“Uh-oh,” Quinn muttered.
“Yes. But what, where?”
Cutter was still staring forward. “Ahead, I gather, since he’s not battering my eardrum to turn anywhere,” Quinn said. They’d learned this as well, that the uncannily clever Cutter was quite adept at getting them to go where he wanted them to go, simply by deafening them until they made the right choice.
The distinctive sound of the studs on their snow tires was quieter at this lower speed. Quinn obviously was taking Cutter’s warning seriously. There was something up ahead, and it wouldn’t do to go barreling around that curve without knowing what.
“Maybe it’s a herd of deer,” Hayley suggested.
“You mean a normal dog reaction?” Quinn asked dryly.
“We can always hope.”
They exchanged knowing grins, because with their dog, it was very rarely that simple.
At first, when they slowly rounded that curve, it didn’t look serious. All Hayley saw in those first seconds was a single, marked sheriff’s SUV pulled to the side of the road. Eagle County Sheriff, she noted. But in the next second, three things happened. Cutter’s low rumble turned into a loud barking, and Hayley spotted the ominously damaged guardrail and a man in uniform at the back of the vehicle, lifting out a coiled rope.
“And here we are,” Quinn murmured. Someone or something had obviously gone over the side. “Looks like he’s going after them.”
The deputy looked over at them but quickly went back to fastening his rope to the push bars at the front of his unit. Quinn was right—he was going to go over the edge, risking his own safety.
Quinn glanced at her. She smiled back at him. Her husband was who and what he was, and driving past something like this wasn’t in his playbook, even if Cutter hadn’t been on his feet and barking insistently.
Quinn pulled over until they were just a few feet from the marked unit, nose to nose. The man in the sheriff’s uniform—not the tailored spit and polish of the city but rugged, heavy-duty gear, with boots that looked as if you could climb a rock face in them—looked up again as Quinn got out. Hayley noted he was as tall as her husband and nearly as muscled. He moved with that same kind of powerful grace that spoke of fitness and confidence. His dark hair was a little ragged around the edges for a cop, and she wondered if perhaps they were short of barbers here in the mountains.
Quinn didn’t waste time on formalities. “Got a winch,” he said, jerking a thumb toward the front of the SUV.
The man glanced toward their vehicle just as Hayley slid out herself. The name patch on his uniform said B. Crenshaw. His eyes were blue like Quinn’s, too, she noticed, but a darker shade. She smiled inwardly at herself and how she compared every man to her husband these days. And the best any of them could ever do was to, as this man did, come close.
She saw him look at the winch on their front bumper. Then he looked at Quinn, assessingly. Quinn was silent, probably because he’d be doing the same thing if their positions were reversed. Whatever the man saw convinced him, because a moment later he nodded sharply.
Quinn turned around without a word and came to unfasten the winch cable. Hayley knew it was rated at nine thousand pounds, so they should be fine, although since it was designed for pulling, not lifting, she wasn’t sure it would be able to pull a car up that steep a slope. But it would get them safely down to it, and that’s what counted now.
“Crowbar?” Quinn asked the deputy.
“Got one. But two might not hurt.”
Quinn nodded, and Hayley ran to the back of the SUV and grabbed theirs from the tool bin. Cutter looked over the back seat at her, silent now.
“We’ll fix it, boy,” she said, and the dog gave a low whine that sounded approving; she’d given up trying not to read humanity into his communications. She grabbed up the chocks next to the bin and brought them, too. She ran back to the man she loved more than life, in no small part because this was who he was.
“Always thinking. One of the many reasons I love you,” Quinn said as he took two of them and slid them in front of the back tires while Hayley put the others to the front.
“On the com,” Quinn said to her. “And get Cutter out of the car, just in case.”
She nodded, picked up her own Foxworth phone and pushed the red button that turned on the walkie-talkie function as he did the same. With a push from the SUV’s base system, they should be in full, live communication.
As she got the tense but calm dog out of the car, she told herself Quinn had done much, much worse than this, but still her pulse picked up as the two men vanished over the side.
* * *
Brady Crenshaw had been a deputy in this mountain country he loved and where he had grown up for nearly ten years now. And this was not the craziest thing he’d done. Some might think so, trusting a man he’d never seen before, and before he’d even spoken to him. But he’d learned to trust his gut on some things, and a man with such nerve and knowledge in his steady gaze was the kind of man you wanted on your team. Even if you were doing something like going down the side of a very steep mountain.
A glance at size of the winch, mounted on a special front bumper designed for it, told him the man understood the physics of this. A glance at his eyes told Brady he’d seen much worse.
The cable had loops near the end, enabling them to slip a foot in before starting down. Brady pulled on his leather gloves and stepped into the lower loop. The man from the SUV held the remote that controlled the winch in his left hand, stepped into the other loop on the other side of the cable and, once they were set, started unwinding it slowly. The winch motor did it without hesitation, their combined weight nothing compared to what it was designed to do—pull the full weight of a vehicle the size of the SUV it was attached to. He wouldn’t be surprised if this guy was smart enough to have it powered by its own battery instead of using the vehicle’s; he had the look of a man who thought of just about everything. The kind who would be a help rather than a hindrance when dealing with the chaos Brady’s beloved mountains could throw at you.
And a man who obviously loved the woman with him, telling her to stay clear in case the worst happened and the car they were trying to get to went down hard and fast and took theirs with it.
He swore silently at his first clear look at the car below. It was perched dangerously on a snow-covered ledge and looked ready to slide the rest of the way—an almost certainly fatal hundred feet straight down—at the slightest breath of encouragement. The guardrail had likely slowed the descent, but that made the current situation no less precarious.
“Well, this’ll be interesting,” his new, temporary partner murmured.
“As long as it doesn’t turn into a thrill ride,” Brady said with a wry grimace, but he gave the man a nod in acknowledgment of his cool. He’d sounded not rattled at all, but just what he’d said—interested.
In the next instant, Brady saw movement in the car below. So somebody who took this sleigh ride was still alive.
“Don’t move!” he yelled downward, and the figure froze. But the car shifted, just slightly, the front end now tilting slightly downward.
“It’ll go that way if it goes,” the man just above him on the cable said.
“Agreed. I don’t think we can risk trying to get it hooked onto the frame, though. Could dislodge everything.”
“Bumper, then. Front or back?”
Brady looked back at the precariously perched car. “Front, I think. If we use the back, it’ll hit with both weight and momentum. Bumper might not hold. Front might not hold, either, but may give us a couple of seconds more.”
“Agreed,” the man said, echoing him. Then he looked from the vehicle to the shadowy figure inside it. Looked at Brady again. “Your scene, your call.”
Brady nodded. “Hook it while I check the doors. Then I’ll see if I can get the driver out.”
; He dropped off the cable just above the vehicle and did it slowly and with exquisite care. The last thing he wanted was to send the thing sliding the rest of the way by dislodging whatever was holding it under the snow. His new partner edged just as carefully toward the front of the car and lowered himself very slowly.
Some part of his mind noted he could see the left front tire, because the wheel was oddly angled, but he was more focused on how the passenger side of the car was badly bent. The question was had that tweaked the frame so much the driver’s door wouldn’t open? It looked only slightly bent from here, but that might be enough. And trying to yank free a jammed door would likely send the thing down the mountain.
He inched a little closer. Got to where he could see inside, could see the driver. A woman. Wearing a green puffy jacket and with dark hair pulled back. She was at an angle, braced against the center console. He saw the loose end of a seat belt that had obviously been cut free. So he wasn’t dealing with a nonfunctional, paralyzed-with-fear person—she’d thought to do that and was apparently prepared enough to have the means to do it. She was shivering, from either cold or nerves or both. He didn’t blame her; she was in a hell of a spot.
Then she seemed to realize he was right there, because she turned her head. And looked at him with a pair of eyes that were the most vivid green he had ever seen in his life. Maybe except for his mom’s cat, they were nearly that green.
He gave himself an inward shake. This was no time to get distracted. Those eyes were amazing, but they were also full of terrified understanding of how close she was to death.
“We’ll get you out,” he promised and hoped fate didn’t make a liar out of him.
She frowned, as if she wasn’t sure what he’d said. He pointed at the window with a questioning look. She got there quickly, but moved slowly—so she wasn’t stupid, either—to try to lower it. It went about an inch and jammed, no doubt against the bend in the door. But at least they could hear each other now.
“Are you hurt?”
“A little. Not bad.” Her voice was low and remarkably steady, considering.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Ashley. Ashley Jordan.”
“Ashley, we’re going to get you out of there,” he said again. The moment he did, the car shifted again, slid another couple of inches, but stopped sharply. He glanced over and saw his partner backing away from the front end. The man gave him a thumbs-up to indicate the cable was attached.
“Okay,” he told the woman, “we’ve got a cable attached, so you won’t slide the rest of the way.” Optimism is not always your friend. But it worked—she looked a little relieved.
The man from the SUV worked his way closer, but not too close. In fact, he stopped right where Brady would have, making sure his weight didn’t disturb the same section of snow Brady and the car were on.
“Think it’ll pry?” the man asked.
“Judging by the way the window jammed, no.”
“The window, then?”
“Think it’ll have to be. And,” he added, looking at the even more precarious position now, “it’ll have to be quick.”
“Good thing you brought the rope, then. You have a tool?”
Brady nodded. He appreciated the matter-of-fact tone. It confirmed his guess that whoever this guy was, he was the kind you wanted around.
He quickly explained to the green-eyed woman what they were going to do. Her eyes widened, and she swallowed visibly, but she said steadily enough, “All right.”
He gave her a quick, reassuring smile. Then he tied a bowline knot in the end of the rope as he tossed the other end to his temporary partner. Somehow he knew he didn’t even have to suggest how to tie it off on the cable for insurance; the guy would know. And he approved when he saw him tie it to one of the foot loops, so the rope wouldn’t slide down any farther down the cable if the car shifted again.
“We’re going to have to break the window. Move as little as possible, but take your jacket off, put this—” he passed the loop through the window gap “—around you below your arms, put your jacket over your head and shoulders to keep the glass off, then grab the rope.”
She didn’t speak but quickly did as he’d said. If everyone was this cool, his life would be a lot easier.
“We’re going to have to pull you out really fast, so push off with your feet if you can, then just hang on.”
“All right.” It was muffled by the jacket but clear enough. And still steady, even though she couldn’t see a thing. Maybe that helped.
He glanced at the other man, who nodded. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his key ring with the rescue tool on it next to the unit key. He pushed the bolt against the lower left corner of the window and pressed. The bolt shot out, and there was a crack. A small hole appeared, and a split second later, the safety glass shattered.
He tried to get the glass out in a hurry without moving the car and upsetting the delicate balance. He cleared as much as he could before he heard an ominous creak.
“On three,” he said, loud enough for the SUV guy to hear.
“Copy” was all he said as he positioned himself to help pull the rope.
“I’m ready,” the woman said.
Brady counted down, hoping his last glimpse of those amazing eyes wouldn’t be just that—his last.
“Three!”
He pulled, hard. Felt the rope go and stay taut behind him. She moved, and he could feel she’d managed to get some leverage. He went hand over hand on the lead of the rope twice, then was able to get both hands on the loop. He pulled. Felt the strain but kept pulling. He could see her hands, white-knuckled, slender, looking too fragile for this kind of task.
Death grip.
Like hell, he answered that voice in his mind. And put everything he had into the next pull.
Things happened almost simultaneously, the margin between them as slim as the margin between life and death. He was able to reach her arms. Felt the snow slip a little beneath his feet. Heard another creak from the car. Heard the other man’s shouted warning. Grabbed her under the arms. Half pulled, half leaned back, using his body mass to move them both.
His feet went. He hit the ground. But he held on. She came down on top of him, a slight weight.
And in that instant, the car went, sliding clear of the bent tree that had been barely holding it. It swung on the end of the cable, slamming into some rocks. There was a loud creak. Then the wrenching squeal of overstressed metal. His racing brain registered they would have had those couple of seconds, but nothing more.
The bumper ripped free, and the car hurtled down the side of the mountain.
CHAPTER 2
Ashley shuddered at the sounds. She didn’t need to see to know what had happened. How close she had come.
She clung to the man holding her. Pressed to his chest, she could hear his heartbeat, slowing now. Could feel the also-slowing rise of his breathing. Crazily, she found herself wondering about the kind of man who chose to wear a badge in this mountain place and thought if he was a typical example, then they were in good hands.
She felt her jacket move, realized he was pulling it off her. She almost regretted it and had to smother a longing to stay in the quiet, warm cocoon of his arms.
“It’s okay. It’s over.” His voice was low, a little rough and incredibly reassuring.
“I know,” she whispered, her head still resting on his broad chest. For a moment, just a moment, his arms tightened, and she felt safer than she ever had in her life since her father had died.
It took every bit of internal nerve she had to move. She realized belatedly she was draped on top of him like a lover. The thought shot the heat of embarrassment—at least she thought it was embarrassment—through her.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, trying to sit up.
“Whoa,” he said quietly.
“If you move too fast, we both may end up down there with your car.” Then, in a wry tone, he added, “And if you move that knee another inch, I’m going to regret it.”
When she realized what he meant, that the knee she had tried to use to get upright was pressing against a very intimate part of him, renewed heat flooded her. She couldn’t think of a thing to say, so she said nothing as he helped her get off him.
And a moment later, the second man spoke from her right.
“I’ve still got the rope, so you won’t fall. You okay, Crenshaw?”
“I’m good. Get her clear.”
The other man—who looked as big and powerful as the deputy who’d saved her life—simply nodded. He spoke into a phone in his hand, telling someone above they were all right, then put it in a pocket and turned back to her. “Keep your hands on the rope. I’ll pull, you just get your feet moving.”
She glanced back at the deputy—it was B. Crenshaw she now saw embroidered on the shirt of his dark green uniform—who was slowly, carefully getting to his feet. He was bleeding from a cut across one cheek and didn’t seem aware of it. “I’ll be right behind you if you slip,” he said, nodding at her.
She wanted to ask who would help him if he slipped but didn’t think it wise to venture the possibility at this moment. Besides, if ever a man had the look of someone who could take care of himself, this one did. He wasn’t just tall and obviously strong, he exuded competence and confidence. She could sense he was a man who knew his job and did it. A man who didn’t quit when the going got tough.
He was also strikingly handsome.
The moment she thought this, she chided herself fiercely. Don’t be an idiot female. This is not the time to swoon like some love-struck teenager.
Besides, her life was a big enough mess already. A man like this would likely have little patience with a basket case such as she was right now. And she couldn’t blame him.
Harlequin Romantic Suspense December 2020 Box Set Page 49
