Rocky Mountain Manhunt

Rain swallowed hard. “I don’t have a simple explanation.”

“We’ve got time to talk,” he said. “Without having you wave a gun in my face.”

“Fair enough.”

When he stepped back and released her, the gun lowered to her side. The fact that he had released her, rather than press his advantage, counted for a great deal. Though still wary, she had to believe that he meant her no harm.

“Come with me.” Rain circled around the boulders and led him into her little camp. He was the first person to see her wilderness home.

“Very nice,” he said.

She was proud of what she’d done here. The gravelled area in front of her cave was neatly groomed. This was her dining room and kitchen. She’d cleared away the foliage and built her fire pit against the rocks. Using stones and a sturdy pine branch with the bark whittled away, she’d made a spit across the fire. Though she hadn’t managed to catch any fresh meat to cook on her spit, she used the branch to hang her only cooking pot above the flames. The water in the pot churned at a slow, erratic boil.

She offered, “Would you like some tea?”

“Sure.”

Luckily, she had two cups—one of which she used for brushing her teeth by the creek. She poured water into the toothbrush cup to rinse it out.

“What’s that?” he asked. “The thing you’re using to hold your water?”

“It’s a sock.”

“I can see that. Why isn’t the water draining through it?”

“Because it’s lined with a condom.”

“Ah.” A sick expression pulled down the corners of his mouth. “And where did you find condoms?”

“In my backpack.” She pointed to three other condom-socks hanging from tree branches. “Handy little things. They hold about a quart of water each. Does that seem excessive to you?”

“Not if they’re elephant condoms.”

She dipped boiling water from the pot into each cup and added her own special mixture of sage, sorrel bark and mint. “We let it steep. Then, it’s tea.”

He asked, “Is this all the food you’ve had to eat?”

“I had seven MREs. Those lasted for about two weeks.”

“Meals, Ready-to-Eat. Like in the Army.” Liam leaned against a boulder beside the fire. “So you packed for a week’s worth of camping.”

“I had all the basics.”

Whether or not she’d packed these items herself was an unanswered question. Surreptitiously, she glanced toward the expedition-sized backpack that leaned against the inner wall of her cave. In addition to the camping gear, the bottom of the backpack had been lined with neatly wrapped bundles of hundred-dollar bills. Almost fifty thousand in cash. There had also been a pouch containing jewelry—diamonds and gold.

Rain had tried and tried to come up with reasonable explanations for why she might be carrying money and gems on a camping trip. Unfortunately, she kept coming back to the same conclusion: this loot was stolen. Which made her a thief. If she added that fact to the revelation that she was also possibly a murderer…

“What else was in your pack?” he asked.

No way would she tell him about the treasure. “A hunting knife. Fishing kit. Sleeping bag. That cooking pot. And first aid supplies, thank goodness.”

“Were you injured?”

She rolled up the tattered sleeve of her silk blouse and the T-shirt she wore on top of it. A wide, red scar crossed the middle of her upper arm. “This was bad at first, but I used antiseptic from the first aid kit. And I made a poultice from valerian leaves and roots to draw out the infection. I’m not sure if that was the right herb, but it seemed to help.”

“Was that your only wound?”

She reached up and rubbed her hand through her spiky hair. “I had a bump on my head. No big deal.”

Liam knew that head injuries could be tricky. If she’d had a concussion, it might explain her strange behavior. “You should see a doctor.”

“I’m already healed,” she said blithely. “No infections.”

“Kate, you have to go back,” he said gently. “Sooner or later, you need to let your family know you’re all right. Your mother’s worried.”

“When you leave, you can tell her that I’m okay.”

“She wants you to come home. She’s the one who convinced CCC to continue the search.”

An expression of concern crossed her face, and her gaze turned inward, as though she were reviewing her options. Then, she shook her head. “No,” she said simply. “This is my home. I’m safe here.”

“Safe from what?” he asked. “Why do you think you’re in danger?”

“I just know.”

She handed him a cup of fragrant mint tea and returned to the fire. She wasn’t insane. Her little hideout was orderly and efficient. Her ability to survive required an intelligent application of concentration and knowledge.

But she had completely disowned her prior existence; she refused to be Kate Carradine. “Is somebody after you? Who is it?”

She whipped around to face him. Her fists planted on her hips. Her voice was a challenge. “I can’t remember.”

That didn’t make a whole lot of sense. If she’d been scared enough to stay in hiding for nearly a month, she must know why. “Are you saying that you can’t remember their names?”

She met his gaze. “I can’t remember anything. When I first came here, my memory was completely gone. The slate was wiped clean.”

Son of a bitch! She had amnesia.

Chapter Three

As Liam studied the defiant woman who stood before him, he realized that handling Kate Carradine would require a delicate touch. He couldn’t fling her over his shoulder and haul her out of the forest. He needed to overcome her resistance and convince her to cooperate. Not an easy proposition.

When he’d worked for the Denver district attorney, he’d honed his skills in interrogation, and he was pretty damn good at knowing when someone was telling the truth. But how could he deal with amnesia? He wasn’t a psychologist. “You don’t remember anything?”

“Nothing about the immediate past.” She squared her thin shoulders and gave a diffident shrug. “It’s not really important.”

“The hell it isn’t.”

“If I can’t remember, what difference does it make?”