AWOL with the Operative (9 page)

If she has to be in your thoughts, then try to make them a little more pure. Things like how much you’ve come to admire her spirit and her endurance.

It was true. He did admire those qualities in her. Thing was, he couldn’t seem to separate those qualities from her looks, and that was a direction that meant trouble.

He should turn his mind to something useful. Like how he was going to get them out of this mess. It would help if he could only get his memory back.

He’d made a little more progress with that tonight while evading his pursuers. He’d pictured himself in that place again where the paintings were. This time he had realized that something very bad happened there, but he had yet to know what. He’d also recalled that other room with its view of a city street. Could now identify it as the living room of his apartment in Chicago.

But there had been nothing else. He’d have to keep working on it until he regained his full memory. Only then would he know the information his squad supervisor must have shared with him before he’d sent him off to the Yukon. Things like why Eve was so important to this Victor DeMarco character.

As it was, Sam had nothing to rely on but what Eve had told him. That she didn’t know why DeMarco wanted her either dead or captured. He had no reason to believe she hadn’t been telling him the truth.

If those two goons of DeMarco’s had been trying to shoot their plane down, he could only surmise they’d wanted to kill Eve, as they’d allegedly killed Charlie Fowler. But Sam couldn’t be sure of that.

He recalled what else Eve had told him. That their plane had dived into a cloud cover to lose the helicopter. Which meant their enemy wouldn’t have known what happened to them after that. Sam could only guess they had heard afterwards that a bush plane didn’t arrive in Calgary as scheduled and was presumed to be down somewhere in the wilderness with possible survivors.

One of those survivors could be Eve Warren, and that was all DeMarco’s boys needed to put them hot on Eve’s trail.

And that means you’d better stop worrying over what you can do nothing about tonight and get some sleep.

Oh, yeah, he would have to be rested for tomorrow. Because he was going to need all his resources if he were to have any chance of getting Eve safely away from the threat to her. And considering how much she was beginning to matter to him, that was imperative.

Chapter 4

T
he first gray light of daybreak was filtering through the pines when Eve awoke with a start. What was she doing out here in the open like this? For a few seconds she was too disoriented to understand, and then she remembered. She and Sam were on the run.

Her memory of the last two days’ events, however, didn’t explain what had so sharply awakened her. Danger? Their two armed pursuers creeping up on them?

Her body tensed when she heard a cry off through the trees. When it sounded again, she realized what it was. Nothing more than the call of a jay. Eve relaxed when the jay’s mate shrilled an answer, convincing her it was the two birds that had roused her.

Turning her head, she found herself nose to nose with Sam. The jays hadn’t disturbed him. His eyes were still closed. She knew she should wake him, that they needed to be on the move. But she couldn’t resist stealing a moment to examine his face.

She liked what she saw under that thatch of tousled hair. The curve of the sensual mouth that had kissed her so robustly last night, robbing her of all reason. The strong, chiseled features at peace in sleep.

All so different from the hard face of the Sam McDonough before his amnesia. That Sam, even when he was still, had been like an idling engine, restless, ready to roar. But the face of this Sam, although as rugged as before his memory loss, was somehow fresh, as if he had been born all over again.

You’ve got to stop this before it’s too late.

Where on earth was her self-restraint? But she knew the answer to that, didn’t she? Sam McDonough had destroyed it.

The raucous cries of the jays hadn’t awakened him, but her long sigh of appreciation must have. Those smoldering, brown eyes, with a suggestion of humor in them, were suddenly looking into hers. It was a wonderful moment of silent connection, conveying— What?

Never mind. This wasn’t a time for probing minds—either his or her own. Sam must have understood that, too, when he stirred from their bed of pine needles, helping her to her feet.

“You ready to head out?” he asked her as they bundled into their coats.

She would have been, if only she had something to eat first. But there was no food. She realized he must be as hungry as she was, but he didn’t complain about it. Nor would she, not when he was measuring her with a concerned look on his face. Probably wondering whether she had enough stamina for what could be another arduous trek.

“I am,” she assured him brightly, “except for one thing.”

“What would that be?”

“Which way do we go?”

“South again,” he said without hesitation.

He seemed so certain of the direction that she felt he must have a good reason for his choice. But before she could ask him about it, he struck out ahead of her through the pines. She hurried to reach him.

She didn’t try to talk to him after that, saving her wind for the pace he set to get them out of the area as quickly as possible. There was another reason for her silence. She figured that Sam was listening intently for any sound that might tell him their two friends were tracking them again. Eve was also alert for any sign of trouble, but there was no evidence of renewed pursuit. Yet.

The dense cover of pines thinned after another mile or so, becoming a mix of conifers and leafless hardwoods. They could see the sky clearly now. No sun this morning. It was overcast, threatening snowfall again. Being more in the open like this, they were vulnerable to the rifle power of the enemy. There was one advantage to this openness, though. Sufficient snow on the ground to satisfy their thirst, even if that same snow did leave a trail of their bootprints.

Eve didn’t expect to welcome another snowfall, but that’s just what she did when the first flakes began to drift down, obliterating their tracks behind them. Gentle though those flakes were in the beginning, they did, in time, make the going tougher.

She knew she should be concentrating on nothing but putting one foot in front of the other and not wasting her energy on anything else. But her mind couldn’t seem to obey that order. She found it dwelling on all her emotions, stemming from what she and Sam had shared last night. Did it have any significance at all for the future? Or had it been just two people reaching out to each other in desperate circumstances? Something that was certain to evaporate when his memory returned?

“Thank God,” she whispered under her breath when Sam finally called for a rest break.

They sheltered under a huge spruce, seating themselves side by side on a log. Eve felt she was free to speak now.

“I’m not foolish enough to celebrate, but is it possible we’ve lost our friends?”

“We’ve managed to shake them for now, but they’re out there somewhere.”

“Any theories on that?”

He shrugged. “Maybe just waiting for the snow to clear so they can try finding us again in the chopper. They certainly can’t take to the air in this weather.”

Eve had another question for him. “Is it my imagination, or has the land been sloping gradually downward? Not that I’m objecting, mind you. Down is certainly better than up.”

“You’re not imagining it. I noticed it last night when I managed to outrun the goons on our tail. I’m thinking we’ve entered a drainage area.”

“Which means?”

“That there’s a stream ahead of us. And if there is, it’s bound to lead somewhere. Like a settlement of some kind on a riverbank.”

“Ah, that’s why you chose this direction.”

“Hopefully, it’s there and within our reach.”

If we don’t perish first from hunger and cold,
she thought, but she didn’t put that into words. She noticed he was looking at her and that he had a big, goofy grin on his face. “What?”

“Hate to tell you, angel, but your nose is running.”

She would have resented any other man calling her
angel
like this all the time, but from Sam it felt good.

“Oh, great—just what a woman wants to hear. That her nose is leaking.” She opened her shoulder bag and began to search through its contents. “I know I have tissues in here somewhere, but wouldn’t you know I can’t find one when I need it.”

“Maybe Ken Redfeather carried a supply.” His hands began to grope through the pockets of the coat he had inherited from their pilot. He was digging into a breast pocket when she noticed a strange look cross his face.

“Something wrong?”

“Uh, no. Sorry, there don’t seem to be any tissues in the coat.”

“It’s all right. I’ve found my package of them.”

It was true he hadn’t located any tissues in the pilot’s coat. But what he had discovered buried in the depths of that breast pocket had been far more interesting, he thought as they continued on their way. And potentially useful. He hoped.

It would have been just a bit too obvious if he’d gone and withdrawn any of those foil-wrapped packets. Not that Sam had needed to do that, anyway. His fingers were familiar enough with the product to tell him exactly what they were. Condoms.

Ol’ Ken Redfeather, he decided with a private little chuckle, must have been planning a good time for himself after he delivered them to their destination. For all Sam knew, the pilot had had a girlfriend waiting for him down in Calgary. Too bad that connection would never happen now.

Sad really, and not something he should be chuckling about. Especially when he had so much else to occupy his attention. The weather, in particular. Not only was it snowing harder with a rising wind, but the temperature had plummeted to a frigid level. He was worried about Eve.

“How are you doing?” he asked her.

“Managing. But a pair of skis would make the going a lot easier. The downhill variety.”

She was right. They were currently descending a long hill, where the snow was building so rapidly that plowing through it was increasingly difficult.

The hill sparked another memory for him, this time from his boyhood. He could see himself sledding down just such a hill and out across a frozen pond. Somewhere in rural Michigan, he thought. He must have been raised in Michigan.

He hoped for other breakthroughs to follow that one, but none occurred. He’d just have to be patient and wait for them.

“Is it only in the desert that you see a mirage?” she wondered, peering ahead of them through the falling curtain of white. “Or is it possible to see one in a snowstorm?”

“I wouldn’t know. Why?”

“Because it’s either a mirage I’m seeing down there, or it’s that stream you promised me.”

Sam could see it now, too, below them. The stream that proved his faith in the existence of one. It wasn’t a mirage either, but a reality. From what he could tell in the driving snow when they reached its bank, it was a narrow, winding river, its solidly frozen waters offering them an open highway through the wilderness.

“Which way?” Eve asked him.

“To the left. And don’t ask me why. It just feels to me like that’s downstream, and downstream seems better than upstream.”

“Well, you’ve been right so far, so let’s do it.”

She sounded enthusiastic enough about his decision, but Sam’s concern about her deepened with the snow as they followed the river. He could see she was growing tired. He needed to find a refuge for them, one that provided food. But there was no sign of any habitation, nothing but the endless, unbroken forest on either side.

In one way the river was in their favor. Except for occasional drifts, around which they were either able to detour or had no choice but to wallow through, the wind had swept the ice clean of such obstacles. But that same wind punished them with a biting cold.

Hell, why not call it what it was? A genuine, freaking blizzard. At least there was no helicopter diving down on them. Not in this stuff. But there was Eve and his fears for her. She was struggling along bravely at his side. But her progress was an uncertain one, requiring his steadying hand whenever she stumbled, which was happening more frequently as they advanced.

There was something else Sam didn’t like. Instead of saving her breath, she began to talk. And of all things, considering they had eaten nothing since yesterday, what she talked about was food.

“Do you like bread pudding, Sam?” She gave him no chance to respond. “The secret ingredient for my bread pudding is molasses. It’s no secret down in Louisiana. Molasses bread pudding is a very popular dessert in Louisiana.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh, yes. I know a lot about Louisiana cooking. I hope one day to operate my own restaurant featuring Louisiana dishes. Not the trendy Creole and Cajun fare, but genuine down-home cooking. I think the Midwest could use a restaurant like that, don’t you?”

“What happened to being a senior editor of a magazine?”