Footprints in the Snow Page 8

  Then came the explosion. Loud and ferocious. In the rearview mirror she saw a burst of flame.

  Luke gave a triumphant shout. “Perfect.”

  What did that mean? She was afraid to ask.

  “Pull over,” he said.

  She slowed to a stop in the middle of the road and turned around. The car that had been chasing them was over a hundred yards away, and the front end was on fire. The hood and front bumper were twisted into a grotesque modern sculpture. Three men wearing ski masks had jumped out of the Studebaker and were throwing heaps of snow on the flames. A fourth man stalked purposefully toward them. He aimed a machine gun.

  “Go,” Luke said. “He’s got a tommy gun.”

  Shana hit the accelerator and drove into the forest where they were sheltered by the trees. She heard the rat-a-tat, imagined a spray of bullets. Squealing around the swooping curves, she kept driving, fleeing, trying to put a million miles between them and certain death.

  “Far enough,” he said.

  She skidded to a stop. Her heart was still racing. Though the jeep had stopped, she couldn’t pry her fingers from the steering wheel.

  “It’s okay,” Luke said. “We’re safe.”

  Breaking her death grip on the wheel, she whipped around to face him. “I suppose you want credit for saving my life again. Well, forget it! I wouldn’t have been in danger if I hadn’t been with you.”

  Without replying, he got out of the car, walked around to the front and opened the driver’s side door. “Come on, Shana. Let’s go. I’ll drive.”

  “First, tell me your plan. Do you have any more grenades in your pocket?”

  “I want to catch up with Henry and Martin. Then we’ll go back up there and take those guys into custody.”

  “What about me? What am I supposed to do while you’re risking your life?”

  “Take the other jeep.” He dug into his pocket, pulled out his wallet and handed her a twenty. “Go into Aspen and shop.”

  How dare he insinuate that she wasn’t capable of facing danger! She wasn’t a fluff ball in a ruffled apron. Her righteous anger gave her a burst of energy. She charged out of the car and got right up in his face. “For your information, I was required to take martial arts training before I went to Kuwait. You’d be a whole lot better off with me at your side than Henry.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I know how to shoot a gun.”

  “Ever shoot at another human being?”

  “I can do it.” She tore off his sunglasses so she could look directly into his eyes. “Believe me. I can kick ass when I need to.”

  He had the audacity to grin. Reaching up, he removed her sunglasses and gently brushed a wisp of hair off her cheek. “You think you’re pretty tough.”

  She slapped his hand away. “Damn straight.”

  Before she knew what was happening, he’d pulled her tight against his body. His mouth claimed hers in a hot, demanding kiss.

  Gasping, she wrenched free from his grasp. “Are you trying to shut me up?”

  “Damn straight.”

  His blue eyes compelled her, drawing her toward him with sheer animal magnetism, and she knew she should fight him off. But her own fury and fear translated into superheated passion. She needed his touch.

  Returning to his embrace, she kissed back. Her tongue plunged through his lips and engaged in a sensual duel. She clung to him with all her strength.

  He held her so tightly that he took her breath away. When they broke apart, she was gasping with need. If she was going to die here in 1945, she wanted to die in his arms.

  The other jeep chugged toward them. Henry called out, “What happened to you guys? We were almost all the way into town.”

  Luke caught hold of her hand and dragged her toward the other jeep. Still reeling from his kiss, she sat in the backseat beside Luke, listening while he outlined what had happened to them and what they needed to do next. Something about fanning out and not shooting to kill.

  “I want these guys alive,” Luke said.

  “Who the hell are they?” Martin asked. “More Russian spies?”

  “What?” Shana glared at the three of them. “Russian spies? More of them?”

  “Hey, sweetie,” Martin growled, “you’ve heard of the Russians, haven’t you? Commies? Pinkos?”

  “But why do you think they’re—”

  “I don’t have time to explain right now,” Luke said.

  He passed out the helmets and weaponry. When her fingers closed around the cold barrel of the Garand rifle, she forgot about the Russian spy scenario and concentrated on immediate, practical concerns like not getting herself killed. “I’ve never fired a gun like this before.”

  “It’s already loaded. Just point and pull the trigger.” Luke met her gaze. “And stay back. Stay with the jeep.”

  Henry sat frozen behind the steering wheel. Even when Luke tapped his shoulder and ordered him to drive, he didn’t move. His voice trembled. “You used a grenade?”

  “Let’s go,” Luke said.

  “I can’t.” His eyes were watery. “I can’t make myself move.”

  “Martin,” Luke snapped. “Take over.”

  Martin cringed. “Maybe we ought to call for some kind of backup. You know, from the local sheriff.”

  “We don’t have time,” Luke said.

  “But there’s four of them,” Martin said. “What if they all have tommy guns?”

  “Drive,” Luke said. “That’s an order.”

  Martin tromped around the front end of the jeep. He shoved Henry into the passenger seat and seated himself behind the wheel. He drove out of the forest in low gear.

  As they approached the smoldering vehicle, it was obvious that they were too late. The Studebaker had been abandoned. Ski tracks led down the side of the mountain and disappeared into the forest.

  “This is the second time they’ve gotten away from me,” Luke said grimly. “It’s not going to happen again.”

  Chapter Eight

  In the passenger seat of the jeep, Shana stared through the windshield at the surrounding forest and tried to sort out her emotions. She was angry. Why was this happening to her? What had she done to deserve being thrown back in time and pursued by men with machine guns? She was scared. Beneath her poorly fitted army fatigues and jacket, a sheen of perspiration coated her body. A cold hum of fear resonated inside her brain, sending trembles through her body and turning her sweat to ice water.

  Her gaze slid toward Luke. His jaw was set hard as a rock, and his forehead pulled down in a scowl. The range of feelings she had for him defied description. It certainly wasn’t logical to be attracted to someone who had almost gotten her killed.

  “It’s not your fault that they got away,” she said.

  “Yeah, it is. Like it or not, I’m the leader of this band of misfits.”

  He had that right. Misfits. Martin—who she still thought of as Moe—should have been in a kitchen somewhere, preparing omelets. Young Henry was so panicked that he nearly wet his pants. And she was a geologist from another century. “None of us are very good at battle.”

  “I am.” He had already been to war, been tested on the front lines. “I should have gone after those guys by myself.”

  “And probably gotten killed,” she said. “You did everything you could.”

  “And failed.”

  “Not really. We’re all still alive.”

  “And the Russians are still on the loose. Spies that want to go after your beloved Dr. Fermi.”

  “When did you figure out that they’re Russian?”

  “There was an incident back at Camp Hale. One of them tried to bribe Captain Hughes. Said he was with the NKVD, the secret police.”

  NKVD must have been a precursor to the KGB. Shana tried to put this information in a context she could understand. In 1945, the Soviets must have been overwhelmed with fighting the last battles of the war, but they still had be interested in atomic energy.

  In spite of
the intense secrecy surrounding the Manhattan Project, Fermi’s atom-splitting experiments would have stirred waves in the scientific community. It was the technology of the future. She suspected these spies would do just about anything to get their hands on Dr. Fermi.

  “We have to stop them,” she said.

  “Hell, yes.”

  Luke tapped out a cigarette and lit up. When he exhaled a cloud of smoke, she was reminded of an angry dragon. A mythical beast. But that identity didn’t suit him. Luke was the hero, the dragon slayer. She wanted to believe that he could do anything.

  On the Aspen side of Independence Pass, the snow was nearly melted. Patches of green peeked through the cold, dead winter foliage, and the steep road settled into a more reasonable grade.

  Very quickly, the forested land gave way to simple houses on tidy streets. Wood smoke billowed from almost every chimney; the good citizens of this era were unconcerned about air pollution.

  When they entered the small town, she felt like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz when she opened the door to her house and emerged into a world of color. This was truly 1945. At Camp Hale, the difference had been more subtle. Barracks were barracks, after all. But here? In the Aspen she’d known before, there were sprawling condo developments and tall hotels. Not in this era.

  Without the advantage of artificial snow machines to extend the ski season, the downhill slopes at the edge of town were ungroomed with rocks peeking through the remaining snow. There wasn’t even a chairlift, only a lonely T-bar.

  The streets—with no stoplights—were filled with clunky old cars and trucks. Not really old, she reminded herself. These vehicles were appropriate for World War II.

  Mostly, she noticed the people. Though the cowboys still wore jeans and Stetson hats, everybody else was dressed in vintage clothing and bulky fabrics. A lot of the women had bad perms. Almost everybody was wearing a hat.

  Though tension still nibbled at the edge of her mood, Shana liked what she saw. Aspen in 1945 might not be such a bad place to live. She couldn’t wait to explore. “I definitely need new clothes.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t very well go walking around in this.” She plucked at the baggy olive-green fatigues.

  “Who said anything about walking around?” The frown he’d worn since the bad guys got away deepened. “The safest thing is to stay in your hotel room. Those men who tried to kill us are going to be here. They might try again.”

  She cast a withering glance in his direction. “If the Russians are here, I want to find them as much as you do. There’s no way I’m staying locked up in a hotel room while you’re out searching.”

  “Be reasonable. I don’t want to put you in danger.”

  “That’s my choice,” she said firmly. “Now, what’s our plan?”

  “Our plan?” He scoffed. “We don’t have a plan.”

  “Obviously, you came to Aspen for a reason. You must have some kind of clue that made you think the Russians are here. So, I assume we’re going to snoop around and find out if the locals have noticed anything suspicious. Am I right?”

  “You’re close,” he said grudgingly.

  “I’m coming with you,” she said, “after I get some decent clothes.”

  He parked on the street in front of a clothing store that was a far cry from the trendy boutiques that made up Aspen’s modern landscape. Guessing at size, Shana grabbed some black flannel slacks, a soft blue cotton blouse and a pair of black flats. Also, she picked up two pairs of the homeliest cotton underwear she’d ever seen. The total bill came to less than twenty bucks.

  The Hotel Jerome didn’t look all that much different, except when she got to her room. No television, of course. And the bathroom had old-fashioned fixtures and a claw-foot tub. “Quaint.”

  “My room is right across the hall,” Luke said. “I’ll be back here at seven. In an hour and a half. Don’t go anywhere by yourself.”

  “What if I want to—”

  “Don’t,” he repeated. “If I have to hog-tie you to the bed to keep you in here, I will.”

  “Maybe later I’ll let you tie me up,” she purred.

  Finally, he smiled. His rugged features relaxed, and she saw the man she liked—the man who would someday become a doctor with an excellent bedside manner.

  “An hour and a half,” he said as he opened the door and went into the hall.

  “I’ll be ready.”

  Shana wasted no time in discarding the heavy fatigues and ridiculous combat boots. As she filled the tub, she hummed and thought about Luke.

  Compared to men from her own era—men she’d dated—he was more direct and basic. But not simple. Luke had plenty of issues. Unlike a lot of the twenty-first-century men, he was reluctant to talk about them, analyze them and feel sorry for himself. He accepted everything that happened to him without complaint. Just following orders. In many ways, he still seemed like a fantasy—a tough, strong soldier who was sensitive enough to care about an orphan boy.

  She climbed into the tub and sank low into the steamy water. Oh yes, this was a good thing. After sleeping on army issue beds and tromping all over the mountains, a hot bath felt like silken luxury. Her mind emptied, and she recognized an emotion she hadn’t cataloged before. Excitement.

  Amid the fear and anger and the undeniable passion she felt every time she looked at Luke, was excitement. Never before had she felt so completely alive.

  What if she was meant to be here? This trip backward in time might truly be her destiny. She might be stuck here in 1945 forever. With Luke at her side, that seemed like a very, very good thing.

  LIKE SHANA, LUKE HAD decided to change out of his dirty fatigues. People around here respected the 10th Mountain Division, and he wanted to merit their regard. He tucked in his shirt, changed into lace-up shoes and put on a short Eisenhower jacket with a bar of citations and decorations above the left front pocket. Soon he would add the Purple Heart…if he lived long enough to receive the actual medal.

  With his hair combed back off his forehead, he checked his reflection in the mirror. He looked spiffy and military—a lot more confident than he deserved to be. Not only had he allowed the spies to escape, but the attack on Independence Pass baffled him. If the Russian spies were after Fermi, why come after him? He was nobody important. Were they after Shana?

  Damn it, he wanted to trust her. But every time he got comfortable, there was another reason for suspicion.

  Another possible reason for the attack was related to the dead man in the shed at Camp Hale. The Russians in the Studebaker might have been watching when Captain Hughes shot their colleague. Their motive in attacking Luke could be simple revenge. An eye for an eye.

  That simple solution would be a relief. He picked up the phone in his room and went through the operator to place a call to an old friend who was on the National Ski Patrol and now lived in Aspen. There were certain inquiries that a local could handle more easily than Luke.

  DOWNSTAIRS IN THE LOBBY, Luke hooked up with Martin and Henry, neither of whom had bothered to change out of their wrinkled, filthy fatigues. Their ragtag appearance spoke volumes about their lack of military discipline. Late recruits made lousy soldiers.

  “Hey, Sergeant,” Martin said. “You clean up good.”

  “Wish I could say the same for you.”

  “I didn’t know coming to Aspen meant getting all dolled up.”

  “You represent the 10th Mountain Division,” Luke reminded him. “Try not to act like a jackass while you’re in town.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He turned his attention to Henry who hadn’t looked up from his boots. “Are you okay, kid?”

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

  “Only a fool is never afraid.” He knew this boy was barely nineteen, a sheltered only child, the son of a shopkeeper in Denver. Henry was a most unlikely conscript. With any luck, the war would be over before he saw battle. “You’re going to be fine, kid.”

  They stepped aside to allow sev
eral young people in fancy dress clothes to pass through the lobby. It was Saturday night, and the hotel ballroom was being used for an event. Since the young ladies were wearing formals and their dates were in suits, Luke guessed it was a senior prom. Even in wartime, there were certain rituals that continued.

  “What are we supposed to do in town?” Martin asked.

  “Talk to the locals. Stop at the diners and the taverns.”

  Martin beamed. “I’m liking this assignment better and better.”

  “Keep your eyes and ears open,” Luke said. “We’re looking for four or five guys. The Russians. We know they’ve lost their Studebaker so they might be looking for a new vehicle.”

  “And if we hear anything?”

  “Report to me,” Luke said. “Do not engage on your own. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Luke concentrated on Henry. “I didn’t hear you, soldier.”

  He lifted his head and wiped his sleeve across his nose at the same time. “Yes, sir.”

  “What about girls?” Martin asked. “If we happen to meet up with some girls who—”

  “You’re on assignment. Not on leave.” Luke had neither the time nor the inclination to act as a baby sitter for these two. “Stay out of trouble. Get back to your room early.”

  “How about you, Sergeant? What are you going to be doing?”

  “Right now, I’m going to talk to the desk clerk.”

  “We’ll watch,” Martin said. “Maybe we can pick up some pointers on interrogation.”

  This wasn’t an interrogation. Luke had no reason to believe that the desk clerk at the Hotel Jerome was engaged in an international conspiracy to kidnap Dr. Fermi. But maybe these two pathetic excuses for G.I.’s needed instruction on how not to be jackasses.

  At the front desk, Luke picked up a pack of matches with the same logo as the ones he’d found in the pocket of the dead man. Making casual conversation, he talked to the clerk who recalled several foreign guests at the Hotel Jerome, but nobody who stood out or behaved suspiciously.

  The bellboy was more helpful. He remembered five men who stayed in two rooms. “They were prissy about their luggage. Wouldn’t let me touch most of it. At least one of them had an accent.”