Undercut

by Heather Day Gilbert

  Molly’s eyes widened. “I thought you’d do hot dogs.”

  “There’s more to grilling than hot dogs. Trust me, I’m a real ‘grill daddy’—lots of time in the field.”

  At her laugh, relief flowed through him—maybe he hadn’t totally ruined things between them. Then again, she might not show it if he’d hurt her by refusing a second kiss.

  “Would you mind starting a fire in the wood stove?” he asked. “The lighter’s in that left-hand drawer, and there’s kindling in that basket near the wood.”

  She blinked, but responded quickly. “Sure.”

  As he focused on adjusting the temperature of the grill, he heard her shuffling around with her task. By the time he grabbed a sturdy paper plate and piled the chicken on it, he peeked inside. She was kneeling next to the stove’s door, flicking the lighter repeatedly.

  “Having trouble?”

  “A little.”

  He removed the crispy potatoes, shook a little parmesan on top, and wrapped them in tin foil. Then he walked inside and peered into the stove.

  She had been far too sparing with the kindling and had set it in a wide circle around the bigger logs. The pine cones didn’t touch each other or the wood itself.

  There was no way she could start a fire that way, much less keep one going.

  She’d never made a fire before.

  Apparently, Sean McClure hadn’t taught his children basic survival skills, which Zane would’ve expected from a highly-trained government operative.

  Once again, though, Molly was acting as if this were the most normal fire-starting setup in the world. A short laugh burst from his lips, but he covered it quickly with a cough when Molly shot him a questioning look.

  “Let me check that lighter,” he said.

  When she handed it to him, he began to scrutinize it as if that were the problem. “Would you mind pouring us some of that sweet tea? That’s another thing I’m good at, by the way—I’m a great sweet tea brewer.”

  “A Grill Daddy and a Sweet Tea Brewer. I’m in luck tonight.” She walked out toward the food on the deck table.

  He hastily rearranged the kindling, lit it, and slammed the heavy iron door. Just in time.

  Molly swept back in, toting two large plastic cups. “You know, I thought I heard something over in one of those sheds.”

  He washed his hands at the sink. “What did it sound like? Raccoons come around sometimes, and skunks tend to get active this time of night.”

  “It sounded like something fell. Maybe an animal knocked something over?”

  “Probably. Luckily, bears aren’t really interested in my cabins because I don’t store food here. I’ll check it out, but let’s eat first.”

  Molly filled her plate and followed Zane to the small table inside. Before digging in, she pulled her phone from one of her jacket pockets. She punched at the screen. “You don’t have any cell service at all? What if there’s an emergency?”

  “You still worrying about that raccoon?” He grinned. “Seriously, just up that hill to the back of us, there’s wireless reception. So I’m not totally stranded. Just really secluded.”

  “I’ll say. I hope you learned medical skills in the Marines.”

  He popped a small red potato in his mouth. “Are you planning on getting injured?”

  She dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “Of course not. But you should always bring someone up here with you.”

  Was she angling for another invitation? He certainly hoped so.

  Before he could formulate a response, she spoke again. “Did you ever think you were going to die when you were out there? Was it Afghanistan?”

  He nodded. “But I knew I was ready to go, even though I’m not a real churchgoer.”

  “Why aren’t you?”

  Mom and Dad were always asking him the same question. “I guess when you see people die—good people—you ask yourself how a good god could let that happen.” He blinked back embarrassing tears as he thought of Sitko’s joking antics, his carefree love of life. Gone.

  Molly leaned in. “But wouldn’t that be putting yourself in the place of God? I mean, you’re coming at it like your reasoning could possibly equal His, like you could understand the big picture of what’s good and what’s not.”

  “I…hadn’t thought of it that way, actually.”

  “I just figure if we really believe God is God, we have to believe the Bible 100 percent, you know? So we have to believe what God says about Himself.”

  “You’re a deep girl, Molly.”

  Her mellow laugh broke the tension. “No way. I just have a great pastor who talks about this stuff a lot. How to give an answer for our faith.” She speared a piece of asparagus. “Hey, you should visit church with me sometime.”

  Some strange part of him stirred, a part he’d buried during his first tour of duty. “Maybe I will.”

  A loud rap sounded at the door, startling them both. Zane felt for his Colt, forgetting if he’d returned it to his holster. He hadn’t. That meant he’d left everything in the bag he’d shoved in the safe.

  He jumped up and rummaged through the kitchen drawer for the sharpest knife he could find. When Molly stood, he placed a finger on his lips so she would stay quiet. He was probably being overly cautious. Maybe someone had made a wrong turn, or maybe a distant neighbor had seen their vehicle and decided to pay a call. Or maybe his parents had decided to show up.

  He strode over and opened the door just a sliver, and his heart shot into overdrive once he saw the familiar figure standing outside.

  He’d recognize that white-blond hair anywhere, because he’d seen it hundreds of times in his nightmares. Maybe he actually had lost his mind, because he was staring at a ghost.

  Sitko.

  10

  “You’re a hard man to find, Isaiah Boone.” Sitko spat tobacco juice into the fast-thickening layer of snow on the doorstep. He brushed past Zane, deliberately banging into his arm in the process. This was no ghost.

  Zane couldn’t hide his surprise. “Wha—what happened?”

  Sitko laughed, but there was no mirth in it. Hatred tinged his words as he wheeled around. “Bet you asked yourself that a lot, didn’t you, Boone? It was a riddle I pondered every time they strung me up and beat me like a piñata. I just kept thinking, what happened to make Boone miss that open shot when those hajjis hauled me out the front gate? Why didn’t he take them out before the grenade distracted everyone?”

  “But I didn’t see you. I looked. There was no one.”

  “I’m sure you tell yourself that.” Sitko sauntered over to Molly in his heavy black boots. Though her eyes were wide with fear, Molly stood straighter as he approached.

  “And what have we here?” He turned back to Zane. “A buddy of mine said he saw your lady friend and spoke to her, but she wasn’t inclined to chat.”

  Zane processed what Sitko was saying. Sitko’s “buddy” was Molly’s parking lot stalker.

  He felt blood rushing through his veins as his anger boiled up. This wasn’t the Sitko he’d known in Afghanistan. This was a new, cruel Sitko who was looking at Molly like a wolf looked at a rabbit.

  Zane took four long strides and shoved himself between Sitko and Molly.

  He jabbed a finger at Sitko. “You need to back off.”

  “But why, when I’ve come this far? Like I said, you’re a hard one to pin down. Who would’ve guessed you’d go into the lumber business up in hillbilly country?”

  When Zane maintained silence, Sitko pulled an exaggerated frown. “I thought we’d have a great reunion and catch up on old times. Like, say, that time you shot me in the shoulder.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “It was just the other day, in your house, remember? You’ve set yourself up pretty well, but that house could use a little work. Or did you really think I came for the TV?”

  “That was you.”

  Sitko sank into the couch, stretching an arm out as if he owned the place. “I’ll admit my knife sk
ills aren’t what they once were, before…well, before they took me.”

  From the newer scar on Sitko’s forehead, Zane guessed the terrorists had done terrible things to him. But he knew better than to open that door. The man was out for revenge and was probably unhinged enough without rehashing his torture. Yet…how had he escaped?

  Sitko watched him closely, then nodded ever so slightly. “Putting the pieces together, are you?”

  “They turned you?”

  “Not really. Someone in power just took pity on me, that’s all. Now I hate to cut the small talk, but seriously, you know I’m going to kill you both. I’d like to have a bit of fun with the redhead first. I wouldn’t advise you to interfere—after all, you owe me.” Sitko stood, pulling his own gun from a belt holster. He motioned toward the bathroom. “Drop your knife and head in there, brother.”

  It was a mockery of their Marine code. Semper Fi meant nothing to Sitko anymore. They were no longer brothers.

  Zane dropped his knife and took a couple of steps toward the bathroom. Abruptly, he whirled around to face the gun. Slamming his open palm into the wrist of Sitko’s trigger hand, he flipped the firearm out of it with his other hand in a move he’d learned in a Krav Maga class. Sitko brought his knee up, but Zane dodged and jabbed him in the shoulder he’d shot.

  Sitko gave a shout of pain, glaring as he spat out a threat. “You’re not getting out alive, Boone. I’ve got people outside.”

  “Where?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  Molly shifted her gaze toward the back of the building, reminding Zane she’d heard a noise in the storage shed. The others were likely holed up there.

  He refocused on his old friend. “Why? Because you think I let you down?”

  Unnatural elation twisted Sitko’s mouth into a grin. “Because you never lived there—with the people. Once I did, I realized that Habib wanted to help them.”

  Wood heat had made the cabin toasty. Zane swiped sweat from his forehead, keeping the gun poised on Sitko. “You don’t believe that. He would’ve killed his own people.”

  “No, he wouldn’t have.”

  “How do you know what his plans were? He’s dead now.”

  “We were lied to. We were fighting the wrong war.”

  Zane had no time for this. He had to disable Sitko so he could eliminate any other threats on his property.

  He shoved Sitko’s gun into the back of his waistband, then turned to Molly. “Could you bring me some of that black paracord in the drawer next to the sink?”

  Molly’s steps were a bit unsteady, but she managed to retrieve it for him. She avoided his eyes as she handed it over, and he realized she was on the verge of tears. Refocusing on the task at hand, he knotted the thick cord around Sitko’s wrists and led him toward the bathroom.

  “Lock the door and stay low,” he instructed over his shoulder.

  Molly was shaking so badly she could hardly put one foot in front of the other. How ridiculous, how minuscule her plans to impress Zane seemed now. When it came to a real survival situation, she was completely helpless. A pretty face, waiting to die.

  No. She wouldn’t let her thoughts go there.

  She fumbled at the locks and had nearly turned the bottom one when shoes crunched toward the door. Even as she registered that it must have snowed considerably in the brief time they’d been indoors, she hurried to slide the chain lock into place.

  Behind her, she heard a dull thud in the bathroom. She only hoped that meant things were under control. Zane hadn’t seemed as terrified as she was, but she knew he was trained to hide his fear and to act in the face of it, just like her dad had been. Zane had disarmed the rogue gunman with his bare hands, but he’d made it look like something he did every day, like brewing up a cup of morning coffee. Still, if the man had been a fellow Marine, which is what it sounded like, she was sure he was a formidable enemy.

  With both locks secure, she stepped back and scanned the room, trying to ignore the rattling noises outside the front door. She needed a place to hide, but there was none. She hurried toward the back door and inched it open, accidentally allowing a layer of snow to push into the room.

  She peered out, and although it was dark, she could make out at least four inches on the ground. Thick flakes covered her face in seconds. This was no light snow—it looked like a blizzard.

  Gunshots ripped through the night, and she slammed the door shut before racing toward the bathroom.

  “Someone’s shooting from the shed, and someone’s outside the front door!” As she turned the corner into the bathroom, she ran smack into Zane. He caught her in his powerful arms, pulling her into him for a brief, comforting hug that spoke more than words. As she peered over his shoulder, she saw the intruder slumped against the wall as if he’d been knocked out. There was also the possibility that he was dead.

  Right now, she didn’t really care which.

  A volley of shots fired again, into the side of the cabin. Zane unlocked the gun safe and retrieved two rifles and his handgun.

  “I’m going to get the shooter and whoever’s out there,” he said, his voice steady. “What I want you to do is go out the back door and climb that hill. At the top, there should be a cell signal. Call Ace or whoever you can get a hold of.”

  “And then what?”

  “Then you wait for me.”

  She remembered the thick blanket of snow outside. “You’ll have to put on your coat and hat. It’s snowed a lot.”

  “Will do.” He shoved a longer magazine into his Colt, racked the slide, and handed it to her. “It’s loaded. Do you remember how to use this?”

  “I think so.” Stupid tears welled in her eyes. “I have to now, don’t I?”

  He took off his belt and holster and threaded both through the belt loops on her jeans, finally inserting the loaded gun into the holster’s hard casing. Although the belt drooped considerably, there was no time to fix it. He cupped her cheeks in his large hands, his eyes intense. It was the last straw. She choked back a sob and her tears began to flow freely.

  He brushed her cheekbones with his thumbs, his voice deepening. “Molly, listen to me. I have a snowmobile in that other shed. I’ll come get you as soon as I can. You hear me?”

  She drew strength from his resolute gaze, managing a slight nod. “I know you will.”

  And she did trust him to come for her—if only he could manage to stay alive.

  11

  A sense of determination propelled Molly as she pulled on her gloves and shoved the back door open again. It would be a freezing, exhausting hike up that steep hillside, but Zane had given her marching orders, and she wouldn’t slack off when he needed her most.

  She felt her way along the darkened deck, trying not to trip over anything. When she reached the railing, she planted her hands in the snow and clambered over it. There was a steep incline behind the deck; she had no choice but to make her way up it. She didn’t want to think about how long her climb might take.

  Blindly, she grabbed at the snow-laden surface, hoping for trees or roots to cling to. Each time she latched onto something to pull herself up, her foothold gave way and she slid down even more. All it would take was for someone to turn on a porch light or shine a flashlight in her direction, and she would be a sitting duck.

  Shots boomed behind her. One of her feet slid from its tenuous perch, and she nearly toppled backward. Frantic, she flattened against the hill and reached above her, praying she’d hit on something solid. This time, her wet, gloved fingers curled around a jutting rock ledge.

  She used all her upper body strength to crawl up to the ledge, kicking snow loose in the process. She was able to scramble into a standing position by holding onto a slim tree trunk. She shuddered to think what would happen if she fell from this height, but at least she could no longer be spotted from below. Feeling around, she found more rocks above her. Perhaps this was a cave area.

  The cabin was dark. She wondered how Zane had gotten
out, with someone outside the front door and someone shooting from the shed. He wouldn’t have gone out the back deck door because he wanted to deflect attention from her precarious mission.

  Had he sniped the shooter already? Had he taken out the other person who was lurking around the cabin?

  Knowing she was kicking snow down to the deck, she gritted her teeth and continued her ascent. She had no idea how far she was from the top of the incline, which was definitely more of a mountaintop than a hill.

  With each heave upward, with each fresh cut the cold rocks gave her stomach and hands, she reminded herself that Lola needed her daddy and this was the only way to save him.

  Suddenly, the lights came on inside the cabin. Was it a sign Zane was okay? Had he already managed to take out both intruders? There was no way of being sure until the snowmobile came for her, so she had to keep going. They would need backup, one way or another, and it was solely her job to call for help.

  She swept her hand into the dark space above her and found a tree branch. After testing its strength, she slowly heaved herself upward again. Her boots slid onto a flat, snowy surface.

  She had reached the top of the hill.

  Zane managed to launch himself through the narrow window opening, landing with a quiet thud on the snow. He was glad he’d grown up hunting deer in the snowy mountains, so it couldn’t be much different to hunt down the shooter. Except that now it was pitch-black. Hopefully, the darkness would cloak him so he could stay unnoticed.

  It was possible the shooter had a flashlight, but given the way he’d been shooting, if he did have one, he wasn’t using it to aim. The regular sprays of bullets seemed more of a fear technique than an attempt to take out a specific target.

  Or maybe they were trying to flush him out of the cabin, in which case, he’d obliged them.

  As he crept toward the shed, he couldn’t stop thinking about Molly. She’d probably had no experience with camping or hiking in the dark. She had kept her head when Sitko came in and threatened them, but if she wasn’t able to handle the snow and panicked in her climb, she could give away her position and lead the terrorists right to her. Given her limited shooting skills, she probably wouldn’t have much chance of hitting someone in the dark, if she was brave enough to shoot at all.