Prey by Linda Howard
So her options were that she could lie there and kind of enjoy feeling an erection poking at her even if she wasn’t the cause of it, or she could sort of casually shift away as if she hadn’t even noticed, pretend she was just waking up herself.
“Hey, don’t mind me,” he growled. “I’m just the guy with the hard-on poking at you, not somebody you really need to answer.”
And just like that her good intentions fell away, because nobody else had ever been able to jerk her chain the way Dare Callahan did. “Oh, is that what that is?” she cooed. “I thought it was a tube of Chapstick.”
He made a smothered kind of sound that might have been amusement, if he’d been the type of man who laughed. His big hand closed on her shoulder and he gently tugged her onto her back as he shifted to the side and propped himself on his elbow. Before she had an inkling what he might do, he gripped her hand and pressed it to the thick, hard ridge in his jeans. “Chapstick, my ass,” he said. There was a faint curve to his mouth that said he really might have laughed.
Angie froze, her mind going blank with shock at what he’d done, at suddenly finding herself in such uncharted territory she had no idea which way to go, or how she’d even got there. She turned as red as any teenager and jerked her hand away, stammering, “Wh-what’re you doing?” God, had he thought she was flirting? She didn’t know how to flirt. She sucked at it, so she never tried.
“Correcting a misconception,” he said, as if her question actually needed an answer. “Two, as a matter of fact.”
If she hadn’t been so at sea, she wouldn’t have responded, wouldn’t have let curiosity get the better of her. “Two?” she blurted, completely off balance and almost panicked by the lightning speed with which the situation had altered.
“The first one, you can figure out on your own.” He actually gave a real smile, one that crinkled the corners of those vivid blue eyes, and if she’d been standing her knees would have gotten wobbly. Oh, thank God he didn’t smile all that often, she thought fervently, because the effect was lethal. “The second one, I’ll tell you about later.”
“Why not now?” Damn it! What was wrong with her? Why didn’t she just leave well enough alone, keep her mouth shut, and let the subject drop? Dare Callahan had just put her hand on his penis and she needed to stop thinking about him, divert him from thinking about it, and in general pretend it had never happened. She waved her hand as if to erase the words. “Never mind. It isn’t important.”
“That’s a matter of opinion, but it can wait.” He yawned and sat up, rotated his neck from side to side, stretched his arms over his head and rolled his shoulders, grimacing as ligaments popped. Getting her here had to have been a terrible effort for him, she thought guiltily. She had thanked him, but there was no way any words could repay him for what he’d done.
“Do you need to make another trip outside?” he asked as he twisted his neck from side to side, which made more popping noises.
“No, I’m good.” She made a helpless gesture. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For nearly crippling you. You sound like Rice Krispies when you move.”
“Snap, crackle, pop? Hell, I sound like that every morning when I get up.”
“I had to have made things worse.”
“The mud was the hardest part. Carrying someone conscious isn’t that tough. Dead weight’s a bitch, though.” He said it with the slightly absentminded manner of someone who was well acquainted with carrying dead weight, then rolled to his feet with a litheness that belied any sore muscles or stiffness. “I’m starving. You have any preferences for supper? We’re okay for food. I always have some supplies up here, plus I brought more when I came up. We have jerky or power bars if easy’s what you want, or I can heat some water and we’ll have hot soup or stew—”
“Stew,” she said, sitting up as the thought made her mouth water. She was starving, which wasn’t surprising considering how many calories they had both burned during the night, without anything to eat in almost twenty-four hours except the sugar water he’d made for them, and a power bar each. “Anything I can do to help?”
“Tidy up what you can reach,” he replied. “I kind of left the area in a mess this morning.”
She was absurdly gratified that he didn’t dismiss her offer. No, she wasn’t very mobile and couldn’t do much, but she could definitely crawl around the small space and pick up the dirty, soggy clothing that had been scattered helter-skelter. Their muddy boots had been left where they’d fallen, her mud-encrusted rifle and scabbard were propped in a corner, though Dare’s rifle was within easy reach. The cups they’d used that morning were on the floor, as well as the power bar wrappers.
Dare was a military man; for him not to police his area told her more than words could on how exhausted he had been when he’d carried her up the ladder early that morning.
She tidied as much as she could, putting the trash in a plastic trash bag, folding their wet clothing into a neat pile so he could take them down and hang them over the stalls to dry. While she was doing that, Dare moved the camp stove into their small area, set it down, and lit it. She appreciated the notion behind not wasting any heat. She wasn’t cold now, thank goodness, but the cabin was definitely chilly.
“This is an interesting design,” she said, waving her hand to indicate the cabin. “You built it yourself?”
“I designed it. Hired someone else to build it. I was too busy to take care of it myself, plus I hate hammering shit together.” He paused in the act of pouring bottled water into the percolator, and glanced up at her, blue eyes glittering. “Guess that wasn’t the most diplomatic thing to say.”
“Which part? The one that pointed out your business was booming while mine was withering away, or the interesting mental image of hammering shit?”
Her tone was wry. To her own surprise, she couldn’t muster even a little anger at her career downturn. It had happened, she was in the process of dealing with it, and she’d make things work out in the end. On the other hand, she was definitely amused at his turn of phrase.
“The first part.”
He didn’t back away from trouble, she noted, just met it head on and dealt with it. For now, though, there was no trouble. She couldn’t say there wouldn’t be later, but as far as she was concerned last night he’d bought himself a lot of leeway. There was no way to tell where that leeway might run out, but she knew for certain it wasn’t right here, right now.
“It’s okay. Anyway, I like that you designed it so the horses are completely safe and enclosed.”
He set the percolator on the flame. “I’d rather use four-wheelers; they’re faster and aren’t as much trouble, but a lot of clients prefer to do the whole roughing-in routine with horses so I had to take that into account. This way, either four-wheelers or horses can be secured below.”
“Bear proof.” Just saying the words made the bottom drop out of her stomach as a vivid memory flashed in her mind. Bile rose in her throat, almost choking her. She would never forget, never get those images out of her mind.
“Yeah.” He gave her a sharp look that told her he’d noted her change of expression, or maybe there had been something in her voice that gave her away. “Exactly what happened last night? Start at the beginning.”
Using her left foot, she levered herself back so she could lean against the wall and stretch her legs out in front of her. “I’m not sure where the beginning is. There was probably trouble between my two clients before they got here. There had to have been.”
“They were arguing?”
“No, but they weren’t friends, either. Their names are Chad Krugman and Mitchell Davis. I’ve guided Krugman before. He isn’t much of an outdoorsman, but last year he came with a client of his and when he booked again this year I figured it was the same setup, that he was doing it for business reasons.”
Dare dumped stew mix into two disposable bowls, then scooted back to sit propped against the wall beside her. His hard trice
Resolutely, she kept her mind on what she was saying, rather than on the big man who sat so close against her, once more sharing his body heat. “Mitchell Davis wasn’t happy when they got to my place, and he wasn’t happy with anything about me, the accommodations, food, the campsite, or anything else. I thought he was just one of those people who is born a bastard and dies a bastard, you know?”
“I’ve met my share,” he said drily.
She sighed. “Yesterday, I left them in camp while I scouted for fresh bear sign at a location where I’d seen some before. I thought I saw some trash lying off to the side, but when I got over there it was a digital camera, and part of a plaid shirt.” She drew a deep breath. “There were bear tracks, and a lot of blood, and scuff marks where something had been dragged.”
“God.” He leaned his head back against the wall and said in a long-suffering, incredulous tone, “Please tell me you didn’t follow the trail to a bear’s kill.”
“I was already closer to it than I ever wanted to be,” she said grimly. “As soon as I realized, I didn’t go any closer but worked my way around so I had a better angle, to verify the kill was human.”
He turned a disbelieving glare down at her, then heaved a sigh and shook his head. “I guess I would’ve done the same thing.”
“I had my rifle, and bear spray. Trust me, I listened and checked around me, in all directions, every time I took a step. It was a man. I think it was a man,” she added in a soft tone. “He’d been half-eaten, and the bear had scratched some dirt over him.”
“It has to be the same bear that came into your camp. Shit.”
“Yeah, what are the odds there would be two man-eaters in the same area?”
He shook his head. “I wouldn’t bet the ranch. Has to be the same bear.”
“I went back to the camp and told Krugman and Davis we could all either go back to Lattimore’s the next morning—today—so I could notify the Fish and Wildlife Department, or they could stay and I’d go. Davis was predictably nasty, I offered to refund their money, and that was that. I went to my tent as soon as I could, partly just to get away from Davis. Krugman was nicer and I felt sorry for him because Davis was so hateful to him, which shows you what a terrible judge of character I am. I woke up around midnight, heard their voices, and I could tell they were arguing. I pulled on my boots and coat, got my rifle and flashlight, and went to break up the fight.”
She paused, going back over the night’s events, gathering her thoughts. “They were back toward the cook site; I wouldn’t have heard them except I don’t sleep soundly when I’m guiding, I’m always half-listening for trouble.”
“Have you had a lot of trouble?” he asked, scowling. She could feel his heightened focus on her face, studying her expression, and she turned her head enough that she could meet his surprisingly fierce gaze.
“No, of course not, but I’m alert. I’m a woman; I have to think about things that a man doesn’t,” she pointed out. “I’d be stupid if I didn’t. But it isn’t just that. I’m … I’m kind of afraid of bears,” she admitted sheepishly.
“I’m leery of them myself.”
“It’s more than leery.” Why not just get it all out there? “I’ve had nightmares about bears, and finding that body seriously spooked me. No way was I going to do much more than catnap. Anyway, when I got closer I heard Davis say something to Krugman about stealing from him. I yelled at them to knock it off, Davis looked in my direction, and Krugman shot him.”
Her tone went flat, her gaze going distant. “He had to have been planning it. Davis hadn’t made any threatening moves toward him, at least not that I saw. Then he started shooting at me. I threw myself on the ground and started rolling away from him, but when I hit the ground I lost my grip on the rifle. I just kept rolling. The horses were going crazy, the storm was right on top of us. Krugman went past my location, so I put my face down and stayed still; I was so muddy already I figured that was my best protection. Then … then the bear came.”
Dare waited in silence while she took a few deep breaths. “Krugman saw the bear, and took off. He took all four horses and ran.”
“He probably hoped the bear would get you, too.”
Angie couldn’t let her thoughts go there. She’d spent enough time already living with that scenario, and it still made the bottom drop out of her stomach. “He didn’t bother saddling his horse so I don’t know how far he got, because he isn’t that great on horseback. When I first saw you, I thought you were Krugman, but then the lightning showed that you were in a saddle, and I knew it wasn’t him. If it hadn’t been for that, I’d have stayed hidden.”
“Close call.”
That was an understatement, for damn certain. Angie closed her eyes and let her head tip sideways so it rested against his shoulder, just for a moment, somehow needing that brief contact to reassure herself. Then she straightened, swallowed, and continued her story.
“I needed the rifle, but where I’d dropped it was close to where the bear had Davis. He played with the body,” she said starkly. “Tearing it apart. I crawled toward the bear, freezing every time the lightning flashed. I knew it probably wouldn’t see me, didn’t think it would hear me with all the noise the storm was making, but if the wind had shifted and it had scented me … I don’t know if it would have left Davis’s body and come after me. I thought, just get the rifle, and drop the bear. But when I finally reached the rifle, the mechanism was so filled with mud I knew I didn’t dare try shooting it. I worked my way back, went to my tent and got some things, and set out on foot.”
“When did you sprain your ankle?”
She made a face. “Within the first half hour.”
“So you’d been crawling for hours.” His tone was neutral, though she sensed some tension beneath the words.
She gave a short, grim laugh. “What else could I do? Give up? Not likely.” She nodded at the percolator. “I think our water’s about to boil. Let’s have some stew.”
Chapter Twenty
They ate their bowls of stew in companionable silence, sitting side by side on the mattress, backs against the wall. She had always considered the dry mixes, with hot water added to turn them into “stew” or “soup,” to be edible, but nothing more. This stew, though, more than made up in comfort what it lacked in taste, and with salt, pepper, and a little pack of ketchup and some hot sauce added to the mix, the taste wasn’t bad at all. The best part, though, was having something hot and filling in her stomach. She could almost have hummed in contentment.
Cleaning up after themselves consisted of putting the plastic bowls and spoons in the trash bag. What daylight there had been was rapidly fading, so Dare turned on the LED lantern. Angie looked uneasily at the windows. “What if Krugman sees the light?”
“Not likely. For one thing, there’s no reason for him to come this way. He doesn’t know the cabin’s here, doesn’t know I’m here, and has no way of knowing you’re with me now. If he’s smart, he’s sitting out this rain in your camp, with his rifle in his hand in case that bear comes back.”
His assessment was reassuring, because he was absolutely right. Chad couldn’t look for something he didn’t know existed. He might not be much of an outdoorsman, but he knew he wanted to go down the mountain, not cut sideways across it. Now that she’d had some sleep and some food, her brain was beginning to kick back in, and draw some conclusions. One of those conclusions was definitely unsettling. “I think Krugman may have been planning to kill me, too, from the very beginning.”
“Could be,” Dare replied, and she was gratified that he hadn’t immediately dismissed the idea as the product of an overactive imagination. “You have to think he knew Davis was on to him, otherwise why take a pistol with him?”
“I did tell them not to leave their tents without their flashlights and rifles; Krugman could have thought a pistol w
“Why would he even have a pistol with him, unless he’d planned something like this? You can’t conceal a rifle. By the way, did Davis have his rifle with him?”
“He should have.” Angie thought back, dragged up the memory of the two men, starkly lit by lightning, how they’d been standing. Davis had had his left side to her; he’d been right-handed, so if he’d been carrying his rifle it would have been in his right hand. “If he was, I didn’t see it, but he could easily have been carrying it in his right hand, pointed at the ground.”
“So Krugman took the pistol with him. Maybe Davis knew he had it, maybe not. For argument’s sake, say Davis didn’t know, because if he had he’d have been more alert. By the way, what’s Krugman’s occupation?”
“Accountant.”
Dare grunted. He stepped out of sight for a few minutes, and returned with a gun-cleaning kit in his hands. “He was probably siphoning some of Davis’s funds, and Davis found out about it. But Krugman was one step ahead of him, all the way. If he’d planned to kill Davis on this hunt, then, yeah, he’d probably planned all along to kill you, too, because you were the only witness.”
“But other people knew he was here. Ray Lattimore, for one. Harlan knows. How could he think he’d get away with it?”
“Maybe he expected to be identified, but if he killed both you and Davis on the first or second day of the hunt, that would give him almost a week to get out of the country before anyone would even begin looking for you.” Dare’s sandpaper voice had gone harsh and cold; his words sent a shiver up her spine, but the strategy he’d laid out reverberated inside her because all the pieces fit together the way she’d been thinking they might. What had happened had been bad enough when she’d thought it was something Krugman had done on the spur of the moment, maybe out of temper or desperation or because Mitchell Davis had been a son of a bitch one time too many. To think that Krugman hadn’t panicked, that he’d deliberately murdered Davis and just as deliberately tried to kill her, hit her hard in the gut.