Going Dark

by Monica McCarty

“And you’re stalling.”

  He sighed. “Back to the inflatable.”

  She groaned. “I thought you might say that.”

  “They could be watching the airport and ferry.”

  “You think there were more than those two?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Who were they?” He shrugged, which she was beginning to recognize as a sign that he didn’t want to tell her. “The police?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  She sucked in her breath. “So I was right? They were Jean Paul’s men?”

  “It’s a possibility,” he hedged.

  “You think they want to shut me up?”

  “I think they want something.” He glanced at her again, this time sharper. “Is there anything you aren’t telling me?”

  She tried not to take the question defensively. But it hurt that he thought she could be hiding something from him. “Unlike you, I’ve told you the truth about everything.”

  She could see his hands tighten on the steering wheel. “Annie . . .”

  It sounded like some kind of warning. “Don’t worry. I don’t expect parity in the two sides of this equation.”

  He must not have liked that, either, because his jaw clamped down hard.

  “Will you tell me one thing?” she asked after a minute. Taking no no for a yes, she asked, “Is Dan your real name?”

  She’d lifted up her head a little, and he held her gaze in the rearview mirror for a moment before answering, “No.”

  She hadn’t thought so, but she still hated to hear confirmation. Wow, she was experiencing all kinds of firsts with him. First casual hookup and first casual hookup where she didn’t even know the guy’s name.

  She couldn’t quite cover up all the hurt in her voice. “So what do I call you?”

  “Dan is fine. I’m sorry, Annie. If it was just me, I would tell you. But it’s not. Okay?”

  “All right.” What else could she say?

  A few minutes later, the car came to a stop. “We’re here.”

  She sat up and saw that he’d parked along the side of the road not far from the beach and the hut where they’d stored the boat.

  “I was hoping I’d seen this place for the last time,” she said glumly, not looking forward to getting back in that leaky boat.

  “It won’t be so bad. I checked on the inflatable yesterday and did a little repair work. I’d hoped we wouldn’t need it again, but . . .” He shrugged.

  “Always have a backup plan. My dad used to say the same thing.”

  He quickly changed the subject, almost as if he didn’t want her thinking about that connection for too long. The Special Forces connection.

  Too late.

  “We’ll head for the Isle of Coll. It’s close, and we can catch the ferry from there to Oban. From Oban we’ll take a bus or train to Glasgow. It will be easier to get lost in a big city.”

  “And then?”

  He met her gaze. He knew what she was really asking, but he chose to take her question literally instead. “We’ll see when we get there. Hopefully my contact will have something by then.”

  In other words, sayonara.

  Got it.

  • • •

  Annie was quiet as they sped across the water the short distance to Coll. The two islands were less than a mile apart, but it would take about forty minutes to reach the port, which was located on the eastern side of the island.

  Dean didn’t delude himself that she was trying not to distract him so he could concentrate on making sure they weren’t being watched or followed.

  No, she was pissed and probably—even worse—hurt. That was what was making his chest burn and his jaw hurt from clenching his teeth every time he looked at her huddled in the seat beside him.

  But what could he do? He couldn’t tell her what she wanted to hear. Not his name, not anything. He sure as hell couldn’t tell her that he wasn’t going to stick around any longer than necessary. As soon as she was all clear with the police, he was gone. What other choice did he have?

  The LC was already ready to kill him—for good reason. Dean had involved her enough as it was. Not only was she a danger to him and the other five men who’d survived if she said the wrong thing to the right person, but he could be a danger to her if the LC was right and someone had wanted them dead.

  So why was he in the unfamiliar place of wishing otherwise? He didn’t deal in what-ifs. He prided himself on his clear-eyed perspective, his ability to strip away everything but the facts. Seeing things as they were and not how he wanted them to be. So what was his problem?

  Big green eyes and the woman who went with them, that was his problem.

  Fuck.

  But whatever they’d had back there, whatever short stop they’d had on fantasy island, it was over. The arrival of those two thugs had seen to that. It was time to face reality. And the sooner he did that, the better.

  Dean let up on the throttle as they turned into the deep V-shaped bay of Arinagour. No one paid them much attention as they tied up the inflatable beside the dock, but he was watchful all the same.

  He couldn’t shake the black cloud that had been following him since they left Tiree. But maybe that cloud had something more to do with the woman by his side than with the men looking for her. He knew he would have to leave soon.

  He looked at his watch. They had plenty of time. The ferry didn’t leave for another couple of hours. He’d memorized the timetables in case of something like this. “Why don’t you go get us a table in the café over there?”

  He pointed to the building overlooking the water opposite the ferry building. They would be able to see the ship coming in from there. As it was coming from Tiree, it would also enable him to get a look at the passengers before anyone saw them. It wasn’t inconceivable that the two guys would guess their direction.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To see about the tickets.”

  And he had a call to make. He hadn’t had a chance to get in touch with Taylor before they’d left, but he wanted to fill the LC in on the latest development.

  She looked as though she wanted to argue, but probably guessed his reasons. She was smart and seemed to know him too well. He wasn’t sure whether that was good or bad. Probably both.

  Dean returned a short while later with tickets, but without having reached the LC. He’d left a message, but the connection had been so crappy he wasn’t sure it had gone through.

  “We all set?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “I ordered you some tea.” She nodded toward the pot in front of him. “I’m assuming you don’t like herbal, so it’s black.”

  He wasn’t much on tea in general, but when in Rome . . .

  He poured a cup and reached for the milk and sugar.

  He was more relieved than he wanted to admit to see her smile as she watched him.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Are you twelve?”

  Sugar cube number four plopped in the dark liquid. “I’m a growing lad.”

  She laughed, and just like that some of the cloud dissipated.

  “You still mad at me?” he asked.

  She eyed him from over the rim of her cup. “I wasn’t mad—” Seeing his expression, she stopped. “Okay, maybe I was a little mad, but I know I don’t have a right to be. You’ve done more than I had any right to expect. I should be thanking you for helping me get away. I don’t know why those two men were looking for me, but I can’t imagine it was for anything good.” She looked in his eyes. “I was scared.”

  For good reason. But he wasn’t going to tell her his suspicions. He didn’t want to make her any more freaked out than she already was.

  Uncomfortable with her gratitude, he shrugged it off and then shook his head thoughtfully. “What I d
on’t understand is how they found us so fast.”

  “Luck?”

  “I don’t believe in luck. Luck is—”

  “What happens when preparation meets opportunity,” she interrupted. At his look of surprise, she gave him a wry smile. “I’ve heard it before.”

  He wasn’t going to ask, assuming it was her father.

  Surprisingly the tea was relaxing; it helped him clear his head a little. “The easiest way to track someone is through the phone, but I took care of that.”

  She shot him a glare. “You sure did. Do you know how weird it is not to be able to text or check . . .”

  Her voice let off, and he saw something in her face. “What?”

  She bit her bottom lip, looking at him uncertainly. “I checked my e-mail at the library.”

  • • •

  He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. Annie stared at him pleadingly. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think . . .”

  It never occurred to her (a) that someone would be monitoring her e-mail account, and (b) that they would be able to track her location from it. This wasn’t her world. She was a scientist, not law enforcement—or on the other side of the law, for that matter.

  “You think that is how they found us so quickly?” she asked.

  “Yep.”

  One-word answers and granite-hard expressions weren’t good signs. She held out an olive branch. “I guess you were right about my cell phone.”

  Pause. Hard look. Another “Yep.”

  This really wasn’t good. She knew he was furious and doing his best not to lash out at her. He had to be. But he was controlling himself. She should be glad, but she wasn’t. It was discombobulating.

  “Go ahead,” she said. “Give it to me. Tell me I’m an idiot. I deserve it.”

  She could tell from the anger in his eyes that he wanted to. “What else did you do other than check e-mail?”

  “Nothing. There was something I wanted to look up on the Internet, but I was only on for a few minutes.” All of a sudden she remembered something. “I had a message from my bank that someone had tried to access my account, so I changed the password. I thought it might be Julien, but I guess that doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “You didn’t contact anyone?”

  She shook her head. “I was going to send my mom an e-mail, but I remembered what you’d said.”

  He was biting his tongue. She knew he must have a sarcastic reply to that. But nothing. What was wrong with him? “I know you’re pissed. You don’t need to hold back. Your no-sugarcoating special way with words is one of the things I love—”

  She stopped with a sudden gasp, realizing what she’d been about to say. Love. One of the things I love about you. Which wouldn’t have been a big deal if she just hadn’t made it a big deal. Now the half-spoken word just sat there between them like a pink elephant—huge, awkward, and impossible to ignore.

  His expression hadn’t changed, but she wasn’t as good as he was at hiding his emotions. She could feel the heat burning in her cheeks.

  The silent pause that followed extended the cringe-worthy moment. She rushed to cover up the gaffe, but only made it worse. “You know what I meant,” she babbled. “It’s an expression. Of course I’m not . . .”

  She stopped again, gazing up at him helplessly.

  Ground. Hole. Swallow. Now. Please . . .

  The steadiness of his gaze as he stared at her only seemed to make it worse. “I know what you meant, Annie.”

  Did he? She wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure what she meant. Her feelings for him were unsorted. But strong. Far stronger than they should be, given what she knew—and didn’t know—about him.

  “What were you looking up on the Internet?”

  She would have been relieved by the change of subject, but she suspected he wasn’t going to like this any better than the e-mail. “Your tattoo.”

  He was good at the stone-faced no reaction, but she was watching him close enough to see the slight tic and whitening of his mouth. “Why?”

  “I thought it might be some kind of Special Forces insignia.”

  He looked around to make sure no one in the café had heard her. But she’d picked a table in the corner overlooking the window for that reason. “Why in the hell would you do that? I told you what it was.”

  “You did. But you know what’s interesting? The SEAL trident is referred to as a Budweiser. Apparently they look alike.”

  If she thought he was mad and controlling it before, it was nothing like now. He was positively apoplectic. She was glad they were in a public place.

  But far worse than the anger was the iron curtain that dropped down to replace it. The wintry blue of his eyes made her feel as if she’d just landed in Siberia. Brr. Whatever connection she’d felt between them was cut in two. He couldn’t have cut her off any more clearly than if he’d walked away and never looked back. She had a feeling that was exactly what he wanted to do.

  He stood, and her heart shot to her throat.

  “Wait. I’m sorry. Don’t—”

  “We should get going.”

  She heaved a heavy sigh of relief. He wasn’t leaving her. At least for now. But it was clear she’d stepped over some kind of invisible line, and he wasn’t in any kind of mood to talk about it.

  Not that now was the right time for talking. She sensed the change that came over him as soon as they left the café. Watchful didn’t quite cover it. He was on guard. Highly tuned. Ready.

  If she hadn’t guessed he was military or Special Forces before, she would have known it then. He moved just like all those guys on TV and the movies—as if around every corner was a bad guy waiting to take them out.

  Even once they were on the ferry—the various-sized blue-and-white ships were a familiar sight moving throughout the islands—he didn’t let down. There was a large inside room with tables and seats where passengers could enjoy the crossing in relative comfort, including the requisite cup of tea and snack bar, but after checking it thoroughly, and positioning her in a seat near the exit door, he stood watch outside in the wind and cold. For three hours.

  It was evening by the time they docked in Oban. Other than issuing her instructions on sticking close to him as they left the ferry, “Dan” wasn’t any more talkative on the short walk to the train station than he had been on board. They stuck with the group of about thirty passengers who were doing the same. Annie didn’t see anything unusual, but admittedly, she didn’t know what she was looking for.

  Dan was in his hypervigilant Special Ops mode and didn’t look as though he was going to relax anytime soon. She was surprised he didn’t insist on coming inside the ladies’ room with her, but after three cups of tea, no, she couldn’t wait any longer.

  She sensed the change the moment she emerged; she could see it in the darkness of his expression even before he spoke.

  “We have a problem.”

  Twenty-eight

  The train station in Oban consisted of a single building with a ticket window, a small waiting room, and two platforms, one accessed by an underground walkway. Dean could tell something was wrong by the long line and commotion at the window. While waiting for Annie to finish up in the restroom, he asked the first person who walked by and learned the bad news.

  “What’s wrong?” Annie asked after he’d told her they had a problem.

  “There’s an issue with the signal lights. Apparently it isn’t uncommon. The train to Glasgow tonight has been canceled. We’ll have to catch the one first thing in the morning.”

  “Oh,” she sighed with relief. “For a minute I thought they’d followed us.”

  He didn’t think so. But the delay could give them time to catch up. There weren’t many ways off the island, and once they figured out they were no longer there . . .

  “We’ll have to find someplace to spend t
he night,” he said. “The guy I talked to said there is plenty of accommodations in town.”

  They’d walked about fifteen minutes away from the picturesque harbor town where the ferry had docked to get to the station and would have to retrace their steps. Oban was a good-sized town in the Highlands and a popular destination for tourists embarking on cruises around the islands. Under different circumstances he wouldn’t mind a night’s stay—it was the biggest town he’d been in for months—but he wanted this over with as soon as possible.

  She’d fucking guessed that he was a SEAL. He couldn’t believe she’d figured it out. She was too curious and too smart for her own good. Or maybe, more accurately, for his own good. He couldn’t risk her seeing another one of those damned articles and putting two and two together. She’d gotten too close as it was.

  He’d gotten too close. He had to put an end to this, and one more night wasn’t going to make it any easier.

  “. . . one of the things I love—”

  She couldn’t be falling in love with him. They’d known each other a week. Admittedly part of that week had been pretty intense, high-adrenaline, get-to-know-someone-fast bonding time, but they wouldn’t seem so perfect together when it was all over. Their differences would start to grate and eventually draw them apart.

  She clearly had issues with the military—understandably—and he’d seen too much to have a very high tolerance for dewy-eyed idealists. Besides, he liked his guns. And hunting. For meat.

  He could hear Donovan giving him shit about that for years. A vegetarian? An activist? A Democrat (aka “the Party of Santa Claus” as Dean referred to it) with Mr. Bootstraps and “everyone should keep their eyes on their own paper and not worry about what everyone else has”?

  That should be all the discouragement Dean needed. So why was he pretty sure that he wouldn’t give a shit? That he could hear the endless razzing and not mind?

  Because she was worth it. She was incredible. And even if a bleeding heart led her down the wrong path every now and then, he respected her passion and drive to change things. It was the other side of what he did.

  Crap.

  But it was all theoretical. Even if he wasn’t in hiding, a relationship with her would mean giving up the team. He wasn’t ready to do that. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready to do that.