“Animal tracks?”
“Just a couple. I might have missed them, they were up under the lip, only reason they weren’t erased by the wind, I guess.”
So, as Liam had said, the dog could end up being useful. Quinn’s brow furrowed as he remembered some of the K-9 teams he’d worked with in the past, and he filed away the idea of adding one to the crew.
“Any idea what?” he asked.
“They were blurred, but paws. Big ones. Don’t have wolves out here, do they, sir?”
“More likely a mountain lion.”
The man blinked. Although well trained and fearless, Quinn knew Teague was a born-and-bred city boy. He knew what he needed to know for survival in the wild, but it wasn’t second nature to him as it was with many on the various crews.
He’d come to them through their website, where his long, thoughtful, articulate posts had first drawn the attention of Tyler Hewitt, the webmaster, who sent them to Charlie, who in turn had started sending them to Quinn. Unlike many, Teague had survived the incredibly long and difficult vetting process without faltering, and the first time Quinn had met the young former marine in person, he’d known he’d be a good fit.
That had been just before the flood, the deluge of dissatisfaction that had swept the Corps and the other branches. They could, if they wanted, pick and choose now, from a multitude of skilled, experienced warriors who had had enough, had finally realized just what was happening. Quinn didn’t want any of them.
He and Charlie had picked a date, somewhat arbitrarily, but a date that became the marker; aware before that and they still had a shot. Not, and...not. He wanted men like Teague, who had been smart enough, aware enough, and had the brainpower to see the patterns and read the proverbial handwriting on the wall. And see it early, not just when it became so obvious that the lowliest grunt couldn’t miss it.
And no one above a certain rank, he’d added. Once you got that high, there was no way you couldn’t see what was happening unless you purposely ignored it. It cut them off from a lot of experience, but to Quinn the other was more important.
“Tracks seemed old,” Teague was saying. “And he—” again he gestured at the dog “—was very interested but not...frantic.”
He ended the sentence hesitantly, as if he wasn’t sure the word conveyed what he meant, but Quinn got the image immediately. He nodded in approval.
“Then you’re likely right. They’re old. But tell the others, we’ll keep an eye out just in case.”
“And I’m guessing the dog will let us know if it comes back,” Teague said.
Quinn looked down at the patient animal at his feet. “Probably,” he agreed, “but we can’t rely on it. He’s not trained and we don’t know him well enough.”
“You know, it was funny, out there. It almost seemed like...”
Teague trailed off, looking a bit awkward.
“Like what?” Quinn asked, reminding the man with his quiet tone that in this world, his opinion was welcomed, and sometimes even acted upon.
“Like he was trained. I mean, I’ve only worked with K-9s a couple of times, but it was like that, the way he seemed to know why we were out there, the way he tracked, searched almost in a grid.”
Quinn’s gaze shifted back to the dog, who sat patiently still, looking up at him with a steady gaze. As if waiting for further orders. Was it possible? Did the animal have some training? He looked too young to be a retired police or military dog, and moved too well to have been retired due to injury. Was he a washout of a program, for some other reason? Or was he just darn smart?
The thoughts about the dog brought him back to thinking about the dog’s owner. And that brought on the need to move, to do something, anything.
“Good work,” he said briskly. “We’re in two-man teams. Four hours on. You and Rafer take first watch. Work out who does what between you, but I want that perimeter checked every quarter hour. Liam and I will relieve you at—” he glanced at his watch, the big chronograph that told him more than he needed on this mission “—eleven hundred hours.”
“Yes, sir!” Again Teague barely stopped the salute. Quinn gave him a wry smile.
“It takes a while,” he told him.
“It’s not just that.” Teague hesitated, then plunged ahead. “It’s being able to salute a boss who deserves it.”
And that, Quinn thought sourly, was what happened when you assigned a young, honest, decent, smart kid to work for brass who thought only of their next political move and made every decision based on how it might move their personal agenda forward. If Teague had been in a combat unit, he would have lasted a lot longer.
And he wouldn’t be here, which would be their loss, Quinn thought.
“Thank you.” He acknowledged the tribute with more than a little sadness. “Now get to it.”
The young former marine turned on his heel smartly and headed out to connect with Rafer, who had just emerged from the barn where he’d been checking on the big power generator. He saw Quinn, gave him the “Okay” signal; Rafer was the mechanical guy on the team, and if he said the generator was okay, they were set for as long as the fuel lasted. The big underground tank held enough to keep them going for a month, if they were a little careful. If this turned out to go longer than that, then refueling would become an issue.
If this turns out to go longer than that, insanity is going to become an issue, Quinn thought. They really were out in the middle of a lot of nowhere.
Middle of nowhere, careful what you wish for, and now damning with faint praise. My life’s suddenly full of clichés.
The woman’s words—he refused to think of her by name, it would be better if she remained just the woman, the glitch, the impediment, the nuisance—rang in his head. Oh, yes, she definitely had a mouth on her. And the wit and spirit to use it.
And both were things he’d be better off not thinking about.
Chapter 8
Hayley drew back from the banister that topped the three-foot-high wall running along the edge of the loft. Her anger had ebbed slightly now, allowing her to think. Her father had once told her that anger fogged the brain, and she’d never had a clearer demonstration than just now.
It was absurd, after all, to have anger be the thing her brain seized on when Quinn had told her neighbor not to speak to her, as if she were some sort of pariah. Absurd indeed. But anger, her father had added, was still better than despair. At least it was more useful, if channeled properly.
She sat in the single chair in the long but narrow space, realizing she needed clear thinking now more than she ever had in her life. While her mother was ill, she’d gotten used to having to fight through the cloud of exhaustion for every decision, for the steps of every action, had been aware she had to be extra careful simply because of it, careful not to make a mistake she would normally never make if she weren’t so tired.
She was tired after the harrowing night without sleep, but that was nothing compared with months on end of sleeping less than four hours at a time. She could do one sleepless night standing on her head, she told herself. So it was time to start thinking hard about the situation and a way out of it, now that she was alone and could concentrate.
Liam had left her there with polite but firm instructions to stay put, that someone would always be downstairs watching. And for all his joking and smiling, Hayley sensed the man meant what he said; there was a steel core beneath the young, affable exterior.
She doubted Quinn would have any other kind of man working for him.
And Quinn was obviously and indisputably the boss. She’d heard enough when he’d been in the doorway, giving orders with precision and decisiveness. Clearly all of the men followed his lead without question or hesitation. He was definitely the leader, and one who commanded respect.
Among other things, she thought. This would all be simpler if he wasn’t so damned...im
pressive. A shiver rippled through her, a reaction she’d not had to any man in a very long time. That she was having it now was nothing short of infuriating.
But Teague’s last words, about saluting someone who deserved it, stuck in her head. At first it had made her feel oddly comforted, until she realized it all depended on Teague’s frame of reference. If he was a young, honestly idealistic sort, it could mean Quinn was a good guy.
But then it struck her that one of those zealots she’d thought about could use the same words about whatever leader had hit upon the right buttons to push. They could all be deluded, working for Quinn out of some misguided devotion to an idea. Or worse.
She got up, moving as silently as she could around the loft, looking. It was only about ten feet deep, but it ran the width of the entire cabin. Besides the chair, which sat next to a reading lamp, there was a double bed against the other side wall, a nightstand next to it and a low dresser against the back wall.
Under the window.
Her hopes leaped, but the moment she got close enough, she could see that the lack of morning light streaming through the window wasn’t, as she’d hoped, simply because there were shutters she could open. It was because the window was solidly, carefully boarded over, just like most of those downstairs.
A quick test of the blockage told her there would be no budging it without some serious tools or a lot more strength than she had. Nor was there anything else in the room that she could use as a weapon.
Not, she thought wryly, that there was anything she could see herself using as a weapon against these obviously well-trained and dangerous men.
She sank down on the edge of the bed. Now that they had stopped moving, there was little left to distract her from the reality of her grim situation.
She wondered where Vicente was. There was room for a bedroom below this loft. Was that where he, as the primary—what? Guest? Prisoner?—was? The man had obviously been sincerely bothered, felt responsible somehow for getting her into this.
Although it was, she had to admit ruefully, mostly Cutter’s fault. If he hadn’t burst out of the trees like that, refusing to heed her recall, neither of them would be here. But it was so unlike the dog that she couldn’t help thinking there was something else going on. While Cutter was an independent animal, he was also usually obedient, unless what she wanted him to do conflicted with something he knew he had to do.
That might sound odd to some, but she’d seen it too often in the months since he’d landed in her life. Like the time when he absolutely refused to come inside one night, and she’d had to go retrieve him physically from the side of the house. Only then did she notice the distinctive smell of propane, and realize that there was a dangerous leak. Or the time he’d literally dragged her outside into a pouring rain, then up the hill to where she’d found the neighbor who’d been pinned by a fallen tree, hurt and unable to reach his cell phone, and soaked through by the gush of water from the skies.
Water.
Had Quinn really meant he’d withhold water from Cutter? She couldn’t believe anybody would do that to an innocent animal, but then she couldn’t believe anybody would grab an innocent bystander—two, counting Cutter—and throw them onto a helicopter in the middle of the night and fly them off to who knows where and—
As if her thoughts had made him materialize, she heard the familiar click of toenails on the wood floor downstairs. And after a moment, she heard Quinn’s voice.
“Take him upstairs. Tell her to keep him up there, out of the way.”
There was another exchange she couldn’t hear. Then, a moment later, she heard Teague laugh.
“He’s not going anywhere for me, boss.”
“So carry him.”
“You seen his teeth?”
“Afraid of a pet dog?”
“Nope. Just doing what you’ve always said. Each man to the job he does best. The dog likes you, ergo, you do it.”
There was a pause, then a sound that could have been a half-suppressed snort of laughter, or a not-at-all-suppressed sound of disgust.
She heard footsteps on the stairs. With an effort she stayed seated on the edge of the bed; for some reason it seemed important that he know she wasn’t going to jump at his every appearance or command.
Moments later Cutter appeared at the top of the stairs and ran to her with every appearance of his usual delight at seeing her after time apart. Quinn was right behind him, but he stopped—thankfully—at the top of the stairs.
“Now you remember me,” she muttered to the dog, not really meaning it as she gratefully scratched his ears. Cutter sighed and leaned against her.
She looked over at Quinn then. He was watching her steadily. An old joke flashed through her mind, about how the best way to make yourself feel insignificant was to try to give orders to someone else’s dog. Obviously that didn’t apply here. Or else Quinn was incapable of feeling insignificant.
Now, that I’d believe, she thought.
“You wouldn’t really deny him water,” she said, as if stating it as a fact instead of a question would get her the response she wanted.
“Wouldn’t I?”
It had been a silly effort, she’d known that even as she’d said it.
Quinn moved farther into the loft, and she was reminded sharply how tall he was. The low roof that was still a good foot above her head was bare inches above his.
“Whether he drinks—or eats—is entirely up to you.”
She blinked. “Me?”
“You behave, he gets what he needs.”
The word “behave” nearly set her off; she didn’t care for being spoken to as if she were a recalcitrant child. But she had to look out for Cutter now, not herself.
“You’d abuse an innocent animal to manipulate me?”
“I’m not convinced he’s all that innocent,” Quinn said, with a hint of something in his voice as he glanced at the dog—who seemed annoyingly happy at the moment—that sounded almost like amusement. Almost.
She challenged him, hoping he’d think she wasn’t afraid of him. That mattered, for some reason. Never mind that inside she was practically quaking.
“What makes you think it will work?”
He shrugged. “You saw we were armed and you still came running after him.”
She drew back slightly, looking up at him in genuine curiosity. “Why would you shoot an innocent woman chasing an even more innocent dog?”
“I didn’t know you were innocent.”
Something curled and knotted inside her. What kind of world did he live in, where the assumption was the opposite, where you were presumed guilty, or at the least a threat, until proved otherwise?
The kind of world that can put that look in someone’s eyes, that coolness, that control, that world-weariness and distrust, she thought. His eyes weren’t just blue, they had a tinge of ice.
“For all I knew you’d set him on us,” he said.
That was so preposterous words burst from her. “Do you often get attacked by total strangers’ dogs?”
He shrugged again. “It’s happened.”
“Hard to believe, you’re so charming,” she said, then wondered when she’d developed the habit of speaking before she thought.
But there it was again, that hint of a change in his face that could, if you stretched your imagination a bit, be amusement.
“And you,” he added, almost conversationally, “charged armed men. Given the circumstances, the wise thing, the thing most people would have done, was turn tail and get as far away as they could. But you—”
“So I’m an idiot. Fine,” she said, bitterly aware it was true.
“You love him.” His gaze flicked to Cutter, then back to her. “Enough to charge into figurative hell for him.”
“And that makes me easy to manipulate.”
“Among other thing
s, yes.”
She didn’t want to know what those “other things” were. Anybody who’d use a dog, threaten to starve it, wasn’t starting out in a good place with her.
Not that it mattered. It would work. She couldn’t do anything, risk anything, because he just might be cold enough to do exactly what he’d said. And if she made him angry enough, there was that gun....
Although killing Cutter—she swallowed as the words went through her rattled mind—would lose him his lever.
“You said he could be helpful.” Even she heard the undertone of desperation in her voice.
“He already has been,” Quinn admitted. “But we’ve survived this long without a dog on the team, I think we can make it a bit longer.”
“What ‘team’? Who are you?”
The thought that she was better off not knowing made her regret the question as soon as it was out.
“Right now, we’re the ones in charge of you, and your dog. You should remember that.”
Another threat? It took every bit of nerve she had left to meet his warning gaze. It seemed important somehow, not to cower in front of this man, even if that was what she felt like doing.
But she couldn’t fight them. Couldn’t fight him. She had no weapons, not enough strength or knowledge, and even if she could get free, there was that middle-of-nowhere thing to deal with.
No, it was in her and her dog’s best interest to...just behave.
And she hated that she was scared enough to decide to do just that.
Chapter 9
“Boss?”
Quinn snapped out of his musings about the woman upstairs and turned to look at Liam. The young man was also their IT guy, or as he jokingly called himself, their propeller head. He had his laptop, a rugged, rubber-bumpered version that was utilized by many military operations, set up on the coffee table in the center of the room.
His skill with computers, matched with a surprising skill with weapons and physical toughness, was a prized combination Quinn had been glad to find, even if it had come with the beginnings of a police record. But Liam had taken to their work with dedication and flair; all he’d needed was a purpose.
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