Cherry Adair - T-flac 06 (32 page)

The guy had slowed here. Derek turned around to see what the sniper had seen. A good view of the river with the moon so bright. He'd stood here. Watched Lily go in. But had he seen her climb out? Had
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he seen Derek's arrival?

He read the position of the man's booted feet. The guy hadn't stayed long. Long enough to gloat perhaps, but maybe not long enough to make sure his shots had been successful.

The snow up here was calf deep, which made it heavy going. Derek paused as a wisp of sound reached him. A coughing engine? Yeah.

Got ya!

He closed his eyes to pinpoint the sound in the thin mountain air, then changed direction slightly and headed north. The stupid son of a bitch was flooding the engine of the snowmobile. With any luck at all the idiot was going to strand himself and become an all too easy target.

The sat phone vibrated against his chest. Damn. "What?"

"Love talking to you. You're always so cheery," Dare said in his ear.

"Make it fast," Derek said, sprinting through the trees, following the footprints in the snow. "I'm hunting."

"Ash made contact. Your bull-sperm bad guys are all in custody," Darius informed him, cutting to the chase. He rattled off half a dozen names Derek was familiar with; a couple of them were hands Sean had brought in when Derek had been away on one of his trips. And Barry Campbell, their lawyer. Figured.

"Oh, yeah. And your stalker is one Clay Barber," Dare said. "Tell him hello when you see him. I'll send the garbage detail out to pick up the body."

The line went dead. "Thanks," Derek said dryly to dead air. He disconnected, pausing to listen for the faint bass hum of the engine, then started running again. Like Sam Croft, Barber was an employee, although Derek couldn't bring the man's face to mind. Between the two ranches, hundreds of people worked for him.

He ran the next mile guided by the sound of the coughing engine. Easier going under the trees, where the snow wasn't as thick, and the rocky ground made traction better. Cresting the hill, he saw a man bent over a vehicle, his back to him. Derek rested the rifle against a tree trunk and stealthily made his way down to where the guy, who was swearing a blue streak, tinkered with the engine of the Polaris.

The other man didn't know he wasn't alone until Derek had one arm jerked around his throat, and Derek's weapon in the small of the coward's back. "What the fu—"

Derek dug the barrel of the Baer combat pistol into the guy's spine and tightened his arm around his throat to cut off any other attempts at speech. "Barber."

Clay pulled at Derek's arm, and found enough air to gasp, "Hey, man. Am I glad to see y—Fuckit, Wright." He forced a laugh and shook his head, holding both hands up, palms out. "You oughta calm down, man."

Derek was in no mood for this. "Cut the crap. I know you're the one who tried to kill Dr. Munroe."

"Kill? No fucking way, man."

"How much they pay you to off Dr. Munroe?" He pressed the barrel of the Baer hard against the
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mastoid process behind Barber's ear, and applied upward and inward pressure.

"Ten grand," Barber said quickly.

"You think ten grand's worth dying for?" he asked conversationally as Barber struggled in his hold. "Just for the record, you didn't succeed." Derek tightened his forearm against Clay's throat again.

"Fuck. You're choking me. Le' go."

Spreading his feet, Derek tightened his grip and jerked Barber off balance. "In your dreams, asshole," he hissed into the younger man's ear. Smelling the guy's anger. Smelling the stink of bloodlust. Derek leveled the pistol at the larger man's head.

"I'm not the one about to die, dickhead." Surprisingly light on his feet, Barber spun around and ducked under Derek's arm. Derek gave him a hard chop to the back of the neck. Barber laughed as he danced away.

He turned and charged Derek, head down. The man was unarmed, and as much as Derek craved shooting the bastard point-blank, that wasn't his way. He waited until the man was close enough then swung his fist in and up, nailing Barber in the solar plexus and dropping him like Shamu diving into his pool.

Barber doubled over, staggered, then straightened with blood in his eye. "I should've killed you first."

"You should've tried." Good, Derek thought, widening his stance as Barber started dancing from foot to foot in a half circle around him. Shooting the son of a bitch would save time. But, Jesus, he
wanted
a fight. Mano a mano. He hoped the guy was good and fought dirty.

"You took how many shots at Lily?" he taunted. "And not one hit? Tsk, tsk. You're one piss-poor sniper, Barber." Derek watched the man's narrowed eyes. "Hope you're better with your fists than a gun.

I'm in the mood for a little exercise." Derek wiggled his gloved fingers in a come-and-get-it taunt.

Barber came up swinging, as enraged as a drunken sailor. Derek jerked his head back a split second before Barber's meaty knuckles connected.

He was strong.

Perfect.

"I know you work for the cartel selling the bogus sperm, so don't bother shitting me. Who's next up the food chain? Who's paying you? Give me a name." Just in case anyone had been missed in the sweep.

"Fuck you."

"Wrong answer." Derek spun him around and delivered a powerful uppercut to the chin. Barber staggered backward, eyes wild. "We have all your associates in custody," Derek told him grimly, grabbing him by his jacket front. "You might as well give it up."

The man wiped blood off his mouth with the back of his gloved hand, his expression murderous. "Fuck you." He put his head down and charged again. With a derisive snort Derek stepped aside. The other man staggered past him yelling obscenities, his arms windmilling for balance.

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Blood pumped hard as adrenaline rushed through Derek's veins. He spread his feet in a defensive stance as Barber turned. Every cell in his body
screamed
to beat the bastard until he was just a bloody mark on the snow.

Shooting him would be too damn easy. Instead of putting a bullet in him, he'd rather pull the son of a bitch's balls out through his nose for what he'd done to Lily. Derek tucked the Baer back into the shoulder holster as Barber charged again, shoulder down.

They came together like two bulls locking horns in a fight for supremacy. Equal strength. Equal desire to be the last man standing. Equal adrenaline rush with no place to go.

Screaming like an animal, Barber staggered back, arms flailing. Derek used his own momentum and jerked him by the arm, then swung him in a half circle and shot out a kick, hard, to Barber's mid-section.

The man grunted; air pushed out of his lungs with a great
whoosh
. He crawled to his hands and knees, gasping for breath.

Derek waited until he staggered to his feet, then dropped him again using a snapping karate side kick to Barber's knee. Barber howled with pain, but this time he only staggered, then came at Derek full tilt, again screaming obscenities.

Derek did a half side step and tried to twist his body, but Barber's thick head hit between belly and rib and they both crashed to the ground. The younger man on top, Barber straddled Derek, pummeling whatever he could reach. Derek jackknifed, got a booted foot wedged securely against Barber's kidneys and thumped him with his heel. Barber screamed and twisted around. Derek rolled, taking the younger man with him. Sweat flew like confetti as they matched punch for punch, both panting, gasping for air as they rolled, beating the crap out of each other as they went.

"I should've offed you first," Barber gasped, face red.

"You could've tried." They circled each other, a macabre duet. While the wind howled through the treetops, their breath came hard and fast, then frosted in the icy air.

Locking his gaze with Derek's, Barber reached down and pulled a Tarpon Bay hunting knife from a sheath on his left thigh.

Derek smiled, all teeth, already tossing his KaBar from hand to hand. "Your weapon of choice, is it?"

Derek asked dangerously, remembering Croft's injuries and the relish with which they'd been inflicted.

"Slice and dice, asshole. Slice and dice. I'm gonna have me a little fun with you, and when I'm done, I'm gonna go find me a pretty lady doctor to play with."

Derek keep his feet moving, his right arm relaxed, as he cut and thrust, cut and thrust. Barber did the same. They circled, clearing a ring in the snow at their feet.

"Look around you, asshole. This will be your last sight. Me with this knife in your gut," Derek told him, feeling a familiar eerie calm settle over him as he feinted and parried.

To the death.

Only one man could leave this hilltop alive. And it had to be him. Anything else was unthinkable. Barber
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would never get another chance to be within a thousand miles of Lily.

There were three major target groups in a knife fight: muscles and nerves, blood vessels and vital organs.

Severing the muscles and nerves would disable Barber's limbs. Eventually. Severing blood vessels and vital organs would ultimately cause death, the last deterrent for any attacker.

Barber did a high thrust and his knife skimmed Derek's throat. First blood. Derek shot out his left arm and closed his fingers around Barber's thick neck. His reach was only marginally longer than the younger man's, and he kept his arm extended as Barber danced around cursing as Derek squeezed.

"Fuck you, Wright. Fuck you."

"You have a limited vocabulary. I'd love to send you to prison to get a higher education, but time's a wasting and I have to book."

Clay gave him a narrow-eyed look. "You think you're gonna leave me here?"

No. Darius will send a garbage detail. Eventually
. "It's a straight shot to McGrath—only about a hundred fifty miles. Better start walking."

Barber came at him with a front kick, which Derek blocked with an X block. He grabbed Barber's leg behind the ankle and pulled it to one side, then delivered a quick, sharp groin kick with his knee that had the younger man doubled over and shrieking like a girl.

"Fuck you." Barber ran, half crouched to protect his balls, heading toward the snowmobile, where the rifle's butt end jutted up from a scabbard. Derek ran and did a low tackle. Their bodies hit the side of the snowmobile with a loud
thunk
, Derek on top. Move, block, strike. Strike again. Blood poured from Barber's nose. He heaved upward, lunging to his feet, staggering, sweat and blood pouring down his face. Derek rolled out of the way of Barber's size-thirteen boot as it slammed down inches from his head.

Barber turned, his sniper rifle in his hands.

"Like I said, fuck you, Wright."

"No." Derek threw the KaBar in a gleaming arc. Seven inches of partially serrated, tool steel, clip point blade with epoxy coat and blood groove sank into Barber's throat right up to its carbon steel guard.

"Fuck you."

Lily heard the throb of a snowmobile approaching through the tree line above camp. Grabbing her rifle, she climbed the small outcropping of rocks and laid down flat to watch its approach. Just be-cause she wasn't planning on shooting the next pair of eye whites she spied didn't mean she wasn't ready.

Lifting the rifle to her shoulder, she peered through the scope crosshairs for a better look. Damn it. The glass was shattered. Must've happened in the fall.

She watched the dark speck get larger and larger as the vehicle approached, weaving expertly through the swaying trees. Snow flurries made visibility difficult. Now she saw him. Now she didn't. Frustrating.

Maddening.

Friend?

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Foe?

It was barely dawn. Possible, but unlikely the rider was part of the Iditarod's auxiliary volunteer team. If it
was
one of the crew, he'd be on the marked trail, not high up above the tree line. Besides, no one would be traveling between checkpoints at this time of the morning. He'd be there already.

No. This wasn't anyone involved with the race.

The question was, was this the shooter, or someone else? She flattened herself on the rock to wait until he was closer.

Where the hell was Lily? Derek thought as he came down the hill on the Polaris and saw the camp up ahead. The fire glowed against the shadowy gray of densely falling snow. Tent down. Dogs agitated and barking. His eyes scanned the area. No sign of her. He suddenly realized the head mic was stuffed in his pocket. Damn. Not smart. By the time he got the thing out and installed it in his ear, he'd be in camp.

Had the bastard had yet another accomplice? He shifted the throttle and aimed for the center of the clearing, his brain filled with images too hideous to imagine.

Hurry. Hurry. Hurry.

The dogs were barking like crazy. Lily watched the snowmobile approach, heart in her mouth. It crested the hill and made straight for camp without slowing down. Lifting the rifle, she tried to take a shot. Just a little warning, which Derek, wherever he was, would hear.

The rifle snicked.

Oh, hell. Jammed.

With relief, Derek saw Lily perched on the rocks above camp. Clever girl. If she wasn't sure of his identity she would've fired off at least a warning shot. But she waved the rifle to acknowledge him. Thank God, she was okay. He lifted his arm in a wave, bounced on a knoll, and had to grip the bars with both hands and concentrate on slowing the vehicle down.

As the snowmobile whizzed closer, Lily tried to see the face of the man rapidly approaching. She couldn't identify him. The coat he wore was similar to those worn by dozens of the men on the trail, including Derek. His face was covered by a hat, goggles and scarf.

Suddenly he was too close for a warning shot anyway.