White Lies (17 page)

           
 
They parked under the lean-to and stiffly got
out, arching their backs to stretch aching muscles. The air was so cold and
crisp that it almost hurt to inhale, but the setting sun was painting the snowy
peaks and ridges in shades of red, gold and purple, and Jay stood motionless,
entranced, until Steve nudged her into motion. It took several trips to carry
everything in; then Frank took Steve to the shed to show him how the generator
worked. Evidently someone had already been up to turn it on, because the
electric lights worked and the refrigerator was humming. Jay checked the small
pantry and refrigerator, and found them fully stocked with canned goods and
frozen meats.

           
 
She gave herself a short tour of the cabin.
Next to the kitchen was a small utility-mudroom with a modern washer and dryer.
There was no dining room, only a round wooden table and four chairs in one
corner of the kitchen. The living room was comfortably furnished in sturdy
Early American, with brown corduroy upholstery. A brown-and-blue hooked rug
covered the wooden floor, and one wall was almost entirely taken up by an
enormous rock fireplace. There were two bedrooms of equal size, connected by
the cabin's lone bathroom. Jay stared at the connecting door, her heart beating
a little faster at the thought of sharing a bathroom with him. She knew the
intimacy of damp towels hanging side by side, toiletries becoming jumbled
together, a shared tube of toothpaste. His whiskers would be in the sink, his
razor on the side. The small details of living together were at least as
seductive as physical intimacies, meshing their lives at every moment of the
day.

           
 
The back door slammed, and Steve called,
"Where are you?" His rough voice was even raspier than usual from
breathing the cold air.

           
 
"Exploring," she replied, leaving
the bathroom and crossing to the bedroom door. "Any objections if I take
the front bedroom? It has the best view." A fire had already been laid in
the fireplace. He bent down and struck a match on the hearth, then held it to
the paper and kindling under the logs, not answering until he'd straightened.
"Let me look at them." Vaguely surprised, Jay stepped aside and let
him enter. He examined the location of the windows and their locks, opened the
closet and looked at it, then stepped into the adjoining bath.

           
 
"It's a connecting bath," she
pointed out.

           
 
He grunted and opened the door into the second
bedroom. The windows in both rooms were on the side walls, but because the rear
of the cabin was closer to the ground than the front was, the windows in the
second bedroom were more accessible from the outside. "All right," he
said, checking the locks on his windows, too. "But I want it understood
that if you hear anything at all during the night, you wake me. Okay?"

           
 
"Yes," she said, her throat
constricting. All this was second nature to him. He must think there was some
danger, too, despite all the precautions Frank had taken. She had wanted to
think they were safe here, but perhaps they weren't. The best thing she could
do was not argue with him.

           
 
He glanced at her, and his rough face softened
a bit. "Sorry. I guess I'm overreacting to a strange situation. I didn't
mean to scare you." Because the tension didn't fade from her eyes, he
walked over to her, cupped her face in his hands, then kissed her. Her
wonderfully full, lush, exotic mouth opened for him and his tongue teased at
hers. Jay put her hands on his shoulders and luxuriated in the heat of his body
against her. The cabin wasn't icy, but it was far from warm. He held her
against him for a moment, then reluctantly let her go. "Let's see what
this place has in the way of grub. If I don't eat soon, I'm going to fall
down." He wasn't exaggerating, she realized. She could feel a faint tremor
in his muscles, a sign of the enormous strain he'd put on his body that day.

           
 
Casually she put her arm around his waist as
they walked back to the living room. "I've already checked the food. We
can have almost anything our hearts desire, as long as our hearts desire plain
cuisine. If you want lobster or truffles, you're out of luck."

           
 
"I'd settle for a can of soup," he
said tiredly, and groaned as he sank down into one of the comfortable chairs.
He stretched his legs out, absently rubbing his thighs.

           
 
"We can do better than that," Frank
said as he brought in an armload of wood, having caught Steve's last comment.
He stacked the wood on the hearth and dusted his hands. "I think. I'm not
much of a cook." He looked hopefully at Jay, and she laughed.

           
 
"I'll see what I can do. I'm a real whiz
with microwave dinners, but I didn't see a microwave oven, so I'm a little
lost."

           
 
She was too tired to do much, but it didn't
take a tot of effort to open two large cans of beef stew and heat them, or to
brown buttered rolls in the gas oven. They were almost silent as they ate, and
after Frank had helped her clean up the few dishes, they all took turns in the
shower. By
eight o'clock
they were asleep, Jay and Steve in their respective bedrooms and Frank rolled
in a blanket on the couch.

           
 
They rose early the next morning, and after a
hearty breakfast Frank and Steve walked around in the snow. The gas stove and
hot-water heater operated on butane gas, and the large tank had been filled; it
shouldn't need refilling until spring. The fuel tank for the generator would
need replenishing, but all Steve had to do was contact Frank by computer, and
fuel would be brought in by helicopter. They didn't want a delivery to the
cabin by any commercial business or utility, and, at any rate, the cabin was
too difficult for an ordinary fuel truck to reach. It was a complicated setup,
but it was meant to be an ultrasafe lodging, unlisted in any files. All in all,
the place was stocked for a long-term stay, though Frank couldn't help wishing
Steve would recover his memory soon and put an end to all this, or that Piggot
would be caught.

           
 
"The nearest town is Black Bull,
population one hundred thirty-three," Frank said. "Go down to the
dirt road and turn right, and you'll eventually get there. It has a general
store for basic food and supplies. If you want anything fancier, you'll have to
find a larger town, but keep a low profile. You should have enough cash to last
a couple of months, but let me know if you need more." Steve looked out
over the white meadow. The air was so clear, the earlymorning sun so bright on
the spotless snow, that it hurt his eyes. The cold burned his lungs. The land
was so damned big and empty that it gave him an eerie feeling, but at the same
time he was almost content. He was impatient for Frank to leave so he would
finally be alone, completely alone, with Jay.

           
 
"You're safe here," Frank added.
"The Man uses it sometimes." He glanced up at the cabin. "I
wouldn't have brought Jay here if it wasn't safe. She's a civilian, so take
good care of her, pal."

           
 
A tingle, a heightened awareness, had seized
Steve when Frank mentioned the
Man.
It wasn't a sense of danger but a sort of
excitement. The memory was there, but blocked from his consciousness by the
lingering effects of the explosion. The Man was another piece of the puzzle.

           
 
He shook Frank's hand, and their eyes met in
the comradeship of men who have been in danger together. "You probably
won't see me again until this is over, but I'll be in touch," Frank said.
"I'd better get moving. It's supposed to start snowing again this
afternoon."

           
 
They went inside and Frank got his gear, then
told Jay goodbye. She hugged him, her eyes suspiciously bright. Frank had been
her rock for two months, and she would miss him. He had also been a buffer
between her and Steve; when he left, there would be only the two of them.

           
 
She glanced at Steve, to find him watching her
intently. His pale brown eyes were glowing, yellower than they had moments
before, like those of a raptor that had sighted its prey.

           
 
Jay had expected Steve to pounce on her, but
to her relief he seemed to have other things on his mind. For the next week he
spent the daylight hours prowling around the cabin and shed and exploring their
high meadow, as tense and wary as a cat in unfamiliar surroundings. The hours
passed tromping through the snow tired him, and as often as not he would go to
sleep soon after eating dinner. Jay worried, until she realized that it was a
natural part of his recovery. The rehabilitation he'd had in the hospital had given
him a start, but he was still a long way from full strength, and the many hours
of walking served two purposes: to acquaint him with his new territory, and to
rebuild his stamina. It was the end of the week before he began to relax, but
every day he still walked a perimeter around the cabin, watching, checking for
any intrusion.

           
 
They seemed so isolated that she couldn't
understand his caution, but she supposed it was ingrained in him. Watching him
gave her an even greater insight into the man he was. He was so superbly suited
to his occupation! He knew what to do by instinct, without needing to rely on
memory.

           
 
When he was stronger, he began chopping wood
to keep a good supply for the fireplace. They used the hearth for most of their
heat, to conserve fuel. The cabin was so snugly built and insulated that it
held heat well, and a good fire was sufficient to keep the entire place
comfortable. At first his hands were sore and blistered, despite the gloves he
wore, but gradually they toughened. After a while he added jogging to his
activities, but he didn't jog in the meadow, where it was clear. He ran through
the trees, up and down the hills, deliberately picking the roughest path, and
every day his legs were a little stronger, his breathing a little easier, so he
would push himself further.

           
 
Jay loved those first days in the cabin, high
in the vast, silent meadow. Sometimes the only sound was that of the wind
stirring the trees. Having been accustomed her entire life to the bustle of
cities, the space and silence made her feel as if she'd been reborn in a new
world. The last remnants of tension from her old life relaxed and faded away.
She was alone in the mountains with the man she loved, and they were safe.

           
 
He began teaching her how to drive a stick
shift. To Jay, it was fun, bouncing in the Jeep over the meadow. To Steve, it
was a precaution, against the possibility that something could happen to him
and Jay would have to do the driving. It might come down to a matter of saving
her life.

           
 
There was a heavy snow the third week they
were there. Jay woke early to a world where every sound had been muffled. She
got up to peek out the window at the deep drifts of new snow, then tumbled back
into her warm bed and fell instantly asleep again. When she woke the second
time it was almost ten, and she felt wonderfully rested, as well as starving.

           
 
She dressed hurriedly and brushed her hair,
wondering why the cabin was so silent. Where was Steve? She looked into his
room, but it was empty. There was a pot of coffee in the kitchen, and she drank
a cup while standing at the window, searching the tree line for some sign of
him. Nothing.

           
 
Curious, she finished the coffee and returned
to her room to stamp her feet into warm boots; then she put on her shearling
coat and pulled a thick knit cap over her hair. It was unusual for Steve to go
out without telling her where he would be and how long he'd be gone. She
wondered what he was doing, and why he hadn't woken her. Could he have hurt
himself?

           
 
Anxious now, she went down the back steps.
"Steve?" she called softly, a little afraid to raise her voice. The
meadow was so silent, and for the first time its isolation felt threatening,
instead of safe. Was there someone else out there?

           
 
His footprints were plainly visible in the new
snow. He'd evidently made several trips to the woodpile to replenish the supply
in the house, because there was a worn trail between them; then he'd walked up
the slope into the forest. Jay dug her gloves out of her coat pocket and put them
on, and wished she'd wrapped a scarf around her nose and mouth. It was so cold
that the air felt brittle. She turned the collar of the coat up around her neck
and began following Steve's trail, carefully stepping in his tracks because
that was easier than breaking through the snow herself.

           
 
The snow wasn't as deep under the trees,
making the walking easier, but Jay kept to the prints Steve had made. The
thickly-growing evergreens, their branches weighted down with snow, blanketed
noise and muffled it out of existence. She could barely hear herself breathe or
the snow crunching under her boots. She wanted to call Steve's name again but
somehow didn't dare, as if it would be sacrilege in this silent white, black
and green cathedral.

           
 
If anything, she tried to be even quieter,
picking her way from tree to tree, trying to become part of the forest. Then,
suddenly, she lost Steve's tracks. She stood under the drooping limbs of a
spruce and looked around, but there were no more tracks to follow. It was as if
he'd vanished. It was impossible to walk in the snow without leaving tracks!
But there were no tracks under the trees. She looked up, wondering if he'd
climbed a tree and was sitting there laughing at her. Nothing.

           
 
Common sense told her that he'd played some
sort of trick, but his tracks would have to pick up somewhere. She thought a
minute, then began walking in a slow, constantly enlarging circle. She would
have to cross his path somewhere. Fifteen minutes later, she was angry. Damn
him! He was playing games with her, unfair games, considering his training. She
was getting cold, and she was already starving. Let him play Daniel Boone; she
was going back to the cabin to cook breakfast—for
one
!

           
 
Just to be perverse, she backtracked as
cautiously as she'd come; maybe she could leave him in here, sneaking around
and hiding from her while she was already back at the cabin, snug and warm and
eating a hot breakfast. He'd show up after a while, all innocence, and he could
damn well cook his own breakfast!

           
 
Show-off!

           
 
She crept back toward the cabin, sidling as
close to the tree trunks as she could, stopping often to listen for any
betraying sound before moving to the next tree, and looking in all directions
before moving again. Her indignation grew, and she began to think what she
could do in the way of revenge, but most of her ideas seemed both petty and
paltry. What she really wanted to do was hit him. Hard. Twice.

           
 
She had just begun to creep around a tree when
the skin on the back of her neck prickled and she froze, her heart leaping in
fear at the ancient warning of danger. She couldn't hear or see anything, but
she could feel someone, or some
thing
,
close by. Were there wolves in the mountains? Or bears? Motionless except for
her eyes, she looked around for something to use as a weapon, and finally she
saw the outline of a sturdy-looking stick, buried under the snow. A fraction of
an inch at a time, she bent to reach for the stick, her senses raw and
screaming.

           
 
Something hard and heavy hit her in the middle
of the back, and another blow numbed her forearm. She was knocked facedown in
the snow, her lungs straining for air, her arm useless. She couldn't even
scream. She was jerked roughly onto her back, and there was a flash of shiny
metal as a knife was laid against her throat.

           
 
Stunned, terrified, unable to breathe, she
stared up into narrowed, deadly eyes as yellow as an eagle's.

           
 
His eyes widened as he recognized her, then
narrowed again with rage. He jabbed the wicked-looking knife back into its
scabbard and took his knee off her chest. "Damn it, woman, I could've
killed you!" he roared, his voice like rusty metal. "What in hell are
you doing?"

           
 
Jay could only gasp and writhe on the ground,
wondering if she might die from lack of air. Her entire chest was burning and
her vision was wavering. Steve jerked her to a sitting position and whacked her
on the back several times, hard enough to hurt, but at least the air rushed
back into her body. She almost choked as her lungs expanded again, and tears
sprang to her eyes. She gagged and coughed, and Steve patted her on the back
but his tone was hard:

           
 
"You'll be all right. It's less than you
deserve, and a hell of a lot less than what could have happened."

           
 
She didn't plan it. She saw the stick out of
the corner of her eye, the one she'd been reaching for when he'd hit her, and
the next thing she knew it was in her hand. Red mist fogged her vision as she
swung at him with all the strength her fury had given her. He dodged under the
first blow, cursing, and leaped back to escape the second one. She moved to the
left, trying to back him against a tree so he wouldn't be able to escape so
easily, and swung again. He tried to grab the stick, and she caught him on the
wrist with a solid
thunk
! then wound
up for another blow. Cursing again, he bent low and rushed her. She hit him on
the back with the stick just as his shoulder jammed into her stomach with
enough force to knock her sprawling again.

           
 
"Damn it!" he yelled, kneeling
astride her and pinning her wrists to the ground. "Settle down! Damn it,
Jay! What in hell's wrong with you?" She twisted and bucked beneath him,
trying to throw him off. He tightened his knees on her sides, forestalling that
effort, and his hands bit into her wrists so tightly there was no way she could
free them. Finally she stopped struggling and glared impotently at him, her
eyes like blue fire. "Get off me!"

           
 
"So you can brain me with that damn
stick? Fat chance!" She took a deep, shuddering breath and forced her
voice to a relatively calm tone. "I won't hit you with the stick."

           
 
"Damn straight you won't," he
grunted, releasing her hand to grab the stick and hurl it away from them. Jay
used her free hand to wipe the snow out of her face, and slowly Steve eased his
weight off her chest. She sat up and pulled the knit cap off her head to shake
it free of snow.

           
 
Kneeling on one knee beside her, Steve brushed
off her back. "Now suppose you explain just what you thought you were
doing," he snapped. Fury burst in her again and she swung at him. He
jerked his head back in time to escape her fist, but the wet cap she held in
her hand swiped his face with enough force to sting. Like a stroke of lightning
she was flat on her back again. From between gritted teeth he said, "One
more time and you'll eat standing up for a month!"

           
 
She blazed back at him: "You just try it!
When I woke up and couldn't find you, I was worried you might be hurt, so I
came looking for you. Then you started showing off with your Super Spy tricks,
not letting me find you, until I got fed up and started back to the cabin.
Then
 
you knocked me down and pulled a knife on me,
and
 
yelled at me! You deserved to get hit with a
stick! " He glared down at her, taking in her tumbled hair and fierce blue
eyes, and the stubborn set of those luscious lips. He swore under his breath
and thrust his fingers into the honey-brown strands, holding her still while he
ground his mouth against hers. His kiss was half angry and half starving. He was
suddenly wild to feel her lips, to put his tongue inside her mouth and taste
her. She kicked at him, and he moved swiftly, kneeing her legs apart and
settling himself between them, his weight crushing her into the snow.

           
 
Jay groaned, and his tongue thrust into her
mouth. Suddenly she felt on fire, as her fury turned into a different,
white-hot passion. Her hands were in his hair, digging into his scalp as she
returned his kiss as fiercely as he gave it. His hips rubbed against her in
primal rhythm, thrusting as if to deny the sturdy denim between them, and her
blood felt like lava. Roughly he opened her thick coat and shoved the edges
aside, his hands covering her breasts, but still she was protected from him by
her shirt and bra, and the contact wasn't enough. He jerked at her shirt,
popping three of the buttons off to be lost in the snow, and opened it, too.
The cold air rushed at her and she cried out, but the sound was caught in his
mouth. Her bra had a front hook; he handled it easily and peeled the thin cups
away from her white, swollen breasts. Her nipples were hard and tight from the
cold, stabbing into his palms when he put his hands over them.