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  It was a little unnerving. No traffic, no airplanes, no television or radio chatter. No children playing next door. Nothing. The snowfall muffled even the normal sounds of nature.

  After living in such isolation for three years, her presence must have been a huge intrusion in Sam’s world. Despondency fell over her like a heavy shroud.

  She had toyed with the idea of a return visit after the Atlanta trip. There was a spark between them and she wanted to see if more time would take it to the next level. Kate saw how unrealistic she’d been. She could no more adjust to Sam’s life than he could adjust to hers.

  They were two ships passing in the night. Nothing more.

  Chapter Nine

  Sam released the throttle, slowly guiding the snowmobile through a thicket of tall trees. The crash site was close, he was sure of it. Unfortunately, the heavy snowfall had covered most of the marking flags so he was forced to rely solely on memory.

  Within minutes, he spied the frozen shell of the plane still dangling precariously from a cluster of tall pines. Shutting off the engine, Sam extracted a rope and claw hook from the saddle bags.

  He tied the hook to the end of the rope and swung it upwards over the wing of the plane. After several attempts, it finally wedged itself around the crumpled metal. Using the knotted rope to scale the icy metal, he hoisted himself through the small opening where the door had been before glancing toward the cockpit.

  The pilot’s body was still twisted grotesquely in the crushed seat, dark red stains frozen to his chest and arm. Sam turned away from the death scene, scanning the debris for signs of Kate’s luggage. She’d said her knapsack was under the tree but he figured as long as he was here, he might as well fetch the rest of her belongings. Just as he spied a small red duffel, he heard a loud crack.

  The plane shifted, sliding a few inches down the tree. Sam froze, gripping the back of the pilot’s seat until he was certain the wreckage had stabilized. His weight must have impacted the fragile balance keeping the aircraft wedged in place.

  Pacing himself, Sam slowly pulled the suitcase toward him. After sliding the shoulder strap over his arm, he glanced around for anything he might have missed. Once again, a low moan rose from the bowels of the twisted metal. His luck was running out. It was time to exit.

  Sam took a deep breath before hurling himself through the door. He landed in the white powder with a soft thud, instantly jumping to his feet and darting away from the unstable wreckage. Seconds later, a series of snaps and creaks sent the carnage sliding down the tree.

  Shit. That was close. He glanced at the duffel, hoping it was Kate’s. His gloved fingers zipped open the flap, pausing when he noticed a pair of lacy pink thongs on top. Definitely not Pete’s. He closed the bag with jerky movements and fastened it to the Polaris.

  Sam made his way to the tree where he’d found Kate. A few minutes of kicking around the snow uncovered the strap of a knapsack. He yanked it out, giving it a good shake before trudging back up the hill to the snowmobile.

  His thoughts were filled with images of Kate in pink lace. In two days, she had wreaked havoc on his world like a damn tornado dropping from a clear blue sky. A cold breeze whipped across his face, serving as a welcome interruption to his thoughts. He glanced over his shoulder at the plane. Pete’s body would have to remain here.

  He cautiously approached the cockpit, pushing the door against the twisted opening to prevent predators from mauling the corpse. It was all he could do under the circumstances.

  Urging the Polaris to life, Sam weaved his way through the trees until he reached the clearing. With a quick twist of his wrist, the snowmobile sped across the glazed meadow leaving a white cloud in his wake.

  Kate finished washing the last of the breakfast dishes just as Sam walked through the door.

  “I’ve got it,” he announced matter-of-factly, tossing the knapsack on the counter. “And I think you’ll be happy to have this, as well.” He handed her the duffle bag.

  “My duffel,” she squealed happily, throwing her arms around his neck. She winced as a sharp pain shot through her leg but managed to hide it from Sam. “Thank you.”

  Sam hastened to untangle her arms. “Why don’t you change into your own clothes before we open the lock box?”

  Her expression clouded. “I’m not opening it. Dad’s instructions clearly stated. . .”

  Sam cut her off in mid sentence. “Your father’s instructions became null and void the minute someone decided to trade your life for that box. We’re going to open it. The question is, do you want to change clothes first or shall we do it now?”

  Kate bristled at his commanding tone. He had no right to tell her what to do, especially when it came to the lockbox. Just because Sam saved her life did not give him the right to disregard her father’s instructions.

  She drew herself up to full height, meeting his gaze head on. “You’re not opening it. It’s my property and you have no right to order me around.”

  Sam’s jaw clamped tight as his face turned dusky red.

  “I’m through discussing this. I need to know what your father was sending to Sharon Grant. It’s the only way we can find out who is after you. . .and why.”

  “You can’t. . .”

  Her words faded as he proceeded to open the knapsack. He withdrew the box and two letters, keeping his gaze averted as he ripped into the letter addressed to Sharon Grant. Sam extracted the folded paper, retrieving a key that fell to the counter.

  He hesitated, extending the letter to Kate. “Do you want to read it?”

  She shook her head. “You suddenly care about what I want?”

  She was angry. Angry, disappointed and - curious. Of course, she’d never let on to Sam that she was just as eager to examine the contents as he was.

  He began to read the words.

  “Dear Miss Grant:

  If my daughter, Kate, is delivering this letter, it means I have met my demise. I’ve asked her to serve as my surrogate.

  When you first contacted me with allegations about Conrad Buckman’s criminal actions, I didn’t believe it was possible. I simply could not conceive of the man consorting with terrorists to use plague bacteria for biological warfare. However, in recent months, his actions have become incriminatory. It is with a heavy heart that I confess to discovering evidence which implicates him in this heinous plot.

  For the past year, my research at the lab focused on developing a vaccine for Pneumonic Plague. Although other countries have had marginal success with the vaccine on rats and monkeys, my assistant and I achieved a breakthrough. Our vaccine is 98% successful on humans in controlled testing.

  I was in the process of preparing my presentation for Mr. Buckman when I uncovered the plot to use plague virus for bioterrorism. He intends to vaccinate his army and comrades before launching an attack on the United States. Since Pneumonic Plague is more deadly than its counterpart, Bubonic Plague, and can be transmitted through aerosol application, the potential for a high mortality rate is greater than I dare imagine.

  There is a short incubation period for the disease. Millions will be infected before defensive measures can be utilized. Roughly 50% of those afflicted will die and that is a conservative estimate.

  My formula for producing the vaccination is included with this letter, as are pages from Buckman’s personal notes which outline his criminal intentions. I trust you and the CDC will use the information wisely and take urgent action to protect our citizens.

  Sincerely,

  Robert Merrill.”

  Kate’s mouth went dry. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. It was like something out of a science fiction novel. She recalled the terrorist’s attempt to spread Anthrax after 9/11, but it was a haphazard operation that had been quickly squashed. This was something much more sinister.

  In her worst nightmare, she could never have concocted such a bizarre story. Her father had risked his life to thwart Conrad Buckman’s plot. Now he was dead. And if not for Sam, she woul
d have suffered the same fate.

  “Are you alright?”

  She nodded but knew it wasn’t true. Sam gripped her elbow and led her to the sofa, forcing her to sit. A few minutes later, he thrust a small glass filled with amber liquid between her lips.

  “Drink this.”

  Still dazed, she took a big gulp. Kate’s eyes began to water as she coughed and pushed his hand away, glaring at him accusingly.

  “What is that?”

  His mouth lifted, erasing the worry lines. “Whiskey. Good for what ails you.”

  “Well, I’m not ailing that much,” she sputtered through another cough.

  “I guess you’re not used to drinking it straight.”

  “I’m not used to drinking it at all,” she retorted stiffly. Her expression turned serious. “It’s no longer a theory. They killed my father, didn’t they?”

  Sam nodded solemnly. “The circumstantial evidence seems to point toward murder.”

  “I can’t believe it.” Kate ran her hands over her face as if washing away the confusion. “I mean, Pneumonic Plague. It sounds like something out of the Dark Ages.”

  “There were rumblings about a similar conspiracy when I was with the ATF. We tracked down a huge shipment of firearms connected to a terrorist cell in the Mideast. The CIA got involved and we were shut out of the investigation but I heard rumors they’d uncovered a bioterrorism plot against the United States. I wonder if there’s a connection.”

  “Isn’t the plague transmitted by rats?”

  “You’re thinking of Bubonic Plague which is commonly spread by fleas that have bitten infected rodents. Pneumonic Plague is an airborne disease. It affects the respiratory system.”

  “Oh my God, Sam, this is horrible.”

  “That’s an understatement, princess. You’re an innocent pawn in a deadly game of cat and mouse. I’m not sure the locals can protect you, after all.” He quickly rose to his feet and paced a few feet away before turning around. “Sharon Grant must be working with the Center for Disease Control. Their headquarters is located in Atlanta. It all makes perfect sense. From what I know about Conrad Buckman, he is tenacious and will stop at nothing to prevent you from reaching Grant with the formula.”

  Kate shivered as she listened to his prediction. She drew a deep breath and forbade herself to show weakness. “They weren’t just trying to kill me. They want the formula. That means they’ll be back.”

  Sam met her gaze steadfastly. “Buckman doesn’t know you’re alive. That buys us time. I have a friend who works with the FBI. I’ll contact him for advice on how to handle this.”

  Kate rose from the couch. “I guess I should thank you for forcing me to open the lockbox. I realize now it was necessary.”

  Kate grabbed her duffel bag and hurried to the bedroom. Her entire body was beginning to tremble and she didn’t want Sam to see. As she crossed the threshold, the handle snagged on the door handle, jerking her back. The contents of her bag spilled across the floor, sending Kate skidding beside it.

  The fear, remorse and anger building since her father’s death now singed her insides like a blowtorch. Kate buried her face against her hands as tears threatened to spill onto her cheeks. A black fury settled over her and she began to pound the floor. She didn’t realize Sam had dropped down beside her. He tried to put his arm around her shoulders but she fought him off, pummeling his chest with her fists.

  “It’s not fair! He killed my father. I’m not letting him get away with this. I’m...not...”

  Sam locked his arms tightly around her shivering body, gently rocking her back and forth. His voice was like warm honey, whispering words of comfort against her temple.

  “Ssssh, sweetheart, I know you’ve been through hell in the past few days. It’s okay. We’ll get through this.” He pulled her closer as his lips brushed her cheek.

  Kate squirmed fitfully until at last she buried her face against his chest, spent from the outburst. The rage was gone, replaced by an emptiness that made her ache.

  Sam eased back, cradling her cheeks between his large hands. She could feel his uneven breathing as she reached up and covered his hand with her own.

  “Kate. . .”

  His whisper was warm against her skin, almost a plea. She answered his call.

  Bridging the remaining few inches between them, Kate found his mouth with purposeful intention. She wanted to escape the horror of what she’d just learned. Banish her fears in Sam’s embrace.

  She pressed her lips to his, tenderly caressing his mouth. It was a kiss for her tired soul, an attempt to erase the memories from the past week. He raised his head and she could see the battle raging across his face. His eyes were dark with passion. His erratic heartbeat increased in tempo as the air between them thickened.

  Uttering an anguished groan, Sam pulled her against him. He claimed her mouth with a savage intensity that left her weak and trembling. His body pinned her to the floor while his knee parted her legs, pressing his arousal into her belly.

  Kate curled into his hard muscles, oblivious to all pain except the consuming ache to feel him inside her. A raging firestorm of desire radiated throughout her body and sent her fingers digging into his back.

  His hand moved under her shirt. Experienced fingers blazed a trail across her stomach and up her side before reaching their destination. Her breast surged from the contact as her nipple grew taut under his touch.

  Kate found the waist of his jeans and boldly slid her hand inside to grip his swollen erection. It grew even harder, like a granite obelisk. She was empowered by his response and flattened her palm against his shaft, stroking the velvety flesh as he urgently pressed it against her.

  Sam released a low, guttural moan as she increased pressure. His breath came in short, hot bursts on her neck resonating with the incessant throbbing between her thighs.

  She took his hand and placed it between her legs, encouraging his exploration. His lips nuzzled the soft flesh next to her throat, as his fingers moved to her damp curls, gently stroking the hardened nub.

  Kate arched against his hand, her hips moving with the rhythm of his touch. She pulled at the button on his jeans, frantic to free his erection as she writhed beneath him, eager to consummate their passion.

  Without warning, Sam sat upright, eyes glazed and dark. Kate tried to pull him back but he stiffened. He wasn’t looking at her. His gaze was glued to the window. A crease formed across his brow as he tilted his head to one side.

  “Listen. . .”

  It took a few seconds before she could hear past the thunder of her own heartbeat. “What is it?” A dull, rhythmic chop rippled across the cabin walls.

  Sam rose to his feet, a shaky hand smoothing back his hair. “It’s a helicopter.”

  Fear stark and vivid, glittered in her eyes. “They’ve found me.” Kate struggled to stand, grateful when he offered his hand for assistance.

  “It could be the air rangers coming in for a pick up.”

  His tone was reassuring even if his face left some doubt. Kate tried to remain calm as she followed Sam to the door.

  Stepping onto the porch, he muttered something unintelligible under his breath. The helicopter bore no insignia of the local rescue squad. He turned back, pushing Kate inside before shutting the door behind them.

  His grim expression spoke volumes. “I didn’t think they would be back. They must have followed my tracks when I left the crash site.”

  “What are we going to do?” Kate swallowed the panic building in her throat.

  “Get dressed. It’s only a matter of time until they find my cabin.”

  He raced across the room and yanked open the closet door. Reaching inside, he pulled out his snowmobile gear and a woman’s pink ski bib and jacket. “Put this on over your clothes. It will help protect you from the cold.”

  Her eyes grew wide as she comprehended his meaning.

  “But. . .”

  “They won’t be able to land the helicopter and it’s too late to
get snowmobiles up here today. That only buys us a few hours but we need to leave right away.”

  Sam retrieved her knapsack and emptied its contents on the counter. Stuffing the letters and box inside his jacket, he pointed to the pantry.

  “Pack enough food and water to get us through a couple of days. Hopefully, we won’t need it.”

  Kate limped to the bedroom, hastily donning a pair of jeans and dark purple sweater. She winced as the rough fabric brushed against the wound on her thigh.

  As she tugged on the snow gear, she wondered why Sam would have a woman’s ski bib. The faint whiff of expensive perfume wafted past her nostrils as a different fear battled with the current one. What if Sam had a girlfriend? Or several? Drake seemed to think it was normal for women to chase after him.

  She quickly brushed the concern aside to concentrate on following Sam’s orders.

  “Kate?”

  She whirled around to find him hovering in the doorway, his expression guarded.

  “Let’s go. They’ve spotted the cabin.”

  Kate nodded, responding to the urgency in his voice. She rushed to the pantry, throwing cans and bottled water into her knapsack. Spying the knit hat and gloves Sam left for her by the door, she quickly grabbed them and put them on.

  She put her hand on the doorknob, ready to throw it open at his command.

  “We’re going this way.”

  She turned around and saw Sam standing in the middle of the room. Her mouth flew open when he pulled back a rug, revealing a secret door to an underground tunnel. He grabbed the knapsack and her duffle bag and threw them into the black hole before descending the ladder. A few seconds later the beam from his flashlight illuminated a homemade ladder.

  “This was built by the previous owner so he could access the barn during the winter,” Sam called over his shoulder. He motioned for Kate to follow him. “He didn’t want to shovel a path every time it snowed so he built an underground passageway. I’ve got the Polaris gassed up and ready to go.”