Читать книгу Her Rocky Mountain Hero - Jen Bokal - Страница 11

Chapter 1

December 23

9:00 p.m.

Outside of Telluride, Colorado

The timer’s insistent beep filled the small cabin. A slender pine tree stood in the corner. Red, green and white lights twinkled from each branch. The sharp scent of pine mingled with the sweetness of baking sugar cookies to create an aroma that was wholly Christmas. Viktoria Mateev set the bowl of green frosting aside and rose from the table. Before walking to the oven, she leaned over and placed a kiss on the top of her son Gregory’s head.

He held up a cookie—Kris Kringle’s profile dripped with thick red frosting. “Do you think Santa will like this one?” Gregory asked.

“It will be his favorite,” she said. She opened the oven door and heat rushed upward, immediately fogging the windowpane nearby. The darkened outline of full evergreens and the frail branches of white aspens that surrounded her cabin were suddenly invisible.

It was almost as if the rest of the world could not see her, or Gregory, either. She exhaled and her chest contracted as if embracing the emptiness of a holiday spent alone. It was her first Christmas since her husband, Lucas, had died. She couldn’t even call her parents, fearing that their phones were being monitored. Standing taller, Viktoria reminded herself that she wasn’t alone. She was with her son and they were safe.

After pulling out the last two trays of cookies, Viktoria set them on the back burners of the stove to cool. “What else are you going to make for Santa?”

Gregory held up a reindeer-shaped cookie covered in green frosting and bright red sprinkles. “This one is for you.” He spoke around a spoon that had once sat in one of the frosting bowls. Pulling it from his mouth, Gregory smiled. His teeth and lips were stained green. Her son’s enthusiasm for the season was infectious and Viktoria couldn’t help but smile in return.

It was the simplicity and love in this moment that she sought. To give Gregory some Christmas joy, she had risked everything by slipping down the mountain and into town. The streets of Telluride had been teeming with people, an interesting combination of locals and wealthy tourists who came for a holiday on the slopes. At first the crowd had left her terrified of being seen and recognized. Yet as she turned off the oven, Viktoria convinced herself that the crowd had been a blessing. Certainly, she and Gregory had blended in—just two more faces out of many.

As Gregory iced another cookie, Viktoria knew the risk had been worth it. Even if the state of New York considered her to be an unfit parent, even if all the evidence against her had been lies, even if she knew that her deceased husband’s family had unparalleled wealth to orchestrate it all—Viktoria couldn’t deny her son the joy of the season. Maybe she even needed some holiday tidings herself.

Gregory yawned and leaned into the side of his arm. The clock on the back of the stove read 9:05.

“It’s bedtime, Captain Kiddo,” Viktoria said as she tousled his hair.

“But we still have more cookies to decorate,” he complained.

“How about this,” she suggested. “You get ready for bed and I’ll put everything away. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and Santa won’t come until midnight, so there’s plenty of time to finish decorating cookies in the morning.”

“This is the best Christmas ever,” Gregory said with a mock salute as he scooted off one of the mismatched chairs. “I’m going to get ready for bed, Agent Mommy.” The soles of his footed pajamas pitter-pattered as he crossed the room.

They had to find something else to watch beyond the DVDs of Phineas and Ferb that had been left in the cabin. “That’s Secret Agent Mommy,” she called after him, “and do a good job brushing your teeth.”

With a wistful smile, Viktoria rose and walked to the stove. Using a spatula, she lifted cookies from the tray and placed them on a plate. In the stillness, she suddenly heard an engine revving as it climbed the steep road several hundred yards away. She froze, not daring to breathe. She listened for the telltale sounds of a car approaching. The crunch of wheels on the cabin’s gravel driveway. The muffled music of a far-off radio or the near-silent shushing of windshield wipers as they cleared away a few stray snowflakes. A second passed and then another. There was nothing and yet she still held her breath.

She moved to the window and wiped the steam away. Outside she saw only the vast blackness of the winter night. As she exhaled, her breath collected on the glass, creating a barrier between her and the night once more.

They couldn’t have found her. No one in Colorado, much less Telluride, knew who she was. “They couldn’t have,” she said aloud.

“Who couldn’t have what?” Gregory asked.

Viktoria whirled around.

Face scrubbed, with a dab of toothpaste at the corner of his mouth, Viktoria’s son stood right behind her. She’d been so absorbed that she hadn’t heard him approach. The past several months had taken their toll on Viktoria and she was so weary that she imagined she could sleep for days.

On the eve of her final hearing, Viktoria had been desperate, convinced that Gregory could be taken from her. She’d packed up their things and left their Manhattan apartment in the middle of the night, driving almost nonstop across country. During the intervening four months her son had asked few questions. He had no idea why they’d been living in relative seclusion. Nor would he. Their situation was her burden, not Gregory’s.

“I thought I heard reindeer hooves on the roof,” she said. If Viktoria was going to tell a lie two days before Christmas she might as well make it a big, fat, juicy one. “Then I thought, They couldn’t have come early.”

“Or one of Santa’s elves might be checking on us right now,” he said.

With mock sternness, Viktoria nodded slowly. “I bet you’re right.”

Gregory’s eyes grew big and his mouth hung open. With a deliberate snap of his jaw, he gave her a salute. “Good night, Secret Agent Mommy.”

He scampered up the stairs to the loft, where they both had beds. “I’ll be up in a minute for prayers,” she called after him. Viktoria knew what she would pray for. It was the same thing every night. She needed a miracle that would clear her name and allow her to return to the life she had abandoned to protect and keep Gregory.

* * *

Cody Samuels lay on his stomach, a thermal blanket between his body and the snow-covered ground. He looked through a set of binoculars and peered at the cabin set deep in the woods. Not for the first time, he cursed his bad fortune that the affable Sheriff Raymond Benjamin had assured Cody that his guys had the Mateev arrest covered and didn’t need the extra help. The weather, the sheriff claimed, was about to change and he didn’t want anyone caught in the storm. Cody’s interest in the case was far more compelling than his worry over a little snow. Their tactics had ruined more lives than Cody’s and moreover, he refused to lose a chance to question Viktoria Mateev.

The call Cody placed had been hours ago. Since then, he’d seen neither the promised storm nor a deputy. Yet here he remained, perched on the side of the hill—like a wayward Christmas tree.

The temperature plummeted after the sun sank behind the mountains and Cody was thankful that he’d thought to dress in layers of fleece and Gore-Tex. Yet all the time he waited gave Cody a sense of Viktoria Mateev.

Tall and lithe, she looked more attractive in person than she had in her photos. She wore blue jeans along with a red plaid shirt over a light-colored Henley. More than her beauty, she was clearly a loving and attentive mother, spending time teaching her son how to measure, stir and bake. Laughing with him. Talking with him.

In fact, Cody couldn’t quite find any sign of the unhinged parent the paperwork described. Or one hint of any of the other ruthless people he knew her family to be. Meaning...she had to be here alone.

The kitchen light went out, leaving the cabin dark. Viktoria and Gregory had gone to bed for the night. Why the hell hadn’t local law enforcement or social workers shown up yet? Slipping his phone from his breast pocket, Cody hit the home button. This far into the mountains there was no cell service, but the time was still accurate—9:15 p.m.

On his last trip to RMJ headquarters in Denver, Cody had returned his satellite phone because of a promise for an upgraded model with tighter security software in the New Year. At the time, Cody had doubted he’d need much over the holiday weekend.

He’d never been more wrong in his life.

With a sat phone, he could call Sheriff Benjamin and find out what was amiss. Because there was one thing Cody knew for sure—something was wrong about this case.

Turning his field glasses to the east, Cody followed the road. In the moonless night, the asphalt coiled in and around the snowy terrain, like a large black snake. Nothing. No headlights. No taillights. It was as if the report he had filed with the sheriff’s office had been forgotten.

And then the black road undulated. Rummaging in the pack at his side, he withdrew a pair of binoculars with night vision capabilities. Looking through the ocular, the world turned an eerie and unworldly green. Glancing back to the road, he saw two black SUVs traveling without lights. They turned up the long drive to the cabin, their engines running whisper quiet. Clouds of exhaust billowed and rose in the cold mountain air. At the front door of the cabin, three men dressed all in black exited the two SUVs. They adjusted balaclavas over their faces and checked their sidearms.

These definitely weren’t the local sheriff’s guys.

Instantly, Cody was on his feet, slinging the pack over his back as he ran toward the cabin. He dodged trees and jumped over fallen logs. Frigid air burned Cody’s nose and lungs, as his cold, stiff muscles protested from the sudden exertion. His pulse thrummed and sweat covered his skin.

With less than one hundred yards to go, Cody watched as the lock on the cabin’s front door was picked and two men rushed inside. The third man ran to the back of the property. Mere seconds later, one man exited the cabin and made his way to one of the idling SUVs. When he opened its back door, the interior light clicked on. Cody could make out someone seated in the rear who reached for a bundle the other man had carried from the cabin.

Not a bundle. The kid.

Mateev, Gregory. Cody saw the case’s paperwork in his mind’s eye. Age 4.

During Cody’s time with the DEA he’d borne witness to heinous acts committed by lawless people. But still, he believed everyone deserved justice and protection by the law. At the same time, most of the victims he’d encountered were involved in the illegal drug trade, as well. In short, there was no denying that if you played with fire, you’d eventually get burned. As far as Cody was concerned, it was easy to assume that Viktoria Mateev was complicit in bringing these men to her door. Even so, he was morally obligated to help—regardless of his own investment in her capture.

But the kid? He was too young to be tangled up in any criminal enterprise and Cody pushed his legs faster, refusing to let someone so innocent become collateral damage.

The man in the back seat pulled the door shut while the other one slid into the driver’s seat. The car’s tires kicked up snow and gravel as they searched for purchase. Once the tread gripped, the SUV sped backward down the drive. It turned on the street and disappeared, blending in to the black road in the black night.

Never one to believe in coincidences, Cody knew it wasn’t an accident that Viktoria Mateev’s son was kidnapped on the same day he’d verified her whereabouts. He hated to think that somehow Sheriff Benjamin was involved. Because that meant something even worse—Cody had inadvertently led these men right to her door.

* * *

The man came from the darkness just as the heavy feeling of sleep pulled Viktoria under. Yet, as his hand encircled her throat, she knew this was no nightmare and he was no apparition. He was blood and bone. When his fingers dug into her flesh, she cried out in pain but her voice wouldn’t come. Her throat burned. Her eyes watered.

The man pushed her down into the mattress as his grip tightened. With both hands, she pulled his wrist with a strength she hadn’t known she possessed and his hold broke free. Viktoria drew in a single gasping breath. She tried to rush from the bed, but the blankets tethered her and she fell to the floor.

Her pulse raced, echoing inside her skull. Her breath was shallow and she gasped. “Gregory,” she screamed.

There was no answer.

She scrambled forward, reaching for her son’s bed.

It was empty.

Her assailant, dressed in all black, face obscured, gripped her arm and yanked her to her feet. Pulling backward, Viktoria kicked out at the same instant, aiming for the man’s knee. Her socked foot connected, snapping cartilage and ligaments as the kneecap slid. For once, she was thankful for the self-defense classes she’d taken as a high school student. The man swore and fell over, releasing his grip on her as he went down. Viktoria stumbled back and turned, racing to the wooden stairs that connected the loft to the single room that made up the ground floor.

Suddenly her hair was grabbed from behind and her head snapped back. Viktoria clawed at the hand that held her, and finding the thumb she pulled back until she felt a pop. The man let go and Viktoria pitched forward, tumbling down the stairs. The floor rushed up and the air rushed just as quickly from Viktoria’s lungs in a single gust. Pinpricks of light danced in front of her and the coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. The inside of her lip throbbed.

Still, she managed to pick herself up from the floor and run to the phone. Lifting the handset, she dialed 9.

The shadow of another man, a faceless silhouette against the darkness of the night, filled the space at the open front door.

She stifled a scream and fumbled for the next number—1.

That man ripped the phone from Viktoria’s grip. He slammed the handset onto the counter, leaving only plastic-and-metal rubble. He then jerked the base from the counter, pulling out the cord and chunks of plaster with it.

Viktoria dove for the door, but the man blocked her exit. Just as she drew back her fist to strike him, the attacker from upstairs came up from behind and grabbed her wrist. He wrenched her arm down and around, pinning it behind her back. Pain shot through her shoulder, forcing her to double over. No matter how desperate she was, she knew she couldn’t fight them both. Terror gripped her throat as she tried to think of a way to escape and found none.

“Gregory?” she said hoarsely. Her son was all that mattered to her.

“He’s safe,” said the man, who still held her wrist. “Go to the car,” he said to the other man. “This will take only a minute.”

“What have you done with my son!”

The man twisted her arm and forced Viktoria to drop to her knees. He spoke with a slight Russian accent. “You should have taken the offer. You were foolish to fight the vory v zakone.”

The offer. One million dollars to relinquish custody of Gregory.

“All of this is so my dead husband’s father can take Gregory back to Russia? You can’t steal my son.” Yet, tonight they were doing just that.

“In Russia, a man is the head of his family. This boy belongs to his grandfather.”

“This is America,” spat Viktoria. She struggled to rise to her feet. “And Gregory is my son. Nikolai Mateev cannot hope to raise my son as well as his own mother can. Take me to him!”

“Your son will be treated as a prince and will grow up wanting for nothing. You should have taken the money. But, you are a proud American and now your stubbornness will kill you.” He pushed her toward the floor. “Kneel.”

“No,” said Viktoria. She braced her feet and tried to pull away. The man held her wrist even tighter. Despite the pain searing through her shoulder, she twisted her body to try to break the man’s grip.

“Always the fighter,” said the man. “I admire your bravery, but you lost this battle before it even began.”

Something cold and hard pressed into her skull. Viktoria had never held a real gun, but it was not hard to imagine the barrel of a pistol shoved into the back of her head.

She saw only the wooden floor and the man’s shoes behind her own socks. Feet? Was this to be the last thing she saw in the world? She lifted her gaze and saw the Christmas tree sitting in the corner. At its very top stood the angel, her wings outstretched. It gave her a measure of solace and courage. Certain she was about to die, Viktoria closed her eyes and fixed her mind on her son.

* * *

Cody pressed his back into the worn wood of the cabin’s outside wall. He slipped the Glock 22 from the holster on his hip. One round in the chamber, thirteen in the magazine. It was the same sidearm he’d carried when he worked with the DEA. The weight and balance of the gun felt right, like shaking the hand of an old friend.

Crouching low, he cast a quick glance around the corner. The front door of the cabin still stood open. He had originally seen three men storm the cabin. One had left in the other SUV with a fourth guy holding Gregory Mateev. That meant two remained. A man now sat in the driver’s seat of the waiting SUV. Where was the other man? And more importantly, where was Viktoria Mateev?

He recognized an older-model sedan parked under a nearby canopy as the one Viktoria had been driving when caught by the traffic camera. The stench of gasoline rolled off the car and burned Cody’s eyes. Fuel trickled down from the rear bumper, where its gas line had been severed. Cody could see that the two rear tires had been slit. He imagined that the front ones had been cut, as well.

What had begun as an ordinary custody case had spiraled quickly out of control. These men were true specialists, sent on a professional hit. No matter what Viktoria Mateev might have done, Cody was duty bound to make sure that she wasn’t murdered.

Staying low and quiet, Cody raced to the other side of the cabin, coming up behind the SUV. As Cody crawled forward on his stomach, auto exhaust rolled over him in a putrid gray cloud. Looking up into the side mirror, he could clearly see the man in the driver’s seat keeping his eyes trained on the cabin’s front door.

The cabin remained dark and silent. Cody didn’t want to catalogue everything that might be happening inside. Before he could deal with that, he had to get past the driver.

With a whir, the driver’s side window lowered and acrid cigarette smoke cut through the stench of the exhaust. Reholstering his Glock, Cody marshaled the strength in his legs as he launched himself from the ground. Midstride, he redirected his body’s energy to his fist, which he aimed at six inches behind the man’s jaw.

The punch connected and the man’s head snapped back. For a moment, only the whites of his eyes were visible, then he fell sideways, his seat belt holding him upright. The cigarette dropped to the ground and Cody crushed it underfoot. After turning off the SUV’s ignition, he pocketed the keys. Reaching for his sidearm again, Cody turned to the cabin.

In the hours that Cody had spent watching Viktoria Mateev and her son, he had learned the cabin’s layout. The first floor contained one open living area with a sofa, chair and table against the far wall. The kitchen table stood in front of a fireplace that bisected an exterior wall. A small bathroom sat under stairs that ascended to a loft. All of it was accessed via a single door at the end of the kitchen counter.

The cabin’s interior was even darker than the outside and it took a minute for his eyes to adjust. When they did, what he saw was horrifying. A man, clad completely in black, had Viktoria’s arm pinned behind her back and a gun pressed to the back of her head. She struggled against the assailant, but had nowhere to go.

“Do you pray?” the man asked her. “Because now’s the time for it.”

“Gregory,” Viktoria whispered. Cody could barely hear that she had spoken.

“He is safe.” With a soft click, the man released the safety on his weapon. “You, however, will see him in the next life.”