Читать книгу Undercover Protector - Elizabeth Goddard - Страница 11

ONE

Siskiyou Mountains, southwest Oregon

Gemma Rollins shifted gears as her beloved Jeep CJ bounced over the narrow gravel road carved from the mountain. With this torrential downpour, she was glad she’d opted for the hard cover and doors on this older model.

But she should have gotten the mud tires too.

This was just like when the Pineapple Express came through southern Oregon a decade ago. Except spring was the wrong time of year for the tropical moisture to be sweeping in from the Hawaiian Islands. The meteorological phenomenon occurred in the winter.

And the tigers in her sanctuary, fifteen beautiful creatures she knew by name, wouldn’t be happy in this inclement weather either.

Gemma downshifted, slowing at the curve on the steep one-lane road, her pulse edging up as the rain pounded harder. This was a lot more like the kind of weather she’d see in Houston, Texas, rather than southwest Oregon. And too much rain might cause flooding in the sanctuary. With a USDA inspection coming up in three weeks, she so did not need more hurdles in her goal of getting Tiger Mountain accredited as a big cat sanctuary.

She pressed her foot against the brakes as she came up on the switchback. Suddenly, the steering refused to turn. What was happening? The sharp bend approached. She would never make it!

Throwing her entire body into turning the steering wheel, Gemma’s effort paid off. The CJ slid around the bend, though still much too close to the edge of the ravine.

Trees and rocks would slow anything trying to take a fall, but that didn’t reassure her. Nearing the next curve, she pumped the brakes. They weren’t working so well either.

She was behind in vehicle maintenance, no doubt there, but her CJ had never let her down before. Another curve in the road approached, and she shifted to the lowest gear, gripped the wheel with both hands and groaned with the effort to make the turn.

She’d driven the road that bordered the fenced-in area of the sanctuary enough times to know what to expect—more switchbacks. The road was dangerous on a good day. She hit the brakes harder. Still the CJ picked up more speed. She turned the steering wheel left, barely making another switchback.

Her beloved CJ was out of control.

Heart hammering, the realization slammed her—this was a matter of survival.

She might actually die. The possibility sucked her breath away.

Mud oozed from the rocky wall to her left as it poured from the hillside above. God, please help me! I don’t want to die today. And please keep the sanctuary intact. Please don’t let those fences give way.

She couldn’t imagine that would happen, but, then again, she hadn’t dreamed her steering would give way on the same day as her brakes. What were the chances? A question rose from the shadows in her mind. Had this been intentional?

And on a treacherous, rainy day.

Images from that night long ago accosted her. Headlights glinting off a wall of water. The grinding crunch. The wreck that left her uncle dead, the Tiger Hills sanctuary her father had founded dismantled and Gemma with nerve damage and a limp.

Focus, Gemma! She gripped the steering wheel tighter, mentally skimming the road ahead. Another bend. She’d never make it with her steering out like this. But if she could make it around the next outcropping of the rocky wall—before the dangerous bend—and remain on the road, there was an incline to her right, a turn out that she could use to slow the CJ to a stop.

Would it be enough?

Come on, come on, come on...

“God, if You’re listening, and You don’t want me to die today, I need some help.” Gemma wrestled the wheel even harder and yanked the emergency brake, getting no return for her efforts.

Up ahead, mud and rocks washed over the road.

A mudslide!

Though it could be dangerous, deadly even, she could use the mudslide to slow the CJ, except she would have another battle for survival. But it was moving slowly enough she might just be able to make it.

Was that the answer to her prayer?

The incline appeared ahead in the thick of the mud. She pumped the brakes again, but they were completely dead. Gemma shifted into a higher gear and sped over the mud before it carried her away.

The roar of the torrential rain and the sight of the mudslide filled her with dread and morbid memories, erasing all other rational thought. Gemma fought the rising terror.

She gripped the wheel and steered toward the incline, shifting down once she’d gained enough momentum because she’d need to stop this vehicle, once and for all, on the other side of the mud.

Regardless of her momentum, the CJ shifted as the mud gripped the tires, but Gemma persevered and evened out the pressure on the accelerator, adjusting her steering until the vehicle lifted up, the front tires gaining traction on the ground that rose above the mud, and sped forward.

But fast, much too fast.

The CJ slammed into a tree. Her body ricocheted against the seat belt. There were no airbags in an old Jeep CJ.

Stunned, Gemma blinked. Sucked in a breath. I’m alive!

Then she groaned.

“I’m alive.” She breathed slowly to calm herself. “I’m...alive.” It could have been much worse.

Gemma squeezed her eyes shut as memories overwhelmed her. Déjà vu. Her uncle had been driving the night he lost control of the vehicle and they hit a tree. He’d died and Gemma had lived. Why had she lived—then and now?

Drawing in a few more calming breaths until she could breathe normally, she shook away the daze. Felt the ache from her skin to her bones. But that was good news. She could feel everything, even the nerve damage pain in her left leg from the wreck that took Uncle Dave’s life.

The CJ jerked to the right. What was going on?

Gemma turned her attention to the environment around her. The rain and the mud had risen even more and caught her rear tires. She had to hurry!

She tried to unbuckle her seat belt. Stuck. She searched for something sharp to cut herself out, but, strapped in the seat, she couldn’t reach the tool kit in the back. Regardless, she tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. The front end had crumpled as the CJ twisted against the tree. Since she’d opted for a hard top, she couldn’t cut her way out through the top, even if she could escape the seat belt trapping her inside.

She spied her cell phone—out of reach on the floorboard on the passenger side.

Gemma was going to die today, after all.

* * *

Grayson Wilde had picked the worst day for surveillance of the Tiger Mountain sanctuary. Now he paid the price as he searched for cover on the hillside to wait out the storm. He had an appointment in an hour to interview with Gemma Rollins, Tiger Mountain’s founder, for a part-time volunteer position. A senior special agent for the United States Fish and Wildlife Service, Gray worked undercover to investigate and infiltrate a wildlife trafficking ring.

Shivering in the cold, he pushed deeper into a shallow cave to shield himself from the brunt of the wind and rain while he waited it out. He scraped a hand over his face and wiped away the water. As miserable as it was to be in this place right at this moment, he reminded himself of the importance of his assignment. For starters, his mission in life was to thwart wildlife traffickers and poachers abusing God’s creations. It was crucial, dangerous work, considering illegal exotic pet trade and trafficking had become a multi-billion dollar industry, and came in right under drugs, firearms and human trafficking. And, as a source of funding for terrorist groups, it was a significant threat to both global and national security. But even aside from that, Gray had his own reasons for shadowing this sanctuary.

He’d gotten a tip from an informant that the person responsible for killing game warden Bill Garland—Gray’s friend and mentor—was connected with the project. It was the kind of tip he’d been waiting on for what seemed like a lifetime. Bill had stumbled on a potential trafficking ring years ago, and turned the information over to the feds then ended up dead. With only two hundred fifty USFWS special agents to investigate the entire country, justice was never fully served.

And Gray needed a chance to make things right.

He had started as a game warden but worked his way to becoming a federal agent and he finally had a solid lead on his ongoing investigation. Someone to connect with an extensive trafficking ring, though he didn’t yet have a name.

His new mission was to gain Gemma Rollin’s confidence and work the business with her so he could discover the truth. Find the person responsible for Bill’s death. Arrest him and everyone else involved.

He might have to show up for the interview soaking wet, but that could work in his favor.

Over the deluge he thought he heard a cry for help. Who would possibly venture out in weather like this? Well, other than himself. But unless they were conducting surveillance and working undercover, nobody should be out in the wilderness region that hedged the tiger sanctuary.

Gray quieted his thoughts and listened.

There it was again, only this time it was not a cry for help but an actual scream.

He darted from the cave back into the rain, wishing for goggles—a snorkel and a pair of flippers might even work. “Where are you?”

But he wasn’t sure how he could have heard the scream over the torrent to begin with and doubted they’d heard his response.

Careful of the slick ground, Gray made his way in the direction from which he thought the screams were coming. Then he found the road circling the tiger sanctuary.

That made sense. Someone could have been driving this and he wouldn’t have seen it from his perch. He jogged down the twisted, muddy road, water pouring from the rocky wall to his left. The screams came louder but were muffled.

Gray ran around a curve in the road and saw the mud rushing down the mountain, eating away this portion of the road.

And he saw an old Jeep CJ shoved up into a tree. He searched for thin places in the rush of water and mud and did a dance with the forces of nature as he hopped, skipped, jumped and charged like a bull intent on his target. He caught the bumper, gripped it, holding on against the force of the liquid earth sliding under his feet. He made his way to the driver’s side door.

A frantic woman sat inside, her mouth wide and halfway through the word help when she caught sight of him. She stopped and closed her mouth.

Assessing the situation, Gray didn’t need her to explain the urgency or that she couldn’t get her door open. He doubted climbing out the other side was even an option, since the vehicle hung precariously near the edge on the passenger side. He tried the door, using brute strength, and then kicked at it, but it wouldn’t budge. If he’d brought his weapon, he might have been able to shoot the door mechanism so it would release.

Instead, he grabbed a large rock.

Her troubled eyes grew wide again.

“Unbuckle your seat belt!” he yelled over the roar. “And move out of the way.”

“I can’t!”

“I’m going to smash the window.”

She nodded. Covering her face, she leaned away.

Gray hit the window. Glass shattered, falling everywhere inside the vehicle, including on the woman. She carefully tossed aside the bigger chunks, and Gray helped remove the rest. He pulled out his Buck knife from his jeans pocket, cut her seat belt and then tugged off his jacket, laying it over the window jamb to protect her. Gray planned to pull her out, but she climbed out herself, her agility surprising him until she fell to the ground. Her left leg appeared stiff, her expression one of agony.

“You’re hurt!” He crouched next to her. Of course, she would be hurt after her Jeep had slammed into the tree.

Rain beating down on her, she tried to stand on her own but failed and slipped back, mere inches from the spreading river of mud.

“We have to get out of here before the mud carries us away along with your Jeep.” Gray scooped her into his arms.

She struggled against him and reached for the vehicle. “No, wait! I need—”

“Unless you’ve got a child in there—” and Gray hadn’t seen anyone else in the vehicle “—someone else whose life is in danger, we’re getting out of here.”

“But—!”

Ignoring her, Gray headed away from the ensnared vehicle and the mudslide. He focused all his energy and strength into hiking over slippery boulders while holding a 115-pound woman with an injury. Behind him, he half expected to hear the telltale sound of the old Jeep CJ being carried away down the mountain, but that sound never came.

Carrying her solid but small form, he reached the road she’d been driving on when she’d hit the mud. He couldn’t imagine how terrifying that must have been. She was in her twenties, he’d guess, a few years younger than his thirty-two years. Was she a volunteer who he would work with? He’d have to explain what he’d been doing out here. But first they had to get somewhere safe and dry.

He hadn’t made it twenty yards when the rain slowed.

“You can put me down now.”

“You sure?”

She nodded. “I appreciate the help, but I can manage from here.”

He set her on the still-slick road and put his hand out, ready to catch her if necessary. “Careful now.”

Pushing her wet strands out of the way, she looked up at him, studying his face with her bright hazel eyes. Raindrops slid over her forehead and over her cheeks, revealing a pretty, natural face with a few freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. Her dark hair hung long down her back and was so waterlogged that he couldn’t tell for sure what color it was, but he was almost certain it was dark brown to match her perfectly shaped eyebrows.

He glanced up at the ashen sky and received droplets in his eyes. He wiped them out and then looked at the woman. “I suppose I should introduce myself. It’s not every day I carry a woman down the mountain.”

“I’m walking down the mountain,” she corrected. “But I’m sure it’s not every day you have to pull a woman trapped in a mud-strapped, tree-slammed Jeep.”

“You got that right.”

“Well, what’s your name, stranger?”

“Grayson Wilson. But you can call me Gray.” Though working undercover, he’d keep his first name. Easy enough to answer to that. Wilde would be off the books.

“I’m Gemma Rollins. I run Tiger Mountain, the sanctuary on the other side of this road. You might have noticed it since you were out wandering the area.” Her tone sounded suspicious.

Gemma Rollins. Tiger Mountain’s founder.

So much for his surveillance efforts. He should have known, though she looked nothing like the pictures, where she always had on sunglasses. Her eyes would have been a dead giveaway.

She shifted her focus to the road and then turned to him. “Well, are you coming? I want to get someplace dry.”

“And then you’ll call the sheriff, right?” The county maintained the mountain road, and she might want the report for her insurance.

Calling the sheriff was the right move for her, so Gray ignored the twinge he felt at the thought. Gray hadn’t wanted to run into the man so soon on this operation, but Sheriff Kruse would likely send a deputy out instead and, in that case, Gray could keep his cover unless it was Deputy Callahan. In theory, it would be safe enough to read in the local cops on his investigation...but in practice, it was a whole different story. Sometimes, even law enforcement could be involved in trafficking.

“Yes. We need to let the county know about the mud and trees on the road.”

She continued to favor her right leg over her left.

Gray asked, “Are you sure you’re not hurt? You’re limping.”

Gemma stopped and turned to look at him, staring at him with her determined and enormous, crystal-clear hazel eyes. Why hadn’t he known about the eyes beforehand?

Like that would have kept them from affecting him now. He didn’t want to stop looking at them.

“I was injured years ago. Nerve damage. My limp is part of me now. If you had let me grab my cane out of the Jeep, I’d be using that to walk.”

Gray was embarrassed. Why hadn’t he noticed a cane in the few pictures he’d seen? “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” He almost offered to assist her in walking, but the set of her jaw told him that would be the wrong thing to do.

“It’s okay. I understand. You were being a hero, and you couldn’t have known you were rescuing a debilitated damsel. Honestly, I didn’t expect anyone to hear my cries for help, much less a stranger to arrive to whisk me out of the Jeep. Thank you for that.” Her soft smile wiped away the furrow in her brow but not the anguish—the deep-seated agony—behind her eyes.

Gray had come here to bring this woman down if she was involved in the trafficking ring—and especially if she was involved, even indirectly, in Bill’s death. It seemed more than likely that she was part of the trafficking ring as founder of the sanctuary that was somehow connected.

How could she not be aware of the trafficking going on right under her nose? But looking at her now, Gray doubted his certainty. He could clearly see there was so much more going on in that head of hers. Finding answers would not be as easy as he’d hoped.

Especially when his natural drive to protect the innocent ignited for Gemma. Because if she wasn’t involved in the ring, then she could be in danger.

All he knew was that he had a feeling Gemma Rollins had just reversed their roles and she was about to make trouble for Gray. Either that or he had just made a world of trouble for himself in coming here.