Deadly Climb

By Teri Thackston

Traumatized by a fall off a Manhattan high-rise, Deputy Marshal Laura Killen hasn’t left her brownstone home in nine months. A former ace mountain climber, now she can’t even face the two flights of stairs leading down from her apartment.

John MacLean doesn’t care about her fear. Confronting her at gunpoint, he demands that she help him protect his nephew Ryan from the mobster who killed Ryan’s parents. Learning that John may be the real killer, Laura finds the courage to go with him for Ryan’s sake.
But snipers in an unmarked helicopter, murderous thugs on a train and leaks from someone at her headquarters convince Laura that John is no threat to Ryan. He is, however, a threat to her reawakening heart. As danger forces them to rely on each other, trust—and something more—begins to develop.

Pursued by killers, they finally reach Ryan’s hideaway at a mountain lodge in Wyoming’s Teton Wilderness. There Laura must face her fear of heights to save the man and child she loves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Teri Thackston
• Release date: Dec 26, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463145203

Teri Thackston

Teri Thackston is a native Texan and life-long lover of storytelling. Her award-winning novels cover the spectrum of romance, from suspense to paranormal to historical. Her very first novel—a blatant rip-off of the popular television series Get Smart—was written when she was at the wise old age of eleven years and will never—to the delight of readers everywhere—see the light of publication. Her more original works are seeing that light today and she hopes that fact will delight those same readers.

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Deadly Climb

by

Teri Thackston

Deadly Climb

Copyright 2017

Teri Thackston

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or used in whole or part by any means without the written permission of the author ([e-mail]). That means that anyone who purchases the book—or receives it as a gift—may not then distribute any copies to other people without receiving written permission from the author.

All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, with or without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.00.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons—living or dead—or places, events, or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Cover Design Copyright 2017 Teri Thackston

Base images for cover design:

Young woman

© Ya3kstudio | Dreamstime.com - https://www.dreamstime.com/stock-photo-beautiful-young-girl-winter-forest-white-image74844288#res3736296>Beautiful Young Girl In Winter Forest Photo

Young man

© Vadymvdrobot | Dreamstime.com - https://www.dreamstime.com/stock-photo-concentrated-young-man-standing-aiming-gun-isolated-image77477366#res3736296>Concentrated Young Man Standing And Aiming With Gun Photo

Background

© Edgeofthetetons | Dreamstime.com - https://www.dreamstime.com/royalty-free-stock-photo-spring-thaw-image37655525#res3736296>Spring Thaw Photo

Deadly Climb is a 2nd edition, publication and copyright by Teri Thackston 2017

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Original Electronic Book Publication: October 2007

by Cerridwen Press (Ellora’s Cave)

Original Copyright© 2007 Teri Thackston

Original ISBN 9781419910531

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Dedicated to Christie Craig, my critique partner and friend.

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Dockers: Levi Strauss & Company Corporation

Gummi-Bears: Haribo of America, Inc.

Jaguar: Jaguar Cars Limited Corporation

Jeep: Daimler Chrysler Corporation

Navigator: Ford Motor Company

Prologue

Is that guy naked? Leaning on the windowsill, Laura Killen glanced back at her partner. On a Manhattan window ledge? In February?

United States Deputy Marshal Harry Riordan shrugged his shoulders and considered the well-manicured fingernails on his right hand. The correct term is, I believe, buck-naked, he said. The gentleman was upstairs at a sperm bank when the police arrived. He, uh… One corner of his mouth twitched. According to the sperm bank’s staff, he’s a frequent contributor and apparently squeezed in the bank robbery before his regular appointment.

He had to take off all his clothes to… Laura choked back a laugh. Contribute?

Some men are more comfortable that way. Or so I’ve heard. Harry’s gray eyes twinkled. As soon as the cops moved in, he grabbed the money, bolted out a back door and down the fire stairs, then wound up here at… He tried to stop it but a chuckle escaped. At One-Digit Accounting.

Laura glanced around the elegant office of the prominent Manhattan accounting firm. Two more deputy marshals and five uniformed cops stood nearby, all trying not to laugh out loud.

She nipped at her lower lip. Is the evacuation complete?

Deputy Alan Goday stepped forward, Adam’s apple bobbing. This was his first high-rise situation and he visibly wavered between nervous and amused. This floor, plus two above and two below. It’s all clear, ma’am.

Russell Brickman, the other rookie deputy, nudged Alan. And not one evacuee was naked, huh, Goday?

Uh, no. Alan blinked rapidly. Not one.

The lone female police officer snickered. With all the SWAT teams busy on other calls this morning, we appreciate your help.

Laura grinned. Climbing out of high-rise windows on windy winter days is one of my favorite things to do.

Especially if there’s a naked man waiting on the ledge. Harry scooped up Laura’s climbing gear from a nearby chair. But if you’re chicken, I’ll go this time.

And risk mussing your hair? Grabbing the harness, Laura fixed it around her body. I’ll show you chicken. Stand back and watch a professional at work.

Professional what? Reaching behind her, Harry swatted her backside. As she gasped in surprise, he whirled her toward the window. Go get ’em, kid.

Icy wind careened around the east tower of Freedom Plaza on Fifty-Seventh Street, snatching at the sleeves of Laura’s overalls. Straddling the windowsill, she doublechecked her harness. At five foot three, with only one hundred ten pounds to weigh her down, she knew she would be about as steady as a feather against that February wind. But her sense of balance, along with Harry acting as her anchorman, would keep her safe.

She studied the ledge. Fortified concrete, eighteen inches wide, it possessed a unique architectural feature. At two-foot intervals, eighteen-inch iron bars curled up from beneath the ledge. Blunt-ended, they resembled giant, iron claws supporting the upper floors of the building.

Be careful of those, she said to Harry. Keep the rope taut so it doesn’t snag on them.

He leaned across her to take a look for himself. If it does snag, they look strong enough to hold you.

I’d rather not test your theory.

Chicken.

Cluck, cluck. Giving her partner a thumbs-up, Laura gripped the window frame and stood up. Wind dragged through her hair, freeing tendrils from her tight ponytail and lashing them around her face like slender crimson whips. Blinking, she looked down. Exhilaration shook her. Grinning at the forty-two-floor drop, she let out a whoop.

Having a good time, are you? Harry poked his head through the open window. You’re still on that roll.

She laughed. It was true. The past year had been a good one, with success after success. And one very small but very dark cloud. Memory briefly tripped her smile but she overcame it.

Tell the boss to get another commendation ready, she said with a cocky tilt of her chin. I’ll be back in five minutes.

Make it three. Goday says President One-Digit wants his office back. Can you manage with Brickman instead of me while I talk to him?

Laura gave him her best are-you-kidding look. Raised with the mountain goats in the Colorado Rockies, she had honed her climbing skills on more than one Manhattan skyscraper since joining the Marshals Service three years earlier. Brickman can handle the rope. You go handle President One-Digit.

Okay. And while I’m gone you can decide if you want to marry me or not.

Sweet Harry. She’d heard that proposal so many times. Your timing is, as usual, lousy.

And your answer is, as usual, no.

Grinning, he disappeared. Deputy Russell Brickman took his position at the window as Laura turned her attention toward her quarry. The naked man stood several yards away, his slight form shivering, his skin pasty from the cold. A beard obscured his jaw but Laura could see terrified blue eyes through the wheat-colored locks of his blowing hair. Suddenly the situation wasn’t so amusing.

Don’t come out here! he squeaked, inching away.

I’m already here. Balancing comfortably on the narrow ledge, Laura gave the man an easy smile. But I’ll go back inside if you’ll come with me.

I ain’t goin’ to jail! He clutched a bulky canvas bag against his lower abdomen.

The bank money, Laura assumed and thanked God the bag was big enough to hide the man’s more personal…assets.

Come on. She moved closer to him. We’ll have a cup of coffee and relax in a nice warm room.

He shivered violently but shook his head. Jail cells ain’t warm and prison coffee sucks!

Okay, we’ll talk here. I’m Laura Killen. I’m a deputy with the U. S. Marshals Service. What’s your name?

Staring at her as if she’d lost her mind, he hugged the bag tighter. Billy. Just call me Billy.

Okay, Billy. Keeping her eyes trained on his face, she moved closer to him. Why don’t you let me fix a harness around you and we’ll go inside where it’s warm?

If I go inside, those cops will arrest me! I ain’t goin’ t’ jail! He stomped a foot in anger and then shrieked as he toppled forward.

Snagging his fleshy upper arm, Laura used a surge of adrenaline and well-honed muscles to shove him back against a window. She leaned her body into his. It’s okay, Billy. I’ve got you.

He didn’t respond. He just stared at her with those wide blue eyes, his mouth working soundlessly like that of a fish. Spittle formed on his lips but wind carried the spray away.

Heart pounding, Laura carefully unhooked one end of the buddy tether from her harness. She spoke softly and kept her gaze locked on his. I’m going to wrap this around you now, Billy. Then you’ll be safe.

She took advantage of his temporary paralysis to work the belt around his naked waist. His flesh was cold to the touch and pale pink, reminding her of her mother’s Sunday dinner hams. Butt portion, Laura recalled and her lips twitched as she tried to keep her gaze fixed on his face and her body a safe distance from other parts of his. Working by touch, she tugged the belt around him and snapped the buckle into place.

There, she said. Almost done.

Inside. The panic creeping under his terror had finally rattled loose his frozen vocal chords and he snagged the sleeve of her overalls with his free hand. Inside!

We’re going. Just let me—

Now!

He pushed, catching her off guard, forcing her back along the ledge. Somehow the rope caught on her heels and slid up around her ankles. She tried to stop to free herself but the delay alarmed him further. Wrapping his free arm around her, he yanked her out of his way. Laura’s stomach flipped as he swung her over empty air. Instinctively, she clamped both arms around his neck, using her slight weight to carry him back against the glass wall. His eyes popped wide and he huffed out a noise that sounded like the breathless bark of a croupy old sea lion.

Fisting one hand in his hair, Laura glared into his panic-stricken eyes. We’re buckled together, Billy! Drop me before my anchorman is ready and we dance to the end of the line! Without your shoulder harness in place, you’ll keep going!

Her threat finally penetrated his panic. Grip tightening around her waist, he flattened himself against the glass. Still hanging inches above the ledge, clutched against him like a rag doll, Laura felt his heart slamming inside his cold chest.

Look at me, Billy. She yanked on his hair. Look!

He blinked several times, trying to focus. Laura noted the swollen veins in his eyes and the wide, round pupils that almost obscured each pale iris.

Take a deep breath. She inhaled slowly, watched him do the same and then lowered her hand to his shoulder. Put me down.

Billy obeyed. As soon as her toes brushed concrete, Laura retreated a step toward the open window.

Okay. She pressed her palms against Billy’s bare chest. We’re going to do this together. One step at a time.

Just…get me inside, he finally managed to croak.

I will. Just let me secure this harness, okay?

When he nodded again, Laura turned her head slightly. She could see Brickman leaning out the window, holding the rope.

Take in the slack! she shouted to the rookie deputy.

Gotcha! he called and started to haul on the rope.

Laura fixed the straps over Billy’s shoulders and buckled them in place. Okay, Billy, let’s do this together. Remember, one step at a time.

She slid one foot backward, then the other. Billy followed, loose folds of his flesh jiggling as he quivered with cold and fear.

Good. Laura took another step. You’re doing fine, Billy. Don’t rush. Just a little further.

Laura, stop!

The moment she heard Harry’s voice, something brushed her left ankle. Panic raced along the inside of her breastbone. She braced her hands against Billy’s chest.

Don’t…don’t stop, he whispered.

It’s okay, she said, glancing over her shoulder.

Harry had returned to take Brickman’s place. Fumbling with the rope, he shouted, The rope is caught!

She looked down. The rope had slipped over the ledge and tangled around two of the decorative iron bars.

Billy, she said quietly. We need to back up a few steps so my partner can straighten out the rope.

His eyes widened. Away…from the window?

Just for a few seconds and then—

I want inside! Billy croaked and rushed her again.

United States Deputy Marshal Laura Killen felt two things at once, Billy’s weight against her torso and the rope around her ankle. She tried to catch herself but it was too late. With her feet tangling in the rope, she lost her balance and tumbled into empty space, the faces of Harry and the others blurring across her vision and Billy’s scream shrieking in her ear.

Chapter One

A November wind swept down the concrete canyon, dusting snow over windows bright with early Christmas lights and whistling past John MacLean’s dark sedan. Behind the car’s tinted windows, he studied the scene, dismissing a pair of early evening shoppers to focus on a lone man in a trench coat who darted hawkeyed glances about as he hurried down the sidewalk. Despite the man’s wariness, John suspected that he was more interested in self-preservation than in committing murder.

Murder.

Grief sliced another piece off his heart. He pressed the heel of one hand against his chest and tried to focus on the moment, on his mission, on his goal. A small, bundled figure darted out of a deli up the block, scurrying toward the distant corner, brown paper bag clutched in his hands.

Rabbit, he thought, grief suppressed. No danger there.

Like the rabbit figure, one pedestrian after another was studied and dismissed. John thought of the people as animals in the forest, foraging through great steel mountains and brick caves. Most were harmless. Still, he suspected that something more dangerous than grizzly or wolf lurked in the darkness that late autumn evening.

A woman hurried up the sidewalk, blonde tresses cascading over her shoulders and across generous breasts that her black mink could not disguise. She reminded John briefly of how long it had been since he’d enjoyed even a little feminine companionship.

His reflection in the window caught his eye, drawing his attention to the scar that promised it might be a while longer. Maybe never.

Facing forward, he focused on the brownstone apartment building across the street. A light burned in the third-floor window at the southeast corner of the building. Occasionally a shadow passed the drawn shade. She was home alone but he needed to know that no one else watched her apartment before he made his move. If the wrong person saw him enter that building…

A kid hurried past, pizza carrier balanced on one shoulder, reminding John that he hadn’t eaten supper. But until two days ago, he hadn’t expected to eat much on this particular Friday night anyway. A long weekend of survival training had been scheduled. If tragedy hadn’t changed his plans, he’d be with the rest of the team now, trying to catch, pick or dig up something edible on a snowy mountainside.

A black limousine skulked past, tinted windows reflecting in turn the neon sign of the deli, the tinsel adorning the street lamps, the traffic signal at the corner. A wary wolf in a concrete canyon, the sleek vehicle paused at the green light, then slunk left and disappeared.

It’s time, John thought and reached for the door handle. On the sidewalk, he paused to take another quick scan of the area. If anyone else was watching the brownstone, they had to be invisible.

Tucking his gloved hands inside his jacket pockets, he crossed the street. Traffic remained light and the few pedestrians kept their heads low and their shoulders hunched against the cold. No one paid him any mind. No one showed any interest in the apartment building. No one saw him jimmy the lock on the door and slip inside.

The building was quiet. Traces of garlic and old perfume lingered in the air. Dinners had been served, those night owls who’d planned an evening out had already departed and most of the other residents were already settled in their recliners for a night of mindless television. He climbed the stairs.

On the third floor landing, he turned left. Apartment six. The tarnished brass number gleamed dully in the dim light of a dusty overhead fixture. He stood at the door and listened. Music sent a slow, dull thud through the wood.

Good, he thought. She’ll be distracted.

After another glance over his shoulder, he went to work on the three locks that secured the door. With the barest click, each succumbed to his well-honed talent.

Easing the door open, he slipped inside and then stopped dead in his tracks. Well, not completely dead. Had her hearing been any more sensitive, she would surely have heard the blood rush through his veins. He could hear it roaring like a tidal wave through narrow channels, slamming into his heart and making it pound against his rib cage. This, he hadn’t expected.

She stood in a doorway across the room, head down as she rubbed a white towel over wet auburn hair. Another towel embraced her torso, hiding the most enticing parts of an otherwise nude body, the nearness of which sent his inner temperature soaring and had his eyes roaming, assessing…lingering. He was a man, after all. A man who’d gone long years without the sweet company of a woman.

Never one to waste an opportunity, he smiled slowly and allowed himself a moment to appreciate her feminine charms. She was petite but well-packaged. Her body was firm and muscular, yet padded enough that her bones wouldn’t poke at a man during intimate moments. Her flesh was fair, the color fresh cream would become when mixed with the juice of a sweet strawberry. He could almost taste it. A slight yellowing marred her left leg, evidence of the accident that had kept her off-duty for many months. Like him, she’d been scarred by her profession. He wondered if her scars, like his, ran deeper than her skin.

She sang quietly as she towel-dried her hair, her voice low and in perfect pitch with the blues singer on the stereo. Any second now she would lift her head. She would see him.

Silently, he closed the door and then reached inside his jacket for his gun. The silencer caught briefly on his sweater, then pulled free. He frowned, hating the need for it, telling himself the gun was just for persuasion.

Still unaware of his presence, she bent over further and moved her backside in time to the sultry music. He wished he was standing behind her. Close behind her. Touching her. He took another step.

Suddenly she straightened, tossed aside the towel she’d used to dry her hair and belted out the last note of the song. Eyes closed, head thrown back, the slender column of her throat vulnerable, she was framed by the door, making a perfect target.

Stepping forward, he placed the barrel of his gun at the base of that beautiful throat. Her voice choked off and her eyes popped open. Blue eyes—John noted with a pleasant thrill in his gut—that made him think of mountain skies at dusk.

Don’t scream. Speaking quietly, he eased her out of the doorway and up against a wall. I just want to talk.

Moisture swam in those beautiful blues and glimmered on her lower lashes.

Damn, he thought, is she going to cry?

Wha…what about?

Her voice was husky and low and, in spite of a brief hitch, calm. But he’d expected nothing less. The United States Marshals Service didn’t hire nervous deputies.

I need information. He eased the pressure on her throat. Guilt nibbled when he saw the red mark the silencer left on her skin. His gaze flickered downward, then up again. Why don’t you put on a robe, then we’ll sit down and talk?

Her eyes darkened to a smoky gray-blue. Either his nearness had aroused her or she was considering her odds of taking his weapon. Suspecting the latter to be more likely, he decided to make a sign of good faith.

Lowering his gun, he backed up. I’m not going to hurt you, Deputy Killen. The gun was just to get your attention.

You’ve got it.

She brushed back a stray strand of hair and he noticed that her fingers were trembling. She wasn’t as calm as she sounded. He also noticed the rainbow wink of her diamond engagement ring as it caught the light.

Holstering his gun under his left arm, he smoothed his jacket over it and took another step back. She lowered her gaze to the bulge in the leather.

My robe is on the bed. In the other room.

Get it. I’ll wait here. He inclined his head. Close the shade on that window.

She hesitated another moment, then backed up. Looking beyond her, he saw her bed and the scrap of silk lying on the pale green spread. Dark blue with big white flowers and silver-gray leaves, the robe looked too tropical and light for this time of year. But he bet it looked great on her.

The neck of his dark brown sweater went suddenly tight and a band of warmth formed around his throat. Easy, he warned himself, curbing his thoughts. She’s just a woman. It’s been a while but you’ve seen the breed before.

Another voice at the back of his mind spoke up. Yeah, but not one as tasty as this.

Still facing him, she backed toward the window. With one hand, she pulled down the shade. Then she stepped to the bed and picked up the robe. Her gaze held his as she slid the silk over her arms. The hem bobbed around her legs, then settled into place just above her knees.

Pretty knees, he noted and then his gaze fixed on the scar that ran down her left shin. Several inches long, it was white against her skin. Compound fracture, Nathan had told him. That must’ve hurt.

Turning her back toward him, she fussed with the robe. A second later, the towel tumbled down to pool around her feet. Jerking on her belt, she faced him once more.

I’m expecting someone. She lifted her chin, challenging him with her beautiful eyes. He should be here any minute.

Really? John leaned a shoulder against the bedroom door frame and let his gaze wander over her figure. Too many years had passed since he’d enjoyed gazing at a scantily clad woman. He felt selfish enough to indulge himself in looking. You plan to have your hair dried and styled and your dress and makeup on by then? He lifted an eyebrow. Or are you the type who keeps her date waiting while she primps?

The color in her face deepened. The effect, he had to admit, was a pleasing one.

He folded his arms across his chest, hoping to muffle the pounding want of his heart. I happen to know that your fiancé, also a Deputy Marshal, is working late at the office tonight. Too bad. Harry hates paperwork, doesn’t he?

A slight shudder rippled through her and the silk stirred against her legs. Who says I’m waiting for a date? Maybe I’m waiting for my linebacker cousin.

Your cousin sells buttons and feather boas to theater types over on Seventh Avenue, Deputy Killen. He’s neither the type nor the build to be a linebacker. And you haven’t spoken to him in seven months. He could see that his knowledge shook her. He wondered how she’d react if she knew just how deeply he’d had her researched in the past couple of days, or how much more he intended to find out. Before a week was out, he’d probably even know what jokes the obstetrician had told at her birth and what wine her fiancé had served the night he’d proposed.

Laura narrowed her eyes. You know my cousin?

Not personally. But his name is Lee. He owns a costume shop near the theater district and he came out of the closet when he was seventeen. Straightening, John stepped back into the living room, confident that her curiosity would drive her to follow. Your future husband is Harry Riordan. He’s your partner and a flashy dresser, himself, although I doubt he’d know a feather boa from a pashmina.

She moved into the bedroom doorway, the fingers of her right hand absently twisting her engagement ring. You know a lot about the men in my life.

I know more. Your father, also a cop, died twelve years ago in the line of duty. Your mother died two years later. Enough showing off, he decided. Deputy Killen, you’re a professional law enforcement officer. Cooperate and I’ll be gone before your guest pays off his cab. He omitted the fact that she’d be going with him.

She took a deep breath and then nodded. All right.

While he sat on the sofa, she took up the position he’d left in the doorway, one shoulder leaning against the frame, arms folded over her chest. Her body seemed tight, ready to spring. She was still scared but her training was taking over.

What do you want to know? she asked.

Only everything you know about Nicholas Griffen.

She didn’t move but he saw her fingernails dig into the silk sleeves of her robe.

Griffen was an arms dealer, she carefully answered. A terrorist, a murderer. Sentenced to life in prison about fifteen months ago—

Released on a technicality about six weeks ago.

So I heard. She eased the grip of her fingers, drummed them against her arms and considered him with deeper suspicion than before. Do you work for Griffen?

Hardly. My name is John MacLean.

Lines appeared in her forehead. MacLean? But—

He saw it the moment she recognized him, the moment his name brought into focus the family resemblance that not even the scars of Columbia could disguise.

You’re Winston’s brother, she murmured.

That’s right. We didn’t get to meet during Griffen’s trial.

Only because we all—your brother included—thought you were dead.

John ignored her unspoken question and got to the point. After his conviction, Griffen threatened to kill my brother and his family. Two days ago, he succeeded.

The remaining color in her face drained away. What?

Well, he practically succeeded. Winston and Marie were murdered. Their son, Ryan, escaped.

She opened her mouth but no sound came out. John knew what word she was trying to form but since the blood had drained from her face, she was having trouble getting that word from her brain to her lips.

How? he provided. A gas explosion at their home. Crime and cover-up all in one convenient flash.

Oh. Her arms fell to her sides, her jaw went slack and her flesh became almost translucent. Oh.

Damn. John rose and crossed the room in one smooth movement, catching her before she hit the floor. And then, because it was closer, he carried her to the bed.

* * * * *

Stay with me.

The voice came from a distance and Laura felt herself sinking further away from it. He’d caught her unaware. He’d broken into her apartment and she hadn’t realized it until he’d stuck that gun in her throat. She’d screwed up again. Her failure was a millstone around her neck, pulling her down, down, down.

Then, gently, the sinking stopped. She felt her bed at her back, his hands positioning her head to hang over the mattress edge. Blood rushed to her brain, forcing her to full consciousness and the remorse that came with it. Thoughts of who he might be and what he might want made her shudder and she tried to push his hands away.

Easy, he said. I don’t want to hurt you and I—

And you won’t if I behave myself? she queried, finishing his thought. I don’t believe you.

Knowing she must relax to survive, she opened her eyes at last. With her head hanging over the edge of the mattress, his image was upside-down.