Cassie Miles - State Of Emergency

He waved back. Then, like a giant dragonfly, the police helicopter moved away. He hovered low, searching the wooded landscape for an escaped convict, searching for Jordan. The noise faded to stillness as she stood, unmoving. Possibly, she’d just made the biggest mistake of her life.

She heard Jordan approach. He said, “You did the right thing.”

That remained to be seen. “Harrison will report that everything is okay in this area. It’ll give you a little more time for your escape.”

“It’ll give us more time.”

When she turned, Emily saw that Jordan was already wearing his backpack. In his hand, he held a length of nylon rope which he looped over her head like a lasso and cinched around her waist.

“What’s this?” she demanded.

“Insurance,” he said. “In case your conscience needs a little reminder.”

Furious, she yanked at the rope. “A leash! You’ve got me on a leash!”

“It’s no use in tugging, Emily. This is a fisherman’s knot. On a double rope like this, you won’t be able to untie it because the other ends are attached to my belt.”

“I hate this!”

“Too bad,” he said. “I need both hands free for climbing, so I can’t carry the gun. But I need some way to control you.”

After everything she’d done for him—treating his wounds and chasing away the chopper—he repaid her with a rope. To control her. She wanted to tell him off, but Emily was utterly incoherent with rage.

Since she had no alternative, she stomped back toward the house and maneuvered into her backpack. She’d been a fool not to signal the chopper. She wouldn’t make that mistake again. On the trail, she’d take her revenge. This wouldn’t be an easy hike in the mountains and she would definitely leave a trail.

With adrenaline pumping, she left the house and set out toward the open field at an aggressive pace. The rope pulled her up short and she whirled around. “Now what?”

“We should stay under the cover of the trees until nightfall. Your friend with the chopper might be back.”

“Fine,” she snarled.

“I suggest we head in a roughly northeastern direction,” Jordan said. “Back toward Aspen.”

“That’s about the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Everybody’s going to be looking for you in Aspen. Why would you want to take that risk?”

“Investigation,” he said.

“Of what?” She’d just about had it with his cryptic responses. Even if he didn’t think she’d understand his logic, she deserved to know what was going on inside his head. “Tell me, Jordan. Just what do you think you’re going to investigate in Aspen?”

“I’m going to find out who murdered my wife.”

AFTER TWO HOURS and twenty minutes of hiking, Jordan ached in every cell of his body. The gunshot wound in his arm was nothing compared to the screaming muscles in his thighs and lower back. The tight throb of the stitches in his face penetrated his cheekbones and spread across his skull. Though he’d been in the high country for a couple of months and had acclimated to the altitude, his lungs couldn’t suck enough oxygen from the thin mountain air.

It didn’t help that Emily chose consistently uphill routes or that she purposely pushed back tree branches and allowed them to snap back at him. Though she claimed to hate the rope that tied them together, she yanked at the cord every five minutes, sending a jolt through his midsection.

Still, Jordan hadn’t complained. Neither he nor Emily had spoken for over half an hour.

The only one who seemed happy about their cross-country trek was Pookie. The dog bounded ahead of them, scrambling over rocks and darting through the firs. The dog suddenly froze, alert and watching. Had he seen something? Were the searchers approaching?

“Hold it,” Jordan said.

“Why?” Emily halted and turned toward him. An evil grin spread across her lovely face. “Are you tired?”

Damn right! But he’d never admit weakness to her. “Pookie sees something.”

The hairs on Pookie’s back stood up, then he charged through the trees. His bark was different, deeper. “Whooo-whoo-woof.”

“What’s that mean?” Jordan whispered. “Why’s he making that kind of noise?”

“I don’t speak dog,” she said archly.

He directed her toward the cover of a prickly shrub and ducked down. Clumsily, he retrieved the gun from his backpack. Truly, this pistol was a peashooter. With a.22 caliber automatic, he couldn’t trust his aim at any distance. But it was better than nothing.

“Moof.” Pookie bounded back toward them, almost strutting. The pup looked real proud of himself.

“What was it, boy?” Emily grinned at the dog. “A vicious chipmunk? An evil deer?”

Pookie gave a full-body wiggle.

“Nothing to worry about,” she said. “Unless you’re afraid of being recaptured by an army of rabid tree squirrels.”

Easy for her to say. Emily wanted to be found.

Jordan thanked his lucky stars for her momentary lapse into kindness when she’d waved the helicopter away. His escape could have been over at that moment, but she’d saved him. He didn’t expect that sympathy again.

“Ready?” she challenged.

“Let’s make tracks.”

She set out at a fast pace, and he was hard-pressed to match her speed. Her energy amazed him. Surefooted as a bighorn sheep in Kletter boots, she hiked higher and higher on slender, almost nonexistent forest trails. Uphill, dammit, always uphill.

He wished he had a pair of hiking boots like hers. Jordan’s shoes were cheap, canvas, prison-issue sneakers that offered little traction and no protection against the rocks he constantly tripped over. But there was another lack in his mountain climbing gear that worried him more. He didn’t have a jacket.

Though Emily owned a warehouse of camping supplies, including two sleeping bags, she wasn’t prepared with a parka in his size. Come nightfall, Jordan was going to be mighty chilly. By God, he hated these mountains. The climate was cold and arid, inhospitable to human life. Rugged terrain gave him no pleasure. The jagged spires of rock were teeth waiting to tear into his flesh.

Stumbling again, he stared down at the dry bed of pine needles below his feet. In the fall, there wasn’t much green in these forests, and it wasn’t the brilliant tropical green he was accustomed to seeing in Florida. Colorado’s palette ranged from khaki to the army drab of pine and spruce.

A tug on the rope told him they were headed uphill. Again. He glanced up toward Emily. Since she was leading the way, he should’ve had ample time to admire the fit of her snug Levi’s, but Jordan was denied even that small diversion. From the rear, she looked like a big red backpack with legs.

Finally, they reached a pinnacle on a high ridge. There was no more up. Finally, they’d be hiking downhill.

The first few steps felt good. The change in muscle groups refreshed him. After they’d covered a couple hundred yards and entered an aspen grove, his legs turned to rubber. He couldn’t control his momentum. The space between them shortened. He was only an arm’s length away from her backpack.

Then, inexplicably, Emily stopped short.

“No!” He barely dodged around her. But he couldn’t stop. His equilibrium was off. Flailing, he crashed through the slender white tree trunks. The rope pulled taut, and Jordan went down flat on his back.

Emily followed, almost tumbling. In an amazing display of agility, she stayed on her feet.

Half-stunned and totally exhausted, Jordan looked up through the aspen boughs. His wounds throbbed, but he willed the pain away. In the fading light of dusk, the air took on a golden hue. The leaves trembled delicately like a shower of golden coins, nature’s wealth. Numbly, he said, “It’s beautiful.”