By Hook or By Crook (14 page)

Cantor turned the heater up another notch to counteract the blast of arctic air that accompanied him. He had brought only a light jacket. He sure didn’t need a parka in Vegas, and he never ventured out into the sticks if he could help it. “Well?” he demanded.

“The snowplow driver’s gonna hit the pass next. We should be able to get through in an hour or so.”

“Any movement on that beacon?” Cantor asked after a moment.

Ramirez pulled out his cell phone. “Don’t know. Can’t get any coverage here.”

“Well, if we’re stuck, they’re probably stuck too.”

Ramirez grunted agreement. The snowplow rumbled on ahead of them, shoving aside one enormous pile of snow after another. The last time they’d been able to check, the beacon had indicated their quarry had stopped right on the other side of that pass. How the two people they were trailing knew Pock, Cantor couldn’t guess. But if all went well, he would have his answers soon enough, if the damn snowplow ever got through the pass.

Chapter 8

“King me.”

Ivy scowled. “Must you win every game?”

They’d been playing checkers for more than an hour, and Joe won every time. He hadn’t just won—he’d obliterated her. So far this game, she’d kinged him three times and she hadn’t reached the other side of the board once.

She couldn’t help it. She couldn’t concentrate. High-stakes poker it wasn’t, but the game still called for more attention than she could muster at the moment. She kept getting distracted by the firelight throwing shadows across his face, and the way his hair gleamed inky-black in the dimness as he studied the board with rapt attention.

His white smile glowed in the soft firelight. “Do you want me to let you win this one?”

“No. I want you to
really
lose, not pretend to lose.”

He made a
tsk
noise. “Now who’s competitive?”

With a frown, she kinged him. If she didn’t start paying attention, he would embarrass her again.

The warm fire, the hideous weather, and the snowed-in passes conspired to create a delicious intimacy. Joe hadn’t pressed her for sex. Much. They were having a good time right now, and she would try not to analyze everything to death like she usually did. But in the meantime, how much thought could she devote to checkers?

She was about to forfeit the already hopeless game when Joe straightened, on alert. Before she could ask him what was wrong, she heard it too.

A vehicle.

Joe leaped to his feet and disappeared into the bedroom. A minute later, he came out, tucking a handgun into the back waistband of his jeans.

“You have a gun?” Ivy was shocked. “Why did you bring a gun just to help find my sister?”

“It comes in handy in case I need to shoot somebody,” he said, his expression grim. “Kick the fire out,” he ordered in a low voice.

She obeyed even as she wondered why. The cabin grew dark as the fire dimmed to glowing embers. “What if it’s someone who needs help?”

“Why would anybody be out in this mess? It’s been snowing for more than a day. Whoever it is has to have set out in the middle of the blizzard,” he said, edging toward the door. “Odd time to go for a drive, don’t you think?”

He leaned against the door and peered through the sidelight. After a minute, he moved from window to window, looking out each one.

Unable to stand the suspense, Ivy whispered, “What do you see?”

“Nothing yet. Whoever it was stopped out of view of the cabin.”

“Maybe they were headed to another cabin?”

“Or maybe they didn’t want us to see them.”

Her heart sank. She preferred her theory to Joe’s. The gun gleamed in his hand, menacing and sleek.

She pressed her lips closed, determined not to betray her nervousness by babbling or asking for reassurance. Smithsons, except for Daisy, didn’t show their feelings. Since she’d met Joe Dunham, she’d been on a wild ride of emotions that had seriously tested her powers of calm. Ivy suddenly longed for familiar territory—to be back in Chicago, holed up in a research library, studying engravings. How exactly had she come to such a pass, stranded out here in the wilderness with a man and a gun?

Joe lifted the curtain on the living room window again. He watched for long minutes, saying nothing. Finally, he straightened. “I’m going out there.” He donned his coat and put his gun in the pocket.

“What?” she squawked, and then took a deep breath when Joe stared at her. “Don’t leave me alone in here.” After a moment, she begged, “Please?” It was as close as she would come to begging. As he weighed his words, she made up her mind. “I’m going with you.”

“You’d be safer in here. There’s probably nothing to worry about. Maybe that sound we heard was the snowplows finally breaking through.”

“In that case, why shouldn’t I come with you?” she asked as she pulled on shoes over her thickest pair of socks. She met his gaze in a direct challenge, daring him to tell her she couldn’t come.

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

She put on her coat and gloves. “Let’s go.”

“Keep behind me, and keep quiet, just in case,” Joe cautioned.

She nodded. Joe opened the door, pushing hard to clear the snow that had piled up in front of it since the last time he’d gone outside. The cold hit Ivy like the lash of a whip, sinking into her bones deeper than anything she’d ever experienced, even in Chicago. Thankfully the bulk of Joe’s shoulders shielded her from the worst of the wind.

Joe edged down the steps and circled around the cabin. Ivy followed him in silence, struggling through the inches of fresh powder that had fallen in the last few hours. Lifting her gaze, she surveyed the clearing. Nothing out of the ordinary. The only tracks in the snow belonged to small animals and birds. The ethereal stillness seemed inviolate.

She took a chance and spoke quietly. “I don’t see anything—do you?”

“Let’s head up the ridge and down the road,” he said. “Maybe we can find the vehicle.”

“I don’t hear it anymore,” she commented, as they set off in the direction of the Jeep.

“Doesn’t mean it’s not there,” he said.

They didn’t speak again for several minutes. She struggled to keep up with his punishing pace. At the ridge, she worked furiously to mount the steep rise, gasping for breath. She began to wish she’d stayed back in the cabin when she nearly collided with Joe’s back. He had stopped abruptly at the top of the ridge.

Hearing her panting, he turned. “You okay?”

She tried to reassure him, but she had no breath to speak. She bent and braced herself on her knees.

“Let’s take a break,” he said. “You want to sit down?”

She shook her head. Getting back up again would be more exertion than she felt up to right now.

“You’re not doing too bad, you know.”

“Thanks,” she gasped.

He turned and surveyed the snowy landscape ahead of them. The beauty of the moonlit snow overcame her as she waited for her heart and breathing to slow.

“Shit.”

The single word snapped her attention back to Joe. Motionless, he fixated on the Jeep in the distance. She followed his gaze, and in a moment, she saw what had startled him. The passenger side window was clear. Someone had wiped the heavy snow off it. Even at this distance, she could see tracks leading to and away from the vehicle. Joe drew his gun, aiming it down.

“Drop the weapon, or you’re both going to die,” An unfamiliar voice rang out in the silence.

It came from the massive cluster of trees to their left. She strained her eyes to pick anything unusual out of the blackness, but the dark stand revealed nothing.

After a moment, two men emerged. One of them held his hand at an odd angle. When he stepped into the moonlight, she saw why. He held a handgun, black and cold, pointed right at Joe’s head. For a moment, she feared her knees might give way. Before today, she’d never seen a gun except in the movies or TV. Joe dropped his weapon.

“What do you want?” Joe’s voice showed no sign of fear. Either he had nerves of steel or he was one hell of an actor.

She edged closer to him, fumbling for and grabbing his hand. He didn’t look at her, but clasped her fingertips in a gesture meant to reassure. Despite everything, it did.

“We want Pock,” the older man said.

“He’s not here,” Joe replied, before Ivy could even make sense of the man’s words.

Pock? Her sister’s fiancé had gotten involved with these criminals? Disbelief crept in to mingle with her fear. What had her sister and her ridiculous boyfriend gotten them into?

“But you know where he is,” said the man.

She put his age at about forty-five or fifty. He looked miserable in sodden loafers and a thin jacket totally inadequate for a snowbound mountain pass. His buddy, a thirtyish Hispanic man, was equally underdressed in a Dodgers jacket and sneakers.

The Hispanic man moved to retrieve Joe’s gun from the snow. Quelling her panic, Ivy moved her eyes over the two men, noting every detail of their appearance, searching for anything that could help her survive this. Bile rose in the back of her throat, but she swallowed, determined to keep calm.

She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly.
These men want Pock, and killing us won’t help find him.
Besides, Joe was a savvy, street-wise guy. He would take care of them. She had never been so glad of another person’s presence in her life. She grasped his hand even tighter, seeking reassurance. He squeezed back, hard.

“We don’t know where he is, exactly,” Joe countered. “Do you think we’d be out here in the middle of nowhere at night if we knew where Pock was?”

The older man laughed.

“So you’re on his trail, too. I thought that was you, asking about him at the Bellisimo. Popular guy, that Pock. Everybody he meets ends up wanting to kill him. He rip you off too?”

Some slight movement on her part must have let Joe know that she intended to correct him, because he quickly cut her off with a small gesture. “Yeah. We want our money back.”

These men probably didn’t know that Pock and her sister were together, and Joe obviously didn’t want them to find out. Thank God he had silenced her before she revealed that little fact.

The less these men knew about Daisy, the better. Why had Pock dragged her sister into this danger? She wanted to hate him for it, but then again, it never required much arm-twisting to talk Daisy into trouble.

“So are we going to stand out here all night and freeze, or are you gonna tell us what you want from us?” Ivy’s brows rose at Joe’s audacity, and a dry laugh broke from the older man. So far, the middle-aged white guy had done all the talking—he must be the boss. His partner stood silent at his side, with a sour expression.

“You don’t lack for balls,” the older man said. “I like that. Pock was supposed to lose a fight. He didn’t show. A lot of people, including me, had money riding on that fight. He cost me money, and made me look bad. That’s two strikes. This ain’t the big leagues. Nobody gets three strikes with me. Lead us to Pock.”

Ivy closed her eyes and opened them again quickly when she felt the ground rushing up. She stumbled, barely avoiding going down face first in the snow.

“Why should I help you?” Joe asked. Thank God he still had his wits about him. She certainly didn’t. “You kill him, I don’t get my money. He owes me fifteen thousand.”

Ivy tried not to react visibly to that startling announcement. What was he up to?

“You’re a businessman. I like that. I’m a businessman too. Tell you what.” The boss’s eyes gleamed in the crystalline cold, and Ivy felt a shiver move through her that had nothing to do with the frigid air. “I need to find Pock. You take us to him and don’t make any trouble, I give you ten thousand.”

“I want fifteen.” The first rays of understanding penetrated her terror-fogged brain. He was framing himself as Pock’s victim. He wanted these men to see him as a potential ally, not a threat.

Still, it might backfire. Eventually, if they caught up with Pock and Daisy, these men would realize Joe had lied. Ivy wouldn’t let herself think about that right now.

The man chuckled. “I like your spirit, but no. I’m holding all the cards, and you’ve got a very weak hand.”

“What if I say no?”

The older man’s eyes sparkled in the night air. He nodded in the direction of his partner, still aiming at Joe’s head. “Then I have my friend take care of you.”

“We can’t help you find Pock if we’re dead, either,” Joe pointed out.

“There’s a lot of middle ground between killing you and letting you go. I think we could spend a lot of time in that gray area.”

Torture?
Ivy locked her knees to keep from sinking to the ground.

The older man let his gaze slide over to her, moving up and down her body in a slow, suggestive perusal. Her mouth instantly dried. She closed her eyes again, hoping she didn’t lose all of her dignity and throw up in the snow. Only when Joe squeezed her hand again did she realize she had made some faint sound of distress.

“Think about it. You get back a good chunk of the change he took you for, and you get to stay alive. Unharmed, even.”

“And what about Pock? What are you going to do to him?” Joe asked.

“We’ll take care of Pock.”

Hearing the man threaten to murder Pock only intensified her nausea. She finally succeeded in swallowing. She couldn’t have spoken if she tried. She prayed Joe had an answer for this.