Polar Bared (8 page)

It seemed Mullet wasn’t done with his odd line of questioning. “That’s not what I meant. I meant, didn’t you go out exploring?”

Someone noticed! A pity he was someone she preferred to not have watching her. “I did.”

“Anything
interesting
happen?”

Tons, but she wasn’t about to tell him about it. “Nope. Nothing. Just lots and lots of ice and snow.” And a bear and a man and a shooter.

Mullet stared at her suspiciously with his beady eyes, and she fidgeted. But when she didn’t say anything more, he grunted and walked away.

A breath whistled out from her. She hadn’t even realized she held it.
What a weird guy.
One she would steer clear of. Why the sudden interest in her whereabouts?

She took back her earlier annoyance over no one noting her absence. She’d prefer to remain in obscurity than have creepy guys like Mullet and his friends pay her any mind.

Once he left, things returned to normal. Much like an invisible spirit, she wandered through camp to switch out her propane tank, no one paying her any mind. Out of curiosity she asked their tour guide, who was tinkering once again with a snowmobile engine, “Does anybody manage to live out here?”

“Look around you.”

“No, I mean live, as in permanently.”

“There’s still some tribes who do. The hunting is good, and they can follow the old ways without bureaucrats and red tape getting in their way.”

“But what about non-natives?” she persisted. “I mean, surely there are some permanent residents?”

The guide stopped his work to give her a hard stare. “Listen, I don’t know what you’re getting at or why you care, but whatever the reason, stay out of it. Or more specifically, stay away from them. Yes, there’s people living out here. And most don’t like cidiots butting their curious noses into their affairs. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stick to what you came for, studying the wildlife. I might also suggest not wandering off by yourself, neither. Bad things can happen to those who don’t practice precaution.”

“You knew I was gone?” She couldn’t help an accusatory note. “Why didn’t you come looking for me?”

“I did. Saw someone got to you first.”

“And didn’t bother to come for me or notify anyone?” How rude. What if Gene had been a man with less honor?

“I wasn’t about to tangle with
him.
”

“Him? Do you mean Gene?” she asked.

“Enough with the questions. I’m done answering. And you need to stop asking. Count yourself lucky that you’re back here and, like I said, no more wandering off. Next time you might not end up so fortunate.”

More confused than ever, Vicky returned to her tent. What did the guide mean
?
Was he inferring Gene had a less-than-stellar reputation? Surely the man who saved her wasn’t so bad.

While she could only fantasize various scenarios—from Gene being the outcast son of some kind of arctic family to a one-man, Rambo-like recluse—they did keep her entertained the rest of the day. More out of boredom than anything else, she went to bed early that night and hoped for a reoccurrence of dreams featuring a certain naked man.

The sounds in the camp lulled her, the murmur of voices, a radio softly playing, the rumble of the generator when it kicked a background hum to them all. The various noises kept her awake as her mind slowly shut down. Eventually, the residents around her settled in for the night and she finally drifted off.

While she didn’t hear a thing, she certainly felt the cold draft that caressed her exposed face.

What on earth—

A hand slapped over her mouth and a menacing voice warned, “Not a sound.”

As if she could scream with him muffling her.

But as to his added, “Don’t move.”

Not a problem. With sudden fear invading every inch of her body, she could feel the faintness coming on.

No. No. I mustn’t pass out now.
God only knew what would happen to her or where she’d wake up. Unlike her experience with Gene, she didn’t get the impression the guy holding her hostage meant her well. If she let her terror overpower her, she might never wake again.

Fighting the lassitude trying to blanket her mind didn’t mean she expended energy pushing back the inertia of her body. As her assailant dragged her from her cot, she left her limbs limp. Heavy. Let him exert himself if he wanted to kidnap her.

His grunt of exertion helped to ease some of her fright. Whoever accosted her definitely lacked Gene’s effortless strength. She began to think she could maybe fight her way loose until he said, “Mind giving me a fucking hand here? The heifer weighs a goddamned ton.”

Heifer? Vicky might sport a few extra pounds, but calling her a cow was totally uncalled for. Oddly enough the comment sparked a teensy tiny flare of anger.

“You heard what the boss said. You need to drag her. We’re supposed to make it look like a bear snagged her.”

What the heck were they talking about? What boss and why did they want to cover up their tracks by blaming a poor defenseless polar bear?

“Are you finished slashing the back of her tent?” grumbled the one holding her.

“Almost. Fucking shit is tougher to cut than my old lady’s meatloaf.”

With her faint spell having passed by, and the comments clicking together in her mind, Vicky came to a startling conclusion.

These guys want me dead.

The spark in her flared brighter, and suddenly his order to remain quiet and obedient, yeah, that wasn’t working for her. Vicky began to struggle. Twisting in his grip, taking him by surprise enough that the hand covering her mouth slipped, and she managed a short, “Help!” before a fist connected with her jaw.

Ooh look at the pretty colored spots.

Dazed and her cheek throbbing, Vicky lay on the floor, squinting in the gloom, straining to grasp what was happening. The soft glow of her nightlight let her see two, or was that three, figures looming over her. Nope, it was just one, Shorty, friends with Mullet, who was currently wielding a knife and shredding her tent.

Before she could gather her wits to yell again, fabric was stuffed into her mouth, and Shorty booted her in the ribs with a snapped, “Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”

Well excuse me for not going quietly to my death.

What do you know? She had an ounce of spunk in her after all. Gene would have been so proud. Pity she’d have little time to celebrate it.

Hole accomplished in the back of her tent—which cost her a small fortune!—they seemed intent on dragging her out of it, in her nightclothes where she’d probably freeze to death before they had a chance to kill her.

“Wait a second,” whispered Shorty. “If we’re supposed to make this look like a bear got her shouldn’t we have some blood? You know, on account of the claws and stuff.”

Her eyes widened, and not just because the pair turned to look at her, the silver gleam of the knife in Mullet’s hand ominous.

Worrisome, but it paled in comparison to another problem.

It seemed they wouldn’t need to fake her demise by polar bear because looming over them was her friend from the sea ledge. Old Scarface himself, which funnily enough made her think of Gene, who also sported a similar identifying mark.

The towering polar menace opened his mouth but waited until the two wanna-be murderers turned to peek at what had her goggling in fright.

The polar bear roared, and this time, Vicky didn’t fight the faint but dove toward it.

Not for the first time, Gene questioned what the hell he was doing spying on Vicky’s tent. She wasn’t his concern.

She needs our protection.

No, she was a distraction he could ill afford.

She was a temptation that called to him.

She was…under attack?

While a part of him had used the excuse of guarding her as a reason to remain nearby, another part of him never truly believed she was in danger. Yet, there was no denying that the dark figure at the back of the tent, busily slicing at the fabric, meant no good.

The perpetrator also wasn’t alone, or so the brief scream abruptly cut short indicated. Gene didn’t need to hear Vicky’s cry of distress to get moving. At the first sign of trouble, his bear ass was lumbering down the icy hillock he’d chosen as his watchtower.

I should have never left her alone.
He should have known better. His enemies must have spotted his interaction with Vicky and now sought to use her against him.
Like fuck.
He’d soon show them the error of their ways.
No mercy. No second chance.

Arriving at the bottom of the slope, he treaded more cautiously, intent on taking the arguing pair by surprise.

Vicky lay at their feet, half in, half out of the tent, eyes wide with fright—
look at that, she’s still awake!—
while the bastards discussed bleeding her to make it seem like a polar attack. Oh the irony.

I’ll show them what a real polar attack looks like.

On silent paws, Gene approached and stood. He noted the moment Vicky saw him. It caught the bastards’ attention too. They turned. Their jaws dropped. He saw the whites of their eyes, which practically popped from their heads.

And when he roared? At least one of them pissed himself.

Awesome.

But not as awesome as the pleasure he got out of swiping at them with paws tipped in curved claws.

“Holy—” was all one got to say before Gene’s blow sent him flying while the other one tried to dive back into Vicky’s damaged tent. He didn’t move fast enough. Gene yanked him, and while he preferred a fresh sea catch as a meal, in this case, he made an exception. It took only a chomp to end that life.

But he didn’t stop to enjoy this fresh snack. Not with the other one trying to crawl away while screaming, “Bear! There’s a fucking bear! Someone help me.”

Pussy. A brave man when attacking a defenseless women, but put him face to face with a real predator and his true colors emerged. As did some of the tent city occupants. Lucky for him, most stared in stunned disbelief. It wouldn’t last though. It would only take one yahoo grabbing a gun to turn this into a bigger fucking mess.

Dropping to all four paws, Gene ignored his last target in order to return to Vicky, who lay still as a statue.

Apparently she’d reached the end of her brave tether and slept through the resulting chaos.

Lights came on throughout the camp as voices called to each other, the ominous words, “Get the tranquilizer gun” and “Screw that, where’s my rifle?” cropping up.

The hill that previously hid him wouldn’t provide concealment if he tried to climb it. Sauntering through camp to exit it would probably not go unnoticed.

What was a bear to do when faced with a bunch of panicked humans with weapons?

Gene had just beaten a retreat into Vicky’s damaged tent, with her draped on his naked lap, when a grizzled face poked into the hole.

His blue gaze met the brown-eyed one of a wolf. Not a word was spoken but the yells outside continued.

“Where’s the damned bear? I’ve got a surprise for it!” hollered someone outside.

“You can’t kill it,” yelled another. “They’re a protected species.”

“Where did it go?” shrilled a woman.

Gene watched the guide, ready to lunge if needed to silence him. The other male gave him a slight nod before shouting, “Everyone get back in your tents and sit tight while I scout.”

A nod of thanks was owed for that.

“That will give us a few minutes, long enough for you to tell me who you are,” said the older shifter.

“No one you want to mess with,” Gene replied in a low growl.

The whiskered fellow raised a brow. “Perhaps not, and yet, I have to question your presence here. This is my camp, and this girl is one of my charges.”

Gene’s presence had everything to do with the Pima on his lap, not that he’d admit it out loud. But the old guy wanted an answer. “Think of me as her guardian fucking angel.”

The fellow in charge of the camp, a role Gene had deciphered during his hours of observation, snorted. “Most vicious angel I ever met. I reckon the dead one and the one screaming bloody murder were up to no good.”

“They were up to something all right.”

The other man’s gaze narrowed. “I’ve heard of you. You’re the one they call Ghost.”

Why answer when a feral smile would do the trick.

Interestingly enough, it didn’t daunt the old coot. “Are you going to harm the girl?”

“Wasn’t planning to.” Gene couldn’t have said what he planned other than he wouldn’t let anyone lay a finger on her with ill intent. He’d bite it off first.

The wolf grunted. “Oddly enough, I believe you. But you can’t stay here.”

“No shit.”

“Neither can she.”

Say what? “Why not?”

The old guy gave him a look.

“She’s an innocent,” Gene exclaimed. In more ways than one.

“Not anymore I’d say. Whatever is going on, she’s now a part of it, and I can’t keep her safe. You need to take her away from here.”

No, no and no. This wasn’t part of his plan.
I don’t want to be saddled with her.
And the old wolf couldn’t force him.

Gene should dump her ass on the floor, get up, and walk away. The old guy couldn’t stop him. He had to be wrong. If Gene removed himself, then Vicky would…

Dammit. The old man was right. She wasn’t safe. Not anymore. Still though, to take her with him? He didn’t need the annoyance of caring for her sweet ass. Bad guys weren’t supposed to be responsible for anyone but themselves. So he was surprised to hear himself say, “I need transportation.”

All the arguments in the world and it boiled down to he couldn’t let her come to harm because of him. Bloody chivalrous side. It would emerge at the most inopportune time.

Since when do I have fucking morals, and how do I get rid of them?
Morals got in the way of violence and revenge. And Gene did so enjoy dishing out violent vengeance.

“You can take the snowmobile these fellows used to come in. The sledge is still hooked to it. It has some supplies still on board and room for her.”

Help? What an odd concept. “Why are you doing this?” Suspicion, always a friend, especially when things appeared too good to be true.