Soul of the Wildcat (13 page)

The hole expanded. Though it wasn't the biggest opening, it was wide enough to squeeze a cat through.

Dakoda clapped her hands with delight.
Or a very slender woman
. “I think we're on our way!” she shouted.

“What the hell do you think you doin'?” A voice savage with anger hollered behind them.

Startled by the intrusion, Dakoda whirled. Moving too fast to keep her balance, she stumbled against the back of the chair. Her ankle twisted out from under her. “Shit!” she cursed as a hot spear of pain tore up her left leg.

Losing her footing, she crashed to the bare ground with a bone-jarring crunch. The impact crushed the air from her lungs. For a moment she lay in a heap, dazed by the fall.

Before Dakoda could even focus her gaze, Rusty barged into the cell. He leveled his shotgun directly toward Jesse. “You'd better climb down from there, boy,” he warned, brandishing the dangerous weapon like a shield between himself and the captives.

Dakoda glanced up in time to catch a glimpse of the cougar crouching low on top of the table. His ears were pinned flat, and Jesse's tail whipped back and forth like a kite in a high wind. Amber eyes lit with hate; an ominous growl rolled past sharp fangs.

Rusty took a threatening step closer. “Get down, Jesse!” he warned furiously. “Else I'm gonna blast you to hell and then some.”

Unwilling to heed the warning, Jesse crouched lower. A high shrill roar exploded from his throat. His eyes glinted with furious intent. This time he wasn't going to back down.

Even if it cost him his life.

Dragging herself into a sitting position, Dakoda felt another white-hot bolt of pain shoot up her leg. Damn. She'd given her ankle a good twist. For all she knew, she'd broken the bone. Still, this wasn't the time to be thinking of herself. Having been pushed to the edge, Jesse obviously wasn't in any frame of mind to obey Rusty's warnings. He'd taken enough from the poachers.

Dakoda's heart thudded in long, sonorous beats. Oh, God, she doubted she could bear the sight of Jesse lying at her feet, shot to pieces. It couldn't possibly happen again.

Today isn't a good day to die
, she thought wildly.

Dakoda threw up a pleading hand. “Don't!” she gritted, her voice rough with panic as she fought to help control the situation. One wrong move could end in tragedy.

Rusty sneered. “Better do what she says, Jesse. You might not be worth nothin' dead, but we can catch another just as easy as we got you.”

Jesse immediately shifted. Naked, he continued to crouch on top of the table. “Stay away from my people,” he snarled.

Rusty grinned. “Not while they're makin' us a whole hell of a lot of money.”

Dakoda tried to appeal to the man's sense of reason. “For God's sake, they're human beings.”

Rusty's smile morphed from unpleasantly arctic to a gut-twisting chill. “The red man ain't got no soul,” he snapped. “That's why they're still like animals. And beasts like 'em were meant by God to be hunted and killed by man.” As if to second his words, a rolling crack of thunder splintered the ferocious storm.

Who could reasonably argue with such insanity?

“He'll mind,” she promised. “We both will.”

Holding his gun with one hand, Rusty dug in the pocket of his heavy overcoat. He pulled out a set of handcuffs, then tossed them toward Jesse. “You put those on, nice and slow. Keep your hands where I can see them. Once you're hobbled, I'm gonna chain you up. Shift or not, you ain't goin' nowhere.”

Jesse caught the cuffs. Glaring with rebellion, he snapped them around his wrists. “Fuck you.”

The grate of metal on metal tore through Dakoda's heart. Escape had been close.

Rusty laughed and shot Dakoda a lecherous look. “After I get you all nice and hog-tied, the only one getting a fuckin' is her. I bet she's got one sweet poon, and I intend to get a little taste of it before sendin' her off with that slant-eyed prick.”

Dakoda's stomach twisted. Tiny hot prickles of disgust skittered across her skin.
That definitely isn't going to happen!
Saying a quick prayer, she braced herself. She had an instant to make up her mind. Continue to be a victim, or start taking some names and kicking some serious ass.

Anger ratcheted through her. Ass-kicking won.

Acting more on instinct than rational thought, her booted foot shot out toward the toppled chair. Catching it between the slats, she used every ounce of strength she possessed to kick it toward the outlaw.

Her aim was true.

The chair sped toward Rusty's legs, catching him squarely behind the knees.

Struck suddenly from behind, Rusty stumbled forward, fighting to keep his balance—and his hold on the shotgun.

Seeing his chance, Jesse's shoulders flexed, muscle and sinew drawing into action as he launched himself from the table. Blasting forward in a powerful leap, he drove his full weight toward the outlaw. He hit hard, powering Rusty straight into the ground.

Flailing helplessly, Rusty landed hard on his back. He cried out, tobacco-stained lips peeling away from his teeth as he struggled to buck out from under Jesse's brawny weight. He tried to lever the shotgun across Jesse's throat. “Get the fuck off me!” he roared, his eyes blazing like coals from the deepest pit of hell.

Forcing the shotgun away from his neck, Jesse's shoulders flexed with exertion. Holding it tight, he twisted it back on its owner. “No way,” he gritted, fighting against the strength of a desperate man. Having suffered enough abuse, he was equally as desperate.

Rusty fought harder, bucking like a bronco set loose on fiery ground. “You're gonna regret this, you son of a bitch.”

Jesse's naked body shimmered with sweat as he strained to keep the upper hand against the outlaw. “I don't think so,” he grunted. Gathering every ounce of strength, he twisted the shotgun out of the outlaw's grip. Hobbled by the limitations of his cuffed wrists, he somehow managed to hang on to the rifle's barrel.

A snarl rolled from Jesse's lips. “Let's see how you like the feel of this.” Cocking the shotgun over his shoulder, he swung hard. His aim was dead-on. The stock made an instant connection with Rusty's temple. The sound of bone crunching against wood was sickening.

Rusty's head lolled to the side, and a moan rolled from his slack lips. Blood oozed from the gaping tear in his forehead.

The abrupt shift into motionlessness stunned. The fight was over almost as fast as it had begun. The storm still howled, cutting the cell off from the rest of the outlaws' compound.

Breathing hard, Jesse slowly backed away from the downed man. Chest rising and falling from his effort, he looked around wildly for another source of danger.

Dakoda relaxed. Rusty's mistake was readily apparent. He'd come alone, believing a shotgun was enough to handle two angry, desperate people. “I think that's it,” she ventured.

Jesse turned his head, gaze settling on her. “Are you okay? You fell pretty hard.”

Dragging herself off the floor, Dakoda nodded. “That fall was the best damn thing that's happened to us so far,” she said, making light of her clumsiness. She winced when she tried to put her weight on her injured limb.

Jesse hurried toward her, offering a strong shoulder. “You're hurt.”

Sliding a hand around his neck, Dakota gritted her teeth. “I twisted my freaking ankle.” She shifted her weight back on to the leg, persisting through the twinges, ignoring the discomfort. Now wasn't the time to be hobbled by a bum leg. “I'm fine.” She glanced down at the unconscious man. “But he's not.”

Taking in the damage he'd inflicted, the rifle slipped from Jesse's limp fingers. “Shit,” he gasped between breaths. “He's bleeding like a stuck pig.”

Dakoda limped over to the outlaw. He reeked of wet tobacco and unwashed skin. It took all the willpower in her not to puke. “There's not enough soap and water in the world to get this man clean,” she muttered, breathing through her mouth to lessen the stink. The idea of his hands on her exposed flesh made her skin crawl. She'd sooner jump into a river of boiling acid than endure a single touch of his nasty hands.

Jesse hovered. “Did I kill him?” The barest trace of regret laced his voice.

Dakoda glanced up at him. “You did what you had to,” she said softly. At the time of the struggle, it had been kill or be killed and he'd acted on the impulse of the moment. Survival was an inborn instinct, but that didn't make taking the life of another human being any easier.

Using her training in CPR, she quickly checked for a pulse and heartbeat. “He's alive.” She eyed the cracked stock of the shotgun. “He's going to have one hell of a headache when he wakes up.”

A sigh of relief broke from Jesse's lips. “I've never killed a man before…” His gaze drifted toward the rifle. He started to reach for it. “But in this instance I think I could.”

Dakoda caught his wrist. She felt the tension, the anger boiling beneath his flesh. Nerves stretched taut, he was a mass of writhing emotions. “I won't say he doesn't deserve killing,” she said slowly. “But we're not the ones to judge whether or not he gets it.”

Jesse's gaze met hers. “I guess you're right,” he allowed after a long pause.

As much as she didn't want to lay hands on the unconscious man, Dakoda set to riffling through his pockets. “The law will take care of him,” she said, digging through the trash the outlaw had squirreled away. She found a small set of keys hiding between a pocketknife and a can of snuff. “And the sooner we get out of here, the sooner we can get some help and make it happen.” She dangled the keys. “Give me your hands. No telling how long it will be before they miss him.”

The cuffs dropped away from Jesse's wrists. “We need to make tracks.” Grabbing the discarded loincloth, he shoved his feet into the moccasins.

Snatching her own jacket off the bunk, Dakoda looked him over. “That's not enough for you to be wearing out on a night like this.”

“I haven't got much choice.” Jesse eyed Rusty's clothes, visually measuring the man's build against his own. “You think—” he started to ask, prodding the unconscious man with a foot.

A smirk spread across Dakoda's lips. Despite the stink, Rusty's clothing was better than having nothing. “I think he deserves to be left naked—” She dangled the cuffs. “And hog-tied.”

E
xhaustion. Mind-numbing, body-aching, rubbery-legged exhaustion. If they had thought escape was going to be easy, they were wrong.

So wrong.

Feeling her ankle turn for the ten-thousandth time on the rocky terrain underfoot, Dakoda hissed out a moan of pain. “It's no use,” she said, collapsing onto the muddy ground. “I can't take another step.”

Jesse immediately knelt beside her. “We've got to get as far away as we can, before they find Rusty and come looking for us.”

Soaked to the skin and bone cold, Dakoda curled her arms around her body, desperate for a little extra heat. “I know,” she muttered through chattering teeth. “Believe me, I know. I just need a minute, Jesse. Just a minute…” Close to drifting off, her lids slipped shut.

“Wake up, Dakoda.” A firm slap across her face brought her eyes open. “You can't go to sleep here.”

“I'm so sleepy, Jesse,” she whimpered. “And cold.”

Jesse shrugged off his stolen overcoat, pressing it around her shoulders so the folds would fall over her body. The stink of its former owner still lingered in the material, but she didn't care. It was waterproof and warm and that's all that counted at the moment.

“Stay here,” he said. “I'm going to look around and see if I can't find a place for us to hole up. We made at least three, maybe four miles, so that should be a good enough distance to buy us a little time.” He looked around, attempting to make out the landscape, lit now and again by the flash of lightning penetrating the trees. Being out in the open wasn't safe. Being under a tree during a lightning storm wasn't, either. “The good news is the storm will cover our tracks. There'll be no telling which way we went.”

Her lids drifted back down. “Uh, huh, okay…” At the moment, Dakoda just didn't care. She'd reached the end of her rope and hung dangling at the end. Her fingers were beginning to lose their grip as she slipped into a dark abyss.

Jesse pressed a small penlight—one of the many objects Rusty had stuffed his pockets with—into her hand. “Hold this. It'll give you a little light.” He pressed a quick kiss against her chilly forehead. “I'll be back as soon as I can.”

Dakoda nodded numbly. “Come back soon,” she mumbled. “Please.”

Jesse slipped off into the darkness.

Dakoda pressed closer to the tree, huddling in a mass. Even though they'd made it into a denser part of the forest, they'd still taken a good lashing from the intense rain. Her damp clothing clung uncomfortably to her skin, making her feel twice as cold every time the wind blasted through. Escape wasn't anything like she imagined. Instead of being happy to be out of the cell, she was missing the idea of a roof over her head and a warm blanket to curl up in. It didn't help matters one bit that her ankle felt thick and hot beneath the damp laces of her boot. She was going to pay dearly when she tried to take that boot off.

She sighed. “Nothing I can do but wait.”

The minutes ticked away, each one stretching into a longer and longer arc. Ten minutes, twenty, then finally a half hour.

Dakoda fidgeted. Time was slipping away and still Jesse hadn't returned.

Worried, she forced herself to stand, leaning against the thick trunk for support. Her ankle throbbed in protest when she tried to put her weight on it.

She peered around. The gloom around her was thick enough to cut with a knife. Impenetrable. The tiny penlight was no help. She might as well have been shining it into outer space for all the illumination it provided.

A new thought niggled, something she'd been trying not to think about.

What if he doesn't come back?
A chill began to creep up her spine. Ten thousand images slammed into her brain, each one worse than the other. Anything could happen on a stormy night in a dark forest and none of them were good.

If he doesn't come soon
, she decided.
I'll have to go after him
. She couldn't sit there all night, waiting and wondering. The longer she stayed in one place, the better chance she had of being found and recaptured.

Dakoda hesitated. Leaving would mean she might become permanently separated from Jesse. If she wandered off, they might never find each other again.

She sat back down, pulling Rusty's slicker over her body to make a little tent of sorts. Inside the cavity she created was a little nest, a little pocket of warmth. “I'll just rest a minute,” she told herself.

More time ticked away.

 

A sudden jolt brought Dakoda wide awake. Someone was digging through the coat, trying to get to her. Yanking it away, a blast of cool night air hit her squarely in the face, bringing her instantly awake.

She blinked, but her eyes were slow to focus in the gloom. A figure loomed in front of her, vaguely familiar.

She fumbled for the penlight he'd left in her care. “J-Jesse!?” she stammered, attempting to pull her wits together and stuff them back into her skull.

He knelt beside her. “It's me.” His long hair whipped around his face and shoulders, tugged by the wind's violent gusts. “Sorry I was gone so long. I got lost a couple of times.”

A corner of her mouth turned up. “Some Indian you are. Thought you guys were born trackers.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, well, contrary to popular belief, not all Indians are country boys in tune with the land of their ancestors. I was born in the city and I need a map to get around just like anyone else.” Another soft laugh. “It would also help if I had night vision. Most of where I'm going is a guess.”

Stiff and achy, Dakoda clambered to her knees. Every joint and muscle in her body sang out in protest. She gritted her teeth against the pain and forced herself to ignore it. “Did you find somewhere we could hole up?”

Jesse knelt, slipping a shoulder under her arm so he could help her rise. “Actually, I did. I think you'll be pretty happy, too.”

Leaning against his solid frame, a flicker of hope sparked in her head. “A cave?” she asked, envisioning a nice snug hole to crawl in and curl up.

“Better.” His voice carried a tone of achievement.

“Better would be me at home, in my own bed,” she groused.

He pounced on that one the way a cat would a tasty morsel. “Better would be me, at your house, in your bed,” he hinted.

Dakoda lifted her chin. “Is that all you think about, getting in my pants?”

A soft laugh wafted through the wind, caressing her ears. “All the time,” he chuckled.

She flashed the tiny penlight in his face. “Can we just go, you damn horny toad?”

“Cougar,” he corrected through a grin. “Horny cougar.”

Urging her forward, Jesse led her through a thick area of trees and other weedy brambles. Dakoda's bum ankle ached with every step, but she forced herself to concentrate on walking. Jesse already had enough on his hands without worrying about a cripple.

Somehow, they pressed forward. Nothing was familiar. Nothing recognizable. Every tree and bush looked like the last, stretching on endlessly. These mountains truly were the middle of nowhere.

Despair rose. It seemed like they'd walk forever on a trail that would go on and on until they just collapsed and died from exhaustion.

“Are you sure this is the right way?” she grunted between painful steps.

Jesse nodded. “It's here, I know,” he muttered.

“What?”

He all of the sudden came to a halt. Lifting his arms, he pointed toward a tangled mass. “There.”

Dakoda's gaze followed the direction he indicated. “Am I seeing…?” she started to ask. Eyes snapping open, exhaustion drained away as familiar lines were illuminated through bright flashes of lightning.

He nodded. “It's a plane. One of the wings has snapped off and the belly's tore up a little, but otherwise it's intact.” He caught her ice-tinged hand, squeezing her fingers with his larger, warmer ones.

She smoothed her tangled hair away from her face. The wreckage was the best thing she'd ever seen in her entire life. Tears pricked at her eyes. She blinked them away. Now wasn't the time to get all sentimental. “Crashed, no doubt.”

“No doubt,” he agreed. “Bad for them. Good for us.” He tugged her forward. “And wait until you see what's inside.”

They headed for the plane, taking care to pick their way through the rubble of downed trees and other scattered debris. The last thing Dakoda needed was another broken ankle.

After plummeting out of the sky, the plane had clearly skidded across the tops of the trees. The force of the impact had completely torn off one wing and bent the other. The cockpit was smashed, something the pilot couldn't possibly have survived. It had come to a rest on the ground upright, minus its landing gear.

Jesse wrenched open the side hatch. “I couldn't believe it when I found this,” he huffed, pulling himself up into the opening. “It's like manna from heaven.” He bent and held out a hand for Dakoda. “Coming?”

She nodded and gave him her hand. “Gladly.” Jesse hefted her inside. She dug in her pocket, flicking on the penlight he'd left with her, shining it into the black, yawning void.

One look told her the plane wasn't for passengers. No, this big old baby was stripped down and outfitted for hauling cargo. A series of storage bays lined the walls, leaving the middle aisle reserved for the main portion of the shipment. Square bales wrapped in black tarp and duct tape were stacked one atop the other. There must have been a hundred, maybe more.

Dakoda's eyes widened. “Is that what I think it is?”

Jesse grinned. “Yep. Marijuana.” He looked around. “I'd say some drug dealer somewhere is a very unhappy man.”

Dakoda flashed the penlight around. “How long do you think it's been here?”

Jesse cocked a thumb toward the front of the plane. “Judging by the look of the bodies still strapped in the seats, they've been here quite awhile. Didn't take long for all the little beasties in the forest to make a good meal of the remains.”

Dakoda shivered, grimacing at the thought. “I don't think I want to see.” A thought occurred. “I don't suppose the radio works?”

He shook his head. “That's the first thing I checked. It's smashed.”

“Just our luck, which really seems to suck lately.” She shined the thin beam around. “I'm surprised they haven't found the wreckage.”

“Even if they have, there's nothing they can use here.” Jesse kicked a bale. “Unless you're a drug dealer or jonesing for a doobie, it's all pretty worthless.”

Dakoda sighed. “Guess you're right there.” Struggling out of the borrowed overcoat, she lay it aside. Taking a seat atop the bales, she stretched out her legs. “Well, at least we've got a roof over our heads.”

“That's a plus,” Jesse agreed.

She looked around. “What's in the storage?”

He shrugged. “Don't know. Haven't had time to look.”

She handed over the penlight. “Might as well.”

Jesse set to rummaging through the bays, which doubled as seating for the plane's passengers. He flipped up one flat top, shining the light inside. “Oh, this is good.”

Dakoda heard the sound of broken glass shifting. “What is it?”

Jesse dug some more. “Booze,” he said, pawing through a carton stuffed with straw. “Most of the bottles are broken, but…Ah!” He pulled out an undamaged bottle. “Pay dirt. Looks like our smugglers dealt in more than weed.”

Feeling a twinge at the back of her throat, Dakoda licked her dry, chapped lips. “Heaven be praised. I could use a drink about now. What is it?”

Jesse handed the bottle over. “Looks like Mexican tequila, worm and all.”

Dakoda scrunched up her nose. “Tequila ain't my favorite thing,” she said, cracking the seal and catching a whiff of the distinctive scent. “In this case, I'll make an exception.” Putting the rim to her lips, she tipped back her head and took a healthy swallow. The tequila burned all the way down her throat, lighting a fire in her belly. Warmth began to seep into her chilled system. Various aches and pains throughout her body settled down into a dull throb.

“Hey, take it easy,” he warned. “You're drinking on an empty stomach. Too much and you'll pass out cold.”

Dakoda handed over the bottle, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Don't remind me that I haven't eaten much today. I'm so damn hungry the worm in that bottle is starting to look good.”

Jesse took a quick swig. “Let me see what else I can find.”

He dug through some more bins. “More damn alcohol,” he groused, slamming the lids shut. “Don't drug smugglers have to eat?”

Dakoda pointed to another row of bins on the opposite wall. “How about those?” She started to rise, but trying to put pressure on her ankle sat her back down. She winced, a breath of air escaping through her teeth in a hiss. “Damn, I think getting off it was the worst thing I could have done.”