Cry of the Wild

  Sam drew to a stop where the all-terrain vehicles were hidden in the brush. Like a wild man, he descended on one of the red four-wheelers, throwing off the camouflage of branches. Crysta hurried to help, terrified by Sam's waxen pallor and the sheen of sweat on his face. She knew he was going on sheer willpower now, and that he couldn't remain on his feet much longer.

  "Dammit!" he cried. "They took the key. I'll have to hotwire it."

  "There isn't time. Riley's coming!"

  Sam swore again and grabbed her hand. As they broke into another run, Crysta could see patches of the muddy river and the Cessna through the trees. She threw a wild glance over her shoulder, acutely aware that Riley might appear at any second. They should be going in another di­rection. He would guess that they'd head toward the all- terrain vehicles or the river.

  Suddenly Sam's grip on her hand lessened, and he stag­gered. Throwing out an arm, he looped it around a tree, nearly falling. Giving his head a shake, he tried to use the tree trunk to right himself. "Crysta..." He labored for air. "I'm finished."

  Throwing a fearful glance behind them, Crysta grabbed his arm. "Lean on me."

  "No!" He lifted his head, trying to focus on her. "Go to the airplane. You saw Todd at the controls."

  "I can't fly it!" she cried, her voice shrill.

  "You can taxi it!" he snarled. "Go, dammit! I hear him coming!"

  Crysta heard the footsteps, too. Fright lent her strength. Vising an arm around Sam's waist, she pulled him away from the tree. "I'm not leaving you."

  He fell in beside her, the toes of his rubber boots drag­ging the ground with his every step, his weight pulling her into a crazy zigzag as she tried to head for the airplane.

  The Cessna loomed before her. From behind her, she heard the report of Riley's gun. She sobbed and hurled herself into the water, carrying Sam along with her mo­mentum. He fell forward onto the airplane's pontoon, throwing up a leg for purchase so he could climb inside. Crysta jerked open the cabin door and shoved him from behind. "Hurry, Sam, hurry!"

  Half dragging himself, half falling forward because she was shoving him so hard, Sam rolled into the cabin. Crysta scrambled in behind him, closed the door and launched herself over him into the cockpit. As she gained the pilot's seat, a bullet popped through the cabin door and hit the windshield.

  Crysta's brain kicked into automatic, her hands reacting. She felt Sam's elbow bump her thigh. Just as the engine roared to life, he said, "That's my Crysta. I knew you could do it."

  As if on cue, another bullet tore through the cabin door and into the pilot's seat, inches from Crysta's shoulder, barely clearing the top of Sam's head. He bit off a curse. Crysta leaned forward to look out the destroyed door win­dow. Riley was charging toward the plane, trying to aim along the bobbing barrel of his gun.

  She threw a terrified look at the controls, at the throttle. What next? She couldn't remember!

  "Go!" Sam gasped. "Go for it!"

  And Crysta did. She wasn't sure what she touched or what she shoved, but some of it must have been right because the plane lurched forward. The next instant, her feeling of re­lief was eclipsed by horror. The plane tried to lift off. She screamed. The aircraft banked sharply to the left, the wing diving into the water. Sam fell against her.

  "Back off the throttle," he cried in a hoarse voice. "Hold it level. Smooth as melted butter. That's it, honey."

  He made it sound as if she were cruising along a six-lane highway in a Porsche. But ahead of them, the river took a sharp twist to the right, and she had no idea how to steer the plane.

  "Rudder right!" Sam bellowed. "Rudder right!"

  "Rudder what?" she screeched.

  Sam groped with one arm, the plane veered, and they were executing the turn. Crysta felt as if she might vomit. The river twisted before them, sure death at the speed they were going. But if she stopped, Riley would be following along the bank, ready to empty his gun into their skulls.

  "We're not going to make it, Sam! We're not going to make it!"

  "Oh, yes, we are." He grasped her knee and dropped his head into the crook of his arm. "We're a great team, you and I. A great team."

  Teamwork got them safely down the river, though Crysta wasn't exactly sure how, given the fact that her partner seemed to be only half aware. But somehow, every time she was ready to throw her arms up to shield her face, Sam was there to take over.

  After what seemed a lifetime, they rounded the last bend in the river, and there was the lodge. Crysta aimed for the island.

  "Slow down!" Sam barked.

  His warning came too late. The Cessna hit the shallows going far too fast and did a belly-skid up onto land, com­ing to such a jarring stop that both she and Sam were thrown forward against the control panel. The propeller blades thunked into the dirt. The small plane bucked and shud­dered. Then, with a cough, the engine died, and an eerie si­lence blanketed everything.

  Crysta, all her muscles watery with fright, oozed down­ward from the control panel and fell backward. Her land­ing was softer than it might have been; Sam's chest cushioned the impact.

  Dazed, she rolled off him, to be wedged tightly between his body and the seat. He dropped a limp arm around her waist, pressed his forehead to hers and whispered, "Did I tell you you're one hell of a lady?"

  Crysta blinked and focused on his dark face, still trying to digest the fact that she had actually maneuvered an air­plane along a winding river, that she and Sam, against all odds, were still alive. Though he had come through for her on several occasions, she had, for the most part, guided the plane by herself. "I am, aren't I?" she whispered incredu­lously.

  With a weak laugh, he tipped his head back and closed his eyes, swallowing hard. "We have to get to the lodge. Riley might come, and we have to be ready, just in case. It'll take the cops at least an hour to reach us after we get a call through to them."

  Crysta doubted that Riley would approach the lodge. He would realize that they'd be ready for him, and cowards like Riley didn't like bad odds. He would probably try to evade the police in the interior. But with no mode of air transpor­tation out, it would be only a matter of hours before he was caught. She managed to extricate herself from between Sam and the seat.

  "Can you make it, or should I holler for help?"

  He flashed her a tremulous smile. "I think that, to­gether, we can make it through almost anything. Don't you?"

  The question seemed loaded with meaning. Throwing open the door, Crysta glanced out at the lodge, and sud­denly, what had seemed so simple back in the meadow took on terrifying proportions. Sam was offering her a whole new world, his world. There could be no compromises. This was Sam and Tip's home; they belonged here. The question was, did she?

  In a shaky voice, she murmured, "Derrick's still out there, Sam. Right now, I can't get beyond that."

  He took her hand and struggled to his feet, crouched so his head cleared the cabin ceiling. His eyes met hers. "The moment the cops have hauled Riley and his friends in, it'll be safe for the searchers to go back out."

  "I don't need searchers," she replied with a little more strength. "I know now where Derrick is. There's a small lake a few miles north of the cleaning location. There's a cabin there."

  Sam gave a slow nod. "I know the place. The lake's not large enough for a plane to go in for a landing, and the ter­rain is too swampy to go in on four-wheelers. We'll have to walk."

  "If Derrick's survived this long," Crysta said softly, "he'll hold out until we can reach him."

  Sam's eyes darkened. "By the time the cops have come in and cleaned up, I should be recovered enough to go with you."

  As Crysta bore the brunt of his weight to help him from the plane, she had reason to doubt that.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Five hours later, Crysta stood on the riverbank below the lodge, her ears buzzing from the sounds of airplane en­gines as they revved to life. Sunlight warmed her face, a di­rect contrast to the chill coursing up her spine as she watched
the police haul Riley O'Keefe past her toward the foot­bridge. It would be the last time the redhead walked over to the island and boarded a float-plane.

  Riley fixed his fiery blue eyes on her and tried to stop walking. The officer holding the cuff chain between his wrists jerked upward, wrenching the smuggler's arms be­hind his back.

  "Keep walking, friend."

  Riley spat in Crysta's direction. "If it weren't for you, I'd be vacationing in the Bahamas next week."

  Crysta smiled. "But, Riley, it's hot down there this time of year. You might break a sweat."

  "You think I don't know what sweat is?" He ran a hos­tile gaze the length of her. "It was because I was tired of sweating that I did this! It was my turn at the good life, for once!"

  Sensing Sam behind her, Crysta pulled her gaze from the departing smuggler and turned. Her heart caught at the se­riousness in Sam's eyes. Though he seemed steady on his feet now, his color still hadn't returned completely to nor­mal. "I've gotten four men to volunteer to go with us to the lake. Jangles has packed them food, I borrowed a stretcher, and we're ready to go."

  "Sam, it really isn't necessary for you to go."

  "You'll have to hogtie me to keep me from it," was his response.

  Crysta pressed her lips together. She knew that Sam was risking a great deal of humiliation should her hunch about Derrick's location prove incorrect. At long last, she had found a man who not only accepted her link with Derrick, but also believed in her dreams.

  Sam's gaze shifted to the river island. "Do we have time to go over and see Steve for a minute before they fly him out?"

  Wordlessly, Crysta nodded and fell into a walk beside him. A few minutes more would make little difference to the outcome for Derrick. After all, they owed Steve Henderson for their lives.

  When they gained the island, Sam hailed the police offi­cers who were preparing to board one of the pontoon planes. After a brief exchange, Sam led her around the plane's wing and into knee-deep water, so they could speak to Steve Henderson where he lay on a stretcher in the al­ready crowded cabin.

  "Steve?" Sam said softly.

  The thin young man opened his eyes, focused on Sam and Crysta, then managed a weak grin. "So you made it. I'm—" His face contorted, and he clenched his teeth. "I'm sorry, Barrister." He grimaced again. "Never m-meant for anyone to be hurt. Know it was wrong, real wrong, but it seemed a fair enough trade for some money... for Scotty's expenses, not for me."

  "The moment I realized you were involved, Steve, I knew why," Sam said softly.

  Steve's eyes filled with tears. "They found a marrow match. The wife called last night. He's got a chance, Sam. Shame his old man won't be around to play ball with him again." Closing his eyes, Henderson swallowed. "Stupid­est thing I ever did, going after those walrus. First thing I ever poached."

  "Jangles told me about the donor match. I'm glad, Steve, really glad." Sam sighed. "I spoke to the police. They know you stopped O'Keefe from killing us. That'll go well for you in court. I also called my lawyer to see if he'd take your case. He's already arranging for bail. All that's left is for you to get that lead out of your gut and regain your strength enough for a flight to Seattle. The lawyer's applying for a waiver, so you can be with Scotty."

  "I don't deserve your help, Sam."

  "Maybe not, but Scotty does. Besides, the way I see it, your biggest crime was making some bad decisions, and things got out of hand. A judge will agree with me, I think. Scotty has a second chance. I'm going to be there in court to testify—so maybe his father'll get one, too."

  Crysta started to say something herself, but before she could, a police officer climbed onto the airplane's wing. "Sorry, folks, but this fella's got to be taken to the hospi­tal."

  Sam nodded and drew Crysta away from the wing. Wad­ing through the water and up onto land, Crysta sensed the tension in him. Glancing up, she saw moisture glistening in his eyes. He caught her staring at him and blinked.

  "He's a good guy. What was he supposed to do? Let Scotty do without? If it had been me, I'd have gone slaugh­tering walrus, too, and I detest poachers!"

  Crysta couldn't imagine why Sam should be angry with her. At a loss, she lowered her gaze.

  "Look, I know he was there when Derrick was shot. And I don't blame you if you're ticked at me for going to bat for him."

  "I'm not ticked, Sam, not at all. I'm glad."

  Sam stopped walking, one foot poised on the bridge. "You are?"

  Crysta met his gaze. "Of course. Derrick would be, too. There's no need to defend yourself because you pulled strings to help him. It's obvious he only got involved be­cause of his son and that he later came to regret it. He took a bullet trying to stop Riley from hurting anyone else. That's evidence enough for me."

  "Why didn't I do more to help him?"

  "You raised all the money you could. That's more than most people do."

  "It's a crying shame, that's what it is, and the whole deal makes me feel sick."

  Crysta stepped up onto the bridge and slipped an arm around his waist. "Point taken. As soon as we find Der­rick, let's get off our duffs and do something about it."

  His hip bumped against her as they walked along the bouncing bridge toward shore. "Like what?"

  The frustration in his voice made her want to hug him. "I don't know, but we'll think of something. People care, Sam. They'll donate. Scotty Henderson's medical costs will be paid, and he'll get to visit Disneyland."

  As they stepped off the bridge, Crysta glanced up to see Jangles and Tip standing on shore, waiting for them. The Indian woman was wringing her skirt with one hand and holding a blue hiking pack with the other, her worried eyes fastened on Crysta.

  "I have packed you food," she said softly. "Some spe­cial cakes the others don't have. And some very strong cof­fee, for I know you are tired."

  Crysta nodded. "Thank you, Jangles. I appreciate that."

  The Tlingit caught her bottom lip between her teeth. Af­ter a moment, she whispered, "I have been very bad to you, I think."

  Crysta tightened her arm around Sam's waist, recalling all the times she had thought the worst of Jangles. The score seemed pretty even. "Let's put it behind us, Jangles."

  "No, you do not understand." She lifted sorrowful eyes to Sam. "Some of my family live up north, near the killing fields where Riley's been slaughtering walrus. Three years ago, some poachers were caught and then set free after serving short sentences. We could not let that happen again."

  Sam stiffened. "You knew about the ivory smuggling?"

  "I—" Jangles broke off. She slowly nodded. "I watch and listen, like a shadow. Sometimes people forget me, and they whisper their secrets."

  Sam made an irritated sound under his breath. Jangles threw a frightened look at Tip. The boy nudged her arm. "Tell him, Jangles. When he g-gets mad, he yells, but then he st-stops."

  "You knew about this, Tip?" Sam demanded.

  "Not until j-just now. Jangles was c-crying. I asked what was wrong, and sh-she told me."

  "There is more," Jangles inserted in a strangled voice. "I knew Derrick had been following Riley downriver."

  "I see." Sam's voice rang with bridled fury. Turning the full blast of his gaze on Jangles, he said, "Derrick was my friend. He may be dead. You might have prevented that."

  "I was very wrong," Jangles cried. "But I did not think they would hurt him! Until he came up missing, I thought he was in on it. By the time I realized he wasn't, it was too late! That is why I tried to make Crysta leave—before the same happened to her. She was asking questions. I saw her follow you the first day." She made a feeble gesture with her hand. "She wouldn't accept that Derrick was dead, and I knew she'd come to harm if she stayed here and made the poachers nervous."

  She moistened her lips and shook her head. "I know I should have told you. But at the time—" She broke off and lifted an imploring gaze. "Try to see as we see, Sam. The whites come here and kill our wildlife. And they go unpun­ished! We must fight back! Wh
en I guessed what was going on, I called my brothers. This time, we decided to follow the old law and punish the poachers ourselves."

  "Your brothers? I saw you talking to a man in the woods. That was one of them?"

  Jangles nodded. "I was afraid you'd grow suspicious if you knew they had come."

  "Jangles, the old ways don't work now. It's sheer folly to take the law into your own hands! And I especially resent your doing it here! I asked you, point-blank, if you knew anything, and you refused to answer me!"

  "I am fired, I guess," Jangles said shakily. "It is what I deserve."

  Sam rolled his eyes. "Jangles, you're a member of our family. You don't fire family. You just—" He sighed and glanced at Tip. "You just yell a little and get over being an­gry." He reached to take the pack from her hand. "This isn't finished. I have to go find Derrick right now, but when all this calms down, you and I are due for a serious talk."

  "Yes," Jangles agreed solemnly.

  Tip visibly brightened. "You see?" he said, nudging Jangles's arm. "He's already done yelling."

  "Tip," Sam said in a warning voice.

  As anxious as she was to be gone, Crysta couldn't smother a grin. Sam glanced down at her, his face lined with weari­ness. In a low voice, he said, "Let's go before I end up strangling them both."

  Signaling to the other men, Sam struck off downstream.

  "Can I come, Dad?"

  "No, Tip, not this time."

  "But I could help!" Tip protested.

  Sam paused to look over his shoulder at his son. As much as he wanted to say yes, he knew Tip's jabbering would probably drive Crysta half mad by the time they reached their destination. She had enough to contend with right now. "Son, I—"

  "Sam?" Crysta touched his arm. She waited for the other four men to walk past them and get out of earshot. "It's safe enough for him to go along, isn't it? Derrick might be—" She broke off and seemed to search for words. "I'd like having my friends with me, just in case. Tip and I, we're kind of—" She shrugged. "If you don't mind, I'd really like him to be there."

  A breeze caught Crysta's hair, draping it across her face. Sam stared down at her, searching her veiled eyes.