Her Rocky Mountain Hero. Jen Bokal
and trust no one, she needed Cody—at least for now.
One more shot fired, this one by Cody.
Viktoria fumbled with the key fob, setting it in the console between the seats, then hit the ignition button while pressing her foot on the brake. The engine rumbled to life and she gripped the steering wheel, careful to remain below the dashboard. With a deep breath, she turned the steering wheel and threw the gearshift into Reverse.
The SUV spun in one fluid motion as Cody fired at the hill—once, twice, three times. The shooter didn’t return fire.
“Now!” Cody yelled.
Viktoria flipped the switch for the lights. The hillside glowed, flooded instantly with bright white light. A few stray snowflakes fell, dancing lazily in the beams. Midway up the rise, a man lay on his stomach. A set of goggles encircled his head. He ripped them off, tossing them aside.
Cody advanced. Bullets blazed from the barrel in rapid succession as he moved toward the tree line. “Stay where you are,” he called back to her. With a soft click, his gun’s empty magazine fell to the ground and he quickly reloaded.
Viktoria lost the shooter’s exact location. She sat up taller in her seat and peered at the hill.
Just then a bullet broke through the driver’s side window and pebbles of safety glass exploded into the car. She felt the heat and the wind as the round passed her ear. It tore through the leather headrest and lodged deep within the back seat.
Cody raced to the SUV and jumped in through the shot-out window. “Go,” he shouted, as he climbed over her and into the passenger seat.
Viktoria didn’t need directions. Spinning the steering wheel, she pointed the SUV down the driveway and stomped on the accelerator. The powerful engine roared and catapulted them toward the road. Another bullet flew after them, shattering a side mirror.
“Left, left, left,” said Cody, as the end of the drive loomed close.
Viktoria turned the wheel and the SUV skidded as the tires connected with the cold, wet pavement. Viktoria pulled the steering wheel hard to the right and slammed on the brakes. The SUV began to spin. Mountainside. Cliff. Mountainside. Cliff.
Viktoria was determined to control the mechanical beast and bend it to her will. She let off the brakes and held tight to the steering wheel, forcing the tires to remain straight. The SUV swerved, but ceased spinning. They were aimed directly at a snow-covered steel guardrail. Another step on the brake, and the car slid sideways. Metal scraped against metal and sparks shot into the night. Snow flew in through the broken window. With a shudder, the vehicle came to a stop.
Cody held tight to the dashboard. His jaw was slackened and his tanned face had gone pale. “Where’d you learn how to drive like that?” he asked. She couldn’t decide if it was awe or terror that fueled his breathlessness.
“Manhattan,” said Viktoria with a shrug.
Cody leaned back in the seat and exhaled. “I should have killed him,” he said.
Viktoria began to shiver and it wasn’t just from the cold wind that blew at her from all sides.
“I don’t like that he’s still out there,” Cody said. “He’s not the man in charge, but he’ll tell his boss you’re still alive. He’s probably using the phone in your cabin right now.”
“He could be, but he’s not.”
“How do you know?”
“When those men broke in, I tried to get to the phone. One man took it from me and smashed it against the wall.”
* * *
Dimitri sidestepped down the hill and stood in the middle of the driveway, the taillights of the speeding SUV just two demonic eyes of red. He heard the screech of tires on pavement and the roar of the engine. Both faded until there was nothing. No lights. No sounds. Just the frosty scent of incoming snow on the air.
He recognized the smell—knew it well. The weather in Russia was much harsher than any in the United States, and he’d been in more blizzards than he cared to recall. If he was right—and he was—then one hell of a storm was about to hit Telluride.
His smart use of time was essential.
He returned to the cabin and, as he’d feared, his comrade was dead on the floor. Shot by the other man who never should have been there. Dimitri kicked the door closed and flipped on the light. There were bullet holes in the wall and casings on the floor. He knew there’d be several more of both outside. Concealing those would take time, never mind dealing with the corpse and all the blood.
He turned to the stove. It used gas as the heating element. Perfect. On the table sat a plate of iced cookies. Picking one off the plate, he took a bite and chewed it slowly. The Christmas tree in the corner was covered with a cheap set of lights, also useful. In a drawer he found a set of matches. In the bathroom cabinet stood a large bottle of rubbing alcohol alongside a bag of cotton balls.
Using a knife from the kitchen, he cut through the wires of the Christmas tree lights and plugged them back in. The live end sparked and hissed. He then returned to the stove and turned on all the gas, leaving the burners unlit. After pocketing half a dozen cookies, he went to the door and opened it. He placed the cotton balls in a pile and soaked them with the alcohol, then made a trail to the lights. Once across the threshold, he lit the match and tossed it into the puddle of alcohol on the floor. He closed the door and began to walk down the driveway.
As he ate another cookie, he regretted not taking time to say some words over his fallen comrade. They’d served together in Ukraine during the summer a few years ago, and the man deserved more than to be incinerated in a lonely little cabin. Well, that could hardly be helped now.
Dimitri needed to get in touch with the others and let them know what had happened. He had neither car nor phone. By now, the boss would be wondering why there’d been no contact.
A whoosh erupted behind Dimitri and heat warmed his back. His best chance at survival lay before him and he didn’t bother to turn around. As his pace quickened to a run, he decided that fire was the best way to erase any sins.
* * *
“Try again,” Peter Belkin barked at his driver. His second team had yet to make contact, even though they should have left the Mateev cabin twenty minutes ago.
The man lifted his walkie-talkie. “Beta, this is Alpha. Do you read?”
The faint crackle of static could barely be heard over the wailing child, who sat next to Belkin.
Gregory Mateev had been inconsolable since leaving the cabin, not that Belkin had expected anything less. Even though the boy was being taken for his own good, he was too young and too upset to understand.
“The mountains could be causing interference,” said the driver, raising his voice to be heard over Gregory. “We still don’t have mobile phone service, but should be okay when we reach the house.”
Gregory quieted. Belkin turned to the kid, trying to smile. Fist cocked back, Gregory threw a punch that caught Belkin under the chin. The attorney’s teeth cracked together and his jaw throbbed.
“That’s it,” said Belkin, “I’ve had enough of you.”
“Well, I’ve had enough of you.” Gregory threw out a wild kick that struck Belkin in the arm.
Belkin gripped his biceps. He would have a bruise by the morning. From his breast pocket, he removed a syringe already filled with a sedative. He drove the tip into the child’s upper arm and pressed down on the plunger. The child began to scream, but as soon as the mild tranquillizer entered Gregory Mateev’s bloodstream, he quieted. With a few drowsy blinks, his head lolled to the side and he slept.
Acquiring Gregory Mateev and returning him to his grandfather was Belkin’s main objective, and now at least, the boy was safe—and quiet.
The job should have been simple.