Against the Sky (29 page)

The drive back to the Salmon Lodge finally came to an end. Nick pulled the SUV into the parking lot and turned off the engine. He and Carol got out, then Nick helped Evie out of the car.

Walking around to the back, he retrieved their two bags, and the book and flash drive he'd stowed in a small canvas satchel.

“We need to get you into one of the cabins.” Leading them toward the registration office connected to Noah's log house, he walked up on the porch and pulled open the door. Not finding Noah inside, he left the luggage and led mother and child on into the living room. The fire had died and he didn't see anyone around.

“Noah!” he called out as he set the canvas bag on the dining table. “Noah, where are you?” When no answer came, unease filtered through him. He turned to Carol. “Stay here. I'll be right back.” Pulling the Glock from his holster, he headed through the house toward the cabins in the rear. Across the yard near the woodpile, Nick spotted Noah lying in the snow, the side of his head covered in blood.

Jesus, Noah!
Adrenaline shot through him, slamming his pulse into high gear. Noah was down. Where was Samantha? Gripping the gun in both hands, he dropped behind the covered gas barbeque sitting on the back deck and scanned the area around the house.

Nothing.
Keeping low, heart pounding like a hammer against his chest, he started for the steps, heard light feminine footsteps behind him, knew Carol had come to the back door.

“Oh, my God!” she cried, spotting Noah's bloody, unmoving body in the yard.

“Stay inside.” Weapon in hand, Nick moved off the porch, heading for the little cabin where he had left Samantha. His stomach balled into a hard, tight knot at the thought of her bleeding or dead like Noah.

Nick pulled himself under control. It took sheer force of will to narrow his focus and go into the zone. Drawing on his years of training, he settled. Rock-solid calm now, he moved quietly toward the cabin next to the one he shared with Samantha, found nothing, checked the area around it, and moved back toward the little cabin.

As he neared the front door, he noticed it was open, standing slightly ajar. Dread curled in the pit of his stomach. Nick ignored it.

Flattening himself against the wall beside the door, he took a quick look through the window but saw nothing. Weapon at the ready, he turned, raised a booted foot, and kicked the door wide open.

A shattered lamp, glass shards scattered over the floor, the shade bent and lying next to the bed, but no sign of Samantha. He checked the bathroom, found nothing, took a deep steadying breath and fought to control a fresh round of fear. If they'd wanted Samantha dead, she would be.

She wasn't dead, she was alive and she needed him.

Nick steeled himself. He'd be no good to her if he didn't get himself under control. Forcing his mind back into the zone, he strode back to Noah, went down on one knee beside him. Carol Johnson knelt next to him, a kitchen towel in her hand, carefully wiping the blood from the side of his head.

“He's breathing,” she said. “We need to get him inside, out of the cold.”

Nick checked Noah's pulse, found it steady, took a look at the wound. “Gunshot. Probably a rifle. Doesn't look like the bullet pierced the skull.” A theory confirmed by Noah's deep groan.

The big man stirred, tried to sit up. “Samantha . . .”

“Take it easy.” Nick urged him to lie back down. “You've been shot. I think it's a graze, but we need to get you inside where it's warm.”

“What about . . . Samantha?”

Nick's jaw hardened. He forced out the words. “They took her. Let's get you inside.”

Together, Nick and Carol helped him get on his feet, up the back porch steps, and inside the house. They started for the bedroom, but Noah shook his head. “Living room. Warmer in there.”

As they headed in that direction, Nick noticed the fire was blazing again and the heat had been turned up. “Good job,” he said to Evie, who stood watching from a few feet away.

“We need to get him out of those wet clothes,” Carol said. By now Noah was shaking so hard, his teeth were chattering. “Evie, honey, why don't you go get some blankets?”

The girl hurried out of the living room as Carol started stripping off Noah's wet jacket and the flannel shirt beneath it. Evie returned a few minutes later with blankets she had taken off one of the beds, including a thick down comforter.

“He'll be warmer with nothing on,” Carol said, eyeing the comforter.

She was right. Down worked best utilizing the body's own heat. With Carol's help, Nick got Noah out of his heavy work boots, jeans, and long underwear. They settled him on the sofa in his briefs and pulled the warm down comforter all the way up to his chin. The rest of the blankets were piled on top.

As Noah lay there with his eyes closed, Carol searched the medicine cabinet in the bathroom and came back with antibacterial ointment, gauze, and a wrap-around bandage. In minutes, she had the gash cleaned and dressed, and a bandage wrapped around his head. Noah hadn't moved.

Carol reached down and gently laid her palm on his forehead. “He's still ice cold.” She pulled the comforter over his head so his breath would help warm him. “If you think it's necessary, I'll take off my clothes and get in there with him.”

Noah's low rumble of mirth made both of them smile with relief. His head came out from beneath the comforter and dimples formed in his cheeks. Some of the color had washed back into his face. “As nice as that offer sounds, I don't think it'll be necessary.”

“I guess you're feeling better,” Nick said.

“I've got the mother of all headaches but I'm pretty sure I'll live. What about Samantha?”

The sound of her name pierced the barrier Nick had built around his emotions. He had to think clearly, had to stay focused if he was going to save her.

“Thanks to a rat named Ford Sanders, they know I've got the ledger and the flash drive. Until they get them, I don't think they'll hurt her.”

But there was no way to be sure.

“Never saw it coming,” Noah grumbled. “I must be out of practice.”

“Sniper,” Nick said. “If the guy had been a halfway decent shot, you'd be dead.”

Noah grunted. Closed his eyes against the pain and let himself drift off.

Time seemed to crawl. While Noah dozed on the sofa, Nick paced back and forth in front of the fire, waiting for the call he was sure would come. He considered phoning Charlie Ferrell, but until he heard from the Russians, he didn't want to do anything that might get Samantha killed.

He was sure they would call, but it was nearly an hour before his disposable phone started to ring. Taking a slow, steadying breath, Nick pressed the phone against his ear. “Brodie.”

“Nick . . . ?” The fear in Samantha's voice cut into his heart like a blade.

“I'm right here, baby.”

“They . . . they shot Noah. Oh, God—”

Before she could finish the sentence, the phone was snatched out of her hand. A man's voice with a slight Russian accent came over the line. “As you just heard, we have something here that belongs to you.”

Nick's fingers tightened around the phone. “You hurt her, you touch her, you're dead.”

“Do not despair, my friend. Your lady is fine—at least for the moment. As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, we have something that belongs to you. And you also have something that belongs to me.”

“I'm listening.”

“Bring me the book and the disk. In exchange you will get your woman back. Oh, and of course you must bring the boy, Jimmy, and the woman, Crystal.”

Nick's chest tightened. “Jimmy doesn't know anything. He saw one of your men at his house, that's all. He doesn't know the guy's name or anything else. Jimmy and his aunt are gone and they won't be back anytime soon.”

Silence fell. “I thought that might be so. At times, my men can become overzealous. We'll leave the boy alone, but you must bring the woman.” He chuckled, the grating sound running up Nick's spine. “The young girl, Evie, is worth a good deal of money to me, but as I sense there are limits to how far your conscience will allow you to go, you may keep the child. In all things, there are times concessions must be made.”

Nick clamped down on the rage burning through him.

“Bring Crystal,” the Russian said sharply. “The book and the disk, along with any copies you may have made. Take them to the Sunset Motel. I believe you know where it is.”

Nick thought of the two women he and Cord had pressed for information. Lacey had tried to help Carol, but what about the woman who called herself Ruby? Had she betrayed Carol and Evie?

“I know where to find the motel,” Nick said. “What time?”

“Nine o'clock tonight. And keep in mind that should you call in the authorities, a woman like your beautiful Samantha could be very useful to us. Perhaps she could take the place of my Crystal.” His voice went hard. “Be there on time.” The man hung up the phone.
My Crystal.
Had to be Constantine Bela Varga.

Nick turned to see Carol standing a few feet away, her face as pale as ash. Noah stood beside her, his massive chest bare, the blanket wrapped around his waist.

“She isn't going back to them,” he said darkly, rightly guessing the Russian's intent.

Nick's features hardened. “Don't worry, we're going to give them something, but it isn't going to be Carol or anyone else.” Pulling his Glock from its holster, he dropped the clip, checked the load, and shoved it back in. “It's five o'clock now. We've got four hours to come up with a plan.”

Noah nodded grimly. “I need to put on some clothes.”

“I'll help you.” Carol draped one of Noah's powerful arms over her shoulder to steady him. Looking like the walking wounded, they headed off to his bedroom.

Nick thought of Samantha, the feelings for her that had grown deep and strong, how happy he was when he was with her. He closed his eyes, fighting to block any notion of what the Russians might be doing to her, and forced himself to concentrate on how he was going to get her back.

They needed help. There were people he trusted. It only took a moment to make his decision. His first call went to Cord Reeves.

 

 

Samantha huddled in the corner of the dingy motel room. Hands bound behind her, she shivered, though she was still wearing her hooded coat. Fear kept her adrenaline pumping. Fear for herself and for Nick. She knew he would come for her. Knew he would risk his life to save her. Standing up for others was a trait etched deep in the marrow of his bones.

Nick would come for her, but she didn't believe the Russians would let either of them live. The men had made no effort to hide their faces, though they knew Nick had been a police detective, not the kind of man who would look the other way once the exchange was made.

She glanced over at the other female occupant of the room, huddled next to her on the floor. The big Russian bruiser at the window had called her Lacey. From what Samantha could gather from snippets of conversation, a prostitute named Ruby had betrayed Lacey for trying to help Crystal and her daughter. Now Lacey was paying the price.

“Are you all right?” Samantha asked as a soft moan seeped from the blond woman's throat. The men had beaten her badly. Both her eyes were blue-black and puffed nearly closed, and her lips were cut and swollen. A trickle of blood oozed from her nose.

Lacey ducked her head and wiped the blood away with her shoulder. “They're going to kill us,” she said, leaning her head back against the wall. “As soon as they get what they want, we're dead. Bull likes dishing out pain or he would have killed me already.”

She recognized the name, Virgil Turnbull, one of the men who worked for Constantine Bela Varga. The Bull was out there now with the man called Roman, and the one named Markov, the man who'd shot Noah, ruthless men who would think nothing of killing them.

She tugged on the stiff rope binding her wrists and felt the bite of it cut into her skin. But while the guard had been staring out the window, she had twisted around enough to reach into her pocket and bring out the jagged piece of glass from the broken lamp in the cabin. Little by little, she was sawing through the rope, praying she would be able to get free before it was too late.

“Nick will come,” she said to Lacey, ignoring the slick trickle of blood running through her fingers where she had accidentally cut herself. “You have to believe that.”

“You're his woman. He'll come for you. I'm dispensable.”

Samantha shook her head. “Nick isn't that way. He won't leave you behind.”

Lacey snorted. “Have you looked around, Pollyanna? There are four of those big Russian goons out there, plus the one over by the window, and that short little fuck they call The Worm. And they've got enough guns to take on an army. Your man's as dead as we are.”

Samantha's heart squeezed. She couldn't bear to think of Nick being wounded or killed. A memory arose of Noah Devlin on the ground, his lifeblood oozing into the snow. She said a prayer that he had somehow survived, took a deep breath and worked to summon her courage.

“I'm not giving up,” she said, moving the glass shard back and forth. “You shouldn't either.”

Lacey just scoffed. “You don't get it, do you? If these guys don't kill you, they'll use you. It won't be long before you'll wish you were dead.”

If her hands had been free, Samantha would have covered her ears. She didn't want to hear Lacey's dire predictions. She had her whole life ahead of her. She didn't want to die. She had to stay positive, had to be ready to help when Nick came.