Mountain Midwife Read online

  Cole’s eyelids snapped open. Though his body was exhausted, his mind was too busy for sleep.

  Leaving the sofa, he went toward the kitchen table where he’d left his phone. Shortly after Frank mentioned Prescott’s name, Cole had turned off the GPS. But was it really off? His boss in L.A., Agent Waxman, hadn’t been pleased about having his undercover agent untraceable. Had Waxman programmed in some kind of tracking mechanism?

  If Frank had been awake and hadn’t been a psycho, Cole would have turned to him for help in analyzing his phone’s capabilities. Frank had expert skills with electronics.

  For a moment, Cole toyed with the idea of destroying his cell phone. Then he decided against it. Tomorrow when the blizzard lifted, they could use his phone to call for help. Yeah? And who would he call? Who could he trust?

  Through the kitchen window—the only one without a curtain—he saw the snow continue to fall. His visibility was limited. He couldn’t tell if it was letting up—not that it mattered. There was nothing they could do tonight. Trying to fight their way through the blizzard and the drifts in the dark would be suicide. They had to wait until morning. Until then, he needed to sleep, damn it. His body required a couple of hours’ solid rest to replenish his physical resources.

  He headed back toward his sofa but found himself standing over Rachel. She lay on her back, covered up to her chin with a plaid wool blanket. The light from the gas fireplace flickered across her cheeks and smooth forehead. Her full lips parted slightly, and her breathing was steady.

  Hers was an unassuming beauty. No makeup. No frills. No nonsense. Her thick, black lashes were natural, as were her dark eyebrows that matched the wisps of hair framing her face.

  Looking down, he realized that she was the real reason he couldn’t sleep. He’d made her a promise, told her that they’d have a relationship beyond this ordeal. That was what he wanted. To spend time with her. To learn more about this complicated woman whose livelihood was bringing new life into the world.

  He admired her strength of character and wondered what caused her defensiveness. Until she had melted into his arms, she’d been pushing him away with both hands. But she’d kissed him with passion and yearning. No way had that kiss been a timid testing of the waters. She’d committed herself. She’d responded as though she’d been waiting for him to strike a spark and ignite the flame.

  He reached toward her but didn’t actually touch her cheek. He didn’t want to wake her; she needed her sleep. I didn’t lie to you, Rachel.

  But he hadn’t been completely honest. A man in his line of work changed his identity the way other people changed their socks. He never knew how long he’d be on assignment and unable to communicate with a significant other. Bottom line: he couldn’t commit to a real, in-depth relationship.

  Tearing his gaze away from her, he went back to his sofa and lay down. This time, he fell asleep.

  It seemed like only a few minutes later that he heard Goldie’s cries. He bolted upright on the sofa. His gun was in his hand.

  Rachel was already awake. “It’s okay,” she said. “Don’t shoot.”

  After a quick scan of the cabin, he lowered his weapon. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “She’s hungry.” Rachel opened the blanket she used to swaddle the infant and picked her up. Immediately—as if by magic—the wailing stopped. Rachel bent her head down to nuzzle Goldie’s tummy. “Most babies wake up a couple of times at night.”

  He knew that. A long time ago, he had a female partner with a newborn baby boy. She was always complaining about not getting enough sleep. “Anything I can do to help?”

  “I’ll handle this.”

  She got no argument from him. Through half-closed eyes, he watched her taking care of the baby. Her movements were efficient but exceedingly gentle as she changed the diaper. Even though Goldie wasn’t hers, it was obvious that Rachel cared deeply for this infant. He understood; babies were pretty damned lovable.

  As she walked to the kitchen she bounced with each step and made soft, cooing sounds. Her voice soothed him. So sweet. So tender. He closed his eyes and imagined her lying beside him, humming and—

  “Cole.” Frank’s shout tore him out of his reverie. “Damn you, Cole. Get in here.”

  Cole groaned. He would have much preferred changing diapers to dealing with a wounded psychopath. With his gun in hand, he crossed the room and shoved open the bedroom door. In this room away from the fireplace, the temperature was about ten degrees cooler and it was dark. Cole turned on the overhead light. “What?”

  “Untie me. I’ve got to pee.”

  The restraints Cole had used on Frank were a combination of twine, rope and bungee cords. There was enough play in the ropes that fastened his wrists to the bed frame on either side of him that he could get comfortable. The same went for his ankles, which were attached to the iron frame at the foot of the bed. Setting him free involved a certain amount of risk. Frank could turn on him; he needed to be handled with extreme caution.

  Cole was tired of dealing with men like Frank. Always trying to stay two steps ahead. Never letting his guard down. He didn’t like what his life had become.

  He came closer to the bed and unzipped the sweatshirt stretched across his chest. The wound near his shoulder showed only a light bloodstain. Rachel’s tampon plug had done its job in stopping the bleeding.

  “Here’s the deal, Frank. If you give me any trouble, I’ll shoot. No hesitation. No second thoughts. Understand?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I get it.”

  One-handed, he unfastened the cords. All the while, he kept his weapon trained on the big man. Once he was free, Frank stretched his arms and winced in pain. He hauled his legs to the edge of the bed. Slowly, he lumbered to the bathroom, where Cole stood watch. Not a pleasant experience for either of them.

  When they returned to the bedroom, Frank sat on the bed and reached for the water glass on the bedside table. He swallowed a few gulps and licked his lips. “I’m hungry.”

  “Too bad.”

  “You don’t have to tie me up, man. I’m not going to—”

  “Save it.” Cole wasn’t taking any chances. Not with Rachel and Goldie in the other room.

  With his finger, Frank touched his split lip. “As soon as the snow stops, we should move on. Those feds are still after you.”

  “Lie down. Arms at your sides. Legs straight.”

  “You need me. When those guys catch up to you, you’re going to want somebody watching your back. Come on, man. I’m a good person to have on your side in a fight. You know that.”

  There were a few things Cole knew for certain. The first was that Frank enjoyed inflicting pain. The second, he was a bully who couldn’t be trusted. Number three, he was smarter than he looked. “You can lie down. Now. Or I’ll knock you unconscious. Your choice.”

  With a low growl, Frank stretched out on the bed. “I’ve been lying here, thinking. I know what you’re up to. You’ve got leverage. A couple of bargaining chips.”

  Cole fastened the cords on his ankles. “You just keep thinking, Frank.”

  “You’re going to use the baby to deal with Baron. I mean, Baron is as mean as they come, but he’s not going to kill his own kid, right?”

  While Cole dealt with the bonds on Frank’s wrists, he pressed the nose of his gun into the big man’s belly.

  “And Rachel,” Frank said. “She’s going to take you to where Penny sent the loot. Oh, yeah, I got it all figured out. But there’s something you don’t know.”

  “What’s that?” Cole finished securing the ropes and stepped back. “What don’t I know?”

  “If I tell you, I’m giving up my own bargaining chip.”

  As far as Cole was concerned, Frank could keep his information to himself. Tomorrow, after he and Rachel were far away from this cabin, he’d call the local police and give them the location. The cops could take Frank into custody.

  Cole turned toward the door.

  “Hey,” Frank called after
him. “I can tell you why the feds attacked. You want to know that, don’t you?”

  Clearly, Frank was grasping at straws, trying to play him. In other circumstances, Cole might have been interested in his information, but he was weary of these games. “Whether you tell me or not, I don’t give a damn.”

  He wanted to get back to a semblance of normal life, to take Rachel home to California with him and show her his favorite beach. He hadn’t seen much of her body, except when she stepped out of the bathroom in a towel, but he thought she’d look good in a bikini.

  “It’s about the money,” Frank said. “Penny told me that she was keeping the place she’d sent the last three packages a secret from Baron. That’s got to be close to seventy thousand bucks. Just sitting there. Waiting to be picked up.”

  “I don’t believe you. Penny wouldn’t try a double cross on Baron.”

  “She said that she wasn’t going to steal from him. She just wanted to see him. And she knew he’d come for the money.”

  Though the idea disgusted him, Cole understood Penny’s reasoning. Baron wouldn’t come to see his pregnant girlfriend or his newborn child. But he’d make an effort for the money. “So what?”

  “I’m betting Rachel knows where it is. She and Penny were getting real chummy.” He gave a grotesque wink.

  “We can make her tell us where the money is hidden.”

  “Go back to sleep.”

  He closed the bedroom door and stepped into the front room, where Rachel sat in the rocking chair feeding Goldie by the golden light from the gas fireplace. Cole felt as if he’d entered a different world. A better place, for sure. The energy in this room nurtured him and gave him hope.

  When Rachel met his gaze and smiled, he wanted to gather her into his arms and hold her close. He needed her honesty and decency. She was the antidote to the ugly life he’d been living.

  “How is Frank doing?” she asked.

  “I checked the wound. There’s very little bleeding.”

  “He needs to get to a hospital tomorrow.”

  He wanted to tell her that tomorrow would bring a solution to all their problems. But he couldn’t make that promise.

  IN THE DIM LIGHT OF DAWN, Rachel stepped onto the porch of the cabin and shivered. The furry bristles of her parka hood froze instantly and scraped against her cheek as she adjusted Goldie’s position inside the sling carrier under her parka.

  The blizzard had dwindled to a sputtering of snow, but the skies were still blanketed with heavy gray clouds. Cole joined her on the porch and held up his cell phone.

  “Still no signal,” he said.

  “We shouldn’t have to go too far.” She pointed with her gloved hand toward a break in the trees. “It looks like a road up there. There ought to be other cabins. We should be able to find somebody with a working phone.”

  From inside the cabin, Frank yelled out a curse at Cole and threatened revenge. His voice was hoarse and rasping. She knew they couldn’t trust Frank but felt guilty for leaving him tied to the bed.

  As Cole fastened the broken front door closed with a bungee cord, she asked, “We’re going to get help for Frank, aren’t we?”

  “When we talk to the cops, we’ll give them the location of this cabin. Frank won’t be happy about being rescued and arrested at the same time.”

  “I almost feel sorry for him.”

  “Don’t.”

  Before they’d left the cabin, she’d made a final check on Frank’s wounds. The bleeding had stopped, and he wasn’t in imminent danger. Though the cabin wasn’t cold, he’d told her that he was freezing and asked her to cover him up with his parka. She figured it was the least she could do for him.

  She fell into step behind Cole. The oversized backpack on his shoulders blocked the wind. Though this area had been sheltered from the full force of the storm by trees, the new-fallen snow was well over her boots—probably a foot deep. On the north side of the cabin, the drifts reached all the way to the windowsill.

  Cole led the way to a log structure that looked like a garage. He shoved the door open and ushered her inside.

  “Which do you prefer?” he asked. “Cross-country skis or snowshoes?”

  “What are you thinking?” He claimed to be one of the good guys but he acted like a thief. “We can’t just walk in here and help ourselves. We’ve already destroyed the front door on the cabin, made a mess and eaten their food.”

  “Don’t worry. It hasn’t escaped my attention that this well-equipped little cabin saved our lives. I fully intend to pay the owners back.”

  “Did you leave a note?”

  “It kind of defeats the purpose of being undercover if I start handing out my address.”

  “How about money?” she demanded. “Did you leave cash?”

  “I’m sending people back here for Frank. If I left cash, somebody else would pick it up. Don’t worry, I’ll pay for the damages.”

  In an unconscious gesture, he patted the left side of his jacket then pulled his hand away. She was beginning to understand the sneaky undercover side to his personality. Every twitch had a meaning. She asked, “What’s in your pocket? Are you hiding something from me?”

  “Do you have to know everything?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fine,” he said. “I’ve got nothing in my pocket, but there’s a pouch with cash, a switchblade and a new identity sewn into the lining.”

  “Impressive.”

  “In spite of this disaster, I’m good at my job. The hardest part of an undercover op is getting out in one piece.” He sorted through the array of skis and snowshoes. “What’s best for moving through the snow?”

  She still didn’t want to steal the equipment. If somebody took her cross-country skis, she’d be furious. “Why can’t we just hike up to the road? Even if it hasn’t been cleared recently, the snowplows will be coming through.”

  “We aren’t taking the road.”

  “Why not?”

  He held a set of snowshoes toward her. “The shooters—whether they’re FBI or Baron’s men—are going to be looking for us.”

  His gaze met hers. Even in the dark garage, she could see his tension. If they were found, they’d be killed. Normal rules of conduct didn’t apply. She pulled off her gloves and took the snowshoes.

  Chapter Nine

  After a bit of trial and error, Cole figured out how to walk in the snowshoes with minimal tripping over his own feet. Even using the ski poles for balance, he’d fallen twice.

  From behind his back, Rachel called out, “You’re getting the hang of it. Don’t try to go backwards.”

  He muttered, “It’s like I’ve got tennis rackets strapped to my shoes.”

  “That’s still better than plowing through two feet of new snow.”

  Or not. The winter sports he enjoyed involved speed—racing across open terrain on a snowmobile, streaking down a slope on downhill skis or a snowboard. A clumsy slog through deep snow was the opposite of fun—another reason to hate Colorado. After last night’s blizzard, he’d lost any appreciation he might have had for the scenic beauty of a winter wonderland. All this pristine whiteness depressed the hell out of him. Never again would he take an undercover assignment in the mountains. A tropical jungle filled with snakes and man-eating lions would be preferable.

  Though they weren’t on the road, he stayed on a trail through the forest that ran parallel to it. The worst thing that could happen now was to get lost in this unpopulated back country. They’d been hiking on snowshoes for nearly half an hour—long enough for him to freeze the tip of his nose—and they still hadn’t sighted a cabin.

  The dawn light was beginning to brighten, and the snowfall lacked the fury of the blizzard. On the opposite side of the road, he could see the outline of a tall ridge through the icy mist. What lay beyond? He’d lost all sense of direction.

  “Hold up.” He laboriously maneuvered his snowshoes to face Rachel. “Do you have any idea where we are?”

  “Let me check my
GPS. Oh, wait, I don’t have a GPS. Or a map. Or a satellite photo.”

  He preferred her snarky attitude to fear. It was better for her not to know how much danger they might be in. “I want to get a general idea. When I picked you up, what was the closest town?”

  “We were near Shadow Mountain Lake. There are a couple of resorts there but nothing resembling a town until Grand Lake.”

  “In terms of miles, how far?”

  With her glove, she brushed a dusting of snow off her shoulder. “Hard to say. As the crow flies, only about five miles or so. But none of these roads are straight lines.”

  They could be winding back and forth for hours and making very little progress. “I hate mountains.”

  “A typical comment from a Southern California boy.”

  “Yeah? What have you got against palm trees and beaches?”

  “Real men live in the mountains.”

  Though tempted to yank her into his arms and show her that he was a real man, he took his cell phone out of his pocket. Miracle of miracles, he had a signal!

  “What is it?” Rachel asked.

  “The phone works. Finally.” He peeled off his glove, accessed his directory and called Agent Ted Waxman in Los Angeles. California was an hour earlier and it was before seven o’clock here, but his primary FBI handler was available to him 24/7.

  Waxman’s mumbled hello made Cole think the agent was still in bed, warm and cozy under the covers.

  “It’s Cole. I need to come in from the cold. Literally.”

  “Where are you?” Waxman’s voice had gone from drowsy to alert. “Do you have your GPS locator turned on?”

  He wanted to believe he could trust Waxman. They weren’t buddies; undercover agents didn’t spend much face time inside the bureau offices. But Waxman had been his primary contact for almost four years.

  Cole’s phone didn’t have much juice; he didn’t waste words. “Give me an update. Fast.”

  “Turn on the GPS and go to a road,” Waxman instructed.

  “We’ll find you.”

  His suspicions about Agent Wayne Prescott and his possible involvement with the shooters from last night warned against giving away their location. “Who’s looking for us?”