Chill Factor (48 page)

He hadn't paused to identify the two men on the snowmobiles
before
dashing into the forest. He'd guessed who they were, and he'd been
correct. They'd called out to him periodically, and he recognized their
voices. Dutch Burton and Wes Hamer. Both of them were strong and
athletic. He was also reasonably sure that in
the
last forty-eight hours neither had been struck by a car,
suffered a brain concussion and a gash on the head, or sprained an
ankle.

Probably neither had made love most of last night, either.

Strength-wise, they definitely had the advantage over him
.
But
they certainly didn't outsmart him. In fact, they weren't very bright
at
all. Good trackers would have kept their yaps shut, so as not to alert
him to their position or distance from him. Despite their boasting of
hunting skills, they had a lot to learn about stalking prey. Maybe they
thought human prey responded differently to noise than animal prey.

But make no mistake. Tierney
, he thought
to himself,
you
are
prey
.

Any doubt of that had been dispelled by Wes's taunting
catcalls and
Dutch's dire threats, which echoed eerily through the snow-cushioned
forest. Just as he had feared, they wanted Blue, dead or alive. He
strongly suspected they favored the former, particularly Dutch Burton,
who had shouted more than a few obscene attentions regarding him and
Lilly.

Dutch wore a badge, but Tierney knew that wouldn't prevent him
from
blowing his heart out if given the chance. In addition to being a law
enforcement officer, sworn to uphold the law and protect an
individual's civil rights, Dutch was a husband scorned whose ex-wife
had spent two nights in isolation with another man. If he got Tierney
in the crosshairs of his scope, he would pull the trigger and exult at
doing so.

They sensed that he was weakening, and that served to spur
them on.
He didn't stop to look back, but he could tell they were gaining on
him. Sounds of their passage through the forest came ever closer. They
had it easier than he did. He had to forge the trail. All they had to
do was follow it.

He considered taking cover and making a stand against them. He
had
the pistol, and it was still loaded, missing only the bullet that Lilly
had fired at him. However, its respectable range was nothing compared
with that of a rifle. And there were two of them. One could keep him
under cover while the other sneaked around and flanked him.

He was also afraid that, if he stopped, he would never be able
to
get up again. His stamina was depleted. He'd thought it had been
exhausted yesterday when he went after Lilly's medication, but today he
truly was on the verge of collapse. Only sheer willpower kept him on
his feet.

Just as he had decided that, in order to have any hope of
survival,
he must keep moving, he saw a branch near his head splinter. A
millisecond later he heard the crack of a gunshot.

He dived into the snow and rolled behind a boulder.

"Tierney, you might just as well give up," Dutch Burton
shouted.

He wasn't foolish enough to raise his head above the boulder
in
order to pinpoint their position, but he could sense them darting
between the trees, moving nearer. One was advancing on his right, the
other on his left. The important thing was, they were advancing. He was
trapped.

Now that he had stopped, he realized how much he hurt. Every
cell in
his body was screaming in agony. He was short-winded. He was hungry.

"We know you're Blue. The FBI nailed you with stuff they found
in
your cabin at the lodge."

Tierney had already figured that out. It was circumstantial
evidence, but all the justification a jealous ex-husband would need to
take him out and worry later about the fallout over his breach of legal
procedure.

Tierney didn't dare speak and make himself an easier target.
He
hardly breathed. He heard nothing from them, either. They had stopped
moving. They must have decided to wait him out. For several minutes the
three shared the absolute quiet.

A noise eventually broke the silence, and Tierney identified
it as
another snowmobile. The sound came from a distance, and because it had
a million surfaces off which to ricochet before reaching his ears, it
was impossible to tell from what direction.

Though they didn't speak, he sensed that Dutch and Wes were
listening to it too. Had someone on foot come along and availed himself
of one of their snowmobiles? Were they wondering how they were going to
transport his dead body back to town if, between them, they had only
one snowmobile?

They would be stupid not to take advantage of the distracting
noise.

Never accuse them of being stupid.

Above the diminishing buzz of the snowmobile, he heard the
unmistakable sound of a twig snapping underfoot. One of them was
closing in on his right. Thirty yards away, maybe more. Maybe less.
Even a lousy marksman couldn't miss at that distance.

A more subtle noise came from his left. A patch of snow
falling with
a soft plop onto the ground. Had the wind blown it down, or had one of
them disturbed a lower branch and knocked it loose?

He held his breath, listened. The snowmobile could no longer
be
heard. He couldn't even hear his own breathing. He'd covered his mouth
with his scarf so the vapor of his breath wouldn't give away his
position.

Wherever they were, however far from his hiding place, they
seemed
content with their positions. They weren't moving. They could wait.

Again they did. The three of them. Silently. Waiting for
someone to
make a move.

And then another sound rent the silence. The clatter-clap of
heli
copter
blades. Cleary's police department sure as hell didn't have a chopper.
It had to be from a state agency or the FBI. In any case, Dutch wasn't
going to shoot him in cold blood in front of witnesses. Wes Hamer
didn't count. He would back up his buddy, lie under oath in his
defense, no matter what. And vice versa.

Till now, the forest had protected Tierney by providing good
cover.
But suddenly that advantage had shifted to Dutch. He could shoot now
and explain later that Tierney had resisted arrest, leaving him no
choice except to stop him with a bullet. Or he could attest that
Tierney had charged them, forcing them to protect themselves. Either
way, he'd be dead, and they'd be vindicated.

No, in order to survive Lilly's trigger-happy ex, he must get
into
the open, where he could be seen by whoever was in that chopper.

Conjuring up a map of the peak in his mind, he mentally
juxtaposed
the two roads, the main one and the one on the western face. He'd been
running away from the westernmost, in the general direction of the
other. But how far had he gone? How much farther would he have to run
before he reached Mountain Laurel Road? Whatever the distance, could he
make it with the strength he had left?

He had to try. Dutch and Wes were stronger and better armed,
but he
had two distinct advantages. His innate sense of direction. And his
will to live.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he came up onto his
knees.
His muscles, particularly the sprained ankle, protested even that. But
he forced himself into a crouch and set off again, keeping as low as
possible and trying not to give his movement away by disturbing
branches or making noise.

He hoped Dutch and Wes would waste time creeping toward the
boulder
in order to surprise him, only to be surprised themselves when they
discovered he wasn't behind it.

It was too much to wish for.

"Dutch
,
on your left!" he heard
Wes shout.

Tierney sprang to his feet and began running. Or tried to. His
legs
churned through the snow that in places came almost to his waist. His
arms thrashed through snow-shrouded brambles. He stumbled over hidden
tree roots and undergrowth. Ice-encased branches whacked his face.

But if the grunts and groans of those tracking him were any
indication, they were having just as difficult a time as he. Tierney
sensed the desperation that propelled their chase and knew his
deduction had been correct—Dutch Burton wanted to dispatch
him before
another law enforcement agency's arrival prevented him from doing
so.

As before, the road found him almost before he found it.

With little warning, he reached the edge of the embankment.
Quick
reflexes saved him from plunging down it this time. He sat on his butt
and worked his way down.

The sunlight was bright on the undisturbed ribbon of white.

After the shadowed forest, he was momentarily blinded by the
glare.
Shading his eyes, he frantically searched the sky for a sign of the
helicopter. It was so loud, one would have thought it was directly
overhead, but he couldn't see it.

"Ben Tierney!"

Wes and Dutch had emerged from the woods and were standing on
the
edge of the embankment. Two rifles were aimed at him. Their long, sleek
barrels looked menacing in the harsh sunlight. Dutch had both eyes
open. So did Wes. These guys knew how to shoot. How to hit. How to kill.

Like shooting fish in a barrel.

He could almost hear his grandfather saying the adage as he
raised
his hands high above his head. He dropped the pistol and kicked it
away. "I'm unarmed!"

"Perfect." He read the word on Dutch's jeering lips just
before he
squeezed the trigger.

"There's the cabin, sir." Collier spoke to Begley through his
headset.

Hoot had also been provided one. As a courtesy, he was'sure.
Not
because he had any strategic reason for being here.

"What do you know? They made it," Begley said, pointing out
the
snowmobile in front of the cabin. "At least one of them did."

Addressing the pilot through the headset, he said, "Can you
set this
thing down?"

"The clearing is small, sir. In this wind, it'll be difficult."

Collier said, "Get us low enough, we'll use the ropes."

But just as he suggested it, the chopper was broadsided by a
gust of
wind. Acting quickly, the pilot prevented the craft from being swatted
to the ground. As the chopper swung around, Hoot felt his pager vibrate
against his hip.

He fished inside his coat and removed the pager from his belt.
Perkins had punched in their code, indicating urgency. Hoot dug out his
cell phone and hit the auto dial he'd assigned to Perkins's number.

 
* 
*
*

"In here! I'm in here!"

Lilly had been shouting since she'd first heard the
approaching
snowmobile. Knowing she couldn't possibly be heard above its noisome
whine, she continued shouting anyway until it stopped.

"In here," she shouted into the sudden silence, her eyes
trained on
the door.

"Mrs. Burton?"

She didn't bother correcting the name. "Yes, yes. I'm in here."

The door was pushed open, and a man swaddled in ski clothing
rushed
in. "Thank God you're all right."

"Mr. Ritt!" she exclaimed.

He pushed back his fur-lined hood, removed his gloves,
crouched down
in front of her, and looked at the handcuffs. "Dutch and Wes haven't
been here?"

"No."

"They were coming after you and Tierney."

"He's Blue. As I think you must know. He said he heard it on
the
radio."

"Who said?"

"Tierney."

"So he knows they're after him?"

"Yes. Do you see the key for these things?"

As he moved about the cabin searching for the key to the
handcuffs,
she asked how Tierney had come under suspicion.

William Ritt gave her a rushed account of the two FBI agents
coming
into his drugstore the day before. "I'm not sure what kind of evidence
they have on him, but it must be incriminating. They kicked into high
gear when they learned you were trapped up here with him. A rescue
party was organized, but there was an accident, and the road became
hopelessly blocked.

"This morning I volunteered my snowmobiles. Wes and Dutch took
off
on them, but they left this behind." He took some sort of transmitter
from one of his pockets. "It's a two-way radio. I heard Dutch say
they'd need it to stay in contact with each other. So I followed,
thinking I'd catch up with them."

"But you didn't?"

He shook his head. "Only the snowmobiles. They've been
abandoned on
the west road. It looks like they set off oft foot. Do you think they
went after Tierney?"

"Possibly. The only way he could get down the mountain is on
foot.
Both our cars…" She shook her head with impatience. "It's
too long a
story."

"Dutch and Wes must have spotted him." He stopped his search
for the
handcuff key. "I don't see it anywhere. He must have taken it with him."

"It's okay. Now that someone's here, I can stand it."

"Did he hurt you?"

"Not really. Except for knocking me out this morning.* She
closed
her eyes briefly, then said, "I found Millicent Gunn's body in our
shed."

"Oh. Gosh, how awful."

"I think she'd been dead for several days. The storm probably
prevented Tierney from disposing of her body." She told him about
striking Tierney with her car and returning to the cabin to wait out
the blizzard. "He was concerned about our survival, certainly. He
seemed nice, nonthreatening. But some things he said didn't add up."

"Like what?"

She gave him several examples of Tierney's half-truths. "I got
suspicious and searched his backpack. I found these handcuffs and a
length of blue ribbon." She motioned with her chin. "There."

William picked up the backpack and withdrew the blue velvet
ribbon
from one of the zippered compartments. "This is definitely evidence
against him."

"Indisputable evidence."