“Not as powerless as she was.” She rested her head against the seat. “But I’ve done nothing useful with my life despite the little power I do have, while she managed to save an entire country.”
“I think you’re a harsh critic.”
“Yeah? I’m cooling my heels in a forgotten corner of the world known only to a handful of surfers. I have no real friends. My ambitions to help my country, to make a difference, are wasting away. If Nelson has his way, I’ll stay here until I retire. His preferred option is that I be sent back to the States in disgrace and kept out of harm’s way.” She rolled her head to look Caden square in the eye. “Any facts in that critique you want to argue with?”
“You underestimate yourself.” His voice was a low rumble.
“I can’t figure how you built such a high opinion of me.”
He was silent for a long moment. “I know you’re not fishing for compliments. You’re not the type. So that means you genuinely can’t see it.” He looked at her. There was no humor in his face, now. “You’re going to have to learn how to value what you are. To really know your own strengths and weaknesses. No one else will do it for you.”
“Like you?”
“You took a step down my path yesterday, when you pushed me out the consulate door. So, on this, you need to be as ruthless about self-assessment as me. Know your weaknesses. Know your strengths. Really know them. You have to do your best to fill in the gaps, because your survival will depend on it.”
She shivered. “Caden—“
He sighed. “Why now? Why start using my name now?”
“I know you now. A little.”
“That’s not it,” he said with complete certainty. He turned in the seat to face her properly, which neatly shielded them both from the people in the seats across the aisle. “You only started using my name after you found out about me—about my history. Most people run a mile when they catch even a glimpse of it. Why not you?”
“’Most people’?”
He paused, visibly debating something. “Women,” he said finally, flatly. “There’s two types of women. Those that think they like playing with danger. Those that don’t. Either type runs when they see me for what I really am. Except you. You kept pushing me away, until you learned the truth and suddenly, you’re helping me.”
“And you’re suspicious,” she concluded.
“Curious,” he amended. His thumb touched her jaw, stroked along it with the delicacy of a feather. “And perhaps...just a little bit hopeful.”
“Isn’t that a good thing, hope? Why does it bother you?”
“Because there’s one thing Bangkok taught me and that is never to hope. Expect the worse. Plan for it.” His black eyes seemed even darker as he pinned her with his ruthless stare. “I can’t figure you out, Montana. Not even now I know about Khafji.”
“Occam’s Razor. I am just what you see. You want depth where there is none.”
He smiled. “I don’t believe that for a nano-second.”
“That’s all there is, Caden. Trust me.”
He considered that for a moment longer, then tapped her computer. “Does that thing have chess on it?”
She nodded and pulled out the stylus again, trying to hide the queer little jerk of disappointment tugging at her. She didn’t want Caden digging around in her head. Did she?
They set up the end game they had been mentally playing at the consulate and played until the bus pulled into Bunbury for a twenty-minute break. While Montana bought food for both of them, Caden scoured the newspapers for sale in the next section of the store.
He was one of the last people to return to the bus and Montana had already eaten her way through half of the huge home-style bacon and egg burger she had bought, devouring it in big bites. The fries had slipped down in five minutes. It was the first hot food she’d had in over twenty-four hours.
But Caden’s face when he climbed back into his seat turned the food to ashes in her mouth. She swallowed quickly. “What is it?” she asked.
“No papers. No current ones. But they had a TV there and I got the highlights from the eleven o’clock broadcast. There’s been a terrorist attack in Edmonton. Some shopping mall there, they’re calling it the biggest in the northern hemisphere. There was a bomb, or maybe more than one, they’re still trying to sort it out. Hundreds dead.” He let his head fall back against the seat. “Christ, all the families out Christmas shopping...”
Montana licked her lips. “Al-Qa’ida had Canada on its hit list,” she said very quietly.
“Yeah, they were talking about that, too. But why Edmonton?” He frowned. “It doesn’t make sense. Why not Toronto, or Vancouver? There are more people there. Edmonton’s a little prairie city.”
“Well, now I know what Nelson was referring to. He said that Canada had just had its priorities shifted around. He must have already known about this.”
She handed Caden his burger and he held it in his hands, as if he were weighing it up. “They’re saying Al-Qa’ida, but I can’t get rid of the notion that this was somehow aimed at me.” He glanced at her quickly. To check if she were laughing? “Do you think it was Bob’s people?”
“How could it be aimed at you?” she said reasonably. “You were born there. That’s it. You don’t know the place, it doesn’t know you.”
But his question had prodded a memory she couldn’t quite reach.
“There’s a connection there all the same,” Caden replied. Again, the sideways glance, to assess her. “I’ve been to a hundred different cities all over the world. Some of them I love, some I can’t wait to leave behind. Lots of them are great places to visit. But none of them have a personal connection for me the way Edmonton does, despite the fact that I don’t remember being there.”
“Not even Singapore?”
“That’s just home.” He frowned. “Where is your home?” he said. “I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned.”
“Perth is home for me.”
“I mean, back in the States?”
She shook her head. “Nowhere. Not since Drusilla died.” What was it that was prodding her mind with a silent yell? She tried to relax, to open up so that the insistent memory would come to her.
Suddenly it was there. She sat up again. “Bloody hell!”
“Very Australian,” Caden observed wryly.
She looked around. There were too many people near them, so she leaned closer to Caden and lowered her voice. “In the cave, remember when the men walked by and I listened to what they were saying?”
He nodded.
“One of them was complaining about being stir crazy. The others pointed out that in two weeks’ time things would start to happen. The complainer bitched about that—something about they’d been telling them it would be two weeks for six months or more. They said it just to shut them up. The others came back at him with proof that he was wrong. They said...” She reached back into her memory for the exact phrasing, but it was choppy and faded now. “As far as I can remember, they said, ‘Nuri has gone. Muntasir. Rashad.’ Basically he was telling him he was full of shit.” She looked at Caden. “Nuri, Muntasir, Rashad. At least three of them have left those caves recently.”
His eyes narrowed. Montana got the impression that he was thinking very hard indeed, reaching for connections and conclusions.
“Even if they did head for Edmonton,” she added softly, “It doesn’t mean they went there because of you.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
* * * * *
Afterwards, he slept again. He woke when they were still twenty minutes away from Margaret River and gave a huge yawn. “I’ll have a word with the driver.” He ambled down the aisle to lean against the front of the bus and chat with the driver.
Montana packed her computer away, anticipating his intention. As she finished, the bus slowed and pulled over to the side of the highway. The door opened with a hiss of hydraulics. Caden shook hands with the driver and motioned for her to
get off.
She pulled the two overnights bags down from the overhead bins and climbed off. The bus pulled away, leaving them standing there, but as soon as the taillights had dimmed, Caden took a bag from her and scrambled down the ditch, heading into the forest.
“Did you get any sleep?” he asked.
“A little. Adrenaline will keep me going a while yet,” she assured him. “We’re cutting across to Steve’s farmhouse?”
“He finished his shift at eleven. We can get your car, my boots, swing over and pick up my gear and then....” He was silent for a few steps.
“What?”
“I don’t like to plan too far ahead. There are too many variables.”
“Let’s just get to Steve’s then. I wouldn’t mind a decent coffee.” She slung the straps of her carry bag over her shoulders, turning it into a makeshift backpack. It was about six miles to Steve’s from here. She mentally shrugged. It would be good exercise. It would also keep her awake.
* * * * *
Steve’s converted farmhouse sat in the middle of what were once tended farmer’s fields, but were now being reclaimed by the forest. It was five a.m. and fully light when they stopped at the edge of the tree line, peering at the farmhouse. Montana stretched her back and rolled her neck. Caden was still, staring ahead with focused intensity.
“I don’t like it,” he said at last.
Alerted, she studied the house. “His car is gone.”
Caden nodded a little. “The house doesn’t feel slept in.”
Montana considered that a moment. “Before you hauled me off my feet in the forest the other day, I ran on gut instinct for two whole days and the only time I got into trouble was when I didn’t listen to my instincts. I say we go with your gut.”
“Let’s circle it, see what we see.”
It took forty minutes to make a great loop around the house and establish that no one else hovered nearby. Caden lingered over tire tracks in the rough track that served as access to the house from the nearest official road. “Your big gas guzzler,” he said, pointing to the heavy tread marks of her four-wheel drive. “Steve’s Holden. These are strange and cross over the top of both sets.”
“Someone has been here since Steve left.”
He rubbed his chin. “I’m glad, now, we parked your car in that falling down barn.”
“It’s a shearing shed.”
“That explains the aroma.” He crossed over the track, back into the trees again. “Let’s not go into the house.”
“Gut, again?”
“Screaming at me, yeah.”
They worked their way back to the overgrown, barely visible track. It led to the dilapidated shed, tucked away amongst the trees, where Steve had suggested Montana park her car while they headed into the forest after Ghenghis Bob. The shed provided shelter from the rain and the sun. Sun damage to a car’s interior upholstery was a genuine problem in Australia, where the sun beat down from almost directly overhead throughout most of the summer. Despite the dusty scent of sheep manure, Montana had been pleased to accept the offer.
The shed did look like it was falling down—there was an acute lean to the walls, and the roof bowed sharply in the middle. The wood was warped and green with moss and mold on the lee side, and was cracked and flaking on the north side. Only a four-wheel drive vehicle could reach it anymore. She’d had to maneuver through the skewed doorway with care and had scraped the running board on the way through. They’d struggled to shut the doors, fighting against rusting hinges.
It was likely that whoever had visited Steve’s house had either missed the shed or dismissed it. But Caden still circled the building, examining the ground around it and the building itself minutely.
Montana didn’t rush him. Her own gut was starting to hammer at her now.
Finally, Caden approached the doors of the shed and hauled on one of them, forcing it open just enough for them to slip inside.
The black paintwork of her car glinted in the chink of light from the open door. Deep relief speared her and she opened the driver’s door to look inside. Steve had returned all their belongings to the car, including her handbag with its precious money, credit cards and more.
Caden opened the passenger door. “All here.” He picked up his Rolex and slid it on and pushed his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans. He hefted the big knife that he’d been forced to leave behind, then stripped off the sweatshirt and began threading the knife onto his belt.
Montana forced herself to ignore the gleam of Caden’s bare shoulders and chest in the low light. “It’s good to be a real person again,” she said, digging through the contents of her bag.
“You’ll have to learn how to get by without all that crap,” Caden told her. “You’ve just been conditioned into thinking it’s essential.”
“It would have helped us a lot the last twenty-four hours.”
“We managed fine without it. Cash will get you anywhere.”
She made a face at him and pulled out her cell phone and checked it. “Fifteen calls!” She scrolled through the Caller ID screen. “My god!”
“What?”
“I know this number. They’re all Nelson.”
“All?”
“No, wait. This one is a text message...from 0426-234-044. Isn’t that Steve’s cell phone?”
“Yes.”
She selected the call and the text screen popped up. Ligurio.
“Ligurio?” she repeated aloud.
The cell phone began to ring and vibrate in her hand and she nearly dropped it. Caden leaned against the top sill of the door, watching her through the car. She glanced at the caller ID. “Nelson, again.” She looked at him in question.
“If you don’t stay on long, they can’t trace back through the satellite. If he’s asking lots of questions, you know he’s trying to keep you on.”
“Easier not to answer.”
“Answer it. We may learn something that’ll help us. If you don’t answer, we can’t learn. Let’s play the odds.”
She answered the phone. “Nelson?”
“Jesus Christ!” Nelson took a gasping, shocked breath. “I’d got used to the idea you’d never answer the damn thing. Have you checked your voicemail?”
“No.”
“Then, well, I guess I’m going to have to do it right over the phone.”
“Do what, Nelson? Fire me? I figured that was coming.”
“Good lord, why would I want to fire you?” He sounded genuinely shocked.
“Excuse me?” She rubbed between her brows. “Why have you been phoning me so often, then?”
“Because, oh dear, because your friend Steve Scarborough. Montana, there was a police report filed on him. He’s missing, presumed dead.”
She pressed her temple, as her heart went cold and her head tried to explode. “That’s not possible.” Her throat scraped painfully over the words.
She felt Caden climb into the passenger seat, moving closer, as she leaned onto the seat, propping herself up. She didn’t have the energy to stand by herself.
“The report says they have reason to believe he fell off the cliffs south of the river mouth. It doesn’t say why, only that they’re investigating the matter. It’s a police report, Montana. You know how it goes.”
There was a dry note to his tone that made Montana reply: “You said ‘They say.’ You don’t believe it, do you?”
Nelson sighed. “So close on the heels of the story you told me yesterday? You were right, Montana. I’d already sentenced you before you opened your mouth. But this... I’m not going to ask where you are and I’m going to hang up in less than a minute, but I wanted to make sure you knew this. I believe you’re mixed up in something. Whether it’s what you think or not doesn’t matter. You have to be careful now, especially if you’re where I think you are. Be careful, but do what you must.”
“Help us,” she said instantly.
“I can’t.” He hesitated. “I only have my career. I have to hold onto it.�
�
No click sounded when he hung up. There was no warning. Just silence. Then, a second later, the monotonous dial tone.
Montana dropped the phone and covered her eyes.
“It’s Steve,” Caden said.
She nodded.
“Dead?” he asked softly.
“I got him killed.” The words pushed out of her. “I killed him.” She pressed the ends of her fingers into her temples, trying to squeeze harder and harder against the pain exploding there.
Abruptly, she was hauled by her arms up into the car, up until her head knocked against the roof, then her knees were slammed onto the seat, the car keys digging painfully into a kneecap. But she barely noticed the pain, for Caden’s black eyes were inches from her and radiated fury. His hands were wrapped around her upper arms, squeezing hard.
“It was not your fault. You hear me?”
“But he’s dead! He wouldn’t be if he—”
Caden shook her, not gently, and her teeth clattered together, clipping her tongue and bringing tears to her eyes. Then his eyes were boring into her again. “Yes, he’s dead, but if you want to blame someone for it, you blame the fuckers that killed him. He made his own choices, Montana. You didn’t force him into anything and you damn well know it.” He gave her another shake. “Now, do I have to slap you around like a hysterical little girl, or are you going to snap out of this?”
The tears surged then, each of them hot hard bullets of pain that oozed from her eyes. Her vision swam. Caden’s grip on her arms loosened and he pulled her into his arms, properly, to hold her. She was wrapped in warm flesh and enveloped in his scent. His hand buried in her hair. “That’s better.” His voice was rough.
“No, it’s not,” she said, forcing the words past the spiked, burning lump in her chest and throat. “It hurts.”
“Yes, it does,” he agreed. “It’s supposed to.” He push hair away from her face. “It tells you you’re still human. When it doesn’t hurt any more you’ll know you’ve become a monster.”
“Is this the price people get to pay for trying to change things? How can I ever call on friendship for anything if it might lead to this?”
“It doesn’t always demand this price.”
Terror Stash Page 25