understand you’re pissed,” Jack said. “But you need food.” He opened the plastic around the pita wrap and jammed it between her numb fingers. “Eat.”
She pressed it to her mouth, too afraid to not follow his terse instructions. But the smell of ham and cheese was repugnant, and her stomach lurched in protest. He pressed a bottle of water to her mouth, the gentleness of his touch at odds with the roughness of his voice.
“I’m sorry, Kate,” he said.
His thumb brushed her
cheek and she realized a tear had leaked from the corner of her eye. She jerked her head away, hating that he saw.
He lowered his hand and placed the water bottle by her hip. “I should never have suspected you and Monty,” he said. “You’ve both been utterly courageous.”
She wasn’t courageous at all, she thought, numbly gripping the sandwich. In fact, she felt gutted with fear. She wanted to slink back into the cave, squeeze through that narrow crack and just stay safe from everything and everyone. Including him.
JACK FOUGHT A SPIKE of panic. Kate looked so detached, uninterested in anything he was saying. He’d been apologizing for the last half hour, but she hadn’t moved, still hadn’t looked at him. It was as if she’d checked out. Other than a single tear, and flinching when he’d tried to touch her, she sat like a statue.
She hadn’t pulled on her woolen socks either, and her toes appeared shriveled in the biting wind. He placed a cautious hand on her foot. She cringed, so quickly and violently it left him feeling sick.
However, he kept his hand wrapped around her cold ankle. “I just want to warm them up. Then get on those socks.”
He edged closer, lifted his shirt, then raised her feet and jammed them against his bare stomach. Two ice-like slabs hit his skin and he sucked in a fortifying breath. Kessler had called her a survival expert but she certainly wasn’t taking good care of herself now. It must hurt too, having the blood rush through her feet like hundreds of prickling needles. Aside from that initial movement though, she remained still, just holding the pita wrap, her head angled toward the cave. It didn’t look as if she’d taken a single bite.
It was difficult to grovel when she wouldn’t talk to him, wouldn’t even look at him. It was as if he didn’t exist.
“I’ll eat that food,” he said, half-jokingly. “If you don’t want it.”
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