Page 34 of Black Ice
As if he had any say in the weather or a madman who’d exposed them to this extreme danger. He leaned into another surge of snow and wind. When the gust was done, he glanced back, seeing Cordell and Baker huddled together.
Plotting his demise probably. Fools. They’d never get out of here without a guide in this weather. “Let’s go!” he shouted just to see what they’d do.
Both men were impossible to read through the layers of outerwear, but Wyatt was sure the gun was in Cordell’s hand. Whether or not he could fire it accurately was the question.
“We need shelter,” Cordell shouted, loping awkwardly toward him.
Evie needed shelter, Wyatt thought darkly. These two needed a jail cell. “That’s the plan,” he hollered back.
“Baker was hurt in the crash.” Cordell said. “He can’t go much longer.”
It was the first good news Wyatt had heard in hours. Days, really. “How bad?” he asked, moving back through his tracks to where Baker was propped against a tree.
“Ribs maybe? I’m no doctor,” Cordell said. “Do something. He’s breathing weird.”
They were all breathing weird in this nasty wind and snow. Under the scarf Baker was pale. His breathing was shallow and jerky. Pained. Definitely ribs. “Can’t help him out here,” Wyatt said. He didn’t bother mentioning the many rugged miles between them and the rendezvous.
“Obviously,” Cordell snarled. “Give me solutions.”
Wyatt mentally cussed out Cordell, the weather-phobic FBI, his gambling-addict mother and the world at large for bringing him to this moment of pure insanity. They had yet to find an abandoned mine shaft.
Yes, he believed in taking ownership of decisions and choices. Yes, he’d left Deadwood to make something of himself in the military. And he had, only to trash it all by returning to town with a band of thieves.
He cringed, thinking of how the robbery must look to the Silver Aces security team. The many surveillance camera angles would show the hometown military hero kidnap Evie while helping the crew escape.
If the FBI didn’t clear that up with a very public statement, he was screwed, his new career up in smoke. Or buried in snow. Either way it was over. Evie had to survive. Had to. His soulwould shatter if she didn’t. Of course if she survived he had no doubt she’d gleefully testify against him if there was a trial.
He caught the tail of his scattering thoughts. This must be his brain with frostbite. “The only chance he has is to keep going. There’s a mining museum up ahead, and we might find a hunting cabin before that.”
Cordell didn’t look pleased, but unless he wanted to build an igloo or had a pop-up tent in his pocket, the only choice was to press on.
A wild screech sliced through the air before a gust caught the sound and carried it away. It sounded remarkably like Evie’s screech owl impersonation. She’d mastered it to amuse young campers and impress skeptical adults on various summer tours.
Fantastic. Now he was hearing things. There was no chance any animal, especially not a small bird, was out in this weather. Finding shelter became more important, regardless of whether or not it helped Baker.
Two short screeches sounded again as he guided them north, Baker supported between them.
“What is that?” Cordell asked.
“Nature,” Wyatt replied. That was definitely Evie. He didn’t know if he should be relieved or irritated.
The more intriguing question was how she’d gotten so close. When the sound cut through the wind again, he thought she might actually be ahead of them. He kept walking as if it was perfectly normal for an owl to be hunting in the middle of an afternoon blizzard.
“You’re lost, aren’t you?” Cordell accused as they all paused to catch their breath.
“I’m not.” Wyatt pointed toward the wall of snow-covered trees ahead of them. “Can’t you see the road?”
Cordell shoved him. “Quit messing with me.”
Wyatt, drained mentally and physically, fell into the snow. It was damn tempting to stay put and let the weather have its way. But Evie was close. That was a miracle he couldn’t ignore. He hauled himself back to his feet just as Baker groaned and doubled over. “The road isbehindthe trees. Look at the spacing.”
Cordell peered ahead, snow coating his eyebrows and eyelashes. “Does that mean we’re close?”
Wyatt nodded. “On the other side of this next curve is the road to the mining museum.” He didn’t tell them it would be at least another mile on that road. We can wait out the weather there.” For all the good it would do. They would get snowed in and miss their escape driver waiting at the ghost town.
On top of that, the power would surely be out, and they’d have to break in. Which meant compromising the shelter. But it was better than nothing. If he could keep them there long enough, the FBI could follow the GPS signal and scoop them up the moment the weather cleared.
“Let’s move,” Baker said, shuffling ahead, carving a path in the wet snow. “I can’t feel my face.” In a normal storm, that path might’ve helped the authorities. In this weather, there was no chance the trail would last long enough.
