“Maybe I will turn in.” Removing his glasses, he rubbed his tired eyes. “Thanks for doing this. It helps having you here.”
A lump the size of a mango lodged in her throat and she struggled to remain in control. “You know me, if I’d stayed home, I would’ve spent the whole time worrying. At least I’ll know you’re safe.”
But what if she couldn’t protect him? She couldn’t lose him, especially not to a sniper’s bullet.
Lord, help me.
He pushed himself up from the couch and turned for the stairs.
“One more thing.”
Pausing, he met her eyes and waited.
“I want you to lock the main door to the bedroom, but leave the connecting bathroom door part way open.”
“When I’m asleep? Why?”
“If someone manages to get upstairs, they’ll still have to get by me.”
Narrow eyes and tight-set lips told her what he thought of the idea, but he didn’t put those thoughts into words.
“Thanks. I know this isn’t easy.” A smile tickled the corners of her lips. “But it’s about time I get to call the shots. You’ve been bossing me around for years.”
“I have not.”
It was good to see him smiling again, even if it wouldn’t last. “Oh yes, you have. You’re older and you never let me forget it.”
“Oh yeah? When was the last time I told you what to do?”
“How about last week when you said I should rip out my fence and put in a taller one with a lock on the gate?”
“Your job’s dangerous. I was looking out for you.”
“Of course you were. It’s your self-imposed duty.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s in the official big-brother handbook.”
She arched an eyebrow. “So there’s an official handbook now.”
“Of course. You just wouldn’t know about it.” A yawn swallowed his face. “Well, I’m heading up. Night.”
“Good night.” She watched him trudge up the stairs, hoping he’d be able to sleep most of the night.
It wasn’t likely to happen, but maybe exhaustion would trump the trauma.
She headed into the kitchen to find Alex sitting alone at the table, pad of paper and pen in front of her.
“Where’s everyone else?”
Alex set the pen aside. “Peters is in the security room, Beckman’s patrolling outside, and Chow and Rodriguez are resting up for the late shift.”
“I haven’t really examined the security room yet. How’s the camera placement?”
“Adequate. They seem to cover the entire exterior, but don’t have night vision, if you can believe such a thing.”
As she passed the table, Lana nodded at the paper. “Working on a schedule?”
“Trying. I’m so tired, I’m feeling cross-eyed.”
“I hear you. The only way I’m going to last the night is by flooding my system with coffee.” Lana hesitated. “Can I make a scheduling request? Outdoor patrol at sunset?”
Alex leaned back in her chair. “Reilly know you’re requesting the front lines at shooter prime-time?”
“He doesn’t need to. Besides, he’s the one who wanted me here.”
Retrieving a mug from the cabinet by the sink, Lana poured herself some coffee. Hmmm, didn’t look like the tar that construction crews used to refinish roads. Must not have been made by Alex.
“I’ll do what I can, but it won’t be every day.” Alex rose and refilled her mug. A grimace crossed her face as she took a drink. “I knew I should’ve made it myself. This is weak.”
“Just because it doesn’t stick to your insides doesn’t make it weak.” A detour to the fridge and a little doctoring turned Lana’s coffee from bland to delicious.
“Lemme try some of that.”
Lana jerked her attention up to Alex. “Really? In all the years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you drink your coffee any way but black.”
Taking the butterscotch syrup from Lana’s hand, Alex squirted in a generous amount. “Trust me. Nothing can make this coffee any worse than it already is.”
“Who knows? You might even like it.”
“Now you’re just talking crazy.” Alex swirled the coffee in the cup to stir in the syrup and took a sip. “Better.”
“You could try a little hazelnut creamer. It’s pretty tasty.”
“And ruin perfectly good butterscotch?” Crossing the kitchen, Alex reclaimed her seat at the table. “Shoo. I need to draw up the schedule.”
Lana turned to leave, but paused next to the table. “Thanks for taking this on, Alex. And for letting me be a part of it.”
“It’s your brother. I couldn’t let just anyone spearhead this operation, right?” A grin spread across her face. “Besides, now you owe me. I’m helping your brother, so it’s only fair you return the favor. I’ve told Geoff all about you and he’s interested.”
“He’s humoring you.”
“Not a chance. He’s totally into the idea. Come on, give it a shot. You and Geoff would get along great.”
Not this again.
After the last several days, she didn’t have the energy to argue. “Look. I’m shooing. Let me know if you need some help.”
She headed for the living room, but not before Alex got in the last word. “You can run now, but I’ve got plenty of time to change your mind.”
₪ ₪ ₪ ₪ ₪
Lana jerked awake. The blue numbers on the digital clock next to the bed glowed 5:17. A.M. Given that her shift had ended at four, she’d only been asleep for maybe an hour.
So what had woken her?
She listened. No unusual sounds. Just steady breathing from the lump in the other bed. Whatever she’d heard obviously hadn’t disturbed Alex.
Maybe it was nothing. Still, she’d feel much better after checking on Reilly.
She pushed the covers back and swung her legs over the edge of the mattress.
The sound of movement drifted through the open bathroom door. Followed by mumbling.
But no sign of light.
Nausea churned her empty stomach. Reilly wasn’t one to stumble around in the dark.
Snagging her Glock off the nightstand, she rushed to the bathroom. Paused. A glance found the room empty.
She slid across the tile, bumped his door open.
Arms flailed. The covers thrashed. A pillow landed on the floor with a soft thump.
But Reilly was alone.
A nightmare.
Which, by all appearances, rivaled the ones she’d endured most of her childhood. The ones which still occasionally regurgitated the unsettled questions in her past.
Jagged wheezing propelled her feet into motion.
“Ri.” She spoke as softly as she could. “Ri, wake up.”
No response.
Weird. Especially given that he’d always been a light sleeper.
“Ri.” A little louder this time. “Wake up.”
His limbs stilled, but his breathing didn’t become any less labored.
Knowing that an arm or a leg could come flying her direction at any time, she eased closer. Scooped up his inhaler. Put a hand on his shoulder and gently shook. “Reilly.”
His eyelids flipped open. Jerking upright, his gaze darted around the room. “Lana! Look out–”
Movements slowed. He surveyed the room one final time before turning back to her. “A dream?”
She thrust the inhaler toward him. “Breathe.”
Several minutes passed, broken by nothing but the puff from the inhaler and the slowing of his breathing.
He disentangled his legs from the covers, clicked on the light, and set the inhaler aside. Hollow eyes stared out from his colorless face.
“Man. That was…” As he ran his fingers through his tousled hair, she couldn’t help noticing how his hand shook. “That was intense.”
She sat down next to him and offered a half-hug. “You okay?”
A brief hesitation answered her question. “Getting there.”
While definitely vague, it was a more honest response than he would’ve given most people. She decided to push a little more. “I know it’s cliché, but it really does help to talk about it.”
“It was the shooting. Over and over again. But there were other people around, too. Des, you, mom and dad.”
“It’s okay. We’re all fine.”
A little of the color had returned to his cheeks. “It felt real, you know?”
“I do. Believe me.”
He shifted to look at her. “How long’s it been?”
“Maybe two months.”
“Really?” Snatching his glasses off the nightstand, he put them on and scrutinized her. “You’re still having the nightmares?”
“Just the shadow one.” After years of comforting her when they were kids, he’d know exactly which dream she meant.
Images flickered through her mind.
A dark room. A shadow standing silently next to her bed. Fabric in her mouth.
She tried to push the memories down, but they kept coming.
A strong chemical smell, heat, a bitter wind.
None of it made any sense. It only made her miserable.
“You’ve been having that dream for thirty years. Ever think it’s more than a dream?”
She blinked him back into focus. “The thought’s crossed my mind, but it doesn’t add up. Say I was abducted. Why didn’t anyone try to find me? Why wasn’t there a missing persons report? And what about the note?”
While her parents had never kept the adoption a secret from her, they’d waited until she was older – and pressing them for answers – to show her the note they’d found with her.
I can’t take care of her anymore. You’re a man of God, so I’m trusting you to find her a good home.
Like she was a dog or something.
She shook it off. “While the note could’ve been from anyone, abducted kids get reported. And besides, kids don’t typically get abducted and dumped. There’s usually a ransom.”
Or a darker, more self-serving purpose.
She never allowed herself to dwell on that thought for long, especially since she was pretty certain she hadn’t been abused.
“I agree, but reoccurring dreams tend to mean something. All I’m saying is that maybe you shouldn’t discount it completely.”
“Well, I’m not going to figure it out at five in the morning.” Especially running on only one hour of sleep.
Reilly’s attention shifted momentarily to the clock. “I didn’t realize it was so early. Sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s about time I returned the favor.”
“Go back to bed. I’m fine.”
A brief examination found that his color was almost back to normal and the tremors had abandoned his hands. Most importantly, he seemed to be breathing fine. She held his gaze with her own. “You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m good. I think I’ll try to catch a little more sleep. I should be done with the nightmares by now.”
Not likely, but for his sake, she hoped he was right. “If you need me, for anything, don’t hesitate to come get me, okay?”
“Got it.”
Right. She’d believe it when it happened.
Sliding off the bed, she let her feet sink into the plush carpet. “Sleep well.”
If only she could believe it would really happen. For either of them.
But with a killer nipping at their heels, sleep deprivation was the least of their concerns.
Five
A cool wind whipped Lana’s ponytail into her face. Fighting off a chill, she zipped her jacket.
Was this place always so cold? The three days they’d been in Lincoln City convinced her that the answer had to be yes.
If this was summer, she’d hate to feel their winter.
A few people dotted the beach in front of her, but thankfully, most of the tourists were further down the coast.
She had little trouble spotting Peters down by the water.
Was he pretending to collect seashells? Talk about a bad cover. It was about as believable as her going undercover as a costumed wrestler.
Whatever.
People saw what they wanted to see. Most of them probably wouldn’t give it much thought.
But a professional assassin on the lookout for members of law enforcement might.
Shifting her attention, she took in the rest of the terrain.
About a hundred feet to her left, the beach ended at a rocky cliff that stretched into the ocean. It would be difficult for trouble to approach from that side.
Difficult, but not impossible.
Still, out of all the potential directions from which a sniper could advance, that one was the least of her concerns.
Movement in her peripheral drew her attention to her right.
Peters strode toward her. “Been quiet. You should be able to handle things.”
How the heck was she supposed to respond to that? The way he’d said it implied that she had the competency of a two-year old.
He never paused or broke stride as he passed her, pushed through the fence, and approached the house. Evidently he’d neither expected nor desired a response.
Ugh. She was having a really hard time seeing whatever it was that Alex saw in him.
Be the better person. Let it go.
She refocused on the beach.
A handful of people dotted the landscape. A couple with two dogs – golden retrievers, by the looks of them – walked on the damp sand down by the waves. A family with three young children packed up the remnants of a picnic dinner. And a lone figure pointed something at the ocean. A camera, if she had to guess, but she was too far away to make a positive confirmation.
Out of all the people in her field of vision, the only one who seemed like a plausible threat was the photographer. Especially since all of the others were heading away from the safe house.
She broke into a jog, splitting her attention between the house, the photographer, and the surrounding area.
Her attention strayed frequently to the photographer, who appeared to be in no hurry to leave. With the sun sinking beyond the ocean, he was little more than a silhouette near the water’s edge.
Definitely male. And tall. Not super skinny, but not ripped either.
What was he doing at this end of the beach? All the hotels were further up the coast. Aside from that, the ocean was the ocean, no matter what stretch of beach he was on. Why come all this way?
Of course, he could live down here.
Or he might be pretending to take pictures while really looking for a place that could be a government safe house.
Maybe she should talk to him. Casually pumping strangers for information was something at which she’d proven successful.
Her gaze danced across the beach.
The family had disappeared inside a modest one-story house and the couple with the dogs was little more than a cluster of dots on the horizon.
Leaving only one unknown person in the vicinity.
A scan of the house revealed no sign of movement. All seemed to be quiet.
Now if this guy would only move on, she’d be happy.
Alex had told her to immediately report anything suspicious and this guy was setting off more warnings than she could count.
Turning her head toward the collar of her jacket, she pressed the button on the hidden communicator. “Just a heads-up, there’s a guy who seems too interested in taking pictures of the water.”
The pause lasted for several seconds before Alex’s voice responded. “We’ve got him. Let us know if anything changes.”
Just knowing that the extra camera they’d installed had been repositioned to follow the man’s progress made her feel better. She jogged a short distance up the beach before turning around.
Alex’s voice came again. “Stay alive, people. He’s approaching.”
A glance over found him headed her way.
Okay, definitely not good.
His hand l
ifted in a half wave.
She slowed. Strategically positioned herself between him and the house. If this man wanted to kill Reilly, he’d have to go through her to do it.
As he drew closer, she watched for anything resembling a weapon. The camera hanging from a strap around his neck appeared to be fairly new and had a long lens. The camera case slung over his shoulder was definitely large enough to contain a disassembled rifle.
“Great night, huh?” His voice carried across the fifty or so feet separating them.
A little cold for her liking, but it was easier to agree. “Not bad.”
The gun nestled at the small of her back begged her to reach for it. She forced her hands to remain relaxed at her sides.
He stopped about two yards away.
Too close, given the circumstances, but at least she could glean enough details to create an accurate sketch should the need arise. About six foot, muscular in a lean sort of way, with chiseled features that enhanced dark chocolate eyes.
As long as he was here, maybe she could learn a bit more about him.
She gestured at the camera. “Are you a pro?”
“Guess you’d say so. I freelance.” Half-turning, he nodded at the ocean that glowed like molten lava as the sun appeared to sink right into the waves. “Some of my favorite shots are west-coast sunsets.”
“I can see why.”
A professional photographer. That might explain why he was at this end of the beach. The area closer to the motels would be much more likely to have charred firewood and other evidences of human involvement than this less populated location.
“I don’t suppose you’re a local.” His voice latched her attention.
“Just vacationing.” She continued to absorb details. Probably not much older than her, mid to late thirties at most, light brown hair worn short and neatly trimmed, a broad and easy smile. “Why do you ask?”
“Some of the best locations are off the beaten path. Places only the locals know about.” He extended his hand. “Nate Miller.”
“Lana.”
His firm handshake exuded confidence. The smoothness of his skin made her think he was unaccustomed to physical labor. Which would be expected for a nature photographer.
Deadly Alliances Page 6