Northern Exposure by Debra Lee Brown Page A

said, propping himself up on one elbow in the tent so he could look her right in the eyes.
    Wendy rolled toward him in her sleeping bag. The flashlight was perched on top of her boot in the far corner, and lit her face only peripherally. “What?”
    â€œThe bridge,” he said.
    â€œWhat about it?” Her blue eyes looked so big, so innocent, he almost believed she hadn’t seen what he’d seen—or, if she had, that it hadn’t registered.
    â€œIt was tampered with. That slat was deliberately cut.”

Chapter 7
    W endy listened, her skin prickling, as Joe told her about the boot prints he’d seen on the trail two days ago.
    â€œAll this time someone’s been following us, and you didn’t tell me?” Wendy freed her arms from the sleeping bag and sat up in the tent.
    â€œNot following us, following you. Come on, Wendy, you knew. You had to have known. You’re not stupid.”
    The thing was, she had known. She’d felt it since her very first day in the reserve but had kept her suspicions to herself. “So, the rock slide…”
    â€œNo accident.”
    â€œAnd the bridge…”
    Joe looked at her hard. “You saw it yourself. Six of the slats on that walkway had been partially cut so they’d hold your weight, but not mine.”
    â€œWell, they didn’t hold my weight, did they?”
    She recalled with a shiver how Joe had reached her and had pulled her to her feet, how they’d climbed onto the cabling of the suspension bridge and had worked their way across, avoiding the slatted walkway altogether.
    Once he’d seen her safely to the other side, he’d backtracked to close and lock the gate at the far end of the bridge, so that other innocent hikers in the area—if there were any—wouldn’t cross. On his way back he’d knocked out the rest of the damaged slats, leaving a gaping hole in the bridge that highlighted the long fall to the boiling river below.
    â€œThis guy obviously wants you alone. Those accidents were meant to separate us.”
    A light rain pinged against the waterproof nylon of the tent. Wendy felt suddenly chilled and pulled the goose-down sleeping bag around her shoulders.
    â€œWhat I want to know, is why? Who’s the guy, Wendy?”
    She looked at him, not attempting to hide her surprise. “How should I know?”
    His eyes sharpened to points.
    â€œWait a minute…” she said. No way was she going to let him turn this around on her. “Before we get to that, let’s go back to the part where you knew about this mystery guy and you didn’t tell me. What were you thinking?”
    His stony expression didn’t change. “That I’d take care of it.”
    â€œJust like that, you’d take care of it.”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    She threw off the sleeping bag and scooted toward him, close enough so their knees were touching, close enough to grab the front of his Warden Ramboshirt and shake him. “Let me get this straight. Someone’s following me, and not only do you not tell me about it, you decide, without consulting me, that you’re going to take care of it.” She glanced briefly at his holstered handgun. “Whatever that means.”
    He started to defend his actions, but she wasn’t listening. Her teeth ground together behind her lips, her hands balled to fists in her lap.
    This was exactly the kind of thing Blake would do. Keep information from her, make important decisions concerning her without her input or knowledge. Anger bloomed inside her like a poison flower. Then she remembered the reason Blake had run her life.
    She’d let him.
    Her fists relaxed. A long breath eased from her lungs, and with it she let go her sudden rage.
    â€œYou saw this guy, didn’t you?” Joe said.
    She looked at him, really looked at him, at the way his eyes softened, the way his face tightened in concern, and