The good news part of the debacle was that she’d be able to buy sexier underwear to please Ren instead of the teenage holdovers she'd worn previously. She also needed to buy more winter clothing than she'd had in Boston. Winter lasted a lot longer and was a lot rougher in Idaho. She planned to tell Ren that she'd work for SSI as long as she could live on Sanctuary—with him.
Ballsy, yes, but she had a gut feeling he wouldn't mind.
She refused to cry over the loss of the majority of her possessions. She'd done more than her quota of crying over the deaths she'd caused; the loss of material things ranked pretty damn low on the grand scale of life's potholes.
Closing the lid on one box of books, she stood and stretched. Now to hit the Lodge and eat. She'd grabbed an apple and a Pepsi to get her blood sugar up enough to make it through her bath, and she still had almost fallen asleep in the warm, scented water. She could sleep later. After she refueled, she wanted to see just who Bannon, Vences and Jordan really were. Although Vences didn't make her neck itch as much as the other two, she suspected he was lying about something. The other two had ratcheted her spider senses up to high alert. They were at the very least felons, and at the worst plants.
Pulling on her parka and gloves, she left Ren's house, locking the door, and took the path leading to the back of the Lodge and the kitchen entrance. She liked to eat in the kitchen when she was by herself. Bannon, Jordan and Vences paid her way too much attention when she sat in the dining area. Vences probably did it to be one of the guys, but the other two, she sensed, wanted to hurt her. Whether they were ordered to do so or depravity was just in their nature, she wasn't sure yet. She’d bet their deep backgrounds would show some sort of sexually deviant crimes. They gave off that kind of vibe.
Entering the back door, the smell of spicy-so-hot-it-melted-tonsils chili hit her nostrils. The omelet she'd thought about asking Scotty to make flew out of her mind. Her mouth watered and stomach growled at the thought of Scotty's meaty, hot chili.
"Hey, doll," Scotty called out. His broad, ruddy face broke into a smile he seemed to only show her. The ex-Navy cook, whose much-younger fiancée she had yet to meet, had practically adopted her when Tweeter had first introduced them. No one would bother her with Scotty around.
"There's the love of my life," she teased. "When are we gonna skip this Popsicle stand and run away to the South Seas and open a restaurant on the beach?"
"You name the date, princess, and we're gone." He came over and hugged her, scanning her face as if to assess her condition. He placed the back of his hand against her forehead. "Low-grade temp. What in the hell have you been doing to yourself? Before she left to go back home, your mama made me promise to take care of you." He tugged her over to the island counter and lifted her onto a stool as if she weighed nothing. "Let me guess what you want to eat. Hmm, chili with cheese and sour cream, mixed green salad with some of my homemade avocado ranch dressing, hot blackberry cobbler with ice cream and a Pepsi—with an aspirin chaser. You are not to move until it all goes into that tiny tummy. We clear on that?"
The man knew she had the appetite of a dock worker. She'd have no trouble packing the food away. She laughed. "Sounds good. Bring it on. I'm starved."
He turned to move, then stopped. His facial expression turned serious. "You saved my guys' asses last night." Every citizen of Sanctuary was one of Scotty's people; the man's loyalty to the Maddox brothers and those who worked for them was bone deep.
She shrugged. "I just did what I could."
"Damn good work." He turned and began to prepare her food. "Just so you know, the Sheriff has cleared the shootings as self-defense. Your brother had no trouble documenting the less-than-stellar records of the bastards. Most of the a-holes had records miles long. Some of them had outstanding warrants. Ren is making sure you get the reward on those. A lot of cold cases were cleared with some of the deaths. Damn good work, little girl. But you don't need to be doing those sorts of things in the future. We protect our women here on Sanctuary."
Some of the tension from the previous night’s battle dissipated now that she heard for a fact she wouldn't be charged with murder or manslaughter. She didn't need or want the reward and would tell Ren so. But she did need to clear up something. "Scotty?"
He walked to the island and put a salad and her soda in front of her. "What, princess?"
"I will defend myself—or anyone else belonging to SSI—if I need to." She touched the old salt's tattooed forearm, tracing the anchor and U.S. flag design. "I always try to avoid killing, but…"
Scotty's eyes filled with moisture as his lips twisted into a parody of a smile. "Yeah, I know, princess. I know. Some a-holes just ask for it." He turned his arm under hers then slid until he grasped her hand in his huge one. He squeezed her fingers gently. "Now eat up. I swear you've lost weight since you arrived here. You'll blow away in the wind if we don't put some meat on those bird bones."
She giggled. "Aye-aye, Scotty." She ate her way through the salad, two cups of chili, part of the dessert and three glasses of Pepsi. Leaning against the back of the counter stool, she sighed. "That was so good. Thanks. Now, I think I'll waddle off to find my brother."
"He was in the Bat Cave last I knew." Scotty washed some pots in the huge sink. His gaze fixed on something outside the large window over the sink. "Looks like Ren and the Sheriff are heading out to the scene of the battle. Don't expect we'll see the other guys until supper or so." He turned away from the view and captured her gaze with his stern one. "Since Ren isn't here to tell you, I will. Stay the hell away from Bannon and Jordan. They were asking about you at breakfast. One of the computer techs told them you were out with Ren and the guys—and they weren't happy."
Keely frowned. "Do you think they're the infiltrators? Or, are they just screw ups who lied to get a job in security?"
Early on she'd decided to trust Scotty. He'd been with SSI from the beginning and knew the Maddox brothers' father, having served with the elder Maddox in the Navy. Plus the gruff older man reminded her of her dad.
"Maybe. Probably. But one thing I do know, Bannon has a look in his eye when he watches you. Makes me want to kill him just for that alone."
"I know. He gives me the creeps." She shivered. "Well none of them have security access to get into the Bat Cave—and, even if they did, I have the techs and Tweetie down there with me. Safety in numbers."
"Take a weapon with you anyway." Scotty wiped his hands on his apron and pulled a sheathed battle knife from a drawer next to the sink. "Take this. I can't see that you're armed."
She walked to the older man and took the knife and hooked it on her belt. "I have a hold-out gun in an ankle holster. But this is good, too."
Scotty bent over and placed a fatherly kiss on her forehead. "Much cooler. You were feverish because you were running on empty. Now scoot. I'm making pot roast and all the fixin's for supper and I need to get started on the vegetables."
She hugged Scotty and left the room, mouth watering at the thought of pot roast. She loved red meat.
Wending her way through the back hallway, she stopped at the elevator to the sub-basement, entered her handprint and her retinal scan. The doors opened and she entered the elevator and pushed the close button. The trip to the sub-basement, a natural cave over which the Lodge was built, took less than thirty seconds. The doors opened to an oddly silent control center. Her holographic table was turned off. The computers and equipment ran 24/7 with back-up generators to handle the electrical needs during times when the public utilities were down. So while the electronic hum was present, a constant white noise, there were no voices and no evidence of people at all.
Something was wrong. At this time of the day at least one technician should be present monitoring communications, if nothing else. The hairs on the back of her neck stood as a frisson of awareness swept over her. "Tweetie?" She called as she stepped out of the elevator. The doors would remain open on this level until it was called from above
.
She put a hand on the knife Scotty had given her, opening the sheath, and drawing the blade out. She clasped it in her right hand in a fight-ready grip. Moving slowly, she glanced from side to side, paying close attention to the shadows, watching for movement, listening for anything out of place. She headed for the far right corner of the room where her brother had his desk and monitoring station—and an intercom to the house. A dark shadow on the floor next to her brother's desk caught her eye. She hurried to it, concerned it was her brother. Her sigh of relief sounded abnormally loud in the silent room. The body was one of the technicians who worked with her brother.
She leaned down and felt for a pulse. Faint, but there.
Whoever had hit the tech was probably still in the room, had been allowed entrance by the hapless man, and was the reason her gut was sending warnings to her brain. Slowly, she turned in a circle. Someone was in the room—watching her. Waiting. She reached to activate the intercom and call for back up when movement in her peripheral vision had her turning, knife up and ready to defend.
It was Bannon. She looked around and saw no one else, but that didn't mean Jordan wasn't hiding somewhere, maybe holding her brother hostage. She had to get help. Tweeter could be somewhere in this room, hurt—or dead.
She moved so her back was protected by the rock wall behind Tweeter's desk. "You know, Bannon? I just promised Scotty I wouldn't kill anyone else today if I didn't have to—but at this point, I don't see how I can keep that vow." She watched his eyes. He had a habit of blinking when he made moves on her—or at least, he had the other times he'd attempted to grab her. She'd purposely forgotten to detail those other attacks to her brother and Scotty—probably a mistake, but she'd wanted to prove this asshole was a spy more than she wanted him kicked off Sanctuary for harassing her.
Of course, those other times he'd underestimated her skills—or overestimated his—because he'd lost each confrontation. She bet he wanted to hurt her badly at this point to prove his machismo. Men were stupid like that.
"Just you and me here, you beautiful little bitch." He moved forward, weaving side-to-side like a cobra attempting to mesmerize its prey.
Unfortunately for him, she wasn't beguiled. As he approached, she watched his eyes, only his eyes. There—the blink. She kicked his attacking hand, hitting the wrist, numbing it, causing him to drop his weapon. A quick glance showed it had been a knife. While he swore and attempted to grab her, she dashed by him, kicking the dropped knife under a desk, keeping her back to the wall and her front at an angle to his.
"Where the fuck did you learn your moves?" His voice held suppressed rage as he pulled another knife.
Lucky her, he was prepared better this time. "Marines and SEAL Hell Week." She smiled at him, fluttering her lashes. His look of shocked disbelief was almost comical. Unfortunately, she didn't feel like laughing. "And in case you hadn't heard, I also attended Army Sniper School. Thus, all my confirmed kills last night. Any other questions?"
He snarled, swiping at her with the knife. She turned away from the thrust. He missed, but she didn't. With a backhanded move over his extended arm, she cut him from elbow to wrist. She danced away, using her leg in a vicious side kick to keep him back. That was the problem with knife-fighting, the attacker had to come in close enough to attack, thus opening himself up to being cut in return. This was why her Dad and brothers taught her defense movements against all kinds of potential attacks.
"Fucking bitch." Bannon switched the knife to his other hand as he held the bleeding arm against his torso. "Just wait until I have you on the ground under me. You're gonna beg me to kill you."
"Not gonna happen, asswipe." The ground or the begging. She taunted him with a grin as she moved in and out among the desks at the edge of the room. Her goal? The escape tunnel. Once inside she could seal him away from her and make her escape up the stairs into the Lodge's storage room off the kitchen. Only a few knew about the escape tunnel—and Bannon wouldn't be one of them. Not even the techs who worked in the Cave knew of it. Tweeter had shown her the day they arrived for a "just in case situation."
Bannon was hurt, but not enough to stop him. Even bleeding like a sacrificial pig and breathing harshly, he easily mirrored her moves, staying out of the range of her knife and legs. He swayed back and forth, thrusting his knife, playing with her, testing her, then retreating.
Keely was tiring, too many long days fighting Idaho weather and terrain with Tweeter and even longer restless nights without Ren to hold the nightmares at bay. She continued to parry his attacks, keeping him about three to four feet away from her at all times. She needed to reach the secret exit before she ran out of energy. He'd obviously learned something from their earlier encounters and had chosen to wear her down so he could eventually use his superior strength against her in one final, all-out attack. He wanted to hurt her; she wouldn't let him.
Finally she was close enough to the sliding panel to make it out; all she needed was a diversion to give her time to get through the door. It was then he decided to come at her. Using her free hand, she grabbed and threw a handy code book at him. He ducked and turned away. Taking advantage of his distraction, she slapped her hand on the hidden panel and squeezed through the opening while it was too small for a large man like Bannon to follow. Once through, she slapped the sensor to close the door and turned to defend the narrowing gap, slicing at his arm when he attempted to stop the door from closing. The panel shut firmly on his litany of swear words.
Breathing hard from exertion and adrenaline, she ran up the stairs and entered the storage area. "Scotty," she screamed as she ran into the kitchen. The old man came running along with Ren, Trey, Vanko, Price and a large man she didn't know.
"What the fuck happened?" Ren grabbed her arm, taking the bloody knife from her other hand and handing it to Scotty. He pulled her into his body for a bruising hug. "Are you hurt?" He held her away and scanned her, snarling when he noticed the blood spatter on her turtleneck sweater. "You're hurt." His tone was flat, lethal as he touched her everywhere looking for the source of the blood.
"No, no." She started to tremble from the aftermath of the fight. "It's Bannon's blood. He…he was in the Bat Cave…the tech…unconscious on the floor…needs help. I, uh, I managed to get away." Gasping, she shrugged out of his deathlike grip and shoved him toward the hall and the elevator to the sub-basement. "Hurry…he'll get away. We need to find…Tweetie. He could be…”
"Sis?" She turned. Her brother had come in from outside. "What's going on?"
Keely ran to him and threw herself into his arms. She heard the other men leave. "Oh my God…you're safe. I went downstairs…Bannon was there. I was worried…"
"Did that bastard hurt you?" Her brother performed an identical scan to the one Ren had. "His blood, I hope?" He looked toward the elevator as it closed.
She nodded, panting from adrenaline overload. She'd have a heart attack if she kept stressing it like this.
"Tweeter, bring your sister over here," Scotty ordered. "She needs to sit. Ren and the others have the situation under control."
"Goddammit, Keely. You're so white I can see the veins under your skin." He picked her up and carried her to a sunny window seat that was part of a small eat-in area. He sat and kept her on his lap as Scotty brought her a small glass of amber liquid.
"Drink this, little girl. Put some color back into your face."
Keely sniffed it. Scotch. She took a sip and wrinkled her nose at the taste. Her brother pinched her thigh. "Drink it all down, fast."
She did and coughed. The potent liquor hit her already stressed system and made her lightheaded. "You trying to get me drunk?"
Her brother's denial was interrupted by a deep voice. "Give me my woman, Tweeter, and stop plying her with liquor." Ren had come into the room and moved to stand in front of them. Her brother held her out and Ren scooped her into his arms and turned toward the back entrance.
"Wait a minute," she said. "You go
t back upstairs too fast. What happened? Did you get Bannon?"
"Somehow he managed to get out while you found us. He's on the run with Jordan. Trey and the others are pursuing, using your nifty new security system. We put Vences under house arrest until we know how he figures into all this."
"Tweetie, we need to help coordinate the search from here…”
"No 'we' in this search, baby, just your brother and the others. You're going with me to my place and we're going to rest for awhile—or at least until my heart gets out of my throat."
"But Ren…" She looked into his eyes and shut up. She recognized the look as the man-had-reached-his limit look her dad would use when she and her brothers had pushed the boundaries he'd set for them. Ren wasn't going to budge on this issue. Fine. "Scotty is making pot roast for dinner and we are coming back here to eat it." She wouldn't be moved on that point. Normal life had to be established. She was tired of living from crisis to crisis.
Ren looked into her eyes. The corner of his mouth twitched, then stilled. "I can live with that—just as long you aren't out of my sight."
"Well, if I have to…” she trailed off as if she were making a huge concession, when she was quite happy to stay within his arms and sight for as long as he'd have her.
"You have to—or I might have a heart attack." He nuzzled her ear and whispered for her alone. "I almost lost you again, sweetheart. I just need to keep you close for awhile."
"Okay, big guy. It's fine—I'm fine." She breathed her assurances against his jaw line, then tasted it with her tongue. He shuddered, muttered a swear word, then kissed her. She sensed the lingering fear for her in the intensity of his taking. She gave herself up to the kiss, her arms around his neck, her fingers in his thick hair. She was safe—and desired. What more could a girl ask for?
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