Terror Stash

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  She stared at him, her anger draining like air from a balloon. Just like that it was gone and in its place was a swiftly growing shame. She turned her head, embarrassment fighting with her shame. “You’re wrong,” she said stiffly. “No one deserves to die. Not in that way.”

  He was silent for a long while and she thought he’d decided to spare her.

  “So, Ms. Dela Vega....”

  She looked around, relieved.

  The young constable stood before them, notebook in hand. He waved toward the bow of the boat where another officer was lowering a small inflatable dingy and outboard motor into the water. “We’re going to get you back to the beach so you can pick up your belongings. You’re free to go. We just have to get your name, sir.” His pen hovered over his notebook as he looked at Caden.

  “Hey, man, I was just helping out,” Caden said. Montana felt his wariness like a living thing, surrounding him. Pulsing its warning.

  The constable lowered his notebook. “It’s possible there could be civil charges as a result of Patrick’s actions. This isn’t his boat. I have to take your name for the record.”

  Caden shook his head a little. “Clint Eastwood.”

  The other constable casting off the dingy came up to his side and looked at Caden, his eyes narrowed. “I know you,” he said. He glanced at his fellow officer. “There was something about a big American they were looking for.”

  “The Pink Galah,” said the first, his eyes widening.

  Both constables turned to face Caden accusingly.

  Caden got to his feet, throwing off his blanket.

  Alarm speared through her. Before she had even properly processed the idea, Montana slid between him and the officers. “His name is Caden Rawn, gentlemen. And he is under my protection and, through me, under the protection of the United States. You must let us go.”

  “She’s with the consulate in Perth,” one said to the other.

  “Man, you know we can’t fuck with them,” the other said under his breath.

  She was shaking. She had never in her life used the power of her position in this way. She had never tried to outface authority before. This was exactly the sort of confrontation she sucked at.

  The captain of the boat stepped up then. “I couldn’t help overhearing,” he said, hitching his belt back into place. “I think I can solve this problem here. I’ve had a bit of experience before.” He was middle-aged, deeply tanned and wrinkled, but his eyes were sharp and glittering with intelligence. “Normal practice in a situation like this is to have the Australian authorities escort such personnel directly to US soil. In this case, that’d be the consulate in Perth.”

  Montana’s heart sank. “That isn’t necessary,” she said.

  “Yes, I believe it is. We’d be amiss in our duty if we didn’t make sure he reached US soil as you insisted. So, we’ll take you there.” He jerked his head towards them both. “You two, and....” He looked Caden over, with a quirk of one brow. “Three others. Escort Ms. Dela Vega back to the consulate and make sure they both arrive unharmed. Hand ‘em over and get a receipt.”

  He touched the brim of his hat at her and headed back down to the cabin of the launch.

  Montana’s trembling intensified. She was useless! Useless when it came to dealing with people. Now, things were worse.

  * * * * *

  Sitting on the beach, Steve saw the launch head off with Montana and Caden still in it, and knew that something had happened. Caden had probably been recognized—his accent and size and the menace that radiated from him most of the time made him unique around Margaret River, and easy to identify.

  He pounded the sand by his hip, frustrated and angry at the unfair turn of events.

  They had swum out to that boat with the most pure motives someone could have—to help a stranger. Both of them could have walked away with their noses up in the air, knowing that eventually the marine patrol would find the boat. They could have stayed out of it.

  But they hadn’t.

  In the end, it all comes down to people. That was what Caden had been saying. You do what you can, where you find yourself.

  Steve considered all the excuses he had given them for not marching into his own station and demanding that Borelli listen and do something. They were all excuses and pretty flimsy, too. The only relevant fact was that he found himself here and he knew of a threat to the people of his town. He was supposed to do what he could.

  When the launch was out of sight down the coast, he picked up the two pairs of shoes and the tee-shirt on the ground next to him and headed into town, following the river. He had work to do.

  * * * * *

  For Montana, the trip back to the city was torture. She had tipped Caden out of the frying pan and into the fire. He had made it very clear that getting snarled up in any official investigation that started off with questions like “who are you?” would be bad for him.

  But she didn’t know what else she could have done. The police on the launch would have arrested him right then and there. By stepping between them and blanketing Caden with the authority of the United States, she had possibly made it worse. The problem was, she didn’t know enough about him to know if there was anything she could do to minimize the damage she’d caused.

  He sat next to her in the back seat of the cruiser, watching the trees zip past, completely silent. He hadn’t spoken a word since the officers has shepherded him to the car and stood shoulder to shoulder until he got in. His silence was as bad as if he had screamed at her for her stupidity.

  The police car was negotiating the metropolitan canyons of St. George’s Terrace when he spoke again. He leaned towards her, so that his cheek was within a few inches of hers and spoke quietly. “Insh’Allah. You know that?”

  The matter rests with god. She nodded.

  “That’s where we’ll leave it. Play the rest by ear.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I was trying to—”

  “I know. But you have to stay alert now. Don’t chew up the juices looking back. Understand?”

  She took a breath. “Okay.”

  In a more normal volume, he said; “You know what I keep picturing? I keep seeing Arrabella’s parents.”

  Look forward. Not back. She took another deep breath and tried to match his tone. “You mean, opening the envelope and seeing pictures of their daughter when they thought they were buying pictures of Patrick with the best man?”

  “Yeah, there’s that, too. But what I keep seeing is her father’s expression when they’re presented with the bill for the reception. You gotta give Patrick credit. He has a wicked sense of humor and his timing is perfect.”

  The laughter came at her completely without warning. Suddenly, she found herself shaking with mirth. She painted in her mind the moment when Arrabella’s parents realized that not only had they failed to rid themselves of Patrick, but as the parents of the bride, they got to pay for the wedding, too.

  Her laughter came harder. She realized she had fallen against Caden, the tears streaming from her eyes, and didn’t care. The humor of the whole disastrous wedding kept coming at her from different angles. The faces of the friends and family as they opened the envelopes. The best man. Above all, Patrick’s deliciously ironic sense of vengeance.

  She held her sides as her muscles protested. Then she sighed as the laughter let her go and straightened up. Caden was watching her with a small smile of his own.

  “Better?”

  “Yes,” she said truthfully.

  The car was coming to a halt, the second police cruiser behind it.

  Caden’s warm hand rested on her thigh and he turned on the seat to face her properly. “For the record, I’m glad I met you,” he said.

  She frowned. “Why do you say that like...like...” Like the world as we know it is about to end.

  His answer was to lift the hand on her thigh to cup her jaw. He kissed her thoroughly, making her heart race and her limbs tremble. When he finally released her, h
e looked into her eyes, his thumb stroking her cheek. “Because it is like that. I just wanted to get it in under the wire.”

  The car door opened and the officer grabbed Caden’s elbow and hauled him out of the back seat of the cruiser, onto the footpath.

  She climbed out herself, in time to see Caden, still bare-chested and barefoot, look up at the twenty-second floor. There was a small, clean white square of gauze taped over the wound on his chest, right over his heart.

  He squared his shoulders and looked back at her. “Let’s do it.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  They were parked in one of the “interview rooms” and that alone told Montana how quickly she had become persona non grata here. The interview rooms were bulletproof, with one-way-locking doors, security cameras and alarms. Montana was one of the few people in the consulate that knew the room was also equipped with a knockout gas dispenser that could be triggered remotely.

  Caden pushed two chairs out, settled in one and lifted his feet to the other. After visually scanning the room, he stared hard at the corner where the security camera was hidden and lifted a brow at her. She nodded.

  After a few minutes, they were brought room-temperature soft drinks, in tall glasses. The guard put the tray on the table and indicated they should help themselves.

  Montana was outraged. “Don’t touch the glass,” she said, as he reached for it. “They’re trying to get your fingerprints without your permission.”

  After a minute pause, he picked up the glass. “They’re welcome to them,” he said and drained the glass in big swallows. He put the glass back on the tray and winked at the guard. “There you go.”

  The guard silently picked up the tray again and took the glass out. The door was shut behind him.

  “You don’t have to roll over for them.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He was quite calm. “Relax. We’ll probably have to wait a while.”

  She lowered herself onto a chair, but could barely sit still. “How can you just sit there?” she said.

  “I’m only half here,” he told her, looking over his shoulder at her, with a small smile.

  “Where’s the other half.”

  “Up here.” He tapped his temple.

  “I imagine that’s a big place, up there. Where, precisely?”

  “Oh, about thirty hours ago, amongst other spots.”

  She did a quick count back and could feel herself blushing from her toes to her hairline. Thirty hours ago, they had been making love. The one last time before the sun rose. The one last time, just for the one night they had agreed to.

  But Montana could still feel Caden’s lips against hers, from when he’d kissed her in the back of the cruiser. At the same time, she was mortally aware of the camera in the corner, mercilessly recording every move they made and every word they spoke. Including her blush. They were being watched and analyzed. Boyd Nelson would be one of those watching and he believed she was pregnant to a man other than Caden.

  “Yeah, okay, you won that bet fair and square,” she said, giving the watchers a reason for her blush. “But it was a good game, wasn’t it?”

  Caden gave no sign that he was surprised or confused. He nodded slowly, considering. “One of the better ones. But I’m not a good sports critic. I just don’t get to watch cricket all that much.”

  She could feel her jaw sagging and caught her teeth back together again before the camera picked it up. Did he mean that literally? Somehow, she had assumed that Caden would have his fill of women whenever he wanted and with little effort.

  “I’m surprised,” she said carefully. “You’re a guy. Watching sports games is one of life’s essential nutrients, isn’t it?”

  He glanced at her. “Oh, there’s plenty to watch,” he assured her, with a wolfish grin. “But I only like the games where the underdog has a fighting chance. If they’re brain dead or just playing around for the fun of facing off against serious opposition, it’s not worth the time and effort to watch.” He glanced directly at her again. “I like the stakes high...and the opponents worthy.”

  She dropped her hands in her lap to hide their trembling, unable to think of a coherent word to say.

  Caden crossed his arms, showing no sign of stress or emotion. “Do you play chess, Montana?”

  “Yes, of course, but—”

  “Would you like a game?”

  “Here? You have a set in your pocket?”

  “Mental board. Figure you could hold a game in your mind?”

  She dragged her fingers through her salt-ladened hair, staring at him, while her mind reeled. Chess? Mental chess?

  He was staring at her steadily, his black eyes silently imparting calm. Then she remembered. Insh’Allah. She nodded. “I could try,” she said. “Who’s white?”

  “Oh, ladies first,” he said with a grin.

  She mentally laid out the board and considered her opening move. “Pawn to d-four.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Algebraic notation. I should’ve expected that from you. Okay, knight to c-six.”

  When they came for her ninety minutes later, she was fully involved in defending her queen from Caden’s knight’s vicious attack and was almost irritated by the interruption.

  * * * * *

  Boyd Nelson closed the door of his office very softly. For once, he didn’t ask her to do it.

  He shuffled around to his side of the desk, literally sidling past the corner where space was tight, and eased himself into the oversized chair he used. He was puffing audibly by the time he had himself settled and his face was very red.

  Montana was more interested in the monitor on the sideboard behind his desk. The black and white image showed Caden in the interview room. He was staring directly into the camera, his arms still crossed and his legs still on the second chair. It felt like he was staring directly at her.

  Nelson cleared his throat, then leaned backwards, making the chair groan, and turned the monitor off.

  Montana smiled cheerily at him. “And how are you, Nelson?”

  “I really have to wonder if you’ve taken leave of your senses, Montana. I know pregnant women often have hormonal imbalances that can make them behave erratically, but you really do seem to have gone off the deep end. If you don’t mind me saying so? What are you doing running around with this Rawn man? And for god’s sake, offering him the protection of the United States. What were you thinking?”

  “I was keeping him out of the hands of some very near sighted local police who would only have been interested in locking him up and throwing away the key.”

  “From what’s been reported back to me, that’s all he deserves,” Nelson snapped back. “A bar brawl, five men injured—”

  “They came at him with knives.” Montana said it calmly, although she knew that Nelson wouldn’t hear it even if she shouted it. He’d already made up his mind.

  It meant that anything else she had to say would also be filtered through the prejudice he was already carrying, but she had to get it on the record. She knew their conversation was at the very least being recorded, if not filmed. Other eyes and ears would analyze it later.

  He tapped his pen on the desk. “I’ve known you six years, Montana. You’re usually level headed. Why don’t you tell me what you think is happening here?”

  So she told him, leaving nothing out. It was important that all the details be covered. They would be used to verify her story later. The only details she skimmed over were those that would get Steve in trouble with his station. She let Nelson continue to think she was pregnant and that Steve had been involved in their venture on a personal level. She also implied that Steve knew nothing about Caden’s bar fight.

  It took a long while to tell the story. Nelson asked her the occasional question to bring her back on track, or to clarify a point, but otherwise he let her talk and he listened hard. By the time she was finished her throat was very dry and Nelson’s eyes were very large. He had taken no notes at all, which further confirmed that t
he conversation was being recorded.

  He put the pen down on the blank pad with the gentleness of placing an egg, or a bomb, and rubbed at his temples. “Oh Lordy.” he breathed.

  Montana forced herself to stay silent. She wanted Nelson to direct conversation now, so she could see where he was going to take it.

  He spread his hands on the pad. Blew out his breath.

  “What is it, Nelson?” Montana said softly. His huge reluctance to speak was unsettling.

  He lifted the fingers and drummed them on the page. Then he lifted his gaze to look at her. “We can’t protect this man, Montana. I can see why you think we should, but we cannot.”

  “But...”

  “It’s your turn to hear me out.”

  Fair enough. She shut up.

  “Do you have any idea about this man? Who he is?”

  “Does it matter?” she asked, as calmly as she could. “He’s done nothing but protect himself and actively assist the police since I met him. Now he’s in a position where he needs our help.”

  “Help of some sort, I supposed,” Nelson said. “But not ours. To start with, he’s Canadian.”

  She gritted her jaws together, scrambling to hide her surprise and her dismay. How could Nelson know something like that and she did not? But it had never come up in conversation....

  Nelson nodded, as if he’d seen her surprise anyway. Her silence would have confirmed her ignorance, she realized.

  “I see there’s a great deal you don’t know about him.” Nelson turned to his computer and stabbed at the keyboard. “I must enlighten you.”

  “If he’s Canadian, then why do we have records on him?” she demanded sharply.

  “Oh, your friend Rawn is notorious in certain circles.”

  She licked her lips. “Go on.”

  “Caden Rawn, also known as Dennis Rawlings, also known as Daniel Rourke.” Nelson frowned. “None of those are confirmed aliases, by the way. Barely anything here is confirmed. There’s a great deal of speculation about him.”