by Debra Kayn
He grew more frustrated every day that her father hadn't shown himself, and had her studying the timeline of past dates, looking for a pattern of her dad's attacks on him and the others.
"You know, after a while, all the dates start looking the same." She rubbed her temple. "Plus, it pisses me off that every birthday of mine and my mom's he missed, he lied and said he had business to deal with, which wasn't true. The proof is right here." She slapped the papers. "He missed them because he was trying to hurt you or one of the others."
Mark scooped a handful of popcorn and refrained from replying. She reached over and stole some of his popcorn. Chewing, she skimmed the first page, wishing something would jump out at her, but they were only numbers representing months, days, years. All of them in the first set happened before she was born.
On the second page, she swallowed, wiping her hands on a napkin. "Why does he come to the Bitterroot Mountains more in the winter time?"
Mark shrugged. "It's anyone's guess. Quint suggested his habits come about because he picks when the tourists are gone from the mountain...or at least fewer of them are around. Fewer witnesses."
"It could also be because he travels a lot in the summer." She flipped the page.
"Where does he go?"
"Mex..." She realized her inconsideration and glanced up. "Mexico."
"So, he was still going there when you were old enough to remember." Mark set the bowl of popcorn to the side.
She nodded. "I'm sorry. I never should've mentioned—"
"No, I need to know everything I can." He stood and walked over to the sink.
Holding in her groan, she could've kicked herself. He needed no reminders of his time in Mexico, and she had blurted it out as if it was a common way to live. Now that she knew what her dad did when he left the house for a week at a time, she was disgusted.
It could've been a stranger, and she would've still hated the person for fighting dogs against each other and against boys. Her father's gambling habits and odd investments were normal in today's society, but dogfighting was cruel and a crime.
Determined to help Mark, she concentrated on the dates. Running her finger over each one on the page, she decided instead of looking for a pattern, she'd try and see if any of the dates were specific to her father's life.
He often traveled on a Friday and came back on a Tuesday. She'd already picked out her birthday, her mother's birthday. Even holidays. It appeared her father traveled when he wanted and damned the inconvenience or rudeness to anyone else.
She pressed her fingers to her temples. There had to be something linking the dates.
"Have you and the others gone through to see if any of the dates mean anything to you?" she asked.
Mark set down the glass of water. "We've been going over them for years, and they mean nothing to us. We've all lived our lives around the attacks."
"Yeah. Makes sense. Unfortunately." She brought her legs up on the couch and leaned into the corner.
Going by the dates, she could almost guess that her father never stayed more than four days in the mountains. After an attack, he waited anywhere from two weeks to three months before returning to the Bitterroot Mountains.
She couldn't help thinking that between the file she had and the documented attacks the guys had, proof that her dad had Will killed and murdered Two-crow himself, and backed by her mother's allegations that her dad had kidnapped and kept her for twenty-five years, the police would have a solid case.
While the others believed her father would be able to wiggle his way out of serving time in prison, she held hope that the justice system would make him pay.
Dealing with her father her way would allow Mark and the others to go on with their life, knowing they were safe, and her father would serve time, unable to hurt another person. She sighed. Though she understood the men's concern. The police would investigate, and her dad would point fingers back at them.
She set the papers on her lap and exhaled loudly. "I think it would be easier to pick the winning lottery numbers than to try and find—Oh, my God."
"What?" Mark turned toward her.
She scrambled off the couch, tossing the papers, and looked around the room. "Where's my purse?"
"Why do you need your—?"
"Hurry." She rushed to the other side of the bunker and moved her bag. "Where is it?"
Mark stood by the chest and held up her purse. "Here."
She searched the contents. Impatient, she dumped everything on the counter and scattered the receipts, looking at the backs of each one.
"I can't believe I forgot about this," she mumbled, tossing the ones that were useless to the side.
"Want to tell me what you're doing?"
"Before I left to come to Montana, my dad called the house." She waved her hand in the air. "He's a religious lottery player. Every Tuesday and Thursday, he buys the tickets for the Saturday and Wednesday drawings."
"So?"
"So...he plays the same lotteries using the same numbers every week, but before I left to come here, he was traveling. Remember, he was on the mountain. It was when someone shot out the upstairs window at the Lair," said Carly.
"I remember."
"Anyway, he called the house. I answered the phone, and he wanted me to buy the lottery tickets. I asked him what the numbers were, knowing he used the same ones, and the phone call had bad reception...all staticky. After several attempts of him giving me the numbers, and me being unable to hear him correctly, he finally gave me the password for his computer in the office. It was short, easy...I just can't remember what it was, but I wrote it down." She unfolded the wrinkled ball of paper, turned it over, and held it up in victory. "This is the password."
Mark frowned. "Keep talking."
"I've snuck on his computer before when he's left it on. Before you ask, there's no evidence of him hurting anyone or the attacks on his hard drive. He's old school, and that's why mom was able to keep a paper file on him. But, and this is such a huge freaking but, he keeps his travel schedule on the computer and all his appointments." She jumped up and down. "All we need to do is find a way to hack into his computer remotely with the password and find out when he plans to be here. You guys can prepare for him, and nobody will get hurt. I'm not sure, but there might be some clue on where he stays while in the Bitterroot Mountains, too."
Mark gawked at her. She giggled hysterically.
He swooped in and picked her up, twirling her in a circle before capturing her lips. Kissing him back as deep and as excited, she laughed against his lips.
"You're fucking wonderful." He kissed her again and set her on her feet.
Finding her balance when he let her go, she said, "We just need to find a computer that will do that and someone who knows what they're doing, but it's possible, right?"
"I know who can do it." He stepped over to the couch and picked up his satellite phone. "Quint's wife practically lived on the computer before meeting him. She'll know what to do."
Carly clasped her hands together in front of her. Finally, she felt like she'd contributed something to help make up for all the damage and sorrow her father had caused.
Chapter 30
Quint walked through the upstairs door at Anders' Lair with Katelynn at his side. Carly caught the look passed between the three men. Without any words, they'd shared the hope that they'd finally catch her father.
Carly slipped her fingers into Mark's hand. He squeezed and brought her closer, kissing her forehead. Neither one of them slept much last night. Too worried something would go wrong, or Jaster would get rid of the information on the computer before they could get together with Katelynn, she'd tossed and turned.
Even sleeping next to Mark couldn't settle her down. She fed off the tension rolling off of him.
Quint took Katelynn to Anders' office in his private quarters. Mark whispered, "I'm going to go with them."
"I'll join you in a few minutes. I want to talk to my mom." Carly kissed his lips. "Good
luck."
Iliana moved with Anders, following the others. Alone with her mom, Carly hugged her. She'd missed having her close and knowing how she was doing. The nightly updates by texts that Anders sent Mark weren't enough to take all the worry away from her.
"Carly?" Her mom pulled back and held Carly's shoulders. "You're kissing Mark?"
"I'm..." She shook her head, caught up in the moment. Used to being with Mark where he let her touch, kiss, and talk any time she wanted, she wasn't even aware of her showing PDA in front of everyone. "I guess I am."
"Oh, darling," murmured her mom. "Is that smart?"
"Well, it's not dumb." She hadn't come over here to discuss her love life. "I know what I'm doing."
Her mom's mouth turned down. Carly straightened her shoulders. Just because she'd started something with Mark in no way meant she wasn't focused on ending her mom's torment.
"We're trying to stop dad," she whispered. "You know that. I would do anything to see that you can live a life that you want. Just like we've always dreamed."
Her mom kissed her cheek. "I know, and I love you. But, I'm still your mom, and I worry."
"I love you, too. I'm a big girl. I know anything that happens between us comes second to stopping Dad." She tugged her mom's hand. "Let's go see what Katelynn is finding out. Maybe we can help."
She put off having a real talk about her ongoing obsession with Mark. Her thoughts were jumbled, and she couldn't put into words how she felt about him because of the situation they were in together. She only knew that he was more of a man than she'd expected.
More kind. More loving. More everything she wanted.
She had it bad. Even being separated by a room seemed too far away after living with him in the bunker and working beside him during the day.
Aware of her mom beside her, she refrained from slipping her fingers into Mark's hand and concentrated on the conversations circling the room.
"Try capitalizing the letters," suggested Quint.
Katelynn bit her bottom lip and typed on the keyboard. "Nope."
"The password isn't working," whispered Mark. "Do you think he changed it?"
"I don't know." Carly walked behind the desk and leaned over Katelynn's shoulder. "All the letters aren't capitalized though. Only the E and the C."
"Evie and Carly?" asked Katelynn.
"Yes." She inhaled deeply, hoping the attacks on Anders, Mark, and the dead dog in her car had kept her dad too busy to change the access code on his computer.
Katelynn sat up straighter. "It's working. I'm in."
An exhale of relief from everyone filled the room. Carly caught the smile on Mark's face. She'd done something good and seeing his approval left her tingling.
Glancing at her mom, she lost some of her excitement. Her mother hugged her middle and frown lines appeared on her forehead. She hoped getting closer to the end of her father's torment wouldn't push her mom back to being a recluse.
"Okay, Carly. I'm going to need your help." Katelynn moved the mouse atop the desktop. "Do you know what kind of program your dad uses to keep track of his schedule?"
"No." She studied the screen. "Try the normal calendar that comes with the email program. He uses the computer but only the programs that are included in a basic setup. He's not the savviest computer user."
"Okay." Katelynn clicked on an icon, scrolled and tapped into the calendar. "Someone give me a date to look up."
Anders said, "May seventh, this year."
Katelynn worked her magic on the computer. "He flew to MIA—Missoula International Airport on the sixth, and...he flew back to Albuquerque, New Mexico, on the eighth."
Anders stepped closer to the desk and cupped the back of Iliana's neck. "Our living room window was shot out on the eight."
"Try May sixteenth." Carly moved away from the computer and stood by her mom, latching on to her hand. She needed support. To think her father had come here, tried to shoot Anders through the window with a bar full of people below seemed desperate and irrational.
"Nothing on the sixteenth, though he flew to Montana on the Fifteenth. The day before," said Katelynn.
Mark caught her gaze. "What are those dates?"
"They're, um..." She cleared her throat. "I waited until my father had left on business, and then drove to Montana. I left on the sixteenth. I knew he was scheduled to be gone three weeks, which was a longer amount of time than he usually took on business. I left the day after him, planning on being back before he was scheduled to fly home. I didn't want him to stop me."
Mark's body hardened. "We need to figure out if he's here now."
"On it." Katelynn's fingers flew across the keyboard.
It would put her and her mother's worries to rest if her dad was long gone, but she knew if he was out of the state of Montana, then it was only delaying the inevitable. He'd be back.
"He flew back to New Mexico two days ago." Katelynn glanced around the room. "We were safe for two days, and none of us knew it."
"We're never safe. He could've hired other men to do the job of killing us." Quint took his cigarettes out of his pocket and put one in his mouth without lighting it. "When is he scheduled to come back?"
Katelynn ducked her head. Carly looked at Mark. He stared at the back of the monitor as if willing the information to show her father's plan.
"Saturday." Katelynn glanced up. "This Saturday."
"Two days away," said Quint, looking at the others.
The men stepped toward each other, huddling against the far wall. Carly watched them, wondering what they were planning, a ball of tension formed in her stomach.
"Carly?" whispered her mom.
She turned. "Hm?"
"They're not thinking." Her mom fingered the base of her neck in worry. "He'll be here in two days."
"That's what Katelynn said." She put her arm around her mom's shaking body. "Now they'll know ahead of time."
Her mom shook her head, her brows drawn down. Concerned, she pulled her mom to the edge of the room and turned her, making her concentrate only on her.
"What's wrong?" she whispered.
"He's coming back, and this time, he knows I'm gone. He'll know Mark brought me to you." Her mom's eyes teared. "I won't be at the house, and he'll figure everything out."
Carly hugged her mother tightly. "I won't let him take you back. I promise. I will do whatever it takes to keep you free of him."
A hand landed on Carly's back. She turned her head and found Mark. Reaching behind her with one hand, she clasped on to Mark, twining her fingers through his. Together, they'd make sure her father never hurt another person again.
Chapter 31
"Head down. Ass up." Mark grabbed Carly's hips and lifted.
Tipped, she grabbed the blanket on the bed to keep her in place as her knees landed on the mattress. Cheek against the bed, she said, "I can't see you in this position."
"Don't look. Feel."
Smoothness caressed her between the legs. She stretched her neck and closed her eyes.
Already wet from him using his mouth and him teasing her by not letting her come, she rocked back against him. She could feel the roughness of his hand wrapped around his cock against her inner thigh as he rubbed the head against her pussy.
She could spend all day letting him touch her.
They were made for each other. She sighed in satisfaction. All his bits fit against her body. His cock in her pussy. Her breasts underneath his chest. Her head into the crook of his neck. Even her legs could entwine with his like a vine around the trunk of a tree.
Perfect.
And yet, he was behind her, and it was a new kind of wonderful.
He slapped her ass. She jolted, opening her eyes.
"Don't go to sleep," he said.
She laughed softly. "I wasn't."
They'd had sex three times through the night. She wasn't done. He wasn't done. They had an hour until Discover the Bitterroot opened for business.
Mark's hand left h
er hip and traveled up her spine. He pulled her hair, lifting her head. She opened her eyes again, a spark of arousal filled her lower stomach.
He held her into position in front of him and slid his cock all the way in her. She pressed against him, her back fully arched. He fisted her hair, immobilizing her. She whined for him to move, to do the work, to make her come.
And, he did move. Slowly. Deliberately.
The muscles in her thighs shook for more. Gripped in the euphoria he created, she panted, letting him dictate her feelings.
Mark's breathing filled the bunker. God, they were perfect together.
His strokes became erratic, and he held her still. He bounced off her ass with each plunge. She moaned with each slap of his balls against her clit.
"Yes." She hissed. "God, yes."
"You want it hard?" He never broke his rhythm.
She swallowed, barely keeping her eyes open. "Hard."
The pressure on the back of her head increased. He planted his other hand low on her back. The force of his next plunge almost took her off her knees.
His cock touching something deep inside of her that flashed pleasure throughout her entire body. Paralyzed by the overwhelming desire flowing through her body, she gave herself up to Mark's control.
He pushed each exhale out of her. Her body tightened, squeezing her insides, and exploded. She screamed her orgasm, losing all strength in her arms and legs.
Mark let go of her hair and leaned over her back, taking her to the bed. Sprawled on the mattress, she could only reach over her shoulder and fist his hair.
"Come," she murmured against the blanket. "In me."
He pulled almost out of her and plunged back in and held still, shuddering his release.
She smiled, sleepily. "Good job, Mark DeLane."
He chuckled silently, shaking the whole bed, and rolled off her, collapsing beside her. She reached over and patted his outer thigh. That was all she could do.
He'd officially worn her out.