Tempt the Night

by Dixie Lee Brown

  Brady glanced her way again. This time she met his questioning gaze and gave a slight shake of her head. He frowned, but let it go. Paddy was her friend, and Mac would tell Maria about his death when she was ready.

  He picked up his cell, swiped his finger across the screen, and read aloud. “Reservations confirmed. GPS coordinates attached. Shouldn’t be far—you are on an island after all. Keys are under the flower pot. Oh yeah . . . walking is involved. Joe.”

  He touched the screen a few more times, probably downloading the attachment and opening his navigation software. “Sorry. My boss’s idea of humor. It means he’s found us a safe house.” He pulled over and did a U-turn. “Sounds like you might get some use out of those hiking boots yet.” He smiled and winked, then held her gaze for a second or two as though assuring himself that she’d forgiven him for his callous words to Maria.

  The concern she imagined he was feeling sent a surge of warmth through her, and she smiled back. What was it about a guy who winked? It was a totally arrogant gesture . . . and totally sexy . . . and it looked especially good on Brady. Careful, girl. You’ve been warned. Don’t fall for this guy. He’s not available.

  Saturday morning had dawned with a trace of fog and a heavy bank of clouds on the horizon. With any luck, they’d reach their destination without the intermittent drizzle that had dampened the last several days. It was seven fifteen when they reached the end of a very questionable road, but Brady’s GPS said they still had three miles to go, up the side of a mountain, apparently. The rutted lane stopped where the wooded hillside began. A barely discernible path went straight up for about forty feet before it zigged to the left and disappeared in the dense underbrush.

  “Looks like we walk from here.” Brady stepped out and went to the trunk.

  “Are there bears out here?” Maria had been quiet for the last several miles, but now her face was drawn with concern.

  “We don’t usually see them this close to town during the summer.” It was a lie, but maybe God would forgive Mac if it was for a good reason. She grabbed her purse, pulled herself to her feet, and followed Brady to the back of the car.

  He handed her the black bag. “Keep your weapon where you can get to it . . . just in case.”

  She nodded, and her hands shook a little as she took Paddy’s gun from her purse and tried to find a place to carry it that would be comfortable. As she stood there, undecided, Brady came up behind her. He reached for the handgun, pulled her jacket and shirt up, and slid it into her waistband.

  Mac took a few tentative steps, balancing the weight against her back. “That feels okay. Thank you.”

  “Anytime, sugar.” He clearly had more to say, but Maria stepped around the rear of the car at that moment and reached for her bag. Brady gave Mac another devastatingly sexy wink as he busied himself with a deadly looking rifle and spotter scope. The trunk also yielded a backpack into which he stuffed extra clips, high-caliber rounds for the rifle, his knife, and what looked like military-issue binoculars.

  Mac swallowed hard. This guy meant business. She was aligned with him now, like it or not. Should she be happy he was so obviously a dangerous man with skills that could save her life, or should she be scared to death?

  “I’ll come back and get rid of the car, but for now, make sure you don’t leave anything that could identify you.” He closed the trunk, shrugged into the backpack, slung the rifle over his shoulder, and hefted his duffel in his left hand. “Okay. If you’re ready, let’s go.”

  Mac brought up the rear, wanting Maria in between her and Brady, at least until she determined how well Maria would keep up. Mac needn’t have worried. Brady set a brisk pace, and except for Maria’s smooth-soled boots sliding on loose rock, it appeared she was more than ready for the challenge.

  Still, it was nearly an hour of hard walking before they crested a ridge and saw the house in a narrow valley on the other side. Mac stopped to catch her breath, awestruck at the beauty of the setting. A large one-story log cabin sat in the eastern-most corner with snow-peaked mountains at its back and a creek meandering by the front. Like one of those charmingly rustic paintings she’d seen. All that was missing was smoke curling from the chimney.

  A couple of neat, well-kept outbuildings lay behind the house, and beyond them a bare patch of ground with markings of some sort painted white in the center.

  “Yes! Thank you, Joe.” Brady broke into a grin as he turned toward Mac and Maria. “We have a chopper pad.”

  Another fifteen minutes got them to the house. Brady found the key where the text message had said it would be, and he unlocked the door.

  Mac stopped on the large porch, feeling a tiny bit apprehensive. “Are you sure there’s no one else here?”

  “I’ll have a look around, but Joe wouldn’t have set this up if there was supposed to be anyone else here.” He glanced behind her to Maria. “You’re safe for now, and we’ll probably be out of here by tomorrow.”

  Mac heard the warning in his tone and realized too late that voicing her uneasiness could cause Maria’s current level of anxiety to skyrocket. Apparently, the woman wasn’t the outdoorsy type so commonly found in Alaska. The hike through the woods had left her tense and jumpy. Mac hadn’t intended to make it worse. All she’d have had to do was assure Maria that all was well and that they’d soon be someplace where that creep Hernandez wouldn’t find them. Simple enough. But Mac had to start believing it first.

  “Go on in. Find a room and make yourself at home.” Brady stood aside and motioned Maria through the door. When Mac stepped toward the threshold, he gripped her elbow. “Can we talk for a minute?”

  Brady looked every bit as tired and stressed as she was. Unexpected humor lifted her spirits as a smile claimed her lips. There was every possibility the poor man had decided that taking on the care and feeding of two women was over his pay grade. She nodded, taking a couple of steps away from the house, and waited for him to close the door. When she raised her gaze to his rugged face, green eyes filled with compassion threw her for a moment.

  “You didn’t tell her about Callahan.”

  She stiffened, crossed her arms in front of her, and wagged her head slowly. “No . . . and you didn’t ask why Hernandez was after her.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Talking about Callahan and how he died is going to be hard. No doubt about it. Your grief is still too close to the surface. Trust me, I know. It would be easier simply to bury your feelings and go on, but are you being fair to Maria? If she and Callahan were friends, she deserves to know what happened to him and why he stood her up.” Brady’s voice took on a gentle, quiet tone, and he stepped closer. “I know it won’t be easy, Mac, but you can handle it.”

  The sensation of butterflies swirled in her stomach for a moment, so unforeseen was the pride and encouragement in his words. Instead of demanding he take care of his own business and never mind hers, she melted under his kindness. And, damn it, he was right.

  Brady swiped her hair behind her ear, and his hand lingered there, but as she leaned toward him, he stepped back. “I know you’ll do the right thing.” He lifted his duffel and backpack and carried them just inside the door, where he dropped them on the floor.

  Mac followed him inside. “How long will we be here?”

  “Not long. I’ll let Joe know we’ve found Maria, and he’ll send a chopper. A day, maybe two.” He stopped in front of her. “I’m going back to hide the car as soon as I have a look around outside. I might be two or three hours. Don’t go far from the house.”

  “I know—bears.” Mac whispered the word in case Maria was listening.

  Brady grinned. “I’m sure there’s food of some kind in the kitchen. Help yourself. And Mac? Keep your gun handy.”

  She rolled her eyes. “God, I’m getting tired of you telling me what to do, Brady.” She tried not to smile, but his grin was too contagious.

  He traced a finger down the side of her throat. “You could tell me what to do later . . . if you’d like.”
>
  “Sounds good, but do you even know how to cook or do dishes?” She bit her lip, trying to keep a straight face.

  Brady laughed again, winked, and strode through the doorway.

  Mac closed the door and leaned against it. This big, strange house, without Brady’s larger-than-life presence, was intimidating. The room she stood in was one big living area. The whole place was immaculate and surprisingly well cared for. The entry to the kitchen was on the left. To the back and right, closed doors probably hid a bathroom and bedrooms. She might as well get settled. Mac gripped her bag and started for the closest door just as Maria swung it open and stepped out.

  Mac smiled. “Brady went to dispose of the car. He said to help ourselves to food. Are you hungry?”

  “Yes, a little. It’s been a while since I’ve eaten.” Maria fidgeted with her hands and finally looked away.

  “Why don’t you see what you can find for breakfast? If we feel like it, we could make something to warm up for Brady’s lunch when he returns. I’ll be right there after I claim a room and wash off some of this dirt. Then maybe we could talk?” Mac’s heart lay as heavy as a brick at the mere thought of the conversation ahead of her. Remembering Paddy’s death and relating the horror of that night to Maria would be like living it all over again. The only way she’d maintained her composure last night and today was by putting the nightmare completely out of her mind. Brady was right though—Maria deserved to know.

  “Take your time.” Maria strode toward the kitchen.

  Mac proceeded to the room next to Maria’s and found a cozy space with a comfortable bed, a chest of drawers, a rocking chair, and a large closet. She dropped her bag on the bed and went in search of a bathroom.

  A short hallway led her to the facilities she sought as well as a small mudroom with washer, dryer, and an outside exit. The bathroom was furnished in rustic elegance with a long, granite countertop and a large glass-enclosed shower. Brightly colored towels hung in a row and enticed her with their plush softness. She couldn’t help but be curious about who lived here and how Brady’s boss was able to get permission for them to pop in unannounced.

  After running the water until the steam billowed from the sink, she soaked a washcloth and scrubbed her face and arms, removing the dirt and sweat from their long hike. Later, she’d return and make good use of that decadent shower.

  Feeling only slightly cleaner, she retraced her steps to the front entrance and grabbed Brady’s bags. She carried them to the last room at the back of the house and swung the door open on a spacious master bedroom. Stepping on thick, soft carpeting, she gazed longingly at the king-sized bed, private bathroom, fireplace, and sliding glass door that opened onto a deck with a view of snow-capped mountains that looked close enough to touch. Too bad she didn’t discover this room for herself, but fair was fair. She placed his bags on the bed and turned to leave. The room was fitting for the man who was saving their lives. How do you adequately compensate someone for standing in harm’s way for the life of another? No reward would be enough for what he’d done for her . . . and there was every chance he wasn’t finished yet.

  When Mac walked into the kitchen a few minutes later, Maria motioned her to the table where a bowl, a box of cereal, and a gallon of milk waited. Apparently already finished with her breakfast, Maria was busy cooking.

  “I decided on meatloaf for later. Is that all right?” Maria took a package of meat from the microwave and crumbled it into a bowl.

  “Sounds great.” Mac poured cereal and milk in the bowl, sat, and started to eat. “As soon as I’m finished here, I’ll give you a hand.”

  “There are potatoes and carrots in the pantry if you don’t mind peeling and cutting them up.”

  “Say no more. That I can handle.” Mac would be happy to have something to do. Anything to keep from talking about Paddy. A few minutes later, she rinsed her bowl in the sink, put the cereal box and milk away, and with a colander in her hand, headed in the direction Maria had pointed. Before long, potatoes and carrots were washed, peeled, and ready to be cooked.

  Maria slid the meatloaf into the oven alongside the potatoes, and the carrots waited atop the stove to be steamed at the appropriate time. Mac poured them each a glass of apple juice she’d discovered in the pantry, and they pulled out chairs at the table.

  “Smells pretty good in here.” Mac took a swallow from her glass.

  “Thanks for your help, Mac.”

  “Thank you. You did most of the work. Anyway, I figure we’re in this together from now on.” Silence descended over them for a moment.

  “May I ask you something?” The weight of Maria’s question seemed to linger on her pale face.

  Mac was sure she knew the topic Maria had in mind, and in spite of trying to psych herself up for it, she wasn’t ready. Clearly, she never would be. She let out a sigh. “Of course. Anything.”

  “Patrick told me all about you. He never mentioned me to you, did he?”

  His name ripped the breath from Mac’s lungs. She had to concentrate to keep from breaking into a million pieces. No sound came when she tried to force the answer out, so she shook her head slowly instead.

  Maria sat straighter. “He’s dead . . . isn’t he?”

  Oh God. Don’t cry. Mac nodded, swallowing hard. She was a complete coward compared to the steadfast acceptance she saw on Maria’s face.

  “I thought as much. He would have come to me as he promised if he could have.” She reached across the table and patted Mac’s wrist. “I’m so sorry for your loss. He’d still be alive if I hadn’t come here to Sitka.”

  “How did you meet him?”

  “We met several years ago in Anchorage. I worked for a former FBI agent who consulted on a case Patrick was involved in. It was just a chance meeting, and I knew nothing could come of it. To get involved with someone would also endanger him. But Patrick wouldn’t take no for an answer, and he called me whenever he was in town on business. We didn’t mean for it to happen, but we fell in love. Patrick wanted to get married, and I had to tell him about Hernandez so that he would understand why I couldn’t. When Hernandez learned I was in Anchorage, Patrick begged me to come here so he could protect me.” Maria stood, paced to the window over the sink, and gazed outside.

  “Why did he keep it from me? He was my best friend.” Sadness swirled in Mac’s stomach. Had she really known him at all?

  Maria turned toward her again. “He wanted to, but he was afraid that the knowledge would put you in greater danger. He hated keeping it from you.”

  Mac blinked back the threat of tears. “It was Paddy, then, who was supposed to meet you and watch your back last night?”

  “Yes.” She smiled sadly as though remembering something bittersweet. “How did he die?”

  “I was on a ride-along with him when he saw three armed men outside a business near the harbor. He went in to check it out, and someone shot him.” Mac stopped short of sharing the bullet wounds, the blood, the pain, and the anguish of Paddy’s death. Maria didn’t need to carry that image with her the rest of her life. It was bad enough that Mac would.

  “Do you know who it was?”

  “I know who fired the final shot—a state trooper. He’s dead now. Brady killed him before he could stab me.” She shuddered as the icy memory clawed at the corners of her mind. “Brady overheard two troopers talking about Hernandez. Apparently, he wants me dead too, but I don’t even know who the man is.”

  “Perhaps he was there and believes you saw something.”

  “I suppose he could have been one of the three armed men, but I really didn’t get a good look at them.” This wasn’t the first time Mac regretted the panic attack that had kept her from paying closer attention, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

  Maria stood and wobbled slightly. Her sorrow had chiseled deep lines in her face, taking its toll on her stoic composure. “Would you mind taking care of the meatloaf? I think I need to be alone for a while. I’d like to lie down.” Maria paused
beside her and touched her shoulder. “Patrick hated not telling you. I’m sorry we had to meet like this.”

  “As long as you were happy together, that’s all I care about. I’m glad you found each other, even if it was cut short.” Mac almost blurted out how sorry she was that she’d left him lying on the floor of the fish packing plant. She’d saved herself and let him die. If the lump in her throat got any bigger, she was going to choke, and if she couldn’t find a way to release this heartache soon, she would shatter.

  Maria murmured something and hurried from the room, obviously on the verge of a crying jag. Mac couldn’t comfort her. She couldn’t even console herself.

  Brady should be back soon. She rose to check on the meatloaf and potatoes and turned the burner on under the carrots. Suddenly, needing something stronger than apple juice, she rifled through the cupboards until she found a bottle of Merlot, grabbed a corkscrew and a glass, and returned to the table. She opened the bottle, poured herself a little, and tried to relax as she sampled the wine.

  After three swallows, she gave up on it, carried her glass to the sink, and dumped it out. She turned the oven down to warm, flipped the stove off, and poured the carrots into a glass bowl, which she set on the top shelf of the oven. Wiping her hands, she folded the towel as she stood in front of the window. Although she was staring through the glass, the images in her mind weren’t nearly as scenic or peaceful—blood, violence, fear, and death soured her stomach. She swayed and would have fallen if she hadn’t grabbed the sink and braced her arms against the countertop.

  Dropping her chin to her chest, she closed her eyes and hung on. Sobs rose from deep within and crashed against the delicate barrier she’d erected to keep her all-consuming grief from swallowing her whole.

  Chapter Eight