“Knowing the people I know at Sullivan? Someone would shoot me.”
She waited for him to laugh or joke, but no. “That’s ridiculous.”
“True, but I like the plan better now.” Garrett made a note in his file. “I’m moving it up to Plan B.”
Damon made a strangled sound. “I agreed to take this case about ten minutes ago, so forgive me for not having the perfect entrance strategy and cover story all mapped out.”
She stared at him for a few more seconds before glancing at Garrett. “I don’t have a choice about this fake relationship, do I?”
Garrett’s smile only widened. “You could pretend it’s a fake engagement instead.”
Her stomach rolled over. “Yeah, that’s not better.”
Damon waited until Cate excused herself to go to the bathroom to turn on Garrett. In any other building, he would have gone after her. Assumed she was running and understand, but still stop her. Not here. Wren kept this place locked down. No one could get in or out without a badge, and she didn’t have one.
Damon tapped his fingers on the folder in front of him. “Fake relationship?”
Garrett shrugged. “It was Wren’s idea.”
Of course it was. This nonsense had Wren’s fingerprints all over it. “You know the chances of us getting away with this are slim.”
“People have been trying to lure you back to Sullivan for years.”
“Some. Others have been really clear I should stay away.” Damon could remember the yelling when he left the property years ago. The smell of gunfire and the darkening sky. He’d gotten into the back of the police car, waiting for the ground to open and swallow up all of them. Nothing less would have washed the ground clean again.
“And now you’ll have a chance to visit with all of them,” Garrett said.
“No one is going to believe I’m there to say good things about the place to my fake girlfriend.” Not after all the years of being away. Not after all the accusations he’d made and the arrests.
“No, but if you put on a good show they will believe you’re willing to go through some shit to make Cate happy.”
“What kind of cover is that?” Maybe better than he wanted to admit because that totally sounded like something he’d do. He’d gotten so good at keeping his distance, at using people, that the guilt that used to swamp him now amounted to little more than a twinge most days.
“As a newly married man, I’ll take the Fifth. But, really, you’d be amazed what I’d do for Lauren.”
Damon struggled to stay pissed off while Garrett wore that silly grin. “But you’re in a real relationship with Lauren. I’ve spent less than two hours with Cate and I’m pretty sure she’d be happy to run me over with her car.”
“I’ve known you for a decade and feel the same way.”
Damon blew out a long breath. Tried to silence the protests screaming in his brain at the idea of heading back into Sullivan and pretending he wanted to be there. “I’m serious.”
“There’s no covert way to do this. People at Sullivan know you. They are aware of her. If you want to get in there, look around and ask questions, you’re going to have to go in through the front door. That means having a cover that makes you two being together make sense.”
“Or I could sneak in without her.” That had been his plan. Half-assed, sure, but solid in that if he got caught it was just him. She would be safe. Sullivan had already claimed one Pendleton sister. It didn’t deserve another.
“And then what? Eventually someone would see you. You’re kind of tough to miss, plus you want to be able to look around and ask questions. Make them feel comfortable so they mess up. Get into rooms and buildings you wouldn’t otherwise be able to access. None of that can happen with you sleeping in a tree and running behind rocks to keep from being seen.”
Garrett had thought through all the angles, which was not good for Damon’s argument at all. “I hate it when you sound reasonable.”
“It happens now and then. Because, you know, I actually do this for a living.”
So did Wren, and Damon noticed he didn’t seem to be around today. Interesting. “Yet I’m the one heading for Pennsylvania.”
“Life isn’t fair.”
Damon opened and closed the file again. He didn’t bother scanning the lines this time either. There would be time for intel and more planning tonight. “This better work.”
“I like your enthusiasm.”
“What you’re hearing is frustration.”
“Oh, I know.” Garrett stood up. “Enjoy Salvation.”
“Not possible.”
Chapter 5
Two days later, Cate and Damon pulled into the parking lot of a one-story motel with rooms all lined in a row. It sat fifteen miles outside of Salvation, Pennsylvania, almost hidden in a cluster of trees, like the rest of the county.
A few diners and gas stations dotted the road that connected the series of tiny towns in the middle of the state. She knew because they’d passed quite a few before setting up in Montour. The town stretched out in a tiny corner along a lake, at the base of a mountain. Exactly two hundred and two people lived in Montour, or that’s what the welcoming sign on the highway said. No one knew the exact number for Salvation next door because no one knew how many people still lived up on the mountain ridge at Sullivan.
Cate understood the beauty of coming here. Well, in a way. The seclusion and all that rich greenery. The smell of cut grass and the open farmland. Fresh air and the lack of traffic, so unlike where she grew up in Baltimore. In the fall, the mountains were ablaze in color. Dotted in deep reds and bright yellows. She’d seen the photos both before and after Shauna decided to invest her time in Sullivan.
All of those facts sped through Cate’s mind as she looked at the maps spread out on the round table in front of her. Damon picked adjoining rooms that consisted of little more than a bed and dresser in each. A small pole on the wall outside the bathroom and two hooks formed the closet. Damon had opened the door between the rooms and dragged the small round tables from under the windows to the middle as a makeshift battle station. That kept the door open between their beds and killed off any sense of privacy, but she doubted they would be here for very long.
When he stepped out of his bathroom, drying his hands on what looked like a washcloth, she pointed at the documents on the table closest to him. “These are the blueprints for Sullivan.”
He made a strange humming sound before shrugging. “Sort of.”
The comment didn’t surprise her. He challenged her on every last thing. She still hadn’t recovered from his insistence this morning that cereal was not real breakfast food. The guy had an opinion on everything.
Rather than argue, she skipped ahead to a statement. “I’m not asking you. I’m telling you.”
He threw the cloth on the top of the dresser, clearly not caring that it landed on his baseball hat. “Well, I’m telling you these are off.”
“I got them from the county.” She was pretty sure Garrett had seen them and not questioned them. “They’re accurate.”
“These are the ones that comply with all the local regulations.” Damon finally tore his gaze away from the documents and glanced up at her. “That doesn’t make them factually correct.”
Tiny drops of water beaded on the ends of the hair laying on his forehead. She figured he’d washed up after their drive and had to beat back a wave of envy. She had the sweaty, pretty-sure-she-smelled grungy feeling that she got whenever she went on a road trip. Even pulling her hair back in the ponytail hadn’t helped. She blamed the mix of wariness and excitement for the way adrenaline kept whipping through her.
One minute she ached to get near Salvation faster, hoping closure waited there. The next she thought about all the lies and cover-ups and how little she knew about Damon and then her stomach flipped over in panic. The idea of getting here, right to the edge of the place where she could finally get answers, and then failing made her want to heave.
&nb
sp; She forced her mind to stay off the “what-ifs” and all the years of kicking herself for not fighting harder to keep in touch with Shauna. They had bigger issues to handle over the next few weeks.
“The architect’s signature is right there,” Cate said, pointing to the small boxed-off area on the bottom of the blueprints.
He snorted. “Because that can’t be faked.”
She noticed all of him then. The faded blue jeans and light gray T-shirt that fit him like a second skin. He’d worn a zip-up hoodie in the car but that had disappeared. Somewhere along the line he’d done an informal striptease and she’d missed it.
She closed her eyes for a second, trying to block out all the stray thoughts and her unwanted attraction to a guy who viewed hamburgers as a food group. When she opened them again, he hadn’t moved. Despite the unintended closeness, she kept her voice steady. “Explain what’s wrong.”
“This wasn’t a food storage facility.” He pointed to the outline of a building constructed in the side of a hill. The natural lower temperature of the ground and moss and umbrella of trees surrounding it likely kept the area cooler, hence preserving the food. “This was where they kept the weapons.”
“Under the deal with . . .” Weapons? Those were supposed to be gone but he sounded so sure. She didn’t know what to think about that fact. “Was?”
“In the past.”
“Believe it or not, I wasn’t asking for a definition of the word. How do you know where they were and that they’re still there?”
“Educated guess.” He returned to pointing. “Weapons. Bunkhouse for new students, and I use that term loosely. They were more like cabins, actually very homey. Sullivan is not about living a monk-like existence.” His fingers moved around the page, highlighting the strategic use of each area. “These are guard posts and this is the firing range.”
Her head started spinning. The more he spoke, all clear and sure, the dizzier she became. “Damon.”
“Maybe some things have changed, but I’m right about Sullivan really being more than a school or commune. It always was.”
Her mind flashed to his use of the past tense then to the comment about an inside man. Damon wasn’t supposed to be the person buried deep within the Sullivan operation, but he spoke with far too much knowledge. Nothing about his tone suggested he was guessing or merely passing on gossip. “When?”
To his credit, he didn’t pretend not to understand the question. “Back then.”
Personal intel but “then” could mean any time period. But he possessed the kind of information that had proved so difficult to obtain. Not the type she’d shared or gotten from any discussion she’d had with any of Wren’s people. Which meant it came from somewhere else. “What are you talking about?”
“Its real purpose under all the teaching and behind the awards Sullivan won back when the school was in the press and touted as a new means of educating—less expensive and more practical—wasn’t knowledge.”
The guy spent a whole lunch arguing about french fries and most of the drive here on unimportant topics, like the best rock band of the last decade, but he skipped over this part. “Okay, stop.”
“I thought you wanted inside information.”
“That’s supposed to be coming from someone on the inside, not you. Which makes me wonder what you do know and how you learned it.”
He shrugged at her. “I’m a smart guy.”
She seriously considered punching him every time he lifted his shoulders. Who knew a simple gesture could be so freaking annoying? “You’re being cryptic.”
“Not if you listen.”
She hit that unseen line where her temper blew. All the building frustration spewed over until her sole focus became getting him to stop rambling and answer her questions.
She stepped over to her bed and dug around in the duffle bag she brought with her. She took out the one thing she thought would guarantee they jump off this odd conversational train to nowhere and get back to where she needed them to be.
She turned around to face him and took aim. “Let’s try this again.”
Instead of being scared or worried, his expression morphed into something else. He basically shot her a you-are-not-impressing-me frown as his hands moved to his hips. “You have a gun?”
“For protection.”
“From?”
“Right now? You.”
This time he rolled his eyes at her. “Come on. You know I’m not dangerous. Well, not to you.”
“Uh-huh. Just keep in mind that I know how to use it and can if you don’t start answering my questions in a way that makes sense.” She’d taken lessons and went to the range.
“I’ve been trained to take it from you before you can blink.” He made a noise that sounded like a snort. “So there.”
“I can’t believe you’ve gotten this far in life without someone shooting you. I’ve wanted to shoot you ten times in the last hour.” And that was not much of an exaggeration. Not something that would hurt too bad. More like a ping across his ear to let him know her patience had expired.
“I never said I had.” When she tried to ask what that meant, he talked over her. “Is it loaded?”
“Maybe.”
“Which I assume means no and that’s not smart.” He shook his head. “You could wave that in front of the wrong person.”
She wasn’t sure if he was stalling or not. “Like?”
“Someone who is carrying and thinks you’re really a threat.” He blew out a long breath, as if he were the one struggling with frustration. “Now, tell me what your protection worry is about. Did someone threaten you?”
He sounded serious, maybe even concerned, which sucked away most of her anger at him. “Someone broke into my place.”
He took another step closer and put his hand on the side of her gun to point it away from him. “When did that happen?”
“Stop moving around.” She realized then he could have taken the weapon and chose not to. It was possible he sensed she needed to hold it, needed to feel in control. Of course, it was also possible she was giving him far too much credit for “getting” her.
He shook his head. “You aren’t going to shoot me with what I’m assuming is an unloaded gun.”
“Don’t be so sure.” But she was sure and she clearly was not fooling him.
“First, you’re not a dumbass. Second, killing me means you have to beg Wren for another person to help you. Even though he is sympathetic to someone in your situation, he doesn’t have so many friends that he can afford to have a bunch of us killed off.”
That made sense . . . which ticked her off all over again. “I should shoot you on principle.”
“Honestly, that thought is going to be in your head a lot while we spend time together. So long as you don’t follow through on it, we’re fine.” He held out his hand.
She didn’t fight it. She put it in his hand but vowed not to lose sight of it because she needed to make sure she got it back if they ever managed to get back to her simple question about his knowledge of the blueprints. “Who are you? Not the cover story. I mean, really.”
“Damon Knox. I’m pretty sure Wren told you that at some point. Or Garrett, maybe.”
He’d hit on a touchy subject but she doubted he knew that. “I never actually got to meet Wren. As far as I know, he’s made up.”
Damon smiled. “You met him.”
It was official. He could make any sentence annoying. “I actually didn’t.”
“He likely went by another name, but you met him.”
That couldn’t be true . . . or could it? She thought back to Garrett, then to the guy she met before Garrett. Brian Jacobs. He seemed to be big at Owari. Now she wondered if one of those two really was the guy, Wren. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Trust me, I’ve told him that many times.” Damon rolled his eyes. “He has some excuse about the business being dangerous and this ensuring the protection of his staff and the people he cares about. I think he
’s just a paranoid bastard. But since he’s a millionaire and always buys my dinner when we go out, I ignore the numerous-names thing character flaw.”
“Is Garrett really Wren?”
“Nope. Two different men.”
So, it was Brian. Part Asian, she could see it in his face just like she saw the hints of her ancestry in her own every morning. “This is a confusing mess.”
“People have reasons to change names.” Damon pulled out one of the wooden chairs at the table and sat down. He set the gun down in front of him, but not before checking to see if she was right about it being loaded.
But she focused on what he said. “People . . . like you?”
“Admittedly, Damon Knox is not my real name, but—”
“Stop.” She cut him off because, come on. “Most normal people don’t have more than one name.”
“We clearly know different people.”
The weird thing is, that the answer didn’t surprise her. From him, she half expected a convoluted response. Of course he had more than one name and ran with a group of people who operated in the same way. That fit with the little she knew about him so far. “I don’t understand why Wren would send you to me. None of this makes sense.”
“I’ve known Wren for more than a decade.” Damon leaned back until the front two legs of the chair left the carpeted floor. “Yes, the millionaire superman who can make all problems disappear is actually a friend of mine. It’s a long story and before you ask, I’m not telling it. But the relationship means shooting me is never going to be the right answer for you.”
“Is everything going to be this hard with you?” She reached for the gun to put it back in her bag.
“More than likely, yes.” He trapped the gun and her hand under his. “Let me keep the weapon.”
“I need it for protection.”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
“Are you sure? I don’t feel all that secure right now.” But she let go of the gun, fully intending to steal it back from him later.
Pick your battles.
The Protector Page 4