“You need to take a look at this.”
Quinn looked up from the status report—they had another team on a secondary mission—he’d been reading on his smartphone, aided by the cell tower they themselves had installed, disguising it much as they had the cabin, inside the weathered, broken-looking windmill.
If Liam said he had something worth looking at, he did; the man was a master at tracking, in both the real and cyber worlds. And he also understood what some didn’t, that checking your back trail could sometimes be as important as checking the trail ahead.
“What is it?” he asked as he walked over to look at the laptop screen.
“Found this on a local news station out of Seattle.”
Quinn leaned in to look at the video embedded beneath a large headline that read “One Feared Dead After Explosion, House Fire.”
Back trail it was, Quinn thought as he looked at the video. He read the first paragraph of the story.
“I’m pretty sure—” Liam began.
“It is,” Quinn agreed.
“They’re saying the explosion could have been propane.”
“Logical assumption. There was a tank.”
They both knew better.
“It says the explosion was reported just after 0100 hours,” Liam said. “We lifted off at 0032 hours, so they were right on our tail. Minus a few minutes for them to set up whatever they blew it with, that’s less than a half-hour margin.”
“Close.”
“Way too close. There’s no way they should have been able to pull that off.”
“They shouldn’t have been able to find him in the first place.”
“You think we’ve been compromised?”
“You think that—” Quinn gestured at the laptop “—is coincidence? That an empty house just happened to blow up within a half hour of us being there?”
“No, sir. I don’t believe in coincidence any more than you do.”
“Occam’s razor, Liam.”
“What?”
“If you have to work too hard to make another theory fit, it’s probably wrong.”
Quinn took his cell phone out again, and keyed in the message he hated having to send.
“We’re going dark?”
“We are,” Quinn said grimly. It cut them off from all information and help, but he had no choice until they were able to set up secure communications again.
“We have a leak?” Liam sounded disbelieving; Quinn liked his faith in their own people.
“Someone does,” Quinn said, and sent the signal that shut them down.
* * *
Hayley backed silently away from the edge of the loft and sat on the edge of the bed. Her legs were a little cramped from crouching there so long, peering over the railing down into the living room. Cutter followed, and jumped up on the bed beside her.
She wondered if the men below had heard her. She hadn’t been able to hear much of what they’d said, since they had their backs to her. And only when Quinn had moved aside to take out his complicated-looking smartphone had she been able to see the laptop screen.
She’d barely managed to suppress a gasp of shocked horror at what she’d seen. She’d only been able to read the blaring headline on the news site from up here, but the accompanying video had begun by showing the road in front of the location, and then the distinctive peaked roof of her neighbor’s house. Engulfed in flames that shot toward a dark sky.
The headline had said one was feared dead, yet she knew her neighbor was here, alive and well. And as far as she knew, he’d lived alone.
As far as she knew.
All sorts of wild scenarios began to race through her head; had there been another person living there? Had the person died in the fire? Or was he or she already dead? Was her quiet, reclusive neighbor really a killer, hiding some poor soul in that house, and—
Cutter let out a small sound and squirmed slightly; she’d tightened her grip on him too much, tugging on his fur.
“Sorry,” she whispered to the dog.
In case someone came up to investigate the sound, she lifted her feet up to lie on the bed, where she had been before she’d decided to take a look downstairs. She’d been futilely trying to rest with some idea her mind might sharpen up enough to figure a way out of this if she just got some sleep.
But everything had shifted now. Had they set some kind of bomb, to blow the place up after they’d left? With someone still inside? Quinn had come out a few minutes after Vicente and Teague, so perhaps he’d set it himself. Which would make him...a murderer.
Of course, the headline had said “feared dead.” Maybe they just didn’t know yet, maybe they were assuming it was her neighbor, since they obviously wouldn’t be able to find him.
She wouldn’t have thought things could get more ominous than they already were. But somehow the idea that they had destroyed that quirky house that had stood for over half a century, just to cover their tracks, made it worse.
But had they? The only two words she was certain she’d heard from up here were “explosion” and “leak.”
Had it been an accident?
In a house that had had propane for years without incident, precisely when all this had happened?
Her own thoughts rang with such sarcasm in her mind that she chastised herself for being fool enough to even consider the idea. She might not live in Quinn’s world, whatever it was, but even she couldn’t believe in that much coincidence.
On the comfortable bed, her tired body at last succumbed to sleep. But her mind never surrendered, and treated her to a string of nightmare scenarios that made the sleep anything but restful. And on some level, in that strange way of dreams, her mind knew that what it was producing was no more frightening than the reality she was going to wake up to.
Chapter 10
Hayley awoke with a start. And alone; Cutter had vanished. Under the circumstances, it was disconcerting to think the dog had slipped out of her grasp without waking her, jumped off the bed without waking her and apparently gotten down the stairs without waking her.
She sat up, looking around to make sure the dog hadn’t simply decamped to the floor. It was still full daylight, but she sensed she must have slept at least a couple of hours, maybe three. It was starting to get a bit warm up here in the loft, which made her think it must be afternoon by now. And that perhaps Cutter had headed down to cooler environs; that dense, double coat of his made him well suited for the cool, rainy Northwest, but not so much for this hotter clime, wherever it was.
She got up and walked as quietly as she could to the edge of the loft and looked over. There was no one in sight. Even the laptop that had displayed the video that had unsettled her sleep was gone.
As was her dog.
She hoped Cutter hadn’t irritated the already irascible Quinn. Although he’d seemed much more kindly disposed toward Cutter than her. The dog, he’d admitted, could be useful.
And unless you were utterly stone cold, it was pretty hard to ignore a dog who took a liking to you. She didn’t want to know the person who could look at those bright eyes, lolling tongue and happy tail and walk away without even a smile.
But she wasn’t sure she liked the idea of her dog being useful to a bunch of armed men of uncertain purpose. That kind of usefulness often didn’t end well.
Cutter’s instincts about people were almost supernaturally accurate. In fact, she couldn’t think of an occasion—until now—that they had failed. It had been the dog who had led her to make overtures to crusty Mr. Elkhart from the library, who, as it turned out, had merely been a lonely old man who had always relied on his late wife to break the ice with people. He was also, she’d found to her awe, a war hero who had come home from Korea with a box of medals and stories that made her marvel at where such men came from. And, even more surprising, he was an artist of no small talent
. The quick charcoal sketch he’d done of Cutter hung in a place of honor in her study.
The image of the drawing hit her unexpectedly hard, and it took her a moment to realize she was wondering if she’d ever see it again. What would happen if she never came back? There was no one left in the family except for some cousins in Missouri whom she rarely saw, and of course Walker, her wandering brother. She wasn’t even sure where he was just now. She hadn’t heard from him in nearly a month. But she knew he wouldn’t want the house. She didn’t think Walker was ever going to settle in one place. Never had anyone been more appropriately named.
And she was ginning up chaos in her head again, thinking of any and everything but the situation she was in. And that needed to change. Now.
Steeling herself, she crept quietly down the stairs. Surely they didn’t expect her to stay up there all the time? Quinn had ordered her to stay except for bathroom runs, but maybe he wasn’t here right now. Besides, if they really meant it strictly, wouldn’t they have tied her up or something?
She shivered at the idea. Maybe they would, if she poked around too much. That they hadn’t, while encouraging, did little to relieve her fears.
When she got to the bottom of the narrow stairs, she saw Liam in the kitchen, drinking from a bottle of water. The young man smiled at her, looking oddly apologetic.
“Hi,” he said, as if she were just an ordinary guest. He lifted the bottle. “There’s more in the fridge.”
Was that an invitation? She walked toward him cautiously.
“I thought water was an issue.”
“Just from the well. It’s never failed, but it’s kind of slow. You can’t use a lot at once.” The young man smiled again, more normally this time. “No twenty-minute showers, I’m afraid.”
“But now there’s me. And my dog. Where is he, by the way?”
“We tend to overstock, so we’ll be okay, and if we run low, there are options. And your dog is out with Quinn. He’s out on watch. We stagger them. I’m hydrating because I’m his relief in ten minutes.”
“He takes a watch?”
Liam shrugged. “He doesn’t ask anybody to do what he won’t do himself.”
“You sound...admiring.”
Liam looked puzzled. “Of course. I wouldn’t work for him if I didn’t admire him. He pulled me off a bad path. He’s the best boss I’ve ever had.”
For a guy who looked so young he could have been flipping burgers at a fast-food place not so long ago, Hayley wasn’t sure that was saying much.
“Oh, that reminds me. He left some stuff for you in the bathroom.”
Hayley blinked. “Stuff?”
“Pair of sweats, a T-shirt, that kind of thing. To wear while those—” he gestured with the water bottle “—are in the wash.”
She was so startled it took her a moment to process. “Quinn did that?”
Unlike his boss, Liam’s smile broke free. Was it just that he was younger, or that he hadn’t been at this—whatever “this” was—as long?
“He’s not nearly as bad as he comes across. He’s just all business, all the time.”
All the time?
She managed to stop the question before it came out, realizing ahead of time—for once—what it might sound like.
“So,” she said instead, “is that part of the overstocking, extra clothes? And what wash?”
Liam grinned then, and for the moment looked like any ordinary guy. If it hadn’t been for the weapon on his hip.
“Let’s just say we have the best logistics person on the planet. Thinks of everything.” He pointed toward the bathroom. “And there’s a small washer and dryer in the closet opposite the bathroom.”
Since he seemed open enough, Hayley decided to risk something she instinctively would never try with Quinn. “What on earth is going on? Who are you guys?”
As quickly as that, the easy demeanor was gone, vanished behind the brisk, professional manner.
“You’ll have to talk to Quinn about that.”
“And I’m sure he’ll answer loquaciously,” she said drily.
“Quinn,” Liam said, with a glint of humor returning to his eyes for a moment, “doesn’t do anything loquaciously.”
“Now there’s a surprise.”
Hayley was startled at her own snarkiness. She was being held by armed men of unknown intent. She should be thinking of survival, not mouthing off and inviting a smackdown.
She studied Liam a moment, finding it hard to believe that open, boy-next-door face would be involved in something as nefarious as this seemed to be.
“Question is,” she murmured, almost to herself, “is his hat black or white?”
“Oh, definitely white. He’s the goodest of the good guys,” Liam quipped, then snapped his mouth shut, as if he regretted speaking so impulsively. Or perhaps that he’d talked so much at all.
He finished his water quickly, said a goodbye that was just as quick and started to walk away. She wished she felt more reassured than she did by his quick, heartfelt response. But she wasn’t a fool. She knew that many people who did crazy, even evil things thought they were in the right. From eco-terrorists to the international variety, from black-swathed anarchists to fist-clenching Marxists, they were all convinced their cause was right.
She heard steps on the porch before Liam got to the door, and realized only then that he must have heard someone coming. Something she hadn’t heard at all. Then she realized she should have known; they would never leave her here alone, unguarded, so he would never have started to leave unless he knew someone else was coming.
She’d doubled their workload, she realized. They not only had to watch for whatever outside threat they were worried about, they had to worry about her. If they were somewhere where escape might do her some good, she could use it as a tool, but not out here, where it seemed there was no possible help for miles, miles she couldn’t cross without supplies, especially water, if she could at all. She was in decent shape, but she had the feeling an escape would require a lot more than decent.
It would require someone in as good condition as these men were.
On the thought, the primest specimen of the four of them walked in. Quinn spoke briefly to Liam, who nodded and left. She wondered where the other two men were. Staggered shifts, Liam had said. So one person at least was always out there, watching? That would fit; Quinn obviously ran a tight operation.
And then Cutter came through the door, spotted her and dashed across the room with his usual joyous greeting.
“Have you stayed out of trouble?” she asked the dog as she bent to pet him, paying special attention to that spot below his right ear that he loved having scratched long and hard. She couldn’t really blame the dog, after all; he was an independent spirit, and why stay cooped up if you didn’t have to? Although she still found his sudden attraction to Quinn decidedly unsettling.
Almost as unsettling as her own. Because she couldn’t deny the way her pulse leaped every time she saw him, and how her breath caught every time those cool blue eyes focused on her. And it was getting harder and harder to convince herself it was simply out of fear.
“He’s a smart dog,” Quinn said.
“Usually,” she agreed.
If he caught the veiled jab, he didn’t respond. “I gather he doesn’t usually...react this way to strangers?”
“He usually has better judgment, yes.”
This time one corner of his mouth twitched slightly. Hayley remembered her earlier thought about the imprudence of her smart mouth. She mellowed her tone.
“Are you sure he wasn’t yours once? Maybe in another life?”
“I’m sure. In either life,” Quinn said.
He walked toward the bedroom in back, where, as far as she could tell, her once-neighbor was ensconced with no desire to emerge.
Hayley stood still,
trying to figure out what he’d meant by “either life.” For that matter, what he meant by anything.
And realizing she could spend all her time trying to figure out the man called Quinn, and never get any closer to the truth.
Chapter 11
Always watch the head of the snake.
She’d heard that, somewhere, some nature show. Or maybe one of the documentaries on a military operation she watched when she needed to believe there were still heroes in the world. Either way, it made sense. So she watched Quinn. And it wasn’t as if looking at him was any sort of a hardship. And when he wasn’t there, she asked about him. What else was she going to do?
But it was odd, she mused. All four men here, excluding the still-reclusive Vicente, were tough, strong—and handsome, in a hard-jawed sort of way—young men. Yet it was Quinn who still drew her eye.
Hayley shifted the pillow behind her back. She’d managed to convince Teague to let her stay downstairs, promising to restrict herself to the bathroom and the seating area by the fireplace. When Quinn had returned from his patrol outside a few minutes ago—Cutter at his heels—she’d half expected him to order her back upstairs. And he did give Teague a sharp look.
“I showed her the bookshelf. She’s been reading the whole time I’ve been here,” the man explained, then hastily retreated to the other side of the room before Quinn could...what? Take his head off? For telling the truth?
Because it was true. She’d been surprised at the eclectic selection of books hidden behind one of the sliding doors in the hallway. The top shelves held nonfiction, biographies and history, and fiction, short stories from Hemmingway to Daoul, and novels from Twain and Austen to today’s Roberts and Flynn. There were other volumes in Spanish, French and a couple of other languages she didn’t recognize.
They had about every taste covered, she thought, and had suddenly realized that was likely the goal, if they used this place for this sort of thing often. Which they must, or it wouldn’t be so well organized and stocked. The realization didn’t make her feel any better.
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