Reckless Endangerment (24 page)

“Oh, good plan.  Ditch our protection to walk through—”

“Park.”  Instinct had taken over.  She smelled danger.

Tossing the camera to Devon, she stuffed the cell phone and laptop into the bag before leaping from the car.  Leading the way, she hurdled a few downed logs until they were several feet from the road.  Staying low, she walked up the mountain toward the main trailhead. 

She heard voices raised in anger.  Immediately she was on her stomach.  Devon crawled next to her until they had a view of the van from the trees.

The two men they’d been following paced behind the van. The tall one kept motioning behind him toward the road.  His baseball cap and sunglasses hid most of his face.  The shorter Hispanic male pounded a fist on the side of the van, face also hidden by a cap and glasses. 

“Zoom in on them,” she whispered to Devon.

“Already done.”

“Can’t get a signal.  I need to go further up.” She shook her cell phone, resenting the mountains for their unpredictable cell phone reception. 

“Calling the police, I hope.”

“Yeah, although I still don’t know what the hell is going—” she froze at the sight of the men dousing the van with gasoline.  “Oh shit.”

“Yeah, oh shit.  Call the cops.  If there are people inside that van, they’re about to be fried.”

“Keep filming.  Make you sure you get these guys’ faces.”  Nausea rolled in her gut as she half-crawled, half-ran further up the hill, until the cell phone registered a signal.  “This is Hope Shane of Channel 9 News, I need police at the Hanging Lake trailhead in Glenwood Springs, I am witnessing…men suspected of transporting illegals might be…they’re going to blow up the van.  Now.  Now.”  Her hands shook on the phone until it dropped to the ground. 

With a shake of her head, she blinked at her hands in the dirt.  Fear quaked her entire body.  In her mind, dirt transformed to sand and it wasn’t a van about to explode it was a war zone on fire.  The smell of burnt flesh, sounds of gunfire, the taste of her friend’s blood on her lips because she’d been screaming when his head had exploded.  She slammed her forehead into the ground and forced herself back to the present moment.  She had no time for going insane, too many people depended on her.  Damn it. She clawed her fingers against the rocky soil until she forced the past into the recesses of her brain. 

She spit dirt from her mouth and blinked against the earth.  Chest heaving from adrenaline and fear, she counted silently to twenty before pushing herself into a kneeling position. 

Unsure if she had given the 9-1-1 operator the right information, she reached for the phone and checked her sent calls.  Numbers blurred before her eyes through unshed tears.  The ground seemed to rock beneath her knees. 

Now was not the time to panic.  No time.  Fingers curled around the phone before stuffing it into her back jeans pocket.  Devon.  Left alone.   She slipped and stumbled back to where she had left her friend.  The men were still arguing, obviously debating the welfare of their cargo.  They kept looking toward the road as if expecting company.

“They knew we were following them,” Devon whispered. “Maybe they did search the car to see if we were police or not.”

“I called the police.  Have no idea when they’ll get here.  If they’ll get here.”  Fingers curled into the dirt beneath her shoulders.  “We need to do something, stop this from happening.  What if these people die because we were following these guys?  Their deaths are going to be on us, do you understand that?”

“What do we do?”  Devon looked away from the camera, eyes searching hers.  “Tell me what to do and I’ll do it. Anything.”

“I could go down there, distract them while you try to get the people out…”

“That’s stupid.  What are you going to do?  Stroll up like you’re a lost hiker or something?  They’re expecting us.”

“Good idea.  Lost hiker.  Perfect.”  She slapped Devon on the back before running back up the hill to get to the opposite side of the parking lot, toward the trailhead. 

Before going down, she zipped her bag closed, twisted the straps so it looked more like a backpack, shoved sunglasses over her eyes, braided her hair and stuffed it beneath her cap.  With a deep breath, she started descending the trail toward the parking lot. 

The men still stood there, arguing, gas can now out of sight.  And then she heard the crying from inside the van and her heart twisted like a dishrag.  Chest rattled with a ferocious heartbeat.  So she hummed, masking her fear with exaggerated casualness.

Behind the sunglasses, her eyes scanned the hillside for Devon.  She didn’t see her. 

“You guys are a sight for sore eyes,” she said with a smile.  “I thought I was on the right trail, but I’m completely lost, can’t find my jeep, been hiking since last night, slept up there, thought I was going to be cougar food.  Any parking lots further down?  I don’t know if I lost my way or…” she shrugged, knowing she sounded like an idiot.

The tall man stepped closer, face expressionless.  The Hispanic man remained motionless.

“Any ideas?” She swallowed the excessive saliva that pooled in her mouth.  “I only planned on a day trip and this is turning into quite the adventure.”  Well, that wasn’t a lie.

“We drove past the lower lot,” the man said, voice low and slow.  “Didn’t see any jeep.”

She widened her smile.  “That’s bad news.  Just means I’m more lost than ever.”

“Maybe you should just keep walking down, usually the safest way off of a mountain.”

“Down. Right.”  Smile slipped.  “Or stay on the trail.”  She motioned over her shoulder and took a step back.  “Maybe I’ll run into a Ranger now that it’s morning.”

Neither man spoke, just looked at each other.

Her peripheral vision caught sight of Devon slipping toward the van. 

“Are you two going camping?” She forced the question, needing to keep their attention.  “Nice time of year to do that, not too hot yet.  Good for you.”

“Are you a local?”  The Hispanic asked. 

“Denver local, not Glenwood local.”  She took another step back toward the trail.  “City girl.”

Again the two looked at one another without answering her.

Oh, God, she wanted to throw up.  She stepped back again, noticing that they mirrored every step she took. 

“You must have been cold last night, camping in the woods without a coat.”  The tall man focused in on her.  “Lucky you survived.”

“Yeah, that’s me. Lucky.”  Every nerve ending in her body screamed RUN, but she forced herself to stand her ground. 

Devon peeked from around the front of the van, arms wide in a helpless gesture, face twisted with panic. 

Both men twisted around at the sound of the sirens coming from the road below. She took that opportunity to run like hell toward the woods, away from the van, hoping Devon would do the same. 

Voices raised in Spanish indicated their debate as to what to do next.  She didn’t turn to see if they followed or not, just ran until she found a boulder to hide behind.  Chest heaving, she flattened her back against the cold rock and braved a look back toward the parking lot.  No one followed.  They had bigger things to worry about than some strange hiker. 

An explosion rocked the forest. Flames shot high from the parking lot.  She screamed and ran toward the lot.  Tree branches tore at her skin but still she ran.  Flames engulfed the van.  The men were gone. 

She fell to her knees, screams tearing from her lungs. Devon ran toward her, tears streaming down her face.  Another explosion forced both women to the ground. Rocks flew through the air.  The smell of gas and fire filled the air.  She slammed her fists against the pavement...over and over...slammed until they bled.

* * * *

Sweat dripped into his eyes, pain throbbed in his lower back, but he held firm.  He stared at his foot, willing it to move. 

“You’re almost there, Colonel. You moved an inch, I swear.  Do it again.  You’re standing.  Once we master this, we can start learning to drive again.  Think about it.  You’re one step closer to freedom...one...step.  Do it again.”  Becky stood in front of him, arms ready to catch him if he should fall.

He shook his head, unable to let go of the bar supporting his weight.  Knuckles whitened as he held on.  His right leg felt like a pincushion, as if it had fallen asleep from him sitting at a strange angle.  He wanted to shake it, but couldn’t. 

He smiled, though, because he felt it. Even if he didn’t move any further, suddenly felt like he’d summited Everest. Smile turned into a laugh of disbelief. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t overdo it.  Big move ahead of you tonight.  It’s okay.  You’ve had an amazing day.”  Becky helped him back to his chair.  “You’ve had a productive morning.”

He settled back in the chair, strangely satisfied.  When he looked at Becky, he laughed again. “Progress, right?”

“Progress.  Let’s get you back to your room.  Hope asked me to walk Dude this morning so I brought him here.  I figured she could pick him up when she picks you up.  That’s still the plan, right?  You’re going home with her?  At least for the weekend?”

“That’s the plan.”  He rubbed his hands over his thighs.  He looked at the clock.  It wasn’t even noon yet, but he’d packed a bag.  Not that he had much to pack, but he couldn’t wait to leave.  “What time do you think she’ll be here?”

She snorted.  “No idea.  She texted me before dawn to run over to her place and walk Dude, something about her and Devon being on a story.  It wasn’t even light yet so...I don’t know.”

He knew he should have followed her.  Something had been brewing between her and Devon when they had left.  He’d felt the energy shift, had noticed the exchanged looks between them and Marshall.  Hope and Peter used to exchange those same kind of looks.  


“Speaking of Hope…” She stopped as they passed the recreation room and steered him inside.

Hope filled the screen, eyes serious, hair braided beneath a battered hat, a streak of dirt on her neck, the black eye barely concealed with make-up, and bandaged hands holding a microphone.  She stood in the midst of chaos, fire trucks, police cars, and reported about a van of illegal immigrants who were murdered that morning. 

He noticed the slight shaking of her voice beneath the calm exterior, the darkening of her usually vivid green eyes, the extreme paleness of her skin, the clenching of her jaw that proved to him that she was barely keeping it together.  He knew then that she had been closer to the scene than what she reported, understood she had seen and probably heard more than she had wanted, could tell she felt sick. 

He focused on her hat, recalled every time she’d worn it in Afghanistan, and his blood chilled.  She only wore it when she felt threatened and scared, like it was some sort of battle shield.  

“Maybe you need to stay here until you’re healthier.  You’ve made so much progress in only a week.  I wouldn’t want you to undo it.  You stood today, after months of stagnation.  Don’t risk all of that.”  Becky looked at him, not as a patient but as a friend, and he wondered what she really wanted to say despite the smile.  “You should get back to your room.”

“You don’t like what Hope does for a living, do you?”

“It’s her life.”  She shrugged, walking beside him instead of pushing the chair.  “She does what she wants, when she wants.”

“She’s a good reporter.”  He looked at his folded hands.

“Yep, and she has the awards to prove it.”

“So what’s the problem?”

Becky sighed.  “Warren is stopping by later with the custody papers.”

“Thank you.  I appreciate the guidance.”  He watched her walk to the windows in his suite and look toward the mountains. 

“Dude’s in your bedroom.  I tied him up in there so he didn’t cause trouble.  Poor thing, always being left behind.”

He drummed his fingers against his thigh.  “You think that if I start outpatient therapy that she’ll forget about me, too, is that it?  Maybe leave me stranded somewhere?”

“I watched her every night,” she whispered.  “I would wait for those reports just so that I knew she was alive.  And there she’d be…confident and strong…always looking perfect despite where she was…she’s never been afraid a day in her life.”

He looked at the picture sitting on the end table without a frame and sighed.  Like a slide show, he recalled every moment of his time in Afghanistan with Hope Shane; moments where she had cried in his arms as often as she had laughed.  She knew fear. They both did.

“She’s been afraid, Becky.”

“She’s a warrior.  You’ve said it yourself.  She runs toward danger instead of away from it.”  She picked up the framed picture of their wedding and shook her head.  “Did you regret acting on impulse?”  Her eyes darted from the picture to his face.  “Is that why you denied being married to her for so many months?  Did you want out?”

“That wasn’t about regret.”  He shook his head, unable to admit that he’d been too wrapped up in self-pity to think of anything or anyone else.  He sighed.  He didn’t know how or why his life in a war zone had been less complicated than his current situation.