Terror Stash

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  Before Montana could push aside her shock and formulate a decent answer, he shook his head. “Don’t worry about driving me back to the motel. I’ll find my own way.” He slipped out of the room with the sort of quiet stealth that made him such a dangerous opponent of bad guys everywhere.

  Montana stared at the empty doorway, her mind blank and her heart bewildered.

  “Fuck,” Steve muttered.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The Bommie was ground zero. It was here that every surfer and a good portion of the residents of Margaret River and Yallingup all converged, just on sunset.

  A huge bonfire made of malley roots collected over the summer and every piece of driftwood and flammable piece of flotsam was built in the middle of the beach.

  That was just the center of the party. There were other, smaller fires, dotted around. At the top of the beach where sand gave way to the tough grasses and pigweed, a beer keg had been tapped and was dispensing beer as fast as the brew would flow.

  Every other type of alcohol known to man could be found somewhere on the beach, along with an expensive and well-hidden haul of pot, mild hallucinogenic and other party drugs. Then there was music.

  A ghetto blaster, even a good one, wouldn’t do for a party like this. Everyone had contributed a few dollars and a mobile deejay had been hired on the strict condition that he keep the talking and slow dancing to a minimum and kept the good tunes flowing. He was complying to the letter.

  As Montana climbed out of her SUV, she was hit with a blast of classic INXS at top volume. She inhaled, smelling the sweet, musky scent of marijuana and smiled. The party was underway.

  She walked to the edge of the grass and bent to unbuckle her shoes. She didn’t get the chance.

  “Montana! Hey, Montana’s here!” It was Bruce’s voice; although she could barely hear it above the music.

  She straightened up as a dozen or more people slogged up to her through the sand, all gabbling at once. Caden was not among them. Of course he wouldn’t be.

  She waved her hands at them and cupped her hand to her ear. “I can’t hear! One at a time!”

  Jacko tapped Bruce’s shoulder and both of them dipped down simultaneously, and their shoulders came up behind her thighs.

  She gasped and clung to them as she was carried across the sand, trailing a tail of surfers.

  She was deposited on a picnic table someone had managed to unlock from its anchor over by the car park and carry to the fire.

  She turned to thank Jacko and Bruce and every word died in her throat. There were dozens of people surrounding the table, waving at her—many of them with bottles in their hands—and smiling and dimly heard, cheering.

  For her.

  The music switched off quite suddenly, Michael Hutchence silenced in mid-warble.

  “Guys and gals, if you haven’t figured it out already, the guest of honor has arrived.” It was Greg on the microphone, his voice ringing up and down the length of the beach. “Everyone, say hello to Montana Dela Vega!”

  There was a good round of cheers and claps and Montana waved hello. Her cheeks were burning. She tried to scan the people surrounding her, to see if Caden was amongst them, but there were too many.

  “And just in case you wandered into this party without an invite—”

  Lots more cheers, more loudly this time.

  “—and don’t have a friggin’ clue who Montana is or why you’re here, lemme put you straight. This here lady saved my life two weeks ago. She hauled me out of the sauce right here at the Bommie.”

  More cheers. They would willingly cheer anything, she thought.

  “But that’s not the only reason we’re here. The other reason, the one a lot of you probably don’t know about is that you’re looking at a real, true blue hero, folks. You all know about the den of crooks they dug out of the caves last week. Jesus, you’d have to be brain dead if you haven’t heard about it on the news. It’s been on every channel and in every paper for five days solid. What you don’t know is that Montana was the one that found them and busted the operation wide open.”

  The cheers were quieter this time and she could see that a good many of the assembled crowd were staring at her, talking to each other. Did they find it too difficult to believe?

  “Greg—” She turned to him. “Enough. Really.”

  He shook his head. “Nope, we’re getting to the important bit right now. Here’s the bit you’ll like, guys. Remember our all-time favorite cop, Steve Scarborough?”

  Some cat calls and whistles this time. The mood was turning, getting subdued, and the general surfing philosophy was to have a good time come hell or high water.

  Greg was bringing them down.

  “I think pretty much everyone’s heard that someone tried to do Steve in a few weeks ago and for a cop, he’s an okay guy. He’s respected around here. Montana’s been kinda busy, people. She was also the one that tracked down and busted the people that had a go at Steve. As I said, a real hero.”

  More cheers—they were past the hard part now and ready to party.

  “Tonight we get to say goodbye to Montana because in three days’ time she’s on a plane out of here. After six years of showing us how you wind surf, she’s going back to America.”

  Montana glanced around. Where was Steve? Was he here at all? He hadn’t said he’d come, but he’d been tickled pink when she’d told him the surfers were throwing her a farewell party. He’d got more pleasure out of the idea than she had.

  “Montana,” Greg continued, pulling her attention away from the faces around her. “On behalf of all of us here, I’d just like to say...it’s been really great knowing you and the last few weeks have pretty much guaranteed you’ll be welcome back here any time you want to drop in.”

  “Thanks, Greg. Everyone.” She had to lift her voice. “It’s been great. Margaret River and Yallingup will always be one of my favorite parts of the world and that’s mostly because of the people here.” She spread her hands, including all of them. “You guys.”

  Jacko and Bruce jumped up onto the table with her. They were carrying between them a heavy parcel wrapped in birthday paper. “Ignore the paper,” Bruce told her. “It’s the only kind the chemist had.”

  She laughed. “This is for me?”

  “From all of us.”

  “Hell, guys, you didn’t have to.”

  Jacko smiled. “That’s right, we didn’t. So open it, will you?”

  “As long as someone around here gets me a drink!” she shouted.

  Instantly, dozens of bottles and glasses were placed upon the table or waved at her, clinking together in unmusical notes.

  * * * * *

  Someone had remembered Montana’s fondness for Plantagenet wines. The winery was a small estate not far from Margaret River and didn’t export its wines, so it was likely that tonight would be the last chance she’d have to taste their Cabernet. In three hours, Montana tasted it thoroughly.

  She knew the moment when Steve arrived because a ripple of mild concern passed through everyone on the beach, moving ahead of him like a gentle sea swell, as they carefully hid their pot and other stashes of illegal substances and put out their joints and bongs. It was a measure of their respect for Steve that they didn’t simply leave the party at full speed. Instead they greeted him calmly and some of them said hello with genuine pleasure.

  Steve was in civilian clothing. Jeans and a simple tee-shirt, which displayed surprisingly tanned and strong arms. He had kicked off his shoes and he slogged through the fine white sand barefoot, over to the table where Montana sat watching the bonfire.

  “I’m not even going to ask if they got a fire permit,” he said, sitting on the opposite bench to Montana.

  “You’re late,” she told him.

  “Steve,” Bruce said, holding out a can of beer so cold the sides were frosted over.

  “You read my mind. Thanks, mate,” Steve said, taking the can. “I owe you. Again.”

  “Figure I’
ll end up needing to collect one day, given my life, ya know?” Bruce said, with a small smile.

  Steve took a deep swallow. “You and I will have to talk it through over more than a beer or two, one day. Not tonight though. It’s a bummer subject.”

  “It is that,” Bruce agreed, his smile getting bigger. “Good to see you up and about, mate.”

  “Agreed,” Steve told him.

  Bruce lifted his hand in a casual wave and headed back down the beach.

  “They’re alright, most of them,” Steve observed, taking in the crowd on the beach.

  “When you compare them to the low life that was living in the caves, they’re all archangels in comparison.”

  “True.” Steve grimaced and took another swallow. He turned back to face her. “I’m late, because I know that being here makes a lot of them nervous. So I gave ‘em all time to get a few tinnies and…” He shrugged. “A hit or two under their belts, so they were nice and relaxed when I showed up.” He lifted a finger toward her. “But I never said that, okay?”

  Montana grinned. “Forgotten already.” She sobered. “Although I think they like you more than they liked Caden. You as a person, I mean. They’re nervous about the law in general, not you, Steve Scarborough. Caden, on the other hand…he just terrifies them. Period.” She sighed. “That’s really bad English.”

  “How many glasses of that have you had, anyway?” Steve asked, nodding toward the elegant bottle of wine.

  Talk of Caden had triggered a slew of hot hard feelings in her that she didn’t want to stop to analyze. Not tonight. She had been prodding those feelings way too much lately. “I haven’t drunk nearly enough of it, I think,” she told Steve, reaching for the nearly empty bottle.

  Steve grabbed the bottle before she did, holding it on the table so she couldn’t lift it. “Did you invite him to the party, Montana?”

  She glared at him. “He walked out on me! Of course I didn’t invite him! I don’t even know his bloody number and the asshole hasn’t bothered contacting me for two entire fucking weeks….” She caught back the hot flood of words trying to get out. It wouldn’t be fair to dump all over Steve.

  Steve nodded, studying her face. “I invited him,” he said softly, giving the bottle a little shake for emphasis. “I figured it was only fair after what I did in the hospital.”

  Her hard, angry words evaporated. In their place, silvery, light, panic-inducing hope rushed through her like the world’s greatest adrenalin rush. “What?” she whispered.

  “Hello, Montana,” Caden said, from right next to her.

  She turned her head. He really was sitting right next to her, his back against the table. He was wearing a simple white tee-shirt that stretched over the big muscles, and black jeans. No shoes, like most of the people on the beach. He gave her a small smile. His eyes, the dark eyes that gave away nothing, were watching her.

  She pushed out a soundless gasp.

  “I’ve been hearing all day that this would be the party of the year. I thought I’d check it out,” he said.

  Montana struggled to hide the feelings cascading through her. For the last two weeks, while she had been skewered and filleted by every agency with a stake in the rounding up of the stash of terrorists in Margaret River, while her possessions were packed up and her life in Australia brought to a screeching halt, Caden had been missing. She didn’t know his phone number or even if he had a phone and she had been stuck in Perth finalizing details, so she couldn’t search in any of the places she might have looked if she had been a free agent.

  She’d been so pressured by the demands of moving countries and completely flipping her life around that she had barely made it to Marg’s in time for the party, and with no spare time to look for him.

  So she had spent the days feeling Caden’s absence almost like a physical, low-grade pain that gnawed at her whenever she thought of him...which was far more often than she wanted to admit to anyone, including herself.

  But now, to see him leaning back with his arms casually crossed, conscience-free and unfettered...her blood boiled. She got to her feet and turned to face him. “Sixteen days, Caden! Where the hell have you been? Do you realize what I’ve been going through, even with Nelson paring down the red tape?”

  He didn’t move. He didn’t even flinch as she confronted him. He looked cool and unruffled. There was even a touch of amusement in his expression.

  “You asshole!” she railed at him. “You left me to the wolves! Just because you know how to grease your way past the machinery...did it ever occur to you even once that I might like to do that, too?”

  He lifted a brow. “I don’t need a partner, remember?”

  Her heart creaked. It hurt. “You gutless wonder,” she breathed. “You took a dive and left me to the wolves.”

  He shrugged. “You were enough to keep everyone very distracted. I guess I should thank you.”

  Her jaw sagged. She stared at him, barely able to believe what he had just said. She let the truth sink in. He really had walked out on her in the hospital. It hadn’t been a temper tantrum. He had been cutting the very tenuous ties between them.

  Abruptly, Montana grew aware of the audience they were drawing, here on the beach. There were half a dozen surfers milling behind the table, watching the drama occurring in their midst. Steve was watching this all go down from his comfortable position front and center at the picnic table, showing absolutely no sign of discomfort or any indication that he was about to push off and give them any privacy. He was drinking his beer and watching with deep interest.

  Montana suddenly didn’t care about their very public place. Her fury was thick, pulsing and palpable. It writhed in her. “I was a good distraction, was I?” she asked Caden, pouring all her anger and derision into her tone. “You, on the other hand, are a complete waste of oxygen. It’s a good thing you know what you’re doing in the sack, Rawn, because there’s little else you’re useful for.”

  She heard someone hiss as if in pain, behind her. Good. She wanted Caden wounded and a public denouncement would make it that much satisfying.

  He smiled a little. “It’s a good thing one of us did, huh?” He got to his feet. “Have a nice life, Dela Vega.” He turned away.

  Montana had no idea where it came from but the fury rose up in her, iron hard and smoking. She curled her hand into a fist and grabbed the back of Caden’s shoulder with her other hand, to halt and turn him so she could sight his jaw before she socked it. She intended to hurt him, despite knowing very well that he could kill her one-handed if he wanted to. A sheila taking on the big freakin’ guy no one else would so much as look at cross-eyed? Mad, barmy, stupid.

  Her fist never got close to his jaw. It smacked into his raised, open hand and his fingers curled around her fist tight, while his other arm snaked around her waist, and pulled her up tight against him, holding her still…all before she could even react in shock.

  She stared into his black eyes, her heart threatening to escape her chest with each beat, and remembered the warmth she had seen in them only a couple of weeks ago. Abruptly, all the fight drained from her. Worse, her eyes filled with hard, stinging tears. “You son of a bitch,” she said tiredly. “Why did you spend so much time cracking me open if you were just going to by-pass me like another piece of road kill?” A single tear dropped, betraying her.

  His eyes closed and he pressed his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry, Montana. I had to do it. I had to know.” He gave a gusty sigh.

  Her heart gave a queer launch. “Know what?”

  “That it was more than just an absence of fear.” His big hand tangled in her hair and drew her head back so he could look at her. “I wanted to know that you cared. Even a little.”

  Her breath hitched in her chest. “You deliberately...?” she whispered.

  “I had to. With your strength, with your independence, I could go a decade and not break in. Not using the normal ways.” He shook his head. “For what it’s worth, the last two weeks have
been hell on wheels.” He let her go and stepped back. He dropped his arms, the big, powerful arms. “So if you’ll forgive me this one time, I promise I will never, ever, for the rest of my life, voluntarily hurt you again.”

  She took a step closer. “You promise?”

  “Yes.”

  She considered that for a moment. “Good.” Without telegraphing it, she slammed the ball of her hand up under Caden’s chin, knocking him flat onto the sand at her feet. He landed heavily and everyone watching audibly winced.

  Quickly, she straddled his hips, spread his arms and held them down with her own. He blinked, clearing his head.

  “I guess I have to promise you the same thing, huh?” she asked.

  “I guess so,” he said, a smile forming. Then it faded abruptly. “I missed you.”

  Montana kissed him hungrily and when she straightened up, she realized everyone around them was cheering, whistling and cat-calling.

  Caden started to laugh.

  “What?” she demanded.

  “Here.” Steve’s hand thrust in front of her face. “Get up before I have to arrest you both for public indecency.”

  Montana took his hand and Steve hoisted her onto her feet with a surprising amount of speed and strength of his own. Caden climbed to his feet, still smiling.

  “Are you going to explain what is so funny?” Montana asked him.

  Steve grinned, looking at Caden.

  “What?” Montana demanded.

  “Your notoriety is going to go ballistic after tonight,” Caden told her.

  “Because I kissed you?”

  Steve’s grin broadened. “And because you tossed the big freaking guy flat on his back and lived to tell the tale.”

  * * * * *

  Caden held out a bottle of wine. “I found another Plantagenet,” he said. “Where’s your glass?”

  Montana let him pour her a glassful, then he touched the bottle to the rim of her glass and raised the bottle toward Steve. “Merry Christmas, by the way.”

  She looked at her watch, surprised. It was past midnight. “So it is!”