Читать книгу Stolen Moments - B.J. Daniels - Страница 14

Chapter Three

“Who are you?”

Levi awoke with a start, amazed she’d actually fallen asleep. Probably the side effects of that drug he’d given her earlier. The sound of an explosion rang in her ears, but only the smell of smoke made her believe she hadn’t dreamed it.

Before she could move, she looked up to find the cowboy standing over her, yelling down at her, his words making no sense. What had blown up?

“Who are you?” he asked again.

She sat up, pulled the scratchy wool blanket to her and gazed up at him, afraid. “What?” was all she got out before he jerked her to her feet.

“Who the hell are you?” he demanded as he ripped off the blanket and threw it onto the cot.

“You know who I am,” she cried, staring at him as if he were a madman as well as a kidnapper.

“Tell me your name,” he demanded from between clenched teeth.

“Levi.”

He frowned. “Levi? Levi who?”

She couldn’t understand what it was he wanted from her or why he was so upset. “McCord. Levi McCord.”

He released her as if she were a live wire. “McCord? Levi McCord? Not—” He stared at her. “Tell me you’re not related to Senator McCord.”

Was this some sort of trick? “He’s my father.”

He swore loudly, raked a hand through his hair, then looked at her again as if he’d never seen her before. “You’re James Marshall McCord’s daughter.”

“Olivia McCord,” she said almost indignantly. “Levi’s a nickname.” She frowned as a thought buzzed past like a bullet. “But you had to know that when you kidnapped me. Why else ” She stopped, even more confused. -

He let out a harsh laugh and looked up at the ceiling, still shaking his head. He was a madman. Or he really hadn’t known who she was. Or both. He swung his gaze back to her and cursed, his eyes dark and disturbed.

She came fully awake with an anger of her own. “Who are you?” she demanded. Her head had cleared some from the short, fitful, exhausted sleep and the rude awakening and the drug he’d given her earlier. “You kidnapped me and you didn’t even know who I was?” What kind of sense did that make? She was even more angry than she had been. The anger felt so much better than the fear. “Talk to me, damn you.”

“Not now,” he growled as he thrust the flashlight into the backpack and pulled the drawstring closed, his movements hurried, anxious. “We have to get out of here.”

He stepped to the door, opened it and stood silhouetted against the snowfall, waiting impatiently for her.

She moved as if sleepwalking to the window opening in the wall and looked out. Below her in the clearing, what was left of the A-frame burned bright in the night. Her heart thudded at the ramifications. They could have been in that cabin!

“Come on,” he ordered when she didn’t move toward him. “Trust me, now isn’t the time to give me trouble.”

She turned to look at him, feeling the effects of adrenaline and exhaustion, anger and fear. She didn’t move, just stared at him, determined not to take another step until she had an explanation. “Tell me. Now.”

He shook his head in obvious frustration. “Let me put it to you simply. Somebody firebombed the cabin because they thought we were inside it. I don’t know how close they are or if they’ve already found our tracks and are headed up this mountain right now, but I think they’re probably not going to give up until they kill us. How’s that?”

She swallowed hard. “Why would someone want to kill us?”

“You tell me.”

He was blaming her for this?

“But I’m not staying here to find out,” he said before she could respond. “Now get your butt out that door or I’ll drag you. Believe me, you won’t slow me down that much. At least not for long.”

She didn’t like the sound of that. The moment she moved toward him, he grabbed her and propelled her through the open doorway. It was still dark outside, except for the fiery glow where the A-frame had been.

The air felt colder. Or maybe it was just the cold inside her as he pulled her through the pines, his grip strong and firm and unrelenting. She had to run to keep up with his long stride. They dropped down the other side of the mountain, away from the smell of charred wood.

She felt dazed. Who had blown up the A-frame? Why had the man now dragging her off this mountain kidnapped her without even knowing who she was? It made no sense. Nothing made any sense. But if he meant her real harm, wouldn’t he have just killed her and left her behind at the shack? Or...was she worth more to him alive?

The air suddenly turned white and wet with fog. He kept moving. The mist wove through the snowladen pines, growing denser and denser until she couldn’t see but a few feet in front of her. He slowed a little, not much.

Then she heard it. The sound of water lapping softly. Moments later, they stumbled on the bank of what appeared to be a wide creek. On the snowy edge, he finally stopped and she leaned over, her hands on her knees, to catch her breath.

Without warning, he picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, reminding her again how strong he was as he waded into the icy water.

She started to protest, but he stopped her with a low warning growl. Common sense told her this was not the time.

He headed upstream into the fog, his hand resting on her rump as she bounced along on his shoulder. She thought she heard a helicopter. He must have, too, because he stopped for a moment to listen, then continued upstream.

Finally he put her down on the opposite bank and climbed out beside her. She watched him through a film of fog as he went to a spot along the bank and pulled branches back from a canoe.

The movement came out of the smudged darkness of the pines off to her right. She saw it from the corner of her eye, but didn’t get a sound out before the movement became a man. He seemed a part of the fog, a blur of white clothing and mask, until she saw a rifle in his gloved hands. She didn’t have time to think, let alone react. Unlike her kidnapper. He turned, sensing danger. Just as the attacker swung the rifle butt at her, the cowboy grabbed for the barrel and jerked, throwing the attacker off balance.

The blow did little more than send her sprawling into the snow. But by then the cowboy had sent the attacker flying. The man landed on his back hard, the rifle falling from his hands and sliding down the bank into the cold stream. As the cowboy leaped after him, she saw the attacker pull something from his boot. A knife blade glittered as the two struggled in the snow.

She froze as she watched them fight, her thoughts frantic. What should she do? Run! But run where? She got to her feet but couldn’t see more than a few feet in the dense fog and didn’t know the terrain, didn’t even know where she was. Think! The canoe. Take the canoe. She rushed over to it and was hurriedly trying to pull it out of its hiding place when she heard a splash behind her and swung around.

“Did he hurt you?” her kidnapper asked, sounding almost concerned for her. He picked up his Stetson from the snow and shoved it down on his head, then stumbled toward her, his breathing labored. He was covered in snow, and blood seeped from a wound on his temple.

“Are you hurt?” he demanded. He wiped at the wound. It didn’t look deep or life threatening.

She shook her head and looked past him. The attacker was gone. “Where is he?” she asked, her voice breaking.

The cowboy pointed across the creek. “He got away.”

She stared into the darkness of the pines. “What makes you so sure he won’t be back?”

“I’m not, but I would imagine he’ll go for help. He was wounded. Not bad. Just a cut on his arm, but enough that I don’t think he’ll be back—at least for a while. By then we’ll be gone.”

From behind a wall of tears, she saw him reach for her, but he didn’t seem to have enough fight left in him to stop her as she sidestepped him. He let his hand drop as she moved to the edge of the water where the two had been fighting. She dropped to her knees in the churned snow, wishing for some way to confirm the cowboy’s story—or her worst fears. Had the other man come to rescue her... or kill her?

“From here on out, you’re going to have to trust me,” her kidnapper said behind her, his voice rough. “Or at least do as I tell you.”

“How do I know you didn’t have the cabin booby-trapped so it would blow up when someone came after me?” Levi snapped. She was angry and afraid, but equally tired and cold. “Obviously you knew someone was going to come. Isn’t that why you dragged me up the mountain to that shack where you could watch for them? Isn’t that why you hid this canoe by the creek?”

“It isn’t a creek. It’s a river,” he said as he came up behind her. “And I didn’t hide the canoe. Its owner did, years ago.”

She stepped back away from him. The cowboy had just made his first mistake.

“Don’t come any closer,” she warned, aiming the pistol she’d found in the snow.

He stopped and raised his hands, palms out. “I take it you’ve fired one of those before?”

“Many times.”

He nodded as if he should have known, the way his day was going.

“I want some answers and I want them now,” Levi said.

“You definitely pick your moments,” he said with a tired sigh.

“Who was that?” she demanded.

The cowboy shook his head. “I have no idea.”

“Why was he trying to kill you?”

“I would assume he thought it would be easier to knock you unconscious, kill me first, then you,” he answered matter-of-factly. “But that’s just a guess.”

She groaned. “How do you know he didn’t intend to push me out of the way, to save me from you?”

“With the butt of his rifle?”

“Maybe that’s the best he could do at short notice,” she argued.

“Maybe.”

She waited for him to convince her she was wrong. He didn’t even try. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t shoot you?”

He pushed his Stetson back from his forehead. “Because there’s probably more of them out there and if you fire that pistol, the sound will only give them our location.” He said it softly, conversationally and with an arrogance that made her trigger finger itch. “Plus, you’re smart enough to think that I just might be the lesser of two evils.”

“You’re the one who kidnapped me. Why would I think you’re less dangerous?”

“Then shoot me.” He started toward her. “Because, otherwise, we’ve got to get out of here.”

“You come any closer and I‘ll—” She gripped the pistol in her hand, feeling the cold steel of the trigger just beneath her finger. He stepped up to her. “Don’t—”

With ease and speed, he snatched the gun from her hand and stuffed it into the waistband of his jeans. “Don’t ever pull a gun on me again unless you intend to use it.”

She stood trembling as he turned his back on her. He pushed the canoe into the water and held it steady before he settled his gaze on her again. “Get in.”

The order made her bristle. Around them the fog seemed to be getting colder, wetter and more dense by the minute. “I should have shot you when I had the chance,” she said, glaring at him.

“Probably,” he agreed. “But since you didn’t, get into the canoe.” He swore when she didn’t move. “My name’s Seth. And I didn’t kidnap you, not exactly. Now get in before you get us both killed.”

She glanced across the river, then moved to the canoe and got in without a word as he pushed them off.

The current caught the small craft, sucking it into the fog bank. She wrapped her arms around herself, huddling in the front of the boat. There were so many questions she wanted to ask Seth—if that was his real name—but she knew he wasn’t going to tell her anything until he was good and ready. And she couldn’t be sure he wasn’t right, that there weren’t others out there, just waiting to attack them. So she remained silent, something extremely hard for her to do under even ordinary circumstances. Only nothing was ordinary about this. Or the man she was with.

She felt him paddle them out into the fast water, as if he’d done it a hundred times. Maybe he had. She had the feeling this man could do anything. Who was he anyway? And what was she doing with him, as if she had a choice? She shivered, remembering the look he’d given her when he’d taken the gun from her hand. Instinctively she knew he was dangerous. So why had he saved her life? Not once, but twice. Or had he?

She stared into the fog, her brain and body numb. Part of her feared an attack from the banked whiteness. Another part feared she was in more danger from the man in the canoe than anyone who came out of the fog.

The river lapped at the sides of the boat; the fog rushed by. Where were they headed now? She felt caught up in something bigger than herself as the canoe swept down the river with nothing to gauge distance by other than the feel of the wind on her face and the whisper of the fog as it sailed past. Time seemed suspended. She watched Seth paddle and felt like the water, racing toward something. But what?

Then in the distance she heard the sound of a waterfall.