Dangerous to Know (33 page)

“That's not quite what I had in mind,” she drawled.

“So tell me.”

“We have to assume they'll lock on to our signal when we contact Jaguar, right?”

“Right.”

“So instead of trying to evade them while we wait for the extraction team to arrive, we let them find us. Or think they have. We draw them in and pin them down until the team gets here.”

Thankfully, Adam didn't point out the obvious. He knew as
well as Maggie that they didn't have enough firepower to keep attackers armed with automatic weapons and night-vision equipment pinned down. Which meant they had to use the terrain to their maximum advantage. And use their wits.

“We can do it, Adam.”

“We can try it,” he said slowly, reluctantly.

Yes! Maggie wanted to shout her relief, but one look at his face warned her he was not happy about this. At all. Wisely she kept silent while he scanned the darkening horizon.

“That ridge won't work. We'd lose them in the rocks and boulders.”

“We'd better head down to lower ground.” Shoving her hands in her pockets, she turned to scan the steep slope. “What we need is a canyon or crevice of some kind.”

 

What they found was a shack.

Or rather Radizwell found it.

Maggie and Adam had only gone a few yards down the slope, angling through the trees to avoid detection and make the descent easier, when the komondor decided they were heading in the wrong direction. He stopped, and a low whine alerted Adam to the fact that the animal wasn't following.

“Come on, boy. Come on.”

The dog backed up a few steps, rumbling a low sound deep in his throat.

“Heel!”

Even Radizwell recognized the voice of authority. Belly to the ground, he slunk across the snow, whining pitifully all the way.

Adam's dark brows slashed together. “What? What are you trying to tell us?”

Taking courage from the more moderate tone, the shaggy beast leaped up and bounded down the slope a few feet in the opposite direction. He skidded to a halt in the snow, turned back to face them, then let loose with a deep, rolling thunderclap bark.

“Good grief!” Maggie exclaimed. “Who needs a satellite
transmission? Anyone within a five-mile radius can lock on to that.”

It was an exaggeration, but only a slight one.

Adam quieted the animal with a slicing gesture of command. Radizwell snapped his jaws shut and plopped back on his massive haunches, as if sitting at attention.

“Obviously he wants us to follow him,” Adam commented. “Since he appears to know these mountains better than we do, I suggest we see where he leads us.”

He led them on what Maggie suspected was a merry chase. The moment he saw them start in his direction, Radizwell whirled and raced down the slope at a steep angle. He dodged around trees and over snow-covered fallen logs with surprising agility. Just before they lost sight of him completely, he skidded to a halt and waited for them to catch up.

When they were almost up with him, he jumped up and took off again. After the third or fourth relay, Maggie was huffing from the exertion and Adam's breath was coming in short, sharp pants. The sun had slipped behind the peaks now, and the shadows had deepened to long purple streaks across the tree-covered hillside. Overhead, a few early stars glowed in an indigo sky. Maggie caught a glimpse of a pale moon floating between the tips of the pines.

Although it was difficult to judge distance with their visibility obscured by the towering trees, an occasional clearing gave them some idea of progress. Maggie guessed they were three-quarters of the way down the slope when she had to stop to catch her breath. The dog padded back, not even winded.

She eyed him with mounting suspicion. “You don't suppose…this is his way…of getting back at me, do you?”

Adam propped a foot up on a half-submerged boulder. Leaning an elbow across his knee, he drew in several long breaths. “For what?”

“For scarfing…up all the biscuits…and bacon.”

“Could be.”

Maggie groaned. “I knew it!”

“Come on. Let's keep moving. We're almost at the bottom of the slope.”

 

The ground began to level out a little while later. To Maggie's relief, the trees thinned, then ended abruptly. A few more steps brought them to the edge of a flat expanse of snow, about the width of a football field and twice as long. A narrow, ice-encrusted stream cut a crooked path across the field, dividing it almost in half. On the far side of the field, tree-studded slopes rose to touch the dark sky.

As soon as he saw the open space, Radizwell charged forward. Just in time, Adam grabbed a fistful of his ropy fur and hauled him back. The dog growled a low protest, but stood beside Adam while he and Maggie surveyed the still, flat area.

“It's an alpine meadow,” Adam murmured after a moment. “I would imagine some of Taylor's sheep graze here in the summer. Which means…”

He glanced down at the sheepdog at his side.

“Is there a shelter here, boy? A shepherd's hut? Is that where you're taking us?”

Maggie hunched her shoulders and huddled closer to Adam. Excitement shot through her.

“That would work. A hut would work. It would make a perfect trap.”

“I'm only guessing there's anything here at all, Maggie.”

“It's a good guess. Radizwell brought us here for a reason. Besides, my feet are freezing and we're both sweating. Before we set our trap, we should dry off and thaw out. Or thaw out and dry off.”

She jerked her chin toward the eager animal. “Let him go. Let's see where he heads.”

He headed straight across the meadow toward the trees on the other side. His white coat made him difficult to follow against the sea of snow. Maggie squinted, watching carefully to track the shadow flying with astounding speed across the open space. For a big, klutzy-looking guy, the Hungarian could sure move.

Weapon drawn, she crouched beside Adam in the shelter of
a dead pine and watched the dog's unerring progress. On the far side of the open space, Radizwell skidded to a stop, just short of the tree line. Lining up on a dark patch among the trees, he gave a deep, basso profundo bark.

The sound echoed from the surrounding peaks and rolled back at them. Maggie stayed absolutely still beside Adam's rigid form. Nothing moved on the other side of the meadow. No one answered Radizwell's call.

“Do you see anything?” she hissed.

“No.”

They waited a while longer. The komondor padded back and forth in front of the dark tree line, then stretched out in the snow. He laid his head down on his paws, waiting.

A snicker of metal brought her head jerking around. Moonlight gleamed on the blue steel of the weapon in Adam's hand.

“Here, take my weapon.”

“Why? What are you—?”

He grabbed her derringer and slapped the heavier, more powerful pistol into her hand.

“Cover me!”

“No! Adam, wait!”

It was Maggie's nightmare scene from this morning in reverse. This time it was Adam who plowed across an open, unprotected space and Maggie who dropped to one knee, weapon raised.

Her heart crashed against her ribs as she watched his progress, and the acrid taste of fear rose in her throat. At any moment, she expected to hear gunfire shatter the stillness. To see Adam's body jackknife through the air.

When he made it to the tree line on the far side, she almost sobbed in relief. Then reaction set in. By the time he returned, Radizwell plunging in circles at his side, she was so furious she was ready to shoot him herself.

M
aggie stormed through the ankle-high snow, the P7 gripped in her gloved hand.

“Don't ever do that to me again!”

Her vehemence sent Adam's brows winging. “Do what?”

“Go charging off like that! Without coordinating with me first!”

“The way you did this morning at the lake, you mean?”

In the face of that piece of calm logic, Maggie fell back on an age-old, irrefutable argument. “That was different!”

“Of course.”

She stomped up to him, still furious. “Listen to me, Thunder. I love you. I do
not
want you dead. I do
not
want to see your body splattered across a snowy field. I have
plans
for that body!”

Evidently the dog did
not
like the threatening tone she directed toward Adam. With a deep warning growl, he placed himself between Maggie and his good buddy.

She glared at the huge lump of uncombed wool, then at the man surveying her with a cool glint in his eyes. The intensity
of her fury surprised Maggie herself. In a back corner of her mind, she realized she'd just had a taste of what Adam must have gone through all these years as OMEGA's director. It was a hell of a lot harder to stand back and watch someone you loved run headlong toward danger and possible death than to make the charge yourself. For the first time, she understood his icy anger during the debriefs after some of her more…adventurous missions. Still, she wasn't quite ready to forgive him for the fear that had twisted through her body like barbed wire.

Adam handed her the derringer and took the P7 in exchange. “Remind me to ask about these plans of yours when we get out of here.”

“They'll probably change—several times—before then,” she muttered.

“I wouldn't be surprised. Mine are changing by the minute. Would you like to know what I found under the trees?”

She checked the safety on the .22 and shoved it into her pants pocket. “Yes.”

“A small shack, just as we guessed.”

“Good.”

“Well stocked with blankets and fuel.”

Maggie stomped over to pick up their small bundle of gear. “Good.”

“And food,” he added with a small smile.

She swung around. “Food?”

“I thought that might get your attention.”

“What kind of food?”

“There's a whole metal locker full of canned goods. Pork and beans. Beef stew. Chicken and dumplings.”

“Chicken and dumplings, huh?”

Adam's smile edged into one of his rare grins. It lifted his fine, chiseled mouth and crinkled the skin at the corners of his eyes. The last of Maggie's uncharacteristic anger melted as he stepped forward and brushed a knuckle down her cheek.

“I can see that one of my main tasks in the future will be keeping your stomach full.”

“Among other things.”

“First things first. Come on. Let's get you fed.”

Hunching her shoulders, Maggie plowed through the snow beside him.

 

The shack was small and airless and dark. While Adam kept watch outside, Maggie explored its single room cautiously. She didn't dare use the matches she found in a waterproof tin container to light the oil lamp left on the single table, but then, she didn't really need to.

Adam left the door cracked just enough to let in a sliver of moonlight and allow him a clear view of the open meadow.

“The food and other supplies are in the metal locker in the corner,” he told her.

When she opened the locker, the first items Maggie reached for were musty, folded blankets. Passing one to Adam, she pulled another one out for her own use and tossed it on the narrow cot built into one wall. Then she stacked half a dozen cans on the table and rooted for a can opener. She could open the cans without one, but she'd rather not trudge out in the snow to find a sharpened stick if she didn't have to. Luckily, the middle shelf yielded an old-fashioned, rusted opener and several large spoons.

As hungry as she was, Maggie was too well trained to attack the food without taking care of other, more urgent needs first. Perching on the narrow cot, she tugged off her boots. Her lightweight waterproof footgear had keep most of the moisture out, but her toes were numb with cold, and she didn't want to risk frostbite.

While she massaged warmth into her stockinged feet, Radizwell made himself right at home. He took a couple of circuits of the small room, sniffing out scents left by various visitors since the last time he'd been there. When he poked his nose into a stack of long-handled tools in one corner, sudden mayhem erupted. His stub of a tail shot straight up, he let loose with a woof that made Maggie jump clear off the cot, and a half-dozen tiny furry creatures darted out from among the tools. Squeaking
and squealing, they scattered in all directions, with Radizwell pouncing joyfully after them. His resounding barks bounced off the hut's walls.

“For God's sake, shut him up!” Adam ordered from his post at the door.

“Right. Shut him up.”

Maggie planted herself in the middle of the shack to wait for the dog's next pass and jumped half out of her skin when one of the tiny squeaking creatures ran across her foot. Praying it hadn't taken a detour up her pant leg, she braced herself as the dog skidded to a halt. Or tried to. His momentum carried him smack into her. Once again, Maggie found herself flat on her back, with a hundred or more pounds of belligerent komondor straddling her. Doggy breath bathed her face as he growled his displeasure.

“Look, pal,” she growled back, “I don't like you any more than you appear to like me. But let's declare a truce, okay? I don't want to waste what little ammunition I have on you.”

Adam deserted his post long enough to drag the dog off her. “Maybe if you offered to share the chicken and dumplings with him, you two might just strike up a friendship,” he suggested dryly.

Maggie scrambled up. “Ha! What makes you think I want to be friends with an ugly, overgrown floor mop?”

“This from the woman who keeps a bug-eyed reptile for a pet?” Adam shook his head and resumed his post.

Holding out her pant leg, Maggie gave her foot a vigorous shake. When nothing more than a small clump of snow hit the floor, she sighed in relief.

Despite the glare she sent the unrepentant dog, she could no more let him go hungry than she could the frantic mama wood mouse who'd scurried back into the stack of tools after rounding up her tiny charges. Opening the different cans, Maggie dumped the contents of three of them into a metal bowl she'd scavenged from the locker.

“Come on, hound. You can eat this outside and pull guard duty at the same time.”

Radizwell didn't move. Sitting on his haunches like an upright bale of unprocessed cotton, he looked from the bowl in her hand to Adam for guidance. Maggie shook her head. When males bonded, they bonded.

At Adam's signal, the dog graciously condescended to allow Maggie to feed him. Padding to the door, he stepped outside. She set the bowl down in the snow, took a quick glance around the serene moonscape, then ducked back inside. The knowledge that the moonscape wouldn't stay serene for long added impetus to her actions.

In short order, she handed Adam an open can and a spoon, dropped a cold, soggy dumpling behind the stack of tools and wrapped the blanket around her legs and feet to warm them. Shuffling across the hut, open can in hand, she joined Adam at the door.

“I'll stand watch. You go dry off.”

“I'm not wet.”

They shared a few moments of silent companionship while they ate, both wrapped in thought. Maggie tried to ignore the insidious, creeping realization that these quiet moments with Adam might be their last, but the cold reality of their situation intruded.

In a few minutes, they'd lure an unknown number of killers to this isolated spot and try to hold them off until the Jaguar's extraction team arrived. With a total of eight rounds of ammunition between them. Adam had expended all but two of the rounds in his nine-round Heckler & Koch during the firefight at the lake. Maggie had exactly six left for Taylor's .22, including the one in the chamber and five in the spare clip she'd tucked in her pocket this morning.

God, had it only been this morning? She tipped her head against the doorframe, thinking how much her life had changed since then. Her gaze slid to Adam's lean, shadowed face. Whatever happened, she'd have those hours in the snow cave. Whatever happened, she'd have the memory of his blue eyes smiling down at her when he'd taken her in his arms and said he was, he did, he knew.

“Adam?”

“Yes?”

“How long do you think we have?”

His eyes lingered on her lips, then lifted. In their depths, Maggie caught a glimpse of raw, masculine need, overlaid with regret.

“Not long enough.”

She sighed. “That's what I thought you'd say.”

“They could be following the dog's tracks and be heading this way right now. We have to contact Jaguar.”

“I know.”

He curled a hand under her chin, lifting her face. “Tomorrow, Maggie. We'll have tomorrow. And forever.”

“If we don't…thank you for today.”

His cheeks creased. “You're welcome.”

Maggie dipped her chin to kiss the warm skin of his palm. Closing her eyes, she savored his taste and his touch and his scent. Then she sighed again and moved away. With the blanket swaddled around her lower body, she began to pace the small hut.

“Okay, let's review the situation here. We need to contact headquarters to let Jaguar know our coordinates. As soon as we do, there's a distinct possibility the unfriendlies, whoever they are, will glom on to the signal.”

“If they haven't already picked up our tracks,” Adam reminded her.

“When they arrive on the scene, it's up to us to make sure they don't leave until the counterstrike team can get here.”

Maggie felt adrenaline begin to pump through her veins in anticipation of the action ahead. She'd been in tight situations before. Not quite as snug as this one, perhaps, but pretty darn close.

Blanket swishing at her ankles, she strode across the small room and yanked open the metal locker. The rectangular red container she pulled out was heavy and full.

“All right. We have eight rounds of ammunition and one gallon of gasoline to hold off a possible army of bad guys armed
with automatic weapons, high-powered night scopes, and every destructive device known to man.” She grinned at Adam. “I've done more with less. How about you?”

He shoved his shoulders off the doorframe. “A lot more with a lot less. Let's get to work.”

Pillaging the metal locker, they found the makings for crude flash bombs. While Maggie poured the gasoline into the bottles, Adam tore strips from his blanket to stuff in the neck as wicks. Carefully dividing the matches, he gave half to Maggie and tucked the other half in his pocket, along with the jagged pieces of mirror he'd smashed from the snowmobile.

Leaving Radizwell to stand sentry at the hut, they disappeared into the surrounding woods. Working silently, quickly, they gathered fallen limbs and dry timber. Within moments, they'd scattered the debris in a seemingly random pattern around the hut. After placing a few of the gasoline-filled bottles for maximium detonation, they doused the wood with the remaining fuel. A single careful shot could detonate the ring of fire.

After that they separated, Maggie going left, Adam right, searching for just the right tree to climb to put the hut in a cross fire and make the best use of their remaining flash bombs. The temperature had dropped significantly, but Maggie didn't notice. Her heart thumped with the realization that their time was running out. She zigzagged through the trees to find exactly the one she wanted.

Its thick trunk provided excellent cover and a full complement of stair-stepping branches. An easy climb took her a good thirty feet up. Using both hands and her body for leverage, she bent back a couple of obscuring limbs to give her a clear line of fire to the hut. With so few rounds of ammunition, she'd need it.

Her breath was coming in short, puffy gasps by the time she got back to the shack.

“You set?” Adam asked tersely.

“As set as I'll ever be. Let's get Jaguar on the net.”

Maggie gave a small puff of surprise when he gripped her upper arms, his hands like steel cuffs.

“Listen to me, Chameleon. It's not too late. You can climb
the ridge behind the hut. Take cover in the rocks until the extraction team arrives.”

“And just what do you plan to do while I'm taking cover?”

He gave her a small shake. “You're the one they're after, not me. I can stay here. Talk to them. Delay them.”

“After that scene beside the lake, do you think they're going to stop for a friendly chat? You took at least one of them down, remember?”

“Dammit, Maggie…”

“Chameleon.”

“What?”

“You called me Chameleon a moment ago. That's who I am, Thunder. That's who I have to be. I am not running for cover, and I'm sure as hell not leaving you to face the fire alone. Any more than you'd leave me.”

His fingers bit into her arms. Maggie could feel their tensile strength through the thick down of her ski jacket. Under its day's growth of dark beard, his jaw worked.

“Thunder,” she said softly, “kiss me. Hard. Then get Jaguar up on the net.”

He kissed her. Hard.

Then he dug in his pocket for the handheld navigational device. While waiting for the readings to display on the liquid crystal screen, he shoved his sleeve back and activated the satellite transceiver.

“Jaguar, this is Thun—”

Jake's voice jumped out of the gold watch. “I read you! You okay?”

“We are.”

“Both of you?”

“Both of us.”

“Give me your coordinates.”

Adam rapped out the reading from his GPS unit.