The Lawman's Christmas Wish (15 page)

Thank You, God.
Ken was alive. If he played the thieves' game, perhaps they'd all come out of here unharmed.

He scanned Amy's face one more time in silent question. He had to be sure she and the boys were all right. Amy's chin went up and her eyes flashed. Reed almost grinned. She was tough, his Amy.

No, not his. Never his.

Beaten in more ways than one, he moved toward the safe, taking care not to make any sudden moves. Sandy and pockmarks didn't need an excuse to hurt someone.

The safe was a tall, black, fireproof cabinet. A bomb couldn't open this safe. But love could.

He whirled the dial back and forth until the inner mechanism clicked. The sound was loud in the frightfully quiet office. He could feel the gunman behind him, could almost
smell the anxious greed coming off him as thick as the stench of stale cigarettes. Most of all, he sensed fear and helplessness emanating from the people he loved most.

Hand on the safe handle, Reed glanced over his shoulder. “Turn the boy loose.”

“Open the door and the kid is yours.” He pushed Dexter forward, but held his upper arm in an iron grip.

Dexter began to sob.

Reed shoved the lever down with a loud
thwack
and the door swung open. Inside lay the treasure that promised to save a town, a treasure that men would kill for.

With a heavy heart, Reed removed the box and placed it on a table. “Come here, Dexter. Come to me now.”

The man released Dexter and grabbed for the box. Dexter ran into Reed's open arms, his sturdy little body shaking. Reed heard Amy's tiny whimper of joy. Relief poured through him as he lifted Amy's child against his chest and held on for all he was worth. One down, two to go.

“Take it and leave,” he said. “It's all yours.”

Pockmarks jerked his chin toward the sandy-haired man.

“Let's get out of here.”

“What about them? We can't leave witnesses.”

Reed stiffened. His blood ran cold.

“We got what we came for.” Pockmarks moved toward the door, treasure chest under his arm. “They'll never find us where we're going. Come on, before the whole town shows up.”

Sandy-hair grunted a note of disapproval, but followed. In seconds, they were gone, leaving only a blast of cold air.

Reed rushed to Amy's side and fell to his knees next to her chair, where he gently cut away the tape from her reddened wrists.

“Thank God,” he choked in true gratitude, pulling her and both boys into an embrace that said everything he couldn't.
Amy quietly sobbed her relief against his shoulder. He stroked her back and her soft hair and wished he was half the man Ben had thought he was. His heart pounded, his gut churned and he was as near tears as he could ever remember. These three people were his heart and soul. He would do anything for them—and yet he hadn't.

Teeth gritted, he made a vow, and this time he would keep it no matter the cost to himself. Somehow, he would make this right.

And he'd start by bringing in the men who had threatened their lives and stolen their treasure.

“I'
m going after them.”

Reed's statement yanked Amy's head up. The relief she'd been feeling flew out the window. “You can't.”

He carefully disentangled himself from the three Jameses. Amy clung, an action unlike her. She couldn't let him go. It was too dangerous.

“The treasure doesn't matter anymore.”

Reed seemed oblivious to her plea. He stomped to the gun cabinet and extracted a rifle and shells. “I have to.”

Fury came off him in waves and frightened Amy all over again. “We're safe now, Reed. That's the important thing. Let them go. They have guns. You could get hurt.”

“I can't let them get away with this, Amy.”

“You'll never find them in the dark.”

“I'll find them.” His jaw was like granite. “If I hurry. The snow is fresh.”

“Please don't go.”

“After what they did to you and the boys? What kind of police officer would I be if I let them walk away? What kind of
man
would I be?”

Amy had no answer. For a man with his pride and sense of duty, the response was clear. He had to try.

“Let Ken out.” With a jerk of his chin, Reed indicated the keys on his desk. “I'll update him by radio when I can. Let Jake and the others know you and the boys are safe.”

“Reed, wait.” But he was already gone, storming out into the snowy night. She wanted him to hold her one more minute. She wanted to tell him how much he meant to her.

“Mommy.” Sammy's voice was so small and worried, her heart ached. “Will the bad men hurt Chief Weed?”

“Chief Reed is a policeman, baby. He knows what to do.”

“I'll pray,” Dexter said. “I prayed when the bad man got me. I prayed for Chief Reed to come and he did.”

“Oh, Dexter. Oh, my precious baby.” She clung to her sons and wished she never had to let go. “Of course we must pray. Right now.”

All three bowed their heads and murmured heartfelt prayers for Reed's safety. Afterward, Amy took the keys and went into the back portion of the station to release the deputy. He was tied and gagged and furious, but otherwise unharmed. One more thing to be thankful for. She gave him Reed's message and, as he left the police station, she punched in Casey's cell number. In minutes, Reed's office swarmed with the good citizens of Treasure Creek. One by one, her guides who'd been scouring the town arrived, too.

Casey hugged her hard, eyes red. “Thank God you and the kids are safe.”

“They took the treasure,” Amy said. “I'm sorry. I know everyone was counting on it.”

“Honey, you had no choice.” Lindy slapped a hand down on Reed's desk. “No amount of money is worth a hair on one of these boy's head.”

Amy agreed, but she was glad to hear someone else say the words.

“She's right, Amy.” Harry, still wearing a Santa suit, but
without his beard and wig, patted her hand. “I'll admit we had high hopes for that treasure of yours, but we'll survive without it. You just wait and see.”

“We sure will.” Joleen clung to Harry's arm. “Don't you worry your sweet little ol' self one more minute about that treasure. Why, the way this town has pulled together, we can do anything. Treasure or not.”

Delilah slipped an arm over Amy's shoulders and hugged. “She's right, you know. We'll make it. You taught me that.”

A murmur of agreement went around the room. Amy's emotions, already on overload, spilled into her eyes and down her cheeks. “You are the most incredible bunch of friends—”

Gage Parker cleared his throat. All eyes turned toward the search-and-rescue guide. “Folks, we got a man out there searching for a treasure and a couple of thieves. He needs help. Way I figure, there are several of us in this room who know the territory better than anyone, even Reed. What do you say, men?” He winked at Casey. “And lady?”

Amy gazed around at her gathered guides, Casey, Ethan, Andy and Nate. All of them nodded and moved forward to stand with Gage in a show of solidarity. “We're in.”

“Me, too.” Tucker Lawson stepped up. “I may not be a guide, but I've spent my share of time in the wilderness. I know the lay of the land.”

This was true. He'd spent months alone in the Alaskan bush, after a near-deadly plane crash. Tucker knew his way around.

Pride swelled inside Amy until she thought she would burst. These were people a town could count on. And that was far more important than a burgeoning bank account.

 

Reed's windshield wipers beat a scratchy rhythm against the silent, falling snow. Thick and powdery, the snow collected in crusts on the warmed windshield. He reached to
turn the defrosters up one notch, grateful for the strong blast of heat in this weather. With each mile that passed, each foot he climbed, the snowstorm worsened. Soon, the telling set of tracks he followed would disappear. Desperate to catch the thieves before that happened, he increased his speed. There was danger in the action, he knew, but with God's help he would not allow the men to get away.

Straining against the blinding snow and the deepening darkness, he peered far into the night, beyond the reach of the headlights. The road would run out soon, a hazard of living in Alaska. Roads were a luxury, not a given, as they were in the Lower 48. Tall trees rose on either side of what was now merely a narrowing trail. The dark, hulking mountains were before him, as was the treacherous Chilkoot Trail. Thousands of square miles of wooded, mountainous terrain spread around him in silent, sinister darkness.

The thieves no doubt would take the known trail for a while, but would quickly branch off into the wilderness to avoid capture. There were plenty of places to hide and make camp before crossing into Canada, where they could disappear forever. Reed wasn't about to let that happen.

He left the beaten track to guide the four-wheel drive down a rugged path through encroaching timber. The Explorer bounced, rattling the dashboard and radio equipment, as well as jarring his teeth. Cy offered several insulted sighs at the rough ride.

Several minutes later, he drove up on an abandoned pickup truck parked between two trees in plain sight. Either the thieves were foolhardy, or they were confident no one would follow this far into the wilderness—proof positive they didn't know Reed Truscott. Though his sense of urgency increased, Reed's four-wheel drive ground to a halt on the steep, snow-covered incline. Like the men he sought, he could drive no farther.

“Found 'em, Cy. Or at least their vehicle.” He radioed to Ken. Though the connection was poor, he hoped the deputy understood his directions. His cell phone was as useless as his truck this far off the beaten track.

“This is it, buddy,” he said to Cy. “Time to prove we're real Alaskans.”

After bundling into his heaviest outerwear, he slid booties onto Cy's feet and followed the fading outline of two pairs of footprints. If he guessed right, the thieves had set up a hideout not far away. Only a pair of idiots would wander into the deep woods in this kind of weather without a planned stopping point. All the treasure on earth wouldn't do them any good if they froze to death.

Trudging through knee-deep snow, Reed shined a flashlight on the thick forest rising sharply ahead. He kept a close eye on Cy, who was his best protection against falling off a cliff or into a crevice. The dog, bred for Alaskan winters, darted ahead, tongue pumping, joyful to run and play in the cold.

Reed wished he could say the same. Snow stung his cheeks. His eyes watered from the sharp, cold wind, though the rest of him remained warm enough for now.

“Not as much fun as sledding with Amy,” he mumbled.

Amy.
Guilt seared him every time he thought of how badly he'd let her down. He promised she'd be safe with him. In his arrogance, he'd demanded she move into his house where he could protect her.

“Some bodyguard you are.” He figured, if he'd ever had a chance with her, he'd blown it big-time today. “Sorry, Ben. I guess you picked the wrong friend.”

The wind howled down from the mountains and circled through the trees, grabbing at him with icy fingers. He trudged on. He'd give himself another thirty minutes of tracking and then he'd return to the station. Getting lost out here was easy to do. He'd never catch anyone if that happened.

Snow crusted his eyelashes. Not good. He wiped it away with his thick, waterproof glove. His hands were starting to chill now. So were his feet.

He thought of Amy's wacky heated socks and smiled. Not a bad idea tonight.

After a while, he paused next to a tree to shine his light in a broad sweep. His time was running out. He couldn't go much farther.

A movement to the right whirled him in that direction. Cy, too, spotted the movement and growled. Breath held, Reed snapped off his light.

“Easy boy,” he whispered. “Don't give us away.”

He hoped the flashlight hadn't already done as much. Heart thudding against his ribs, Reed moved silently from tree to tree. Fifty yards ahead, a dark, bulky shape indicated a hut of some sort. A tiny light, perhaps a candle, flickered inside.

“Bingo,” he mouthed.

He approached the hut with caution, aware that both men had weapons and were just crazy enough to use them. A dead police officer dragged far enough into the woods might not be found until spring, if ever. And Reed wasn't planning on dying tonight. He had a bone to pick with these two.

The hut appeared old and unused, and it was not much more than a leaning set of four walls and a roof, maybe a relic from the Gold Rush days. Such warming huts dotted the Alaskan wilderness, especially along the Chilkoot and Klondike trails. This one was a little too far off the track to be used much, which explained its poor condition.

There was only one entrance, and no windows in the tiny shack. He'd have no choice but to walk right in the front door or wait for them to come out. Waiting in this weather was out of the question.

He pressed his radio. Nothing. No backup.

He signaled Cy to stay by the tree. Satisfied the malamute
would obey, Reed drew his weapon and approached the hut. A drumbeat of tension pounded in his temples. He'd only have one chance at a surprise attack.

He counted to three and shoved the door open. The bang ricocheted like a shotgun blast.

What happened next would always be a blur in his memory. The two men were on their knees in front of a small fireplace, frantically blowing on the hint of a fire. At Reed's entrance, both jerked to their feet and spun, faces stunned. Pockmarks grappled at his side, presumably for his weapon. Sandy dashed into the shadows.

Cold and tired and still mad enough to eat nails, Reed was in no mood. “Move again and I'll shoot.”

Pockmarks yanked his arms above his head.

Somewhere to his right, Reed felt the presence of the sandy-haired accomplice, but in the semidarkness, he couldn't see him. That made him nervous.

“You,” he said, indicating the place he assumed Sandy to be. “Move over here, hands up where I can see them.”

He reached in his pocket for a set of handcuffs. As he moved to secure the pockmarked thief, he heard a pop. Then the world went crazy.

The bullet's impact spun him sideways. The handcuffs flew from his fingers. Unbalanced, he went down. As he fell, he kicked his legs, catching pockmarks off guard. The man plummeted face-first, where he struck his head against the rock fireplace and lay still.

A gun popped again.

Reed rolled, sure he was hit but feeling nothing but wild fury and powerful determination. If he made it out of this alive, he'd beg Amy's forgiveness and tell her everything that was in his heart. If she walked out, so be it. At least she'd know he loved her.

Another shot rang out. Rolling, determined not to be an
easy mark, Reed desperately tried to locate his attacker in the nearly dark room. He blinked away the fuzziness, fighting the fog that had moved into his head.

Suddenly, a deep growl pierced the night. In a flurry of fur, Cy sprang from the doorway like a crouched cougar. A man screamed, high and frightened above the dog's growl. Reed could hear the struggle of man and canine as Cy's powerful teeth found their mark. Still, the dog was in danger. No matter how great Cy's courage, the human had a gun. Cy didn't.

Reed struggled to his feet. His head swam crazily. He blinked away the gray spots as he reached into his boot for a second, smaller pistol. With effort, he stumbled toward the dark figures struggling on the cabin floor. If he wasn't so tired, he would have grinned. Cy was winning.

At Reed's appearance, Cy's fury increased. The man screamed and flung one arm over his eyes. “Get him off. Get him off!”

“Cy, come.” Reed shoved one boot onto the man's chest and pointed the revolver at his face. “You stay.”

“Keep the dog off me. I'm bleeding. He bit me.”

“Hands behind your back.
Now.
” While he handcuffed the criminal, Cy sat nearby, growling menacingly. “Watch him, Cy.”

He needn't have spoken, because the dog wasn't taking his one good eye off the man. Every hair on the malamute's thick coat stood at attention. If Sandy moved, he'd pay the price.

Strangely weak, but running on adrenaline, Reed wobbled to where the other man had begun to stir. Still facedown, the thief moaned softly. Reed yanked his limp hands behind his back and secured him, too. By the time he'd finished, he was badly winded.

He tried to shake away the double vision, but the effort was too much. He sagged over the criminal, panting.

Given the strange, stinging sensation in his thigh, he knew
he'd taken a bullet there. Maybe another in his side. How badly, he couldn't guess, and he was too weak to look. Somehow, he'd get these two back to the SUV and radio for help.

He started toward the open door, wobbled, shook it off, took one more step, then went to his knees. He put both hands against the cold floor, short of air. Weak. So weak. Maybe he should rest. Just for a minute.