Mountain Fire (19 page)

They crossed over the mountaintop and scrambled down into the valley, moving purposefully. Alex scanned the area. Nothing but emptiness. Every minute they hiked increased his sense of doom.

They drew around a large scree of boulders, and Alex stopped breathing.

Two hundred metres away a young grizzly dragged a crumpled human body. He saw long blond hair and a familiar red windbreaker. For the first time in his life he understood what it meant to have the world fall out from underneath him.

He stood rooted for an instant, then swung the rifle into position and sighted through the scope. He was perfectly prepared to kill the bear to save June’s life, but couldn’t get a clear shot. Jerking the barrel toward the sky, he pulled the trigger.

The shot boomed out in the still mountain air.

Aiming once more through the scope, he saw the grizzly raise its muzzle from June’s body, but it didn’t run.

Again he pointed the gun into the sky. Again the shot crashed like thunder.

****

In one of the bear’s attempts to tear open her pack, it had torn June’s hand. Blood dripped down her neck. All the terror, all the confusion of the last few hours coalesced into a nightmare she no longer believed she would escape. So when the first shot shattered the air, she didn’t realize what it was. But when the next echoed through the valley, it broke through her muddled thoughts.

The pressure on her shoulders disappeared. She lay on her side in the tight little ball that had become her world, eyes firmly closed, tasting the grittiness of dust in her mouth. She heard shouting, but an eerie calm fogged her senses. It wasn’t until Alex cradled her in his arms that she recognized his voice.

Slowly she opened her eyes. He hovered over her, face pale under his tan, brown eyes wide. She could tell he was speaking to her, but a buzzing filled her ears and she couldn’t hear the words. His face seemed to melt like old film held too long before the projector lamp and everything grew unnaturally bright, before fading to blackness.

She woke to fingers skimming through her hair and Alex’s hoarse voice muttering. “It’s okay now, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Her eyelids flittered, and she struggled to sit up.

“Shhh, shhh,” he comforted. “It’s okay now, lay back now.”

“The bear...” she whispered rustily.

“It’s gone, don’t worry. The shots chased it away.”

Recollection returned in a rush, and she grabbed his wrist. “Alex, Richard was here. He is involved, in everything. He and another man, the one we saw at the restaurant, they started a fire. The fire...” This time he allowed her to get to a sitting position. He supported her with an arm around her shoulders and his bent knee at her back.

“Don’t worry. We’ve already called it in. Sam and I saw it when we flew over. Take a minute, then you can tell me everything.” Over his shoulder Samantha Cross, whom she recognized from the airport the dreadful day of Iain’s murder, stood four-square and forbidding, scanning the area with a rifle cradled in the crook of her arm. June coughed and Alex handed over his canteen.

She reached out to take it, wincing as the movement fired up scrapes and stings. Pouring water into her mouth, she let it ease her parched tongue, then gulped it down.

Samantha crouched next to them. “What the hell happened to you?” she demanded.

Twinges and spasms coursed through her arms and legs. Her shoulders pounded from the savage wrenching, her swollen knee ached. She told them everything that had occurred since Fleetham and Schwarz-Silber landed on the mountain. Alex’s face grew flinty.

“The bear was simply plain bad luck.” She leaned, exhausted, against Alex, head resting on his shoulder. “I’m so glad you came when you did. I didn’t know if I was going to get away.” Her voice hitched and her throat tightened with tears. She breathed deeply, in through her nose and out through her mouth, and the panic subsided. Alex’s arms around her were home and safety.

Hydrating had helped with the light-headedness, and soon she was well enough to stand, but was thankful for Alex’s firm grip on her hand as they walked along.

“Why are you here?” she asked as they began the ascent to the lookout. “You couldn’t have known I’d be in trouble.”

“Fleetham baited us with an appointment this morning. But he didn’t show, again. I couldn’t shake the feeling he had used the meeting as a distraction. And knowing you were out here, on your own...” She glanced up at an odd note in his voice, but he continued to stare straight ahead. “I had to check. Samantha insisted on coming with me.”

To June’s extreme relief, they crested the slope and reached the plateau. Instead of the sleek black craft she’d last seen there, the familiar rounded shape of Alex’s helicopter rested next to the lookout. By now, sheer stubbornness was all that kept her on her feet, and when he led her to the cabin she folded thankfully into the spindly wooden chair.

He dug through her kit, found a bottle of pain relievers, and handed it to her. She shook a couple into her palm and swallowed them dry, hoping they would take the edge off the misery in her head. As he rolled up her sleeping bag and efficiently packed the rest of her belongings, she fingered the huge tears in her backpack. Lingering traces of futility and fear rippled through her system.

Alex turned to her, worry still haunting his face. He touched her cheek in a caress so light she barely felt it. “Ready to go?”

She nodded. Samantha waited by the trailhead leading down to Longworth village. June handed over her keys. It had been decided Samantha would hike down and drive June’s truck back into Prince George while Alex and June returned in the helicopter. They waited until Samantha disappeared into the trees, then lifted off and set their course for home.

Chapter Sixteen

June resisted Alex’s attempts to take her to the hospital once they arrived in the city.

“All I want right now is a shower,” she insisted.

“You’ve probably got a concussion,” accused Alex, “so you’re in no shape to decide what you need. I’m bringing you in.”

“I want a shower, and I want it now.” She hugged her arms across her body. “My head hurts, along with a few more bits of me, but I can handle it. I need to get cleaned up and have a rest, in my own house.”

He manoeuvred his Jeep out of the airport parking lot. “We have to let the RCMP know what’s going on.”

“You can call them from my place. Please, Alex. I want to go home. With you.”

The stern frown on his face softened. “Okay,” he said, “but I’m keeping an eye on you. If you don’t feel better soon, you’re going to the hospital if I have to hogtie you.”

“Deal.” She closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax, trusting his word. She must have dozed off, because the next thing she knew, Alex was opening her door and scooping her up in his arms.

“Put me down,” she said, words slurred with fatigue. “I’m perfectly capable of walking.” He ignored her and continued to the front door.

“I’ll get your stuff from the Jeep.” He lowered her to her feet so she could use her key. “You get in the shower.”

It was pure delight to strip out of her filthy, sweaty T-shirt and shorts, peel off the grimy socks and stand naked under the steaming spray. Water streamed through her hair, washing the blood and dirt down the drain. She lathered thoroughly, careful with the goose egg over her ear, then soaped the rest of her body, flinching as various scrapes, dulled during the trip home, woke to stinging, burning life.

She wrapped herself in her robe and headed back to the living room. Alex sat on the couch, a pad of paper on the coffee table in front of him, making notes and grunting into the phone. He watched her approach, a tiny smile lighting his eyes.

“Okay, got it,” he said. He held out a hand, and when she took it, gently urged her down onto the couch next to him. His thumb massaged her knuckles as he continued his conversation. “Yes. We’ll be here. You can get me on my cell.” He disconnected and tossed his phone on the table. “You seem better.” He twisted a damp strand of hair between his fingers.

“I feel better.” It wasn’t a total lie.

“You need to eat.”

Faintly nauseous from the headache, the thought of food made her shudder. “I’m not hungry. Who were you talking to?”

“I’m going to make you some soup. You must have a can I can open.”

“My hero,” June teased, but her heart stuttered when she realized she’d spoken the truth. “Who were you speaking to?” she repeated.

“The RCMP. But you don’t have to worry about that for now. I told them everything, including the description of the helicopter. You still can’t remember the call letters, can you?”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice. I was too stunned after I realized it was Richard inside.”

“They’ll make enquiries at the airports around here. Chances are someone will know about it. The cops will want to talk to you themselves, but I’ve put them off until tomorrow. Now, where’s that soup? And shouldn’t we call your parents?”

“Not now. Not yet. After all, I’m fine, and there’s nothing they can do. I want to be here, in my safe little house, the two of us.” Alex seemed to want to argue the point, but he let it ride and went to the kitchen to dig up something to eat.

She let him fuss around her, partly because he insisted, partly because she couldn’t deny how weak she felt. At first she was amused by all the attention. Then it started to make her itchy.

“Alex, stop hovering.” She patted the couch. “Come sit with me.”

He smoothed a hand down her arm as he sat beside her. “You’re sure you don’t need anything?”

She chuckled, even though it sent small stabs of pain through her skull. “I need you to stop asking me if I need anything. Can we just sit and be quiet, together, for a while?”

“You can sleep if you want. I’ll have to wake you every hour or so, because of your concussion.” He placed a pillow on his thighs and patted it.

“I don’t have a concussion. And I don’t want to sleep.” But she curled her feet up and laid her head on the pillow. “I want to be here, with you, and enjoy being alive.”

****

It had taken a lot of willpower for Alex to let June leave his sight. He’d listened outside the bathroom door, only moving to the living room to make his phone calls after the water had turned off.

She lay beside him now, pale and vulnerable, but he consoled himself with the press of her shoulder against his thigh and by watching the pulse beat in her neck. He sat still and quiet, hoping she would succumb to sleep despite her intentions.

Tenderly he feathered his hand over the bright hair and brushed the large bump above her ear. A muscle jumped in his temple. He couldn’t stop his hand from shaking as he stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers.

She lifted her face toward him and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

He worked some saliva into his dry mouth. “I thought I was scared when you called after you’d been shot at. I thought that was fear. But it was nothing—nothing!—compared to what I felt today, when I came down the path, saw that grizzly mauling you.” The memory was so raw, so fresh, it still tore at him. “It kept dragging you along. You weren’t moving. I couldn’t tell if you were alive or dead.” He never wanted to feel that way again, unable to draw a full breath, his heart expanding, everything stretching tight.

She rolled over and snuggled closer. “When I heard that rifle boom, I didn’t even care if it was Schwarz-Silber coming back, if he got that bear off me.”

“I should have shot it. I would have, but I was afraid of hitting you. And then when it ran, all I could think of was getting to you as fast as possible. I prayed you were alive.” He, who had rarely if ever prayed before. She reached to touch his face, and he grasped her hand, holding it tightly, kissing her knuckles. His control broke, and he crushed her to his chest, burying his face in her hair. “God, oh God. I thought I’d lost you. I thought you were dead.”

He rocked with her until the ferociousness of his emotions eased and his breathing slowed.

With a hand on the back of his neck, she drew him down to her. Her lips firm against his, the kiss was a balm to his tattered soul, and he sank into her, changing the angle, deepening it.

The rage and fear he had bottled up became molten, melting into need. He wanted to be tender, to be careful of her wounds, but desperation filled him, made him reckless. His mouth devoured the delicate skin of her neck, scented with lemon from her shower, and his hands wrapped around her torso, lifting her to mould her once again to his body.

He slipped his arms under her knees. Cradling her against him, he stood up. “I need you, now. I need to know you’re all right, that you’re mine, that you’ll always be mine.” She shivered and he hesitated, knowing he was asking too much of her.

Her arms linked tightly around his neck, her mouth grazed moistly down his throat. “Last door on the right,” she murmured.

He laid her on the bed, unbelted her robe, and spread it open. Her body was leanly muscled, her breasts small, hips a subtle sweep. His finger circled the dark mole next to her belly-button.

She gazed at him with languorous eyes. He unbuttoned his shirt, unbuckled his trousers. When he was naked she sat up and wriggled out of her robe, letting it slip silkily off her shoulders, then reached for him.

Air hissed through his teeth as her cool fingers wrapped around his hard, hot length. His hands dove into her damp, tousled hair, holding on, encouraging her to explore his body. Her breath danced across his stomach. He groaned, the thin threads of control slipping, silvery strands stretched to breaking point. When her fingers touched the tip of his shaft, he recoiled and captured her wrist.