8
Using the SUV as a windbreak, Evie watched Wyatt leave. Within minutes, all three men were lost in the swirling white of the storm. She burrowed into the coat, ignoring the stain of Karl’s blood near the collar, while she debated her options. First, she had to survive. Shoving her feet into the boots, she cinched the ties as snug as they would go. They were still too big, but they should stay on when she moved. And she would move. She couldn’t ride out the storm here.
Her cheeks stung and she sipped the frigid air through cupped hands. Inching back to the dead man, she decided the blood-stained scarf wasn’t an option. Closing his eyes, she took Karl’s gloves and then looked around for anything else that might be useful.
She was sad a life had been lost, even a thief’s life, but this wasn’t the time or place to be finicky about resources. Finding a knife in the side pocket of his pants, she slipped it into the inside pocket of the coat and kept searching. To her shock, one pocket was full of loose diamonds.
“Were you trying to cheat Cordell?” She tucked the stones into her coat and zipped the pocket closed. “That wouldn’t have ended well for you even if you’d lived.”
A gust of wind pushed snow into her face and she retreated to a more protected part of the totaled SUV. Her neck was sore, her shoulders too. Hunkering down, keeping still would make all of that worse. She’d have bruises from shoulder to thigh. Assuming she lived long enough for them to form.
What did it mean that Wyatt not only remembered her dad’s advice, but gave her the words? He’d chosen a fine time to channel her dad, to remind her of better days when they’d been friends and Wyatt her most trusted ally.
She couldn’t dwell on what was. He was working with a criminal and he’d left her here to fend for herself. The smart move was finding shelter. Squinting up at the slope she discarded the idea of climbing back up to the road. The direct path was not the best route in this case.
Even if she had the gear to climb back up to the road, it wasn’t as if she could count on help from a passing driver. Everyone with sense was hunkered down and waiting out the storm. Tate’s worries about being chased had been completely unfounded. The sheriff was too smart to put his deputies in danger on these roads. Probably the only thing that had worked in his favor during the robbery.
And none of that got her out of here. She could follow Wyatt with relative ease and interfere with their getaway. They were headed north to Garden City, the famous mining ghost town. Not that it made any sense to stick with that plan in this weather.
Be smart, she repeated to herself. She’d always found it baffling the way her father trusted her to be smart in the field and not in the business office. On a groan, she stamped her feet in the boots to give her feet a jolt. Maybe she should take Karl’s pants too. The thought made her cringe, but her thin uniform pants were no match for this weather.
When she was bundled up again, the hood covering as much of her face as possible, she forced herself to be logical. Leavingthe SUV meant wandering through a blizzard that blurred the landmarks. Getting turned around was a real danger.
She briefly considered setting the SUV on fire. It would be a ginormous equivalent of a flare, but again, no one else was out here to see it. Watching the wind shape the snow into drifts around the wrecked vehicle, she knew she had to leave. If she tried to use the SUV for shelter, she’d be swallowed by the storm within a few hours. No one would find her until the spring thaw.
She thought of Wyatt insisting she take Karl’s gear. The way he stepped in front of that revolver. Remembered the intensity in his gaze as they fell off the road. And his apology, the words she wasn’t even sure she’d heard, echoed in her mind.
He was sorry. For leaving her in Deadwood eleven years ago, or coming back just to leave her again—in the worst snowstorm in a century? It didn’t matter at this point. There was more to this situation, more tohim, than what she could see on the surface. However he was tied to Tate Cordell, she didn’t believe it was simple.
Wyatt was not a criminal. As much as she wanted to cling to that excuse to hate him, she had other reasons. And every last one of them felt petty and small right now.
Which meant she couldn’t leave him out in this mess alone with armed men determined to get away with a serious crime. She started to trudge after them, keeping her steps in line with theirs, though Holly was doing her best to erase the trail.
There were a few tourism properties and hunting cabins on this side of the road that could be used for shelter. The closest one she could think of was an abandoned miner’s cabin. Could Wyatt plan to wait out the storm there? If she was going to help him, she had to remember his habits, choices and strengths.
At one time, they’d been the closest of friends. Inseparable. Able to anticipate thoughts and decisions, practically finishing each other's sentences. She’d helped him wallow or ignorehis mother’s antics as her gambling addiction demolished everything around him. He’d helped her dream up ways to build an adventuring business, the only thing she’d ever wanted to do.
How much of her predicament was her fault? She’d told him she wanted him to do whatever he was here to do. He’d asked her to ride out the storm at home. Looked like she was the one breaking promises this time.
As epiphanies went, it would’ve been more comfortable having this one around a roaring fire with thick socks on her feet and her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of hot chocolate.
She kept moving forward while her mind wandered. She pushed aside thoughts of the past. Old pain and anger weren’t the way to focus. Instead, she imagined Tate and Baker in handcuffs. Not that she had any. She was a poker-dealing adventure guide, not law enforcement. And she’d be neither if this storm had its way.
She added Sheriff Russell to her fantasy, heard his mellow voice reading the men their rights before commending Wyatt for his brave undercover work. Yeah, that was a much better scenario than thinking of him as a criminal.
Within minutes, both layers of pants were soaked through and the cold, wet fabric sapped her body heat. Resting one hand on the nearest tree for balance, she glanced back over her shoulder. Blowing snow was all she could see in any direction. She used the tree to pull herself forward. One step at a time. The bitter cold and low visibility couldn’t matter.
She would outsmart this storm and help Wyatt survive. That was the only way to get the answers and explanations she’d wanted for eleven years.
Using the ridge as a guide, Wyatt continued moving to the north as fast as he could manage. His leg raged at him, protesting with every step. He resented every polar-fleece, sub-zero outerwear manufacturer that made life easier on Cordell and Baker. The men weren’t quitting. They were barely slowing him down. Maybe he’d underestimated the incentive of millions of dollars in diamonds.
It sure wasn’t an easy way to make money.
If he couldn’t lose the men and circle back to Evie soon, she’d be in big trouble. That was not an acceptable outcome. The constant howl of the wind made normal conversation impossible, a definite bonus considering the way Cordell’s voice grated on his nerves. Cell phones were useless and Cordell believed a radio would reveal their position to the police.
And the snow just kept piling up.
Other than the occasional stumble, neither of the men showed any sign of giving in. Great. At this point he didn’t care if the diamonds were lost or if the FBI put him out of business for not delivering the robbery crew as promised.
