Chill Factor (47 page)

"It would be damned inconvenient to my way of life if our
threesome
became a public scandal. And that's not the end of it. I wouldn't want
the feds, her folks, or anybody else to discover that one of
us—or
maybe even some other guy, who knows?—had knocked her up.

"Doesn't matter who it was, it was me she came to whining
about it
and claiming the kid was mine. I had the fattest checkbook, see. And
the most to lose if I didn't pay up. Scott doesn't even know about the
kid. Thank God, she lost it, on account of the anorexia, before she
could carry out her threat to bring it all out in the open. Scott, me,
her, the whole shebang."

"Jesus."

"Right. It would have been bad enough if word of this had got
out
last spring. But can you imagine how much shit would hit the fan if it
came to light now? Even if I escaped Ernie Gunns's wrath—and
he's
damned handy with a firearm—Scott and I would surge to the
top of the
FBI's list of suspects.

"We'd eventually be cleared, of course, but the damage would
be
done. It would ruin my marriage and my coaching career. No matter how
many district championships my teams win, the school board would frown
on me screwing a cheerleader."

"Millicent wasn't the first."

"Probably not the last either. I'm man enough to admit to my
weaknesses." He frowned with distaste. "But this one got out of hand.
Millicent was also Scott's girlfriend, she got pregnant and miscarried,
and she's missing. Which spells disturbing any way you look at it.
That's why I'm anxious to get this Blue case resolved and put an end to
all this nosy probing into poor little Millicent's life."

He paused to take a breath. "That's it, Dutch. That's my
vested
interest in this matter, beyond wanting to help out my oldest buddy and
best friend. Feel better now?"

Dutch shook his head and gave a sardonic laugh. "I should have
known
it was something involving your dick."

Wes spread his arms wide and flashed his most guileless grin.
"What
can I say?"

"I won't fool you, Wes, you had me scared."

He slapped Dutch on the shoulder. "Let's go get this bastard."

But when Dutch turned away to mount his snowmobile, Wes's
easygoing
grin collapsed.

Lilly wanted to scream with frustration when her cell phone
started
to ring for the second time. It had been left on the end table, within
sight but well out of reach. Tierney had made sure of that.

If Dutch had received her scanty message two nights ago, he
would be
frantic to reach her, knowing she'd spent all the time with Blue.

Or maybe it wasn't Dutch calling at all.

Maybe her call to him hadn't gone through and he'd never
received
her message. As she had said to Tierney last night, perhaps Dutch
thought she'd been safe at home in Atlanta for the past two days. She
had made it plain to him that their life together was over. If he had
taken her at her word this time, he would no longer be concerning
himself with her.

But when her cell phone began to ring for the third time, she
prayed
that it was Dutch, or someone, anyone, who would reach her before
Tierney returned.

Tierney's breathing was loud and labored. The vapor it formed
in
front of his face was sometimes dense enough to obscure his vision. His
heart seemed to have inflated to fill his entire rib cage.

He had resolved to ignore the sprain in his ankle, but in this
instance, mind-over-matter determination wasn't working. The ankle had
become weaker and more painful with every step. He could withstand the
pain only because he was running for his life.

The minute his name had gone out over the airwaves, he became
a
target. Every man, woman, and child in Cleary would be out for his
blood, and they wouldn't hesitate to defy the authority of the FBI to
get it. If Dutch Burton had received the message that Lilly was trapped
with him, he would be at the forefront of this bloodthirsty band.

That was why Tierney had stayed off Mountain Laurel Road and
was
keeping to the woods. If an armed search-and-rescue party from Cleary
was coming after Lilly—and Blue—the main road would
be the route they'd
take.

From yesterday's experience, he had known what to expect when
he set
out. But knowing how arduous it was going to be didn't make it any less
so. He had to move both speedily and carefully, and those two modes
were irreconcilable. He feared another injury, but he feared a
fire-breathing mob of sharpshooters even more.

Eventually he reached his first destination—the road
on the
mountain's western face. Relieved that he'd made it this far, he leaned
against a tree trunk and sucked in huge drafts of oxygen, even though
the air was so cold it hurt to take it in. He drank from the small
plastic bottle he'd filled with water before leaving the cabin.

He'd driven this road only once before. Knowing that it was
rarely
used because of its disrepair, and that it would be virtually
impassable now because of the accumulation of ice and snow, he figured
it highly unlikely that anyone would be on it today.

Another advantage was that it didn't intersect with Main
Street, as
the other road did. When he reached the end of this road at the foot of
the mountain, he would be several miles from the center of town and
less likely to be spotted before he could get someplace where he could
think about what to do next.

He removed his cell phone from his coat pocket. Although it
registered that he had service, his battery was dead. It had run down
during the two days he'd left the phone on. He couldn't make a call.
But since service had been restored, others could. That was to his
disadvantage.

Time to move.

He stepped out from the cover of the trees and onto the road.
The
going was rough, but nothing compared with the difficulty of trekking
through the woods. He ducked his head against the fierce wind that cut
through his inadequate clothing. The glare was so intense he had to
squint his eyes nearly shut in order to see at all. He concentrated on
nothing except placing one foot in front of the other. He could favor
neither his left nor his right side because both hurt equally.

He tried not to think about Lilly.

Doing so made him second-guess his decision to leave her
behind.

He'd had no choice, really. He couldn't have brought her along.

Goddammit, why had she ventured into the shed and looked
inside that
box? She—

He stopped in his tracks and paused to listen, hoping that his
ears
were deceiving him. Over the loud soughing of his own breath and the
howl of the wind, he picked up another sound. An approaching motorized
vehicle. A snowmobile? No, not just one. Two at least. Growing louder,
coming closer.

No, not closer.
Here
!

CHAPTER  31

THE ROTORS CREATED A CYCLONE OF SNOW AND ICE PELLETS
.
Out of it materialized a man dressed in a black Nomex tactical suit and
boots that looked like they meant business. Grit and Determination
could have been his middle names. He marched toward Begley and Wise,
who were standing on the Fighting Cougars' sideline at the thirty-yard
line.

"Good morning, sir," he said to Begley, shouting over the
helicopter's noise.

"Collier," Begley said, shaking hands with him.

Hoot knew Collier by reputation. He was a respected agent
who'd
undergone hostage rescue and tactical training at Quantico last year.
It was rumored he'd applied for the Critical Incident Response Group.
Only the best and baddest of the badasses got selected for the elite
CIRG.

"Do you know Agent Wise?"

"Only by sight."

Hoot's hand was clasped by one wearing a black leather
rap-pelling
glove with the fingers cut out to facilitate trigger pulling. It was
the closest Hoot had ever come to such an article of clothing.

"Special Agent Wise has maps and topographical charts of the
peak,"
Begley told him.

"Thanks, sir. We've brought our own, too."

"How many onboard?"

"Two men from my team plus the pilot. He's one of ours."

The Bell helicopter belonged to the Charlotte PD. They'd used
it
before, and Begley liked it. It was fast, maneuverable, safe. He knew
it was a seven-place chopper, counting the pilot. He did the math. If
they picked up Lilly Martin and Tierney, there wouldn't be enough space
for everyone on the return trip. Somebody would be left for later
pickup. But it would be such a short trip, he didn't see a problem with
that.

Collier said, "I understand the mission is to pick up a female
civilian and one hostile?"

"We don't know that he's a hostile. Right now this is a rescue
mission only. We'll see what happens when we get there."

"We?"

"Hoot and I are going."

"No need, sir. We can communicate—"

"Negative," Begley said even before he'd finished. "We're
going."

Everyone in the bureau knew you didn't argue with an SAC, who
would
assume jurisdiction and command, requisition helicopters and recruit
assistance from other agencies, and do whatever was necessary to
complete a mission successfully and safely, answering only to
headquarters if it failed.

Collier looked at their overcoats and dress loafers. "We
didn't
bring any extra gear."

"We'll go as we are."

"It's freezing, sir."

"And we're wasting time." Begley fixed him with a nutcracker,
and
Collier, for all his badassness, caved.

"Right, sir, but be aware. These wind currents are tricky.
It's
gonna be a bumpy ride."

"Thanks for the warning." Sidestepping Collier, Begley strode
toward
the helicopter. Hoot and Collier followed at a trot. Collier glanced
over at Hoot, sizing him up and obviously finding him lacking. "I
didn't know you'd had any training."

"For what?"

"This kind of mission."

"I haven't."

Hoot could lip-read the profanity that slipped past Collier's
frown.
Having an untrained man at his back was the quickest way for a SWAT
officer to die in the performance of his duty. "None?"

Hoot shook his head.

"Then stay out of our way, and don't fuck up."

"I don't plan to."

"You scared?"

"Shitless," Hoot shouted as he ducked under the whirling
blades. "Of
Begley."

Wes stopped again. Dutch, riding close on his tail, almost rear-ended
him. "What the hell, Wes?"

"I saw something. Up ahead. Dodging into the trees."

Dutch scanned the forest. "Are you sure?"

"Through there." Wes pointed.

"A deer maybe?"

"Not unless it was a two-legged one. It was a man, Dutch. I'm
sure
of it. Just as I rounded the bend, I saw him disappear into the trees.
Left of that boulder. Do you think it's Tierney?"

"Show me the spot."

They guided the snowmobiles toward the boulder. It had a
frozen
waterfall coming over the top of it. "I was right," Wes said, pointing.

The footprints in the deep snow followed the road as far as
the next
switchback before disappearing around the bend. Here, they veered
sharply into the woods, as though whoever had made the tracks had heard
their approach and immediately sought cover in the trees.

"It's got to be Tierney," Wes said, his breath gusting with
excitement. "Who else could it be?"

Dutch was prone to agree. Simultaneously they cut the engines
and
climbed off the snowmobiles. They began removing their rifles from the
soft-sided gun cases they'd been carrying on their backs. Although he'd
checked his weapon thoroughly before they left, Dutch checked it again.
It was loaded. Ready. Wes was going about the same procedure, executing
it like the skilled hunter he was.

Dutch also checked his nine-millimeter pistol and chambered a
bullet.

There was no doubt in his mind now that Tierney was their
culprit.
Wes had explained his personal interest in Millicent's disappearance
case. Dutch really had never believed Scott capable of committing a
felony. He suspected the boy, despite his brawn, was too gutless and
insecure to pull off any crime, much less five kidnaps. All the same,
Wes's explanation had relieved Dutch of any apprehension. Tierney was
their man.

If not, why had he run into the woods just now? He'd been
marooned
for two days. His resources would have been limited, and he was
supposedly injured. Shouldn't he be running
toward
them,
flagging them down, glad to see them, grateful that help had at last
arrived? Why would he be avoiding rescue unless rescue also signified
capture?

Dutch was ready. He turned on the transmitter of the two-way
radio.
"Have yours handy in case we lose each other in there."

Wes patted down his pockets, then looked at Dutch with
consternation.

"What?"

"I think I left the thing."

"You're kidding."

Wes took off his gloves and slapped his bare hands against all
his
pockets. "I must've set it down, either at Ritt's house or in the
garage. I remember trying out the volume dial right after you gave it
to me. After that—"

"Doesn't matter. Let's go."

Wes went first, stepping off the road and scrambling up the
steep
embankment. Using the ice-covered boulder for support, he turned to
give Dutch a hand up. Tierney's trail was clearly marked in the deep
snow. Wes said, "He's not even trying to hide his tracks."

"He couldn't if he wanted to." Dutch looked at Wes and, for
the
first time in days, smiled. "Are we lucky, or what?"

They had the advantage of being fresh. Tierney was aware of
this and
redoubled his efforts to keep well ahead of them. He'd left the cabin
over two hours ago. Except for that one brief rest, he'd been hiking in
the worst possible conditions and was battling profound fatigue.