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KATE YANKED AT HIS arms, trying to loosen his grip. He could hear her shallow gasps but it was the panic in her eyes that made him loosen his hands.
“Just tell me where Monty fits in this,” he said. “And I promise I won’t hurt you.”
It was patently clear, at least to him, that he wasn’t going to hurt her. Just seeing her panic had been enough to make him queasy. But it was good she was afraid. People talked quicker when they were frightened, and he’d always been very good at scaring—
Her fist slammed into his stomach, making his breath ooze in a surprised whoosh. She didn’t try to run, just glared with defiant eyes.
He took a painful breath then snagged both her wrists and yanked her forward, this time taking care to keep both her arms shackled.
“You’re going to tell me everything,” he snapped, furious at his weakness. “Starting with Monty and what his plans are for Courtney.”
She was shaking her head so he twisted her arms behind her back, pinning her wrists with one hand. “Is that a no?”
She just glared up at him. Obviously she knew he’d never hurt her, and his helplessness mingled with a rising panic. There might still be time to save Courtney if he could climb the mountain high enough to find cell phone coverage. But he needed information. And he needed it fast.
He turned her around, releasing her hands and forcing her to look out over the ledge. “Tell me where Monty’s headed.”
He’d assumed she had a respectful fear of heights, simply from the painstaking way she’d handled the climb. But now he suspected she’d merely wanted their pursuers to catch up. Like a lovesick fool he’d let her set the pace, giving her time to feel comfortable, hoping she’d trust that he had her back. And the knowledge that he’d been so completely suckered fueled his hot anger.
He pushed her closer to the edge. “Struggle and you’ll fall,” he said, raising his voice so she’d hear it over the howling wind. “Now tell me where Monty’s headed. Where is he taking Courtney?”
She didn’t answer but he could feel a change in her body. From proud defiance to a sudden wilting. Good, he was getting to her.
“Where’s Monty headed?” he asked, using his coldest voice.
“To the f-fire tower,” she said, gripping his arms, as if afraid she really would tumble over.
He didn’t give an inch, just kept her posed close to that yawning edge. “Who’s meeting them there? And who’s paying you? Is it Kessler or Logan?”
One of her hands clutched at his bare chest, no longer fisted but merely struggling to hang on. Her nails were sharp but she wasn’t using them as a weapon. She seemed more like a helpless kitten about to be tossed into a bucket of water and unable to do anything to stop it. Her obvious fear cooled his anger. He pulled her back a step. But kept his voice steely.
“Tell me who’s dead. Kessler or Logan?”
“K-Kessler,” she said. She kept running her hands over his chest, as if looking for a place to grip. Then she seemed to realize she was scratching his skin and simply fisted both her hands over the waistband of his jeans.
Even in her terrified state, she was trying not to hurt him. And that knowledge broke him. There was no way she could have killed a man, at least not with a knife. He moved back, drawing her another foot from the ledge. “Logan really did kill Kessler?”
She just looked at him, her face so mystified his confusion grew. She couldn’t be acting. Not the way she was shrinking against him, her heart pounding. One couldn’t fake fear like that. And he couldn’t dismiss the fact that someone was still following. If Monty were involved in the abduction, the man would have just waited in the woods. Then ridden out on the mules and handed Courtney over. Job complete. There’d be no reason to waste time with a pointless pursuit.
He squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, Kate’s face was still a mask of fear, her hands clenched around his jeans in a death grip. He eased her back toward the mouth of the cave, more bewildered than ever.
“Just take some big breaths,” he said gruffly. “You know I’m not going to throw you over.”
He kept his hands on her arms, waiting for her breathing to settle. Still needing answers.
“Did Logan pay you to bring that big knife?” he asked. “Maybe you didn’t know his plans? You probably didn’t expect him to take Courtney. Or kill anyone.” He eyed her hopefully.
She just stared, a pulse pounding erratically in her beautiful neck.
“Dammit, Kate.” He gave her a frustrated shake. “You have to tell me. I know some good lawyers. But I can’t help you unless I know everything.”
“Y-you already do,” she said.
Her voice was ragged, her chest heaving, but at least she was talking. Logan had probably bribed her, maybe even threatened her. Threats would be better. Certainly the courts would be more sympathetic, especially if Kate helped Jack turn things around and save Courtney.
“So Logan forced you to bring the knife,” he said, studying her face. “But you had no idea of his intentions. Do you even know where they’re taking Courtney?”
She looked at him, her expression not evasive or fearful or furtive. She just seemed blank.
A sick feeling built in his gut. Smuggling in a knife was risky. She and Logan had no idea if her boots would be checked. And Logan hadn’t even been present at the pre-dawn check. Surely he would have made sure he was the agent to frisk her. But it had been Kessler who’d initiated the search, and Kessler hadn’t objected when Jack stepped in.
Jack jabbed his thumb at the lethal-looking knife lying on his shirt. “Who owns that weapon?”
“Me.”
“No one told you to bring it? So you’re saying Monty is really taking Courtney to safety?”
“Yes,” she said.
He lowered his arms. Scrubbed his jaw with his fist. She was still shivering, still frightened, but she was clearly cold as well. He could see the tips of her toes, curled against the rock, vainly seeking shelter from the wind.
He walked back to the mound of clothes, grabbed her socks and his shirt, along with the offending knife. Tossed the socks at her feet. “Put on your socks,” he said. “And your jacket.”
She just stood there.
“Sit,” he said, angling her to the ground. He kneeled down, stuck her arms in the sleeves and yanked on her jacket.
“Can you tell me why you hid a knife in your boot?” he asked, his resentment still swirling. He’d returned her little jackknife yesterday, had thought she’d earned carrying privileges. Yet the entire time she’d possessed a killer shank. She must have been snickering.
“I don’t like to feel helpless,” she said.
“What if I found it at the security check?” He pulled up the zipper of her jacket, so fast it almost clipped the skin on her throat.
She winced. “Then I wouldn’t have been able to bring it.”
Her grimace showed she was aware it wouldn’t have been so simple. She would have been treated as a suspicious person and the ensuing treatment by government security wouldn’t have been pleasant. Quite likely her employment would have been jeopardized as well.
It was apparent she loved her trail job. Enjoyed working with Monty. Just last night she’d stood beside the guide, facing down a charging grizzly. When she’d grabbed her boot, he’d assumed it had been in shock. Now he realized she’d been trying to get her knife to fight the bear. And who would take on a grizzly with just a knife?
He shook his head, recalling that in the river she’d also been clutching at her boot, probably reaching for her blade to cut Slider’s reins. Clearly, a conditioned response.
More significantly, on both occasions she’d been willing to expose the knife. Not keep it hidden for any nefarious purpose.
Still, his resentment bubbled. Anyone would have jumped to the same conclusion. It just wasn’t normal for a woman to carry a lethal boot knife in a specially handcrafted sheath. If he’d found it on Monty, he might have been more understanding. A grizzled trail veteran wouldn’t want to hit the trail without his knife. But Kate was a beautiful young woman. Her big knife was...unexpected.
He blew out a sigh, accepting that he was guilty of gender profiling in the very worst way, despite his considerable training. Dammit though, she’d had plenty of time to tell him. That would have made all the difference.
She should have told me.
He straightened and stalked over to the knife, his chest painfully tight. Of course, she might still be lying.
He switched on his light, angling the beam over the knife blade. There’d been no time for a thorough cleaning and it was hard to rub off every speck of blood, especially close to the handle. A part of him, his most desperate chauvinistic side, even hoped he’d find telltale specks. Otherwise he’d made a colossal mistake.
One she might never be able to forgive.
