caressed the back of my neck. It was the only warm spot on my entire body. I was grateful for that much, although the thought of his big teeth so near my neck gave me pause. And then I grew angry with myself, because it was pointless, under the circumstances, to dwell on what had happened to Drew.
When at last we reached the ski run, I couldn’t quite believe it. It was a wide, naked swath of cleared ground, cutting down the mountain in a smooth, precise line. A chair lift hung silently in the moonlight; regimental towers marched up to the top of the run. We were very nearly there.
I took him across the run and into the trees again, following the catwalk Cass had described. Preacher walked more easily now on level ground. His pace increased; so did mine. I had no wish to be run over.
A black shape loomed on my right as the catwalk opened onto a wide, flat area cleared of trees and rocks. The ski lodge. As we moved closer I saw an odd flickering glow from the lodge, throwing dim light into the surrounding trees.
Cass? I wondered. No; too soon. And she had said she would send someone, not come herself. Harper? Probably not. He would be with Nathan.
But that left no one to meet me. I would have to wait until someone was free to come, and no doubt it would be a while. A long night lay ahead. But so did a lodge, and perhaps a care-taker. There would doubtless be a phone; I could call the ranch and find out about Nathan’s condition. At least I could wait without the added burden of not knowing how he was.
We came out of the trees into the clearing. The chair lift dangled a hundred yards upslope, double chairs hanging from a cable made invisible by the darkness. The wide run stretched beneath the chairs, driving upward, losing itself at last in the trees.
The lodge, on my right, was a dark, lumpy building in the moonlight, resembling an appropriately Alpine structure. A sundeck stretching from the second floor provided a roof to the entrance. It was jammed with stacked wooden tables and benches. The lantern light glowed dimly through the broad expanse of mullioned windows.
Preacher stopped short, jerking backward on the reins. I turned to him in consternation, then took a step back, suddenly afraid. His eyes rolled in his head and he exhaled his breath in a heavy snort. I thought he might rear, and it frightened me badly.
“Let go of the horse.”
I jumped, almost screamed. Preacher backed up, but now I understood the reason for his reaction. It was much like my own. “Wait—” I said. “He’s injured.”
“Let go of him now.”
A powerful hand closed on my upper arm and jerked me away. Preacher’s head shot upward in alarm; his eyes rolled again. I lost the reins without warning as the horse snapped his head away. I turned angrily to find out just who had such a firm, unrelenting grip on me.
“Hey—” I began.
The man had a gun in his hand.
I stared at him. He was a complete stranger to me. He jerked my arm again. “Come with me.”
“Wait a minute—”
He put the gun to my head. He never said a word. I shut up instantly and made no protest as he shoved me toward the ski lodge.
He swung open one of the heavy wooden doors and pushed me inside, directing me toward a flight of stairs. I stumbled over the first step and nearly fell; he jerked me up roughly and gave me a hefty push in the rear with his knee as I faltered.
I climbed.
The stairs were battered and scarred from hundreds of ski boots that had pounded up and down them. I reached for the handrail, needing support, but a hand pressure in the small of my back convinced me I needed nothing more than speed.
As I reached the top of the stairs I hesitated, staring through the shadows of the second floor. Gloomy lantern light lent an eerie color to the room, though I was unable to appreciate it.
Smoke hung in a gauzy cloud; I squinted through it to make out the other occupants. And then my mouth fell open.
John Oliver sat at a formica-topped cafeteria table, perching on one of the round plastic stools, tapping his fingers on the smooth table surface. Heavy brows drew downward as he watched me. A cigar lay at hand, trailing