Cold Case Cowboy. Jenna Ryan

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СКАЧАТЬ see his features, but the body language of the driver suggested that he was extremely upset. He was alternately thumping the steering wheel and grinding the truck’s gears.

      As she stood there, the back end jumped a little. The gears ground again. He whacked the wheel with his fists.

      “Maybe not,” Sasha murmured, and remained where she was.

      The Chevy’s engine roared; the spinning tires threw up fat streams of snow. The man inside reversed, then shoved the truck into Drive. The back end jumped much higher this time.

      In her peripheral vision, Sasha spied a vehicle creeping along the road toward the pass. She recognized Max’s rented SUV, and released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

      The man in the truck reversed and swung the steering wheel in violent bursts from left to right. Without warning, the box end popped up, the tires made contact with rock and suddenly, the vehicle sprang forward.

      Sasha didn’t move. If he decided to plow her Land Rover off the road, at least she’d be able to dive away.

      The rented SUV crept closer. She saw the sheriff in his 4x4, tight on Max’s bumper. Ahead of her, the Chevy truck whipped around in a spray of ice and rock. Sasha glimpsed the driver’s face as he glowered through the side window. Then he yanked the stick down and roared away.

      It wasn’t until he’d disappeared that she realized her heart was pounding. She had to work her fingers from the edge of the door.

      Max braked beside her, the sheriff behind him. Both men climbed out. Will Pyle cast Max a scathing look as he clomped past.

      “What happened, Sasha? Did you and that truck have a run-in?”

      She wrestled her gaze from the road. “Almost, but no. It was just really strange. He seemed so…angry.”

      “At you?”

      “More at himself and his truck, I think.” Without looking down, she said, “You’re ringing.”

      Pyle pulled out his phone, shot Max another chilly look. “Sheriff Pyle,” he snapped. Then frowned. “Dana, is that you? You know what it’s like up at the pass. Dana?” He regarded the screen, made a disgusted sound. “Pointless piece of crap. I lost the call. Let’s do it this way, Sasha.” He turned his back on Max. “I’ll follow you, and the engineer can bring up the rear.”

      It felt good to smile after such a freakish interlude. “Was there a problem?” she asked innocently.

      “The slicker spun out on a flat patch of road.” The sheriff scowled at his phone before returning it to his pocket. “Next thing I know, he’s kissing the side of the mountain. Almost buried the both of us in the snow and rock he unleashed.”

      Max, who’d remained silent to that point, faced him down. “The tires are bad, and the chains don’t fit properly. I didn’t get the vehicle I requested from the rental company. And don’t even get me started on your roads, Sheriff Pyle. If I’d designed them, they’d be passable summer and winter. By locals and slickers.” His expression became apologetic when he caught Sasha’s eye. “I tried to phone you after I spun out, but your line was busy.”

      “Worried mother,” Sasha said. “It wouldn’t have mattered, Max. The guy in the Chevy came out of nowhere.”

      “Must have got himself turned around. It’s easy to do up here.” Pyle examined the back of her Land Rover. “Doesn’t look like you hit anything. I’d say you’re good to go on, unless you’d rather go back.”

      She secured her cap. “I’m not a quitter, Sheriff. Come on, Max. You can lead.”

      “I liked my arrangement better,” the sheriff grumbled. “But anything to get up and down before the spring thaw.”

      His phone rang again. By the time he dipped his hand in his pocket, it had stopped.

      “There must be twenty dead spots between here and town.” He opened Sasha’s door wider. “In you go, missy. Take the right fork, then bear left. Right again and left.” He bared his teeth at Max. “You hearing this, Mr. Engineer?”

      “Loud and clear, Sheriff Pyle. I’ll see you at the site, Sasha.”

      Sasha supposed this could accurately be described as a smoking convoy. Sliding in, she eased her Land Rover back onto the road. And tried not to think about the fact that the man who’d sideswiped her had taken the same fork.

      IT BEGAN TO SNOW before Nick and Dana reached the halfway point to Smoking Gun Pass.

      Dana braced a hand on the dash while he used Nick’s laptop and cell. “Okay, I’m in.” He typed the license plate number, winced and waited. “I don’t remember this road being so bumpy. Needs to be properly plowed. I’ll talk to…Hang on, I’ve got it. Anthony James Rush. City of residence—Telluride, Colorado. Forty-seven-year-old white male. Drives an ’88 F250. Everything seems fine here.”

      “Yeah, if you don’t include the fact that he whacked Harvey Stubbs with a mechanic’s wrench and stole a 4x4.”

      “Well, yes, that. But his driving record’s impeccable.” Dana tapped the keypad. “Signal’s fading, Nick. Anything else you need?”

      “A radar tracking device for Rush would be good. We’re coming up to the fork.”

      Dana let out a whistle as he closed down. “Man, look at that overhang. It’s enormous. Do you know that in a bad year, this pass can be closed five or six times by slides? We’ve already had to dig out twice since November, and looking at that snow ledge, I say we’re approaching number three. George Painter used to set off slides on purpose, thus the name Smoking Gun Pass. He liked to separate himself from the vermin in town.”

      “Sounds like my father.” Nick kept his eye on a large rift developing in the overhang, while Dana watched the other side.

      “It’ll hold,” he said, but his anxiety was evident. “Right turn.”

      The road twisted and turned, sometimes following the curve of the mountain, sometimes rolling away.

      At a hard thump on the roof Dana raised his eyes. “Nick, this isn’t good. We could get trapped.”

      “So could Rush.”

      “You’re not helping me here, old friend. Remember, I have a wife and three kids in town. Left turn.”

      “I know the pass, Dana.”

      “Sorry. Nervous.” He pointed east. “Skye’s lodge is that way. I’m not sure about the building site.”

      Nick was. He’d drawn the map in his head. Lodge, building site, Sasha, roads. But where was Rush? Would he hide, or try to make it through the pass and into Wyoming?

      A clump of ice landed on the windshield. Nick maneuvered around an even larger chunk. “Storm’s getting worse.” He turned right, drove for half a mile and rounded a sharp bend. A moment later, he braked so hard he almost threw Dana into the windshield.

      His friend blinked at the wall of snow and rock sitting directly in their path. “My СКАЧАТЬ