скачать книгу бесплатно
Another shot rang out, and Caleb dropped to a crouch. It hadn’t come from Henry…Had Larkin finally decided to join them? He listened intently for movement, but all he could hear was the rain.
“Hey, partner, did we get him?” Brandon’s voice sounded from across the stream.
Caleb ventured a look and saw Henry on the ground, very still, blood pooling from a wound in his chest. “Looks like,” Caleb yelled back.
“What about Jim?”
Caleb had no idea where Jim was. Then he heard a rumble, deeper than thunder, and the ground began to shake. An earthquake? Several large rocks tumbled by and the ground shook harder. He looked up the mountain.
“Landslide, Bran! Landslide!” Caleb ran to the right as fast as he could. Who knew how wide a swath the slide would cut?
Rain poured, thunder boomed and the mountainside came down faster and faster. Falling rocks struck him as he ran. His arm was on fire, but he knew he had to keep going. He slipped in the mud, once, twice, then got up and ran some more, not daring to stop, rocks and water rushing past him. One of the rocks struck his head and he saw stars. Then there was only blackness.
CALEB AWOKE to a steady rain. The ground beneath him was hard and rocky, his soaked clothing clung to his chilled body, his arm throbbed, and there was a relentless pounding in his skull.
He shivered, then groaned as a thousand other aches and pains vibrated to agonizing life. He stayed still for a moment, feeling as if he was on the losing end of a championship prizefight.
Or a landslide.
He sat up abruptly, making his tortured body scream in protest.
Brandon. Where was his partner?
Caleb dragged himself to his feet. Brilliant flashes of lightning illuminated the area. The tons of rock and mud that had detached themselves from the hillside had come to rest just yards away. He’d been lucky to escape. Had his partner?
“Brandon!”
Thunder drowned out his yell. When the rumble died away, he tried again. Picking his way over the shifting pile of rubble, he tried to figure out where his partner had been standing when all hell had broken loose.
At a stream of rushing water, Caleb remembered. Brandon had been on the opposite side. Using a tree branch to keep himself steady, he started across the now knee-deep rapids. Branches and stones pummeled his legs, mud sucked at his boots. Bruised and breathless, he pulled himself onto the bank. He allowed himself only a few moments to rest and fill his lungs.
“Brandon!”
Desperate to find his partner, he dug in the mud with his bare hands. He shoved aside branches and kicked at rocks, calling out Brandon’s name until he was hoarse. Still he found no sign of his partner, or Jim Driscoe.
A shaft of hatred went through him at the thought of the drug dealer, who had put them in this situation.
Suddenly he heard a buzzing in his ears and the night got darker. “Dammit! I am not going to pass out.”
Disoriented and dizzy, he leaned against a tree. Letting the bulky trunk take his weight, Caleb wiped the moisture from his eyes. When lightning flashed again, he stared at his fingers. They were wet with not water, but blood. He closed his eyes, the smell of wet earth and leaves filling his nostrils.
Fatigue overtook him. Suddenly the ground didn’t look so hard and rocky. Would it hurt if he just lay down and slept for a while?
His foggy mind recognized the signs of concussion, and he shook away the thought. Forget sleep, he ordered himself. He pushed away from the tree that had been holding him up and lost his footing on the slick ground. Reaching out, his left hand made contact with a branch, which he used to lever himself up.
Swaying on rubbery legs, Caleb had to admit he wasn’t going to be able to find his partner on his own. Sliding around in the mud was getting him nowhere. He had to have help.
Lightning flashed, blinding him temporarily, and the boom of thunder that followed reverberated in his head. The pain drove him to his knees. Get up, Caleb, get up! he ordered. On legs of oatmeal, he staggered to his feet.
And walked.
With a hammer using his brain for an anvil and his arm still throbbing, Caleb concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. Right. Left. Right. Left.
Rain saturated his clothing, weighing him down. After a while he didn’t even try to stop the shivering that racked his body.
Lightning and thunder dogged him every step of the way.
Right. Left. Right. Left.
The words became a litany.
His feet were cold, so cold. His toes squished numbly inside his boots, whatever water repellent they’d once had no match for the sopping terrain.
He had to stop. He had to sit. Only the thought of Brandon, unconscious and alone, kept him moving.
And then he saw it.
A light. Faint. Flickering.
Keeping his gaze focused on that dim welcoming glow, Caleb forced his tired body on. The forest floor was uneven, covered with dead leaves and needles. Wet ferns and vines grabbed at his knees. At one point he stumbled over a fallen log, wrenching his ankle and falling hard on his injured arm. He hissed in a sharp breath, then lay for a moment on the ground, his lungs aching. Angry for his weakness, he pushed up.
Pain bit at his arm, but he welcomed it. As long as the pain stood by him, he wouldn’t be able to surrender to the lethargy the concussion caused.
He limped toward the light. His head pounded as thunder reverberated through the night. But he kept moving. He was not going to let those drug-dealing dogs get the best of him.
After what seemed like an eternity, Caleb finally arrived at the cabin. He made his way around the Jeep parked out front. Not sure what he would find, he reached around to the small of his back for his gun.
It wasn’t there.
He checked the pockets of his soaked denim jacket. Nothing. Great, just great, he berated himself. You’ve lost your only weapon.
In the dim light from a window, he saw the outline of a woodpile on the porch. He eased up the steps and picked up a log, a piece of branch really, just thick enough to get someone’s attention if necessary. Then he made his way to the window and peered inside.
The interior seemed warm and welcoming. A rectangular chopping-block table divided the living room from the kitchen. The furniture was old-fashioned and comfortable-looking. Oil lamps provided light, along with the flames from a huge stone fireplace.
Then he saw a woman standing in front of the stove, stirring something in a saucepan.
Caleb couldn’t smell the food, but his stomach growled, anyway. He hadn’t eaten since he and Brandon had stopped for doughnuts and coffee before heading up to the mountains.
Thinking about his friend and partner reminded him of his priorities. Food and bed could wait. He needed a phone.
For a few minutes he stayed at the window, but seeing no other signs of life, he turned to make his way to the front door.
The movement sent stars shooting through his head so violently that he fell to one knee. The branch dropped from his nerveless fingers and clattered to the porch. Afraid he’d black out, he stayed still for a couple of moments, drawing in deep breaths, then cautiously rose.
But the buzzing in his ears wouldn’t go away, and the night started to close in on him. Caleb hung on to the railing, fighting the faint. One step at a time, he followed the porch to the front door, the hold on his consciousness beginning to slip.
As he raised his fist to knock on the door, he cracked his right arm against the jamb. The pain that shot through him was more than he could bear. Almost instantly he collapsed.
Chapter Two
A flash of lightning illuminated Shannon Garrett’s shadowy kitchen, followed quickly by the boom of thunder. Turning from the stove where she stirred the soup that was to be her dinner, she glanced through the window over the sink. Rain battered the diamond-shaped panes, blotting out her view. The wind outside howled like a wounded animal.
A strange prickly feeling came over her. This was going to be one hell of a storm, she thought. Thank heavens for propane tanks and oil lamps. It might be days before her electricity came back on.
She swung back to the stove and turned off the burner. The delicious smell of her homemade chicken soup wafted through the cabin, but she’d lost interest in eating. Suddenly, being alone, miles from civilization, didn’t seem like such a good idea. The storm and the dark were eerie. Shadows lurked in the corners of her small log cabin, making it feel claustrophobic, no longer the refuge it had been the past three years.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Shannon.”
The sound of her voice made her feel a little better. She was being silly. More for something to do than out of hunger, she took an oversize mug from the cupboard next to the sink and began to ladle soup into it.
A loud thump outside startled her. She paused to listen. A tree branch falling? When no other sound penetrated the howl of the storm, she went back to her soup.
Another loud bump made her heart rise to her throat. She stood absolutely still, head cocked, listening to the too-human sound of the wind groaning in the trees. Lightning illuminated the room like a strobe while thunder drowned out all other sounds. The silence that followed was broken by another skin-tingling groan. The door rattled as if something heavy had fallen against it.
Shannon put down the ladle, then opened a drawer and took out two large flashlights. Listening intently, she walked slowly to the front door. She wished it had a peephole. But then, without a porch light, she wouldn’t be able to see who it was anyway.
A flashlight in each hand, Shannon forced herself to be logical. It wasn’t likely that anyone was out there. The cabin was miles from her closest neighbor, even more miles from the main road. The few people who knew where she lived didn’t casually drop in on her. The noises that had spooked her were probably just those of a raccoon seeking shelter from the storm.
Still, she had to be smart here. This part of the Santa Cruz Mountains was remote enough to hide all kinds of criminal activity. It would be naive to ignore the facts. She turned on one of the flashlights.
Another crash against the door made her jump.
“Who is it?” Her voice sounded pathetically shaky.
“Open the door…need to…”
It was a man’s voice, and Shannon moved closer to the door. “Who’s out there? What do you want?”
Silence.
She held her breath. It was stupid to assume the man who’d answered her call had just gone away. The voice had been barely audible, but the plea had been clear. She’d have to be made of stone to ignore it.
Holding one flashlight over her head like a club, Shannon eased the door open slowly. She shone the other light on what looked like a large pile of wet rags on her front porch. The clump of fabric moved, the weak beam of the flashlight revealing a dark-haired man who lay on his side. His face was pale, his brows drawn together. His jaw was tight, as if he was gritting his teeth.
Keeping the light on him, Shannon moved onto the porch. “Are you all right? What happened to you?”
From the looks of him the man was far from all right. It was perhaps a silly question under the circumstances, but then, Shannon had never been in this situation before.
Using his left hand, he pushed himself to a sitting position. “Landslide,” he said, his voice as deep and dark as the night. He looked up at her with eyes the color of blue ice. Under several days’ growth of beard, his face was hard and drawn with pain. “Won’t hurt you…promise.”
Making what she suspected was a very foolish decision, Shannon set both flashlights on a table just inside the door, then reached down to help him up. He flinched when she touched his upper right arm.
Wondering if the flinch was involuntary or just a means of stalling, Shannon looked around cautiously. Was someone else out there? When lightning lit up the area around the cabin, all she saw were trees and her Jeep. No other vehicles.
“Are you alone?” Would he tell her if he wasn’t? Shannon thought dryly.
“Yeah.”
“How did you get here?”
He rose to one knee, bracing his hand on the wall for support. “Walked.”
“That must have been some walk.”
A gust of wind blew rain onto the porch, dampening her sweater and jeans. She really had no choice—she couldn’t leave the man out in the rain. Crouching on his left, she used both hands to help him stand. “Let’s get you inside before we both drown. We can discuss the hows and whys later.”
Her visitor leaned heavily on her as she guided him into the cabin. He was big, his body hard and muscular. His clothes were soaked through, and he was shivering. She led him to the couch. “Here, sit down in front of the fire.”
He slumped onto the couch. His eyes met hers for a second, then rolled back in his head as he passed out.
Shannon stared at her unconscious guest. Big and dark, he had a compelling face. Not exactly handsome, yet the kind of face that drew a woman’s attention, making her wonder if he was a saint or a sinner.
A cut at his hairline oozed blood, but a huge lump on his forehead drew her attention. Not wanting to hurt him, she touched it gingerly. No wonder he’d passed out. He probably had a concussion. Standing back, she saw that the rest of his body wasn’t in much better shape than his head.
His face and hands had several bruises and scratches. His black denim jeans were muddy and torn at the knees, as if he’d fallen. His jacket had a tear on the right arm. In short, he looked as if he’d gone through quite an ordeal.
Working as quickly and quietly as possible in the dim light, Shannon gathered the items she figured she’d need. With the help of one of the flashlights, she found the first-aid kit in the cupboard under the bathroom sink. She brought the kit, towels and a washcloth back to the living room and set them on the coffee table. In the kitchen she filled the teapot with bottled water, placed it on the burner and turned on the flame. It heated quickly. Deciding she’d need more light, she took the kitchen lantern and set it next to the one on the coffee table.
She returned to the kitchen and poured the warmed water in a mixing bowl. When she picked up the bowl, the water sloshed over the side. With shaking hands, she set it down and took a deep breath.
Relax, Shannon, she ordered herself. He’s just a human being who needs your help. Nothing more, nothing less. He can’t hurt you in his condition.
The pep talk didn’t work. Not when she knew better. Some people had no qualms about hurting others. Even people who claimed to love you hurt you. It would be unwise to assume this man meant no harm just because he’d been injured. His incapacity was only temporary.
Hugging herself in an effort to steady her nerves, Shannon walked over to the couch and looked down at him. She tried to read who he was by his appearance, for it was all she had to go on right now. His dark hair, still glossy from the rain, fell over his broad forehead, reminding her of a little boy who refused to comb his hair. But one glance at his hard face told her he was no boy. He was a man, a stranger.
Who knew where he’d come from? Could he be one of the drug dealers who were rumored to live in the hills?
She had to laugh at herself. The man could just as easily be one of the many computer programmers who commuted over the hill to Silicon Valley every day. Or he could be one of the retro hippies who thought Santa Cruz was the land of peace and love. Yet she’d automatically assumed he was a criminal on the run. She’d been buried in the hills so long her imagination was having a field day.
Of course, that still didn’t explain what this man had been doing wandering around in a storm so far from civilization.
He moved, emitting a low moan as some ache made itself known. Shannon responded to his pain. What did it matter who he was? He was hurt. He needed care. Until the power and phones were restored, she was his only chance of survival. So until then, she would just have to do what had to be done.
Her resolve set, she went back to the kitchen to retrieve the bowl of warm water. His wounds would need to be cleaned. She checked to make sure she had everything, then knelt in front of the couch.
She saw him shiver and knew his clothes would have to come off. Because of the way he’d reacted when she’d touched his arm, she decided to start from the bottom and work up. If he had a concussion, she knew she’d have to wake him soon, but she preferred he stay unconscious for the better part of her ministrations.
With hands held steady by determination, Shannon untied his shoes. She tugged off his muddy boots and set them aside. The dirty wet socks stuck stubbornly to his icy skin, but eventually gave in. She dunked a washcloth in the warm water and washed the dirt off his feet. His toes were long, the nails neatly trimmed. The sight of them eased some of her fears. She couldn’t imagine a drug dealer or murderer taking such care with his personal hygiene.
She gazed at the man dripping rainwater and mud on her sofa and wondered what act of recklessness had sent him out in a storm. An anger that felt way too familiar rose inside her. Sometimes she wondered if there was a man in the world who had the common sense to use the brains God gave him. They all thought they were invincible.
“And it’s left to us women to pick up the pieces.”
No response came from the unconscious stranger.
She leaned over to undo his belt. The jeans had to come off. Shannon pulled and tugged at them, but the muddy material clung to the man’s muscular thighs. She fought with the stubborn denim, struggling inch by inch to push it down his legs. “Come on, big guy, help me out here.”
