with all that wild, sun-bleached hair.
“She’s five feet five inches,” Suit Number Two said. “One hundred fifteen pounds. Violet eyes. Blond hair.”
The voice faded as Jake’s attention zeroed in on the mug shot. Her skin was flawless and pale as sweet cream. Her expression reflected defiance and an attitude that took a hard left just short of good. Her eyes spoke of a woman’s secrets and beckoned the unwary to trust her.
Jake definitely didn’t fall into the unwary category. Two years ago he’d played the fool for a woman with a pretty face and a tale of woe. Her betrayal still cut him on occasion, when he let himself think about it. He knew better than most that looks could be deceiving. And he knew firsthand what it was like to be on the receiving end of deceit. He felt the knife in his back to this day, and he’d sworn a hundred times he’d never be taken in again.
“Any questions?”
Jake cleared the cobwebs from his throat. “Any idea where she’s heading?”
“We found a map in her cell with a penciled-in route that indicated east. But we think it was a ploy to throw us off. We’re setting up patrols to the east, but as I already mentioned we suspect she’s heading west, into the higher elevations.” Checking his watch, the suit turned the floor over to Buzz.
Buzz looked at Tony Colorosa. “Flyboy, what’s the situation on the weather?”
Tony came to attention. He might be the resident Romeo, but he took his job as chopper pilot serious to the extreme. “Weather Service put out an advisory about an hour ago. There’s a low-pressure system to the northwest, building up steam and heading this way. It’s packing two feet of snow and high winds that’ll hit fifty knots by this afternoon. Gusts are at thirty-five right now. I’d say we have about two hours of fly time, four max before I’ll have to recall to base.”
Buzz didn’t look happy about sending his pilot out in iffy weather. “That gives us four hours with the chopper, gentlemen. The rest of the search will be conducted on the ground. Tell your mommies and girlfriends you’re not going to be home for breakfast, lunch or dinner.” Buzz made eye contact with Jake. “Where do you want to start?”
Jake looked at the map, took a few seconds to put himself in the subject’s head. “I’ll drop the trailer west of Buena Vista, see if I can pick up some tracks.”
Buzz’s attention shot back to his pilot. “Flyboy, you and Scully take the chopper northwest and do a sweep. Once we hit forty knots, I want you in. Got it?”
Tony gave him a mock salute.
Buzz’s gaze slid to John Maitland. “You and I will take the ATV southwest. We’ll be working in conjunction with the Chaffee County Sheriff’s Office and dog team.” He scanned the team. “Let me reiterate. This operation is a Code Yellow. Search only. Use extreme caution. Subject is to be considered armed and dangerous. Gear up, gentlemen, let’s rock and roll.”
Abby Nichols figured she’d outdone herself this time. It wasn’t enough that she was freezing cold, that her fingers were numb, her feet aching with every step. Or that she was hungry, exhausted and scared out of her wits. To top it all off, she was finally going to have to admit she was lost. As if she needed that on top of the reality that her life had become one big disaster in the past year.
Then, just when she figured things couldn’t get worse, she spotted the man on horseback. A quarter mile away, she didn’t need to see his face to know he was a cop. She’d been around enough law enforcement types in the last year to spot one blindfolded. They had that look about them. Rigid. Uncompromising. Cold-hearted. Downright mean for the most part. The realization that he was tracking her shouldn’t have surprised her, but it did, and she felt the sharp stab of fear all the way to her very numb toes.
He was a sheriff’s deputy, more than likely—or maybe a bounty hunter. The thought of the latter made her shiver. That would be just her luck for some trigger-happy macho jerk to make it his personal mission to bring in the infamous Abby Nichols, the most dangerous female criminal since Bonnie Parker. The only problem with that analogy, Abby realized, was that she was innocent, Bonnie Parker hadn’t been. The Buena Vista Corrections Center for Women didn’t seem to care one way or the other.
She’d been tromping over clumps of buffalo grass and rocks the size of basketballs for nearly six hours. The cold, thin air burned her lungs. Her muscles quivered with exhaustion. But she didn’t slow down. She’d spent the past four months getting in shape for this little excursion. Physical conditioning went a long way when you were running for your life over terrain not fit for a rock climber.
Of course, no matter how good her physical conditioning, if Abby wasn’t heading in the right direction, she could end up in Omaha instead of Chama, New Mexico, where Grams was waiting with a hug and a smile and a place for her to spend the night before she began the lofty task of clearing her name.
She should have come across a road by now. Closer to the truth, she should have come across a road four hours ago. A narrow dirt road where Grams had stashed a pickup truck under an old, wooden bridge. A truck with a change of clothes, a cache of cash beneath the seat, and the ignition key in a magnet box under the hood.
Abby just couldn’t understand how she’d missed that road. She’d spent hours studying the map Grams had smuggled into the prison. All she’d had to do was follow the sun west from Buena Vista. Of course, come daybreak the sky had materialized as a smooth gray bowl and Mr. Sun had refused to show his face. That had been hours ago, and things weren’t looking any better. In fact, if the clouds roiling on the horizon were any indication, Abby figured she’d be trudging through snow in another hour—or, at the least, be pounded by freezing rain. She wasn’t sure which would be worse, but knew she was in for a miserable dose of Colorado weather one way or another.
Stopping to catch her breath, she leaned against a jut of granite and gazed out across the valley ahead. Pike National Forest spread out below like a page out of one of those fancy coffee-table picture books Grams was so fond of. One million acres of sparsely populated mountain terrain, white water streams and pine forests that stretched as far as the eye could see. Under different circumstances, she might have enjoyed the breathtaking scenery and mountain air. But considering she was on the run for her life, lost, and would soon find herself face-to-face with an armed man whose goal was to ruin her one and only shot at freedom, she figured her energies would be best spent putting as much distance between them as possible.
Sighing, she squinted at the figure on horseback as it wended up a trail she’d taken less than half an hour earlier. There was no doubt about it; he was gaining on her. If she didn’t think of something utterly brilliant in the next ten minutes, he was going to be right on top of her.
Forcing back the rise of panic, acutely feeling the quickly shrinking distance between her and the horseman, Abby looked around. Grams had always told her desperate times called for desperate measures. Abby had never put much weight in that old cliché. But as the seconds ticked by and the window of opportunity shrank, she figured now was as good a time as any to put it to the test.
Jake loosened the reins and let his mount pick its way up the rocky terrain. He’d been tracking his subject for the past hour. As soon as he sighted her, he’d radio RMSAR headquarters so D.O.C. and Chaffee County could pull in the perimeter they’d set up to the east. If all went well—and he fully expected it to—he would have her in custody and be on his way down the mountain before dark. If he was lucky, he’d be home in time to watch the Avalanche trounce the Red Wings this evening. He’d bet ten bucks on that one, and didn’t intend to lose the bet or to miss the game.
