State Of Emergency. Cassie Miles

said. “If you despise the mountains so much, how did you end up married to a woman from Aspen?”

      “We met while she was on vacation in the Florida Keys, had a whirlwind courtship and got married before we figured out that we didn’t have a single thing in common.”

      “Opposites attract,” Emily said.

      “But they don’t stay together for long. We were married for two years and probably lived in the same house for only two months of that time.”

      “The newspapers said you were going to ask her for a divorce.”

      “That was why I came to Aspen,” he said. His lack of apparent emotion seemed odd. The newspaper reports had hinted that Jordan’s motive for killing his wife was passion. “Did you still love her?”

      “Not love. Not hate.” He stretched the muscles in his back. “There weren’t any strong emotions left.”

      “And you asked for the divorce?”

      “That’s right.”

      “What did she say?”

      “She agreed. It was all real civilized and calm. But she asked me to wait a month so she could clear up some kind of financial problem with her estate.”

      If Emily eliminated passion as a motive, it had to be the money. Lynette Afton-Shane was a multi-millionaire who owned two ski lodges and prime real estate. Even by Aspen standards, her wealth would be considered impressive. “How much do you inherit?”

      “We had a prenuptial agreement that gave each of us ten percent of the other’s estate.”

      “In Lynette’s case, that might be a million dollars,” Emily said.

      “I really don’t know,” Jordan said. “I wasn’t in her class financially, but I do okay. I have my own computer hardware manufacturing company in Florida with twenty-seven employees.” And Emily remembered that he’d written the ten-thousand-dollar contribution to S.A.R. on his own account. Jordan certainly didn’t project the image of someone who needed to kill for the inheritance.

      He bolted to a sitting posture on the rock, concentrating hard on the reports from the police band radio. “They’re coming closer to Cascadia. Do you have those maps, Emily?”

      She reached into a zippered pocket on her backpack and pulled out three different maps.

      He unfolded the worn paper and studied the detailed terrain which included topography and landmarks as well as roads. Though Emily wasn’t good at map-reading, she had an innate sense of direction in the mountains that seldom led her astray.

      “Does this stream have a name?” he asked.

      “I don’t think so. It’s too small.”

      “But you’ve been here before,” he said. “You knew there was a stream at the bottom of the hill.”

      “I knew because I heard the rushing water,” Emily explained. “Plus, we’re at the base of a slope, and the presence of aspens generally indicates that the water table lies close to the surface.”

      He pinpointed their location on the map. “I’d say we’re about here.”

      Pookie bounced up to them, paused and shook himself, sending out a spray of ice-cold stream water.

      “Not on the map,” Jordan said. “Geez, Pookie. Get a grip.”

      “You were the one who didn’t think he needed training,” Emily reminded him as she corralled the wet dog in her arms, then pushed his butt to the ground. “Sit, boy.”

      “Moof,” Pookie said.

      Jordan’s attention returned to the map. “Pretty soon, it’s going to be too dark for the helicopters to search. We need to stay far away from the roads.” He pointed to a small black rectangle that didn’t seem too far from their location. “What does this represent?”

      “A warming hut for hikers and cross-country skiers.”

      “Warming hut?”

      She explained, “It’s a small cabin that people can use if they get stuck in bad weather. It may be a good place for us to spend the night.”

      His eyes narrowed. “It also might be the first place for searchers to look. The sheriff’s department has maps like this, don’t they?”

      She nodded but didn’t offer any advice. When it came to the bottom line, Emily didn’t want to aid in his escape. Jordan’s guilt or innocence was for the courts to decide.

      To ensure somebody figured out that he’d taken her and Pookie with him, she’d left a trail from her cabin that a blind man could follow. At every opportunity, she’d broken branches off trees and trampled shrubs as well as dropping shreds of tissue and all the change from her pockets.

      “It’s going to get cold tonight,” Jordan said, watching her for a reaction. “And I don’t have a jacket.”

      Her recommendation would be to risk staying in the shelter of the warming hut and avoid the potential danger of hypothermia. But she said nothing.

      “I need a good night’s sleep,” he said. “And time to recover from my injuries.”

      Again, he assumed correctly.

      Jordan asked, “How far to the warming hut?”

      “A few hours if we stay under the trees. Less time if we step out in the open.”

      “With your bright red backpack marking our location like a signal flare,” he said bitterly. “It’s a chance I’ll have to take. We’ll go by the most direct route.”

      He tucked away the maps, rose to his feet and shouldered his backpack, flinching slightly as the strap brushed his wounded arm. His ability to endure painful injuries without a single complaint was impressive, but Emily refused to acknowledge any positive attribute in Jordan Shane. She didn’t want to like him and certainly wouldn’t help him.

      He led the way from the aspen grove into a wide-open field of dried buffalo grass and weeds. With virtually no cover, they’d be visible from half a mile away. If there were search parties in the area, they’d be spotted.

      Apparently, Jordan had realized the same probability because he came to a halt. He threw an arm in front of her. “Don’t move.”

      Emily looked down. Three feet away, a snake slithered off a sun-warmed rock at the edge of the path. A snake! Adrenaline shot through her veins. God, she hated snakes! Oh God!