Читать книгу Her Rocky Mountain Hero - Jen Bokal - Страница 12

Chapter 3

A bullet flew past Cody’s ear. Instinctively he dropped to the ground and immediately looked for Viktoria. She lay facedown in the snow, a jagged hole visible in the door directly behind where she’d been standing. Cody’s mouth went dry. He hadn’t meant for her to become a casualty, no matter her associates.

The voice in Cody’s head was strong and without remorse. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. He never should have allowed her to follow him from the cabin.

He looked back at her still body, her fingers splayed, as if in surprise. A volcanic rage rose inside Cody for having unwittingly played a role in the death of Viktoria Mateev. He’d never forgive himself, and yet the game was not over.

The gunman had gone silent, but Cody was far from safe. The other man was out there, somewhere, lying in wait for his chance to strike again. He stared at Viktoria, still angry at himself and full of disbelief. The tips of her fingers twitched, a movement so slight he was almost convinced that it was his imagination.

Then she lifted her eyes and sought out his.

A great wave of relief washed over Cody and for a moment, he thought that he might melt into the snow.

Cody pressed his palms down to the ground, in the universal sign for stay put. She gave a nod, just a quick lifting of the chin.

With Viktoria prone on the ground, Cody rose to one knee. He peered through the SUV’s window and scanned what he could see of the horizon. The cabin sat in a bowl with peaks on all sides. The surrounding woods were thick, shadows turning every tree into a possible perpetrator. Or vice versa.

A quick estimation of the bullet’s trajectory told Cody that the shooter was on the hill, in approximately the same place from which he’d been observing Viktoria and Gregory earlier. It was a prime location, with a view of the cabin’s front door, the driveway and the road beyond. The SUV was parked between the hill and the door, momentarily providing cover for Cody, but not Viktoria.

Another shot boomed, this one lower and only slightly to the right of where Viktoria lay on the ground. The next bullet shattered the doorjamb and the one after hit the ground in front of Viktoria, sending snow, gravel and dirt flying.

As unsafe as she was by the cabin, she would become an even easier target by running the five yards to the SUV. The only way it could be done was for him to provide her with cover. He hoped that she would continue to read his hand gestures.

Two fingers to his chest, then two to his gun and then the hill. Cody pointed from Viktoria to where he was, made a fist and extended three fingers, one at a time. He repeated the sequence for good measure. Her gaze was trained on him, her jaw tight. Cody held up one finger. He lifted a bit, ready to take aim and fire. A bullet punched a neat hole in the windshield. A spider’s web of cracks spread outward from the point of impact.

“Now,” he called out fast. She ran, low to the ground, and dove out, sliding in next to him. She took refuge behind the SUV’s quarter panel, so close to Cody that her rapid breath washed over his neck. A thin red line ran across her cheek as blood seeped from a wound.

“You’re bleeding,” he said. He placed a gloved hand to the cut. His pulse sped at the touch, fueled from adrenaline, no doubt—and this night that had suddenly gone awry.

“It’s splinters from the door,” she said. “I’ll be picking bits of wood out of my hair for weeks, if we survive.”

“We’ll survive.” Cody’s hand still rested on Viktoria’s cheek. He dropped it quickly, leaving a smudge of crimson on her milky skin.

Two more bullets rained down, striking the ground mere feet from where they sat. Ice and gravel flew upward and Cody shielded Viktoria with his body.

She was warm and soft. Her breath was sweet and minty. Her hair held the slight scent of the floral shampoo she used. He inhaled deeply and reminded himself that Viktoria was part of a case. More than that, he’d be damned before he allowed her beauty to distract him from what was truly important—justice.

Cody turned his attention back to the shooter on the hill, assessing the challenge he presented. “He’s a good shot.”

“So the men who kidnapped my son are armed and dangerous and good at what they do.” The panic in her voice was palpable. “They’ll take him to Moscow unless they’re stopped.”

Viktoria’s knowledge of the kidnapper’s plans confirmed Cody’s suspicion that she was intimately involved with Russian criminals. Even though he’d suspected it all along, having the evidence felt like a betrayal. Another cut to his heart. Well, scar tissue was the strongest and his scars made him tough enough to do his job without question or remorse. A lesser man might feel sorry for Viktoria Mateev.

“We need to know this guy’s location.” Slipping the pack from his back, he retrieved his night vision binoculars and powered them up. To find the shooter, he was going to have to make himself a target. He pulled the keys to the SUV from his pocket and pressed them into her hand. At least he could ensure that she had a way to save herself if he were shot or killed. “If I get hit, take this car and get out of here. Go.” He paused. He wanted to tell her to go to the sheriff’s office in Telluride. But since Cody feared that Sheriff Benjamin was somehow involved in the kidnapping, he let it be. He continued, “Contact Rocky Mountain Justice in Denver. Ask for Sir Ian Wallace. Tell him what happened. Got it?”

“Cody.” Viktoria placed her palms on the front of his chest. Even through the fleece, his skin instantly warmed at her touch. “Don’t get shot.”

“I’ll try not to.”

“Thank you,” she said earnestly, “whoever you are, for saving me.”

With a nod, Cody fixed his mind on where he thought the shooter would be located. He rose, just enough, and brought the night vision binoculars to his eyes. The crack of a pistol echoed off the hills and Cody ducked down. But, he had seen all he needed to see.

“Our shooter is just above the tree line. More than his location, the guy has a set of night-vision goggles, so he can see in the dark and fire at the same time. No question, we’re at a complete disadvantage.”

“If we shine a bright light in his face he’ll be blinded, right?”

Cody wanted to groan. Hollywood had ruined the public’s perception of law enforcement tactics.

“Let me guess,” he said, “you saw that in a movie.”

Viktoria shrugged. “Several.”

“It doesn’t work that way.” Then again... Sometimes the simplest solutions were the most effective. “We’ll try it. Get into the driver’s seat, Viktoria, but stay low. Turn the SUV about forty-five degrees and when I tell you, turn on the high beams.”

She drew her brows together. “How do you know my name?”

Cody had never intended to lie to Viktoria. He had been hired to do a perfectly legitimate job. Sure, spying on her wasn’t part of his assignment, but his presence had saved her life. Why, then, did he hesitate in telling her the truth? He didn’t have time to question his motivations.

Instead of answering her question, he said, “This guy is going to keep shooting at you. But, I’m going to be firing back, which should hinder his aim. Just be ready when I tell you to turn on the lights. Got it?”

Thankfully Viktoria didn’t press him again about his knowing her name, although he doubted she’d forgotten. Then again, if his plan didn’t work, she might not have another chance to ask.

* * *

Viktoria opened the driver’s side door as two more bullets rained down. She dove into the car and huddled on the floorboard, frozen with terror.

Then she thought of her son and her fear no longer mattered. She quickly pulled the door shut. Her heart racing, she gripped the key fob with such ferocity that it dug into her flesh.

Another crack of a gun. Another echo on the hills. Another puff of gun powder filling the air. She eased into the seat and glanced into the rearview mirror. The long driveway stretched out like a black ribbon, pulled taut. Viktoria could do this now—run, escape, live. But then, where would she go? How would she even find her son? Even though Viktoria had come to rely on only herself and trust no one, she needed Cody—at least for now.

One more shot fired, this one by Cody.

Viktoria fumbled with the key fob, setting it in the console between the seats, then hit the ignition button while pressing her foot on the brake. The engine rumbled to life and she gripped the steering wheel, careful to remain below the dashboard. With a deep breath, she turned the steering wheel and threw the gearshift into Reverse.

The SUV spun in one fluid motion as Cody fired at the hill—once, twice, three times. The shooter didn’t return fire.

“Now!” Cody yelled.

Viktoria flipped the switch for the lights. The hillside glowed, flooded instantly with bright white light. A few stray snowflakes fell, dancing lazily in the beams. Midway up the rise, a man lay on his stomach. A set of goggles encircled his head. He ripped them off, tossing them aside.

Cody advanced. Bullets blazed from the barrel in rapid succession as he moved toward the tree line. “Stay where you are,” he called back to her. With a soft click, his gun’s empty magazine fell to the ground and he quickly reloaded.

Viktoria lost the shooter’s exact location. She sat up taller in her seat and peered at the hill.

Just then a bullet broke through the driver’s side window and pebbles of safety glass exploded into the car. She felt the heat and the wind as the round passed her ear. It tore through the leather headrest and lodged deep within the back seat.

Cody raced to the SUV and jumped in through the shot-out window. “Go,” he shouted, as he climbed over her and into the passenger seat.

Viktoria didn’t need directions. Spinning the steering wheel, she pointed the SUV down the driveway and stomped on the accelerator. The powerful engine roared and catapulted them toward the road. Another bullet flew after them, shattering a side mirror.

“Left, left, left,” said Cody, as the end of the drive loomed close.

Viktoria turned the wheel and the SUV skidded as the tires connected with the cold, wet pavement. Viktoria pulled the steering wheel hard to the right and slammed on the brakes. The SUV began to spin. Mountainside. Cliff. Mountainside. Cliff.

Viktoria was determined to control the mechanical beast and bend it to her will. She let off the brakes and held tight to the steering wheel, forcing the tires to remain straight. The SUV swerved, but ceased spinning. They were aimed directly at a snow-covered steel guardrail. Another step on the brake, and the car slid sideways. Metal scraped against metal and sparks shot into the night. Snow flew in through the broken window. With a shudder, the vehicle came to a stop.

Cody held tight to the dashboard. His jaw was slackened and his tanned face had gone pale. “Where’d you learn how to drive like that?” he asked. She couldn’t decide if it was awe or terror that fueled his breathlessness.

“Manhattan,” said Viktoria with a shrug.

Cody leaned back in the seat and exhaled. “I should have killed him,” he said.

Viktoria began to shiver and it wasn’t just from the cold wind that blew at her from all sides.

“I don’t like that he’s still out there,” Cody said. “He’s not the man in charge, but he’ll tell his boss you’re still alive. He’s probably using the phone in your cabin right now.”

“He could be, but he’s not.”

“How do you know?”

“When those men broke in, I tried to get to the phone. One man took it from me and smashed it against the wall.”

* * *

Dimitri sidestepped down the hill and stood in the middle of the driveway, the taillights of the speeding SUV just two demonic eyes of red. He heard the screech of tires on pavement and the roar of the engine. Both faded until there was nothing. No lights. No sounds. Just the frosty scent of incoming snow on the air.

He recognized the smell—knew it well. The weather in Russia was much harsher than any in the United States, and he’d been in more blizzards than he cared to recall. If he was right—and he was—then one hell of a storm was about to hit Telluride.

His smart use of time was essential.

He returned to the cabin and, as he’d feared, his comrade was dead on the floor. Shot by the other man who never should have been there. Dimitri kicked the door closed and flipped on the light. There were bullet holes in the wall and casings on the floor. He knew there’d be several more of both outside. Concealing those would take time, never mind dealing with the corpse and all the blood.

He turned to the stove. It used gas as the heating element. Perfect. On the table sat a plate of iced cookies. Picking one off the plate, he took a bite and chewed it slowly. The Christmas tree in the corner was covered with a cheap set of lights, also useful. In a drawer he found a set of matches. In the bathroom cabinet stood a large bottle of rubbing alcohol alongside a bag of cotton balls.

Using a knife from the kitchen, he cut through the wires of the Christmas tree lights and plugged them back in. The live end sparked and hissed. He then returned to the stove and turned on all the gas, leaving the burners unlit. After pocketing half a dozen cookies, he went to the door and opened it. He placed the cotton balls in a pile and soaked them with the alcohol, then made a trail to the lights. Once across the threshold, he lit the match and tossed it into the puddle of alcohol on the floor. He closed the door and began to walk down the driveway.

As he ate another cookie, he regretted not taking time to say some words over his fallen comrade. They’d served together in Ukraine during the summer a few years ago, and the man deserved more than to be incinerated in a lonely little cabin. Well, that could hardly be helped now.

Dimitri needed to get in touch with the others and let them know what had happened. He had neither car nor phone. By now, the boss would be wondering why there’d been no contact.

A whoosh erupted behind Dimitri and heat warmed his back. His best chance at survival lay before him and he didn’t bother to turn around. As his pace quickened to a run, he decided that fire was the best way to erase any sins.

* * *

“Try again,” Peter Belkin barked at his driver. His second team had yet to make contact, even though they should have left the Mateev cabin twenty minutes ago.

The man lifted his walkie-talkie. “Beta, this is Alpha. Do you read?”

The faint crackle of static could barely be heard over the wailing child, who sat next to Belkin.

Gregory Mateev had been inconsolable since leaving the cabin, not that Belkin had expected anything less. Even though the boy was being taken for his own good, he was too young and too upset to understand.

“The mountains could be causing interference,” said the driver, raising his voice to be heard over Gregory. “We still don’t have mobile phone service, but should be okay when we reach the house.”

Gregory quieted. Belkin turned to the kid, trying to smile. Fist cocked back, Gregory threw a punch that caught Belkin under the chin. The attorney’s teeth cracked together and his jaw throbbed.

“That’s it,” said Belkin, “I’ve had enough of you.”

“Well, I’ve had enough of you.” Gregory threw out a wild kick that struck Belkin in the arm.

Belkin gripped his biceps. He would have a bruise by the morning. From his breast pocket, he removed a syringe already filled with a sedative. He drove the tip into the child’s upper arm and pressed down on the plunger. The child began to scream, but as soon as the mild tranquillizer entered Gregory Mateev’s bloodstream, he quieted. With a few drowsy blinks, his head lolled to the side and he slept.

Acquiring Gregory Mateev and returning him to his grandfather was Belkin’s main objective, and now at least, the boy was safe—and quiet.

The job should have been simple. Nikolai Mateev, the godfather of the Russian mafia, wanted his grandson to be raised in Russia. After the death of Nikolai’s son, Lucas, Belkin had been hired to convince the mother to give up her child. But Belkin had pushed too hard in New York City, spooking Gregory’s mother and forcing her into hiding with the boy for months. When Belkin had gotten word that she might be in western Colorado, he’d flown in to the area with his team to be there when she surfaced. Since then, there had been no contact. No use of a credit card. No bank withdrawals. No internet searches. It was as if she had simply disappeared and until this afternoon, Belkin feared that she actually had. Now he just wanted to complete his task and get paid.

Gregory slumped over in his seat, snoring softly as the SUV rounded a bend and pulled through a circular drive. The driver parked in front of a two-story house built in the alpine A-frame style, complete with wooden scrollwork on the eaves and a balcony to make up the A’s crossbar. Light shone from an exterior sconce, illuminating the snow as it fell.

“Try to contact Team Bravo again,” said Belkin, “and after you’ve spoken, put Gregory to bed in one of the upstairs rooms.” Belkin stepped into the night. Fat, downy snowflakes floated down, coating the road and settling on Belkin’s shoulders and well-trimmed dark hair.

The extreme cold and falling snow reminded him of how fickle the weather could be in Russia. Taking the phone from his pocket, he glanced at the home screen. A blizzard warning scrolled across the bottom of the display. He opened the weather application, where a digitized radar reading of pink and white, signifying heavy snow and winds, filled the entire northern part of Colorado. Future radar predicted that the blizzard was expected to hit Telluride in the early morning and last for the next twenty-four hours.

Belkin glanced at the local time—10:15. In four hours they would be airborne and on their way to Moscow. But could they leave earlier if necessary? No. The call regarding Viktoria Mateev’s whereabouts had come in only a few hours before and the private plane from New Jersey to transport Gregory back to Russia wouldn’t be in Colorado yet. Now, with the storm, it was better that they wait.

Belkin added, “And tell them our departure is delayed by a day to day and a half.” He had enough sedatives to keep the kid quiet until they arrived in Moscow, even with the postponement.

The driver’s words drifted out of the SUV’s open door. “Bravo, this is Alpha, do you read?”

Belkin paused. Waited.

“Bravo,” said the driver again. “This is Alpha. Do you read?”

Belkin still thought that his plan to capture the child and kill the mother was flawless. Bribery and threats had been very effective in gaining the support of the smaller law enforcement agencies in the area. It was through one of those “strategic partners” he’d learned today that a private security firm hired by New York State authorities—under the impression that they were seeking a runaway abusive mother—had found Viktoria and Gregory hiding in a cabin less than an hour’s drive from Belkin’s rented house.

Cooperation. It was a beautiful thing.

Belkin had waited impatiently until dark before executing his plan. Team Alpha had grabbed the boy, and by now Team Bravo should have killed the mother.

Cold wind cut through his cashmere coat as he waited for a response. More than the money, or even Peter Belkin’s reputation, was on the line. Nikolai Mateev did not take disappointment well and if Belkin didn’t deliver Gregory to his grandfather by Christmas, then Belkin wouldn’t live to see the New Year.