But the thought that they had provided books to read oddly did, a little. Especially given the lack of television or any computer except their own. Security precaution, no doubt; they could follow any news of their doings, but their victims were kept in the dark.
She noticed the lower two shelves were full of young adult and kids’ books to cover a wide gamut of budding tastes. She saw at one end the familiar wizard books. Smiling, she reached for the first one and lifted it from the shelf. She wouldn’t mind reading it again, or all of them, for that matter. She could use a bit of escapism at the moment.
Yeah, since it’s as close to escape as you’re going to get, she thought sourly. Gee, maybe you’ll have time to read them all before you get out of here.
If she got out of here, she amended silently.
Belatedly, the significance of the presence of kids’ books down to the picture book level, on the bottom shelf, hit her. They brought children here?
That thought rattled her almost more than anything else had, and all the time she sat reading the exploits of three smart, nervy and, yes, noble kids, she was wondering about the children who must have passed through here. Were they still alive, or had their lives been cut short, as witnesses it was too dangerous to let live?
Tough as they were, she couldn’t picture any of these men cold-bloodedly murdering a child, but she also knew her brain probably couldn’t wrap around the idea anyway.
Cutter’s leap up into her lap jerked her out of her reverie and back to the present. She had to watch that, she thought as she hugged the dog. It wouldn’t do to get so lost in thought, especially around Quinn. She needed her wits about her with him. With all of them, really, but especially with him.
Now, he had disappeared down the hallway toward the bedroom. She heard voices; he was having some sort of conversation with Vicente. She got up, signaling Cutter to wait, not wanting his toenails on the floor to give her away, not that Quinn needed the warning since he seemed to have eyes in the back of his head anyway. She headed for the kitchen, slowly, as quietly as she could manage. She got a bottle of water from the small fridge, taking her time about it.
Listening.
“—will not do it.”
“Vicente, listen to me. Do you want these guys to win—”
“I want you to do the job you were hired to do. You are the best, correct?”
“We will. We are. But there are no guarantees.”
“If I do what you ask, they who want it will have no need of me. No reason to keep me alive.”
“That’s not true—”
“You are a good man. I respect you. But I will not do it.”
Quinn let out an exasperated sound. A split second later Hayley realized the conversation was over, and she darted out of the kitchen, hoping he’d been too focused on what had apparently been a futile attempt at persuasion to either hear or worry about what she was doing in the kitchen. She scurried back to her spot on the couch, making sure her fresh water bottle was visible.
What was it Vicente had refused to do? Whatever it was, Quinn hadn’t forced him to do it. In fact, he had deferred to the man’s decision. Of course, one thing was clear. They’d been hired to do this, whatever “this” was. Were they simply incredibly well-equipped bodyguards, was that all this was? Was Vicente in some kind of trouble, so big he needed such elaborate protection? Who was it who needed him alive now, but no longer would if he did whatever it was Quinn had asked of him?
She tried hard to keep her mind focused on all of those questions, so that it wouldn’t hover over the one statement that had jolted her the most.
You are a good man. I respect you.
Was he? Didn’t the perception of what was a good man depend on who was doing the looking? Having the respect of, say, an upstanding citizen was one thing, but having the respect of some street thug was something else entirely.
Quinn came back into the room, stopping for a moment just past the kitchen entryway. She realized he was staring at her, perhaps assessing if he should give that order for her to get back upstairs. She wondered that she had ever thought she’d seen a trace of softening in this man; he was brusque, cool, unemotional and not the least inclined to explain himself or anything else to her. He was utterly focused on his mission, and she a mere—and minor—distraction.
“Interesting choice,” he said, looking at her book.
There was no more emotion in his words than if he’d been checking off an item on a list. So if he thought her silly to be reading what was pushed as a book for kids, it certainly didn’t show.
“Escape,” she said shortly, well aware of the multiple ways he could interpret that answer. And yet again she questioned the wisdom of it, after the fact.
Think before you speak, that’s the way it’s supposed to go, she chided herself.
She turned her gaze back to her book, hoping if she appeared to be simply reading, and not making any trouble, he would let her stay and not banish her to the loft. She nearly laughed inwardly at the idea that he might be courteous enough not to want to disturb someone’s reading. Especially one of his captives.
It was hard not to look up at him again. She could feel him studying her. In a way, the intensity, the alertness, the sense of a mission reminded her of Cutter. The dog exhibited the same sort of single-mindedness sometimes, the same sort of prowess at filtering priorities; that squirrel scampering past might be tempting, but he kept his focus on the larger goal, be it Mrs. Kerry’s haughty gray cat or some bigger intruder.
Maybe that’s why the darn dog was so enamored, she thought. He sensed a kindred spirit. The object of his attention clearly wasn’t so sure; Quinn appeared more bemused than anything at the dog’s attitude.
At last she heard him move, and a quick glance told her he’d walked over to Teague, and they were conversing quietly, too quietly for her to hear.
After a few moments, despite the gripping story, she gave up on trying to read. It simply wasn’t possible with Quinn in the room. The energy he brought with him was as tangible as gravity, and when he walked in, everything shifted.
As did Cutter. He slipped off the sofa and made a beeline for his new idol.
Quinn, listening to Teague now, didn’t seem to notice the dog at all, but Hayley suspected he knew exactly when the dog had begun to move. He seemed hyperaware of everything around him. He’d have to be, she supposed, if he did this kind of thing often. She didn’t want to think about that, about the others who might have been through here, others who might have been—
Her thoughts were interrupted sharply by a simple, almost absent motion from Quinn. What would be a completely natural action, under normal circumstances. But now, under these circumstances, from this man, it stopped her breath.
Without even looking he reached down and scratched Cutter’s right ear.
She stared as the dog wiggled in delight, then leaned against Quinn’s leg. Quinn still didn’t look at him, but the gentle, affectionate caress continued. And the dog sighed happily.
This couldn’t be the first time, unless Quinn had somehow magically guessed that was the exact spot Cutter loved, just behind and below his right ear.
Hayley stared, unable to look away. And telling herself it meant nothing didn’t help. She knew it was silly, even foolish, but she felt reassured. Quinn might be cool, efficient and unapproachable, but apparently he wasn’t untouchable.
Teague made a gesture in her general direction. Quinn glanced at her, then shook his head.
The chill that swept her washed away the tiny bit of reassurance she’d felt at his kindly gesture toward the dog. Obviously, she had become a topic of discussion, and the realization made her very nervous.
It was foolish, really. She’d read too much into that one gesture. Even evil men in history had had dogs they apparently cared for, hadn’t they? It was people they didn’t give a damn ab
out, and while she could list several reasons why animals might be preferable, it was still a very unsettling thought.
She realized with a little jolt that she was staring at him, transfixed. And as if he felt it, he looked at her again. This time it was more than just a glance. It was a steady gaze, and she felt her heart start to thud heavily in her chest.
She made herself look back at her book, more than a little frightened at how hard it was.
Telling herself it was all part of observing him, of learning about him for her own safety, was one thing.
Believing it was, apparently, something else altogether.
Chapter 12
This had the potential, Quinn thought, to degenerate into a complete FUBAR.
Hell, it already is beyond all recognition, he muttered inwardly as the dog trotted happily at his side. That sure as hell was never in the plan.
Cutter came to a halt suddenly, and half turned. Instinctively Quinn stopped as well, wondering what had drawn the dog’s attention.
“Hey, boss.”
Rafer’s voice came softly out of the darkness from behind him, making Quinn feel both satisfied and worried. Satisfied because he’d never heard Rafer’s approach; the man was good. Worried because he’d never heard Rafer’s approach; he himself was obviously a screwup.
Or far too distracted.
“All clear?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. All quiet. Teague’s on the southern perimeter, he says the same.” Rafer glanced at the dog. “He sure makes it hard to sneak up on anybody.”
Except me, apparently, Quinn thought. “Noted. He’s handy. Go on and get some rest. I’ll take it now.”
“You’re not due for forty-five minutes yet.”
“And yet here I am,” Quinn muttered. “Go.” Somebody might as well get some rest, and it obviously isn’t going to be me.
“Yes, sir.”
Quinn started walking again, and the dog immediately took up the same position at his side.
Maybe it’s a damned good thing the mutt is here, he thought, since you’ve got your head so far up—
Cutter made a low, whuffing kind of sound, quartered to the right and picked up the pace. Quinn realized in that moment the very slight breeze had shifted, and wondered if the change had brought the dog some new scent.
Then he saw a movement far off to his right. Teague, he guessed, in the second before the man flashed the all-clear arm signal. Quinn returned it. The dog halted, as if he had understood the signal, that it meant all was well. The animal trotted back and took up his position at Quinn’s side.
Maybe it was a good thing, having a dog around. Especially one as smart as this one seemed to be. He’d worked with K-9 units before, and while they’d always amazed him, he’d never thought about adding one to their staff. But this dog, who he’d first assumed was all beauty and little brain, was rapidly proving him wrong. For a dog with no military or law enforcement training, he either had incredible instincts, or was learning so fast it was uncanny.
That is, assuming he hadn’t had any of that training. He had never actually asked that question of the dog’s owner.
...Hayley, not that you bothered to ask.
He had the feeling she wouldn’t have stayed anonymous for long anyway. He’d had to deal with other types of women in these situations before, and many of them became nearly nonfunctional. Certainly few had ever held on to the nerve to get up in his grill the way this one did. He had to grant her that, she wasn’t lacking nerve.
Nor, he thought wryly, several other attributes the other men hadn’t failed to notice. And with the intuition that was part of the reason they were working for him, they all unerringly seemed to realize that this woman was somehow getting under his skin.
The jokes hadn’t degenerated into crude masculine teasing. They often dealt with a more fragile sort of woman who might be genuinely hurt by such jesting. Or worse, one who would take serious offense and probably spread the word at the first opportunity; that kind of notoriety was not helpful. So it was easier to never do it, than to remember not to when they were within earshot of said females.
Or just stay away from them. That was always good.
And so here he was. And he wasn’t happy about that, either. Had he, Quinn Foxworthy, really passed up on the opportunity for enough sleep to continue to function at his preferred level, just to get out and away from that smart-mouthed, too-clever woman with the eyes the color of a grassy meadow?
And when the hell did you start thinking in similes?
He swore at himself sharply. If he kept this up, he was going to make some stupid, rookie mistake, simply because he was too damned distracted to keep his head in the game. So things had gone a bit awry, but hadn’t he always preached flexibility? Hadn’t he lectured time and again on the fluid nature of their work, how you had to be ready without warning to respond to rapidly changing conditions? So why the hell wasn’t he taking his own advice? Why was he so rattled over this?
It was her own fault. That’s what you got when you wandered around in isolated woods at midnight. She should have stayed home and let the dog find his own way back. Obviously he was smart enough to do so.
More than smart enough; whatever annoyance his owner might bring, the dog was proving anything but a hindrance. Quinn could see coming to trust the animal’s much more powerful ears and nose. It wouldn’t take much, he guessed, to turn him into a top-notch service dog.
He wondered if she’d sell him.
He nearly chuckled aloud at the image that flashed through his head at his own question. Judging by the way she looked at him, she’d probably figured he’d just appropriate the dog. He hadn’t missed the moments, usually right after she’d come back at him with some smart remark, when fear had flashed through her eyes. The moments when, too late, her common sense must have kicked in and reminded her it might be wiser to stay quiet.
He should be grateful for that fear, he told himself. If she stayed quiet, maybe he could keep her out of his mind. He had the discipline, hard-won. He just had to apply it, that’s all.
But the memory of that look of fear in her eyes stayed with him. Bothered him. It pushed at him, prodded, until he almost sent the dog back to her just to get rid of the reminder.
He wondered if the animal would go if he told him to. He seemed to make a lot of his own decisions, and while he vanished regularly to check on her, he always returned, as if he’d decided this, too, was his job.
“You should be riding herd on her, not me,” he muttered to the dog. Eerily, as if he truly had understood, the dog looked at the cabin, and then back at him. If he’d spoken the words he couldn’t have said more clearly “She’s safe inside.”
“You’re almost spooky, you know that?”
Cutter watched him intently, those dark eyes again putting him in mind of a herding dog who controlled his animals by sheer force of the will pouring out of those eyes.
The dog walked forward a few steps, then turned back, clearly waiting for him to continue. After a moment he did, shaking his head wryly, wondering who was really running this duty shift.
FUBAR, he thought again. Making rounds with a dog had never been in the plan.
Nor had having to fight to keep his mind off that dog’s person. He didn’t want her scared, he thought. He just wanted her gone. Wanted her never to have shown up last night.
And that kind of hopeless, helpless wishing was something that he’d thought had been blasted out of him by real life decades ago.
Yes, things were definitely FUBAR.
The only question was, did it apply to the plan, or just to him?
Chapter 13
Hayley woke up with a start. For a moment the dream lingered, so vivid and real that she actually turned to look at the wall beside the bed. In the dream she’d begun tracking the days in that old, clichéd way, by making hash
marks on the wall. She’d been using the handle of the razor she’d snagged from the bathroom, which had so far in reality proved as useless as she’d feared.
But that wasn’t what made her shiver now. It was the image in her mind from the dream, so clear and sharp she was almost surprised the wall she was staring at was untouched.
She sat up slowly, wrapping her arms around herself, feeling as if the room were much colder than it probably was. She didn’t know where they were, but it was warm during the day, and downright chilly at night. Someone started a fire in the fireplace every evening, with what Teague had told her were energy logs, made of sawdust and wood chips compressed into solid, round logs that burned hotter, cleaner and longer than any natural log. It kept it nicely warm up here where the heat collected.
When she’d asked Teague why not use the also-efficient furnace, he’d explained this saved propane from the big tank in the barn for other operations—cooking, heating water and, most important, generating electricity.
He’d seemed so willing to talk she’d risked asking how long they were going to be here. And he’d instantly clammed up, excusing himself abruptly. He hadn’t even explained that he couldn’t talk about it. He simply ignored her question and left.
The image from her dream shot through her mind again.
Four sets of five hash marks, followed by the one she’d been making in the dream. Twenty-one days.
Twenty-one days. Three weeks.
The thought that she might still be sitting here in three weeks—or even longer—was horrible to contemplate. Three days had been bad enough.
The alternative, however, was worse.
She kept telling herself that. As the hours crept by and she was still alive, she found herself thinking maybe they weren’t going to kill her. After all, if they were going to, why not do it now and avoid the hassle of feeding and sharing water with her? As Quinn had so pointedly observed, Cutter was at least useful. She was just...
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