Читать книгу Alaskan Fantasy - Elle James - Страница 8

With bullets hitting too damn close for comfort, Sam dropped behind a fallen log, easing around the side to scan the area. Another shot echoed across the clearing. Dirt and splinters from the log sprayed his cheek. In a low crawl, he scrambled the length of the fallen trunk until he reached a stand of trees with a clump of bushes at its foot. Based on the direction his hat flew off, the bullets came out of the north. Besides his own breathing and that of Kat’s stirring against her microphone, Sam didn’t hear anything. All thirty-two dogs sensed the danger and waited, ears perked, alert and silently awaiting orders.

Sam straightened and stood behind the relative safety of a tree. “Let’s see how good a shot he is,” he muttered.

“Oh, please tell me you’re not going to give him a target,” Kat growled into the mic. “Just what I need, a man with a death wish.”

Okay, so maybe the mic was sensitive enough to pick up muttering. “Don’t think you’re getting off so easily. I’m going to make it to the finish line.”

Was that a feminine snort? “Intact, I hope.” Kat Sikes was a livewire and not afraid to speak her mind.

Sam grinned and slid his glove halfway off his hand, then poked it around the side of the tree.

A bullet smacked into it and flung the glove five feet behind him, confirming his suspicion, but leaving one hand gloveless and cold. “This guy’s a professional sniper.”

“I feel better knowing that.” Kat’s voice dripped sarcasm.

“The good news is he’s after me.”

Kat laughed, the sound blasting into Sam’s ear. “You think that’s good news?”

“Better than him being after everyone in the race, including you. I’m going to circle the clearing.” He glanced around, spotting another fair-size tree ten yards away. “This guy can’t get away.”

“Don’t do it, Sam.”

“What would you suggest? Stand here until he decides he’s played long enough?” Although she couldn’t see him, he shook his head, the bite of cold air already numbing his exposed fingers. “You know how to use a gun?”

“Don’t make me laugh.” An audible click sounded in his ear, a clear indication she was armed and ready. “Gotcha covered.”

“Don’t shoot unless you have to. No use giving him his next target.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” She was cocky and fearless.

The combination could be admirable or foolhardy. Sam hoped it didn’t make a lethal combination. He pushed away from the tree and ran for the next, his path erratic and as unpredictable as he could make it. Weighed down by heavy, insulated boots and snow, he moved slower than he liked. If he was lucky, the sniper wouldn’t draw a decent bead on him.

A bullet snapped a branch beside his cheek, another tore through his bulky parka, missing his arm by a hair.

“Son of a—” Kat swore. “I can’t see the bastard.” She fired a couple rounds.

“Aim for that outcropping of trees on the far side of the swamp.” Sam pushed away from the safety of the trees and ran again. At this rate, he’d be on the other guy by tomorrow. This time, he ran longer and faster through skeletal underbrush laced with snow.

The rain of bullets ceased when he’d gone only halfway, leading Sam to believe his attacker hadn’t stuck around. He continued until he’d circled the clearing.

Meanwhile, Kat had gone quiet, as well.

Sam missed the steady stream of sarcasm he’d gotten used to. “You still with me?”

“I’m with you,” she responded in a breathless voice.

Sam didn’t have time to ponder the reason she was winded all of a sudden. In the distance a small engine roared to life.

“Sounds like our friend flew the coop,” Kat commented.

“Damn.” Sam arrived at the outcropping of trees with the absolute certainty he wouldn’t find his man.

The snow was packed down and bullet casings littered the ground.

Sam lifted one spent shell from the snow and dropped it in his pocket. Then he followed the footsteps up and over a small rise. This swamp area was known for the multitude of snowmobile tracks crisscrossing through the area. Another set of snowmobile tracks wasn’t unusual. Except the driver had been shooting at Sam. He couldn’t chalk the incident up to a hunter mistaking him for a moose.

A branch snapped behind him and Sam spun.

“Whoa, tiger.” Kat held up her hands, her rifle in one of them. “I’m on your side.” She stared out at the packed snow. “You’ll never trace him. There are too many tracks around here to even try.”

“I know.” He glanced at her, a frown drawing his brows downward. “I thought I told you to stay put.”

“In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I don’t always follow orders.” She shrugged. “It’s a hard habit to break. Ask my brother.”

“The sniper could just as easily shoot you as me.”

She tipped her head to the side, her brows rising on her forehead. “But he wasn’t aiming for me, was he?”

“No, he was after me.” Sam shook his head. “I’d sure as hell like to know why.”

“We can report the incident at our next checkpoint. But if we don’t get on the trail, we won’t make it before midnight.”

“I’d rather not report the shooting. If he’s only after me, why shut down an entire race?”

“Are you nuts or do you really have a death wish?”

Sam ignored her and retraced his footsteps to retrieve his glove. Fortunately, only one finger had a hole in the tip. Nothing a little duct tape wouldn’t cure.

Kat followed, grumbling the entire way.

Her anger only managed to make Sam smile. He liked to get under her skin and make her blue eyes flash. The race was definitely going to be interesting for more than one reason.

Once they checked the dogs, they both stepped behind the runners of their sleds and raised their snow hooks.

“Let’s go!” Sam and Kat shouted simultaneously.

Anxious to leave the frozen swamp behind, both teams strained against their harnesses. Kat and Sam barely had time to grab their handlebars before the sleds jerked forward.

Despite the near miss, they still had a race to complete with approximately a thousand miles left to go.

Sam let Kat take the lead. During the next four hours, he debated turning back. A maniac wanted him dead or at least scared. No, if he’d wanted him dead, why would someone want to shoot at him and miss?

KAT LIFTED ONE HAND from the handlebar and readjusted her scarf over her face, covering the exposed skin up to the edge of her goggles. The temperature had dropped in the past four hours since the sun sank below the horizon. At the Yentna checkpoint it had been minus six. It must be nearing minus twenty now. The sky was clear, the stars shining bright on the trail and not a single fluffy cloud hovered over this lonely part of Alaska to help keep the relative heat of the day from escaping into the atmosphere.

The Alaskan huskies loved the cold; their mix of breeds, including greyhound, husky and other dogs, combined speed with strength and endurance. Their bodies were equipped to handle extreme temperatures. They ran as if they would never get tired, but Kat knew better. After she collected her food bags and straw from the Skwentna checkpoint, she planned to rest them for several hours.

Lights from a small cluster of buildings loomed ahead, as well as the lights from dozens of snowmobiles lining the trail. A cheer went up and continued, as well-wishers shouted encouragement to Kat, then Sam following half a mile behind.

Kat loved the Iditarod, the sense of everyone being in it together, the support of the locals and volunteers along the way and the beauty of Alaska. Her heart swelled with pride that she was one of them. One of the lucky people born and raised in this great state.

As she slid into the Skwentna checkpoint, she pressed her foot to the brake. “Whoa.” The dogs barked excitedly to the other twenty teams already there. The noise was unrelenting and exhilarating all at once. The team didn’t act as though they’d been on the trail for over nine hours. They were ready to visit and play with members of their own kind.

Sam joined her. “Stopping here?”

“No. Too busy around here for the dogs to get any real rest. I thought we’d stop a few miles out to get a jump on tomorrow’s time.”

“Sure you don’t want the safety of numbers?”

“Believe me, there will be numbers we can mix with in the smaller camp farther down the trail.” A racing official directed them to their feed bags. Once she’d lugged the bag to her sled and tied it down, she headed for a stack of straw and grabbed a bale.

“Need help with that?” Sam dug his hands into a bale and hefted it with little effort.

Grumpy and starting to feel the strain of stress and fatigue, Kat shot him a glare. “No, thank you. I can pull my own weight in the race.”

Sam had the nerve to chuckle. “Not as in shape as you thought?”

Her glare deepened, but she didn’t refute his words. Truth was that jogging and lifting weights was only half the effort needed to be physically prepared to lead a team on the grueling race. Her shoulders ached and her hands cramped with the effort of hanging on to the sled over the rolling terrain.

Sam tossed his bale on top of his sled and tied it down.

Kat admired how easily he accomplished the task, gloved hands and all.

Meanwhile, she struggled to lift hers to the top of the loaded sled. Once she had her bale in place, she walked the line of dogs, snacking them once more.

Back at the sled, she stripped off a glove and dug in one of her pockets, retrieving her satellite phone, an illegal addition to her equipment by Iditarod standards. Given the circumstances, Kat deemed it necessary. She walked around to the back of a building out of sight and sound of the other contestants. After the shooting in the swamp, she’d called Tazer to fill her in. Now she was anxious for a status update.

From where she stood, she could just see Sam bent over his lead dogs’ feet.

Tazer answered on the first ring. “Hey, Kat. How’s everything going? You make the checkpoint at Skwentna yet?”

“We’re there now.” She glanced at Sam, putting fresh booties on Striker’s and Hammer’s feet. Even covered from head to foot in thick layers of clothing, he exuded strength and a sincere concern for his team.

“Anything on who might have been shooting at us? Anything on Sam’s work that could make someone angry enough to want to kill him?”

“As a matter of fact, I just got information on one of the race contestants.” Papers rustled and Tazer continued, “Al Fendley is a hunting outfitter. It’s no secret he wants Sam to find oil in the interior to open up more roads north in the area of his hunting operation.”

“Is that enough for him to want to have Sam killed?” Kat stared across at Sam.

“Apparently Al’s up to his eyeteeth in debt from expanding his outfitter business. He even flew in building supplies to have a lodge constructed in the proposed drilling area.”

“Jumped the gun, did he?”

“Yeah.” Tazer hesitated then added, “There’s something else.”

Sam straightened, scanning the crowd in front of the building. His search continued until he spotted her and he smiled.

Kat’s pulse quickened. “What else?”

“When I called Royce to discuss the situation with Sam, he only sounded mildly concerned. When I called in the update about the shooting, he sounded funny.”

“Funny? What did he say?”

“He said, ‘Sam can handle it.’”

“What?” Kat frowned, her gaze on Sam.

His eyes narrowed and he headed across the snow toward her.

Not wanting Sam to overhear her conversation or read her lips, Kat turned her back to him. “Why would he say that? Does he know Sam?”

“I didn’t think so, but now I’m not so sure.” Tazer’s voice lowered. “When I asked if you two should drop out of the race, Royce was adamant you stay in. He said, and I repeat verbatim, ‘Kat and Sam are good. If the shooter isn’t just after Sam, they need to be there for the rest of the participants.’”

An image of Sam moving through the trees around the swamp came to Kat’s mind. He’d used all the cover, concealment and movement techniques of a combat veteran. “How would he know if Sam was good or not?”

“How would who know what about me?” Sam asked over Kat’s shoulder.

“Look, Tazer, I gotta get back on the trail. Will you follow up and let me know what you find out?”