Chapter 45
FORTY-FIVE
“Weather eyes?” Falling snow whirled down in heavy wet clumps, dotting Cal’s hair. Branches creaked, pieces of melt pock-pocking through ice and into snow underneath.
“Dunno.” Reese shook his head, cupping his hands behind his ears to focus the sound.
“Where can we go?” Holly, standing under the minuscule porch roof, hugged herself.
The blue of the sweater brought out her eyes, and her hair, even wet, now looked far more vital.
She was still too heartbreakingly thin, but that would fix itself if Reese could get enough food in her. “We’re trapped up here.”
“Not necessarily.” Reese took a deep breath. “It’s cold. Go back inside.”
“Stare at the walls and wait? No thanks.” She shivered, hugging herself even harder. “What are we going to do?”
At least it was still we. “Right now you’re going to go inside. It’s freezing out here, Holly.”
“I’m not going to catch cold and die. Right?” Her chin set.
Cal scanned what he could see of the sky, blue eyes narrowed. “I don’t like this.”
You’re not the only one. Inside the cabin, the AM radio had weather reports ticking by, the storm’s last spasm moving westward to crash against the mountains.
The warming in its wake would make every road sloppy and dangerous.
The sound could be anything—airlift for lost hikers, weather copter, even just normal air traffic.
Sure, right. None of that would feel like this. A rasping tingle against his nerves—the same sensation that had warned him about Cal.
Could still be warning him about Cal.
“It feels hinky,” the other agent said, his breath pluming in the cold. “Makes me itch.”
Afterward, Reese was never sure if there had been a pause after the words.
One moment he was turning over alternatives, the next he had tackled Holly back through the open door.
They landed in a heap, her soft shocked cry mixing with the zinging of another bullet, and Cal swearing viciously behind him was a slow groan because Reese was moving so fast. Cal kicked the door shut, glass shattering, another popping zing.
Sniper. Probably gone by the time we get out the door. It was the follow-up that was meant to dust them. Which made it possible carelessness—if you were going to take two agents, warning them like this was a bad idea.
There was no time to think. Holly struggled against his hold, thrashing on the floor. Had he hurt her? Was she hit? He didn’t smell blood, but—
“—off me!” she yelled, and he had a bare moment to be relieved before she heaved, almost tossing him sideways.
Look at that. She is stronger. Rolling, staying low in case more lead came flying through, Cal was already heading for his backpack, settled against the chair he’d slept in.
Reese dove for his and Holly’s packs as well as her parka, and by the time Holly had struggled to her feet—civilian, she doesn’t know—he was already barking “Get down!” and yanking at her arm, planning the next few moves.
The copper scent of blood hit him, and he froze. God. Oh, God—
“Hit!” Cal snarled. “Goddamn it. Got a kit?”
Relief that it wasn’t Holly smashed through him as he dragged her along, an awkward duck scramble. “Back door. This way.”
“What the hell?” Holly, tugging against his grasp. “Someone’s shooting!”
No time to wonder why she wasn’t agent-strong—did the virus dilute?
As soon as they were behind enough cover he pulled her to her feet, hooking down the first-aid bag—camo green, the Army still did some things best—from its shelf and tossing it to Cal.
If he was moving, couldn’t be that bad. “Status?”
“Fine!” The other agent was suddenly all business. So he shut up when he was under fire.
Good to know.
Snow had drifted high enough to touch the sloped-down roof outside the back door; the resultant tunnel was full of shadowy ice-filtered light. Adrenaline threatened to make Reese’s fingers clumsy; he twisted the lock too hard and metal pinged, breaking with a high sweet noise.
“Christ,” Holly whispered, hitching her backpack up on her shoulder. “Shooting at us.”
Be careful, Reese. Don’t give anything away for free.
The angle of the slope behind the house made it safer, unless another sniper had worked around during last night.
The car could make it out, but instead, he swept the shed with a single glance and pointed at the canvas-shrouded hulk in the corner.
“Holly, get Cal bandaged up. We’re leaving. ”
“But... my clothes, the—”
“Everything you need’s in the backpack. I put it together while you were cleaning up. Get him bandaged.”
She was still struggling to catch up. “You what?”
“Clothes can be replaced, ma’am.” Cal stepped in to distract her. “Open this up. I’d like to stop bleeding.”
“Oh, God.” A burst of high brassy fear in the middle of her scent—it almost rocked him back on his heels. But she was already ripping the kit open, and Cal had struggled half out of his coat.
The canvas cover fell aside and a battered snowcat reared up in front of Reese, scratched and scored blotches of green and paleness meant to break up its outline against wooded hills. Of course the damn thing was as loud as two world wars rolled into one, but it could go places a sedan couldn’t.
“Does it still work?” Cal winced as Holly’s shaking hands applied antiseptic to the wound—it was messy, but only a crease. The wound was already closing, and Reese hoped Holly wouldn’t notice.
“Checked it when we got here.” The mice saw it, sure but they didn’t get anything critical. Another piece of luck. “Full tank, extras strapped on.”
“A bit of cross-country?” Cal winced again, but Reese suspected it was only for show, to keep a nervous, trembling woman occupied.
“Smart man.” Reese checked the tanks one last time.
“That car will wallow,” the other agent observed.
“Like a fat horse.”
“Want me to take her?” Cal could have meant the car—or the girl.
Holly’s head snapped up, her eyes wide.
“Holly stays with me,” Reese answered, steadily. “You’re bait.”
“Great.” At least he didn’t argue; for all his chatter, the man was a professional. “Rendezvous?”
“Your second job in Mexico. Sixteen days from now.” Reese shouldered Holly aside; she was having trouble with the compression bandage.
A few seconds had everything set right, the white gauze pad pinkening a bit in the middle as he taped it down.
The other agent still smelled right—peppery adrenaline, the blue sharpness of determination, not a single off-note. “North side.”
“Got it.” Cal shrugged back into his coat. “Good luck.”
“You too.” It was safe enough to open the shed door, and within a few moments the roar of the ’cat began to seesaw as it slip-slid, gunning for a stand of pines that would provide the best cover.
Holly, numbly pawing at the passenger-side door of the sedan, flinched when Reese caught her elbow.
“It’s all right,” he managed around the rock in his throat. He held up her parka and began bundling her into it. “We don’t need the car. Come on.”