Bad Nights

by Rebecca York

  Again, it was Morgan who made the difference.

  “Stop or I’ll shoot,” she shouted.

  When neither combatant paid any attention to her, she fired a round into the floor inches from Danforth’s head.

  The man flinched away, and Jack used the opportunity to slam an elbow into his face. To Jack’s relief, the militiaman made a gurgling sound and went slack.

  Jack pushed the guy to the side and sat up. His vision went murky, and he spent a few moments struggling to keep from blacking out.

  “Jack!” Morgan stared at him wide-eyed.

  “I’m okay. Do you have some rope?”

  Morgan didn’t move, obviously suffering from the shock of what had happened.

  “Rope,” he repeated, his voice going hard as granite. “Before these guys wake up.”

  She blinked. “Right.”

  Shaking herself into motion, she hurried to the kitchen while Jack stayed on the floor, breathing heavily and struggling to stay conscious. His plan had been to clear out of the house before Morgan woke up. That was impossible now, and he saw with new clarity that it would have been a fatally wrong move, because he could easily imagine what would have happened in his absence.

  These two bozos would have broken in, seen the ground cloth and the blanket on the floor, and assumed that their quarry had been here. Then they would have dragged Morgan back to Trainer’s compound, where the boss man would have started throwing questions at her. Questions Morgan couldn’t answer, because she didn’t know anything beyond the basics of finding a naked man stumbling around in the woods. But Colonel Trainer wouldn’t have believed her story, and he would have ended up using the same methods he’d used on Jack. He shuddered, trying not to think about it. Unfortunately, vivid pictures kept flashing through his mind.

  When one of the men on the floor stirred, Jack kicked him in the head, and he went still again. He would have liked to shoot these two bastards so they couldn’t give Trainer any information, but he wasn’t going to make Morgan accessory to what the legal system would consider murder. Never mind that the two men on the floor burst in with murderous intent.

  Morgan came back with cord.

  “Keep them covered.”

  While she held the gun on them, he worked quickly and efficiently, tying the hands and feet of both men, then testing the bonds. By the time he finished making sure they weren’t going to cause any more problems, Ryder and Danforth were both stirring.

  “Time to wake up.” When he gave Ryder a light kick in the ribs, Morgan winced.

  The man’s eyes snapped open and focused on Jack, his expression turning malevolent as he realized the tables were turned. Yet his words were defiant. “You’re dead meat.”

  “Oh yeah? You’re in kind of an inconvenient position to make that statement,” Jack countered.

  “We’re not the only guys beating the bushes for you. When we don’t come back, Trainer will be all over it.”

  “Thanks for the heads-up.” He swung toward Morgan, who was staring at him as though she couldn’t quite believe what was happening.

  “We’d better take his advice and get out of here,” he said.

  “I wouldn’t count on it.” Ryder gave him a satisfied smirk, and Jack felt his stomach knot. Turning to the window, he looked outside. There was only one car in sight.

  “You drive a Prius?” he asked Morgan.

  “Yes.”

  Which meant Trainer’s men had come on foot, or parked their vehicle down the lane, out of sight. He searched through both men’s pockets and found no keys. No cell phones. They had nothing with them except the two handguns they’d brought. And two extra clips. As per Trainer’s rules, they’d carried off the operation with nothing that could identify them if they ended up dead or in police custody. Of course, if the militia leader thought they were going to keep their traps shut, he was being highly optimistic. These guys would crack like rotten eggs if they thought it would save their own miserable hides.

  “You keep them covered,” Jack said. “Where are your car keys?”

  “In my purse. In the pantry.”

  He hurried to the kitchen, retrieved the purse, and fished inside for the keys. When he returned, he took Ryder’s gun. Pushing the damaged door open, he waited for signs of activity outside. When there was none, he stepped onto the porch and looked around. The ground was strewn with leaves and small branches from last night’s storm. The place was a mess, but as far as he could see, there were no other men lurking in the woods. Not yet.

  He crossed to the car, unlocked the door, and slid into the driver’s seat, but when he tried to start the vehicle, he didn’t even get a cough from the engine. Remembering Ryder’s smirk, he was pretty sure the man had disabled the vehicle before ever knocking on the door.

  Shit!

  When he returned to the house, Morgan took in his worried expression.

  “What?”

  “Looks like we’re not taking your car.”

  “Why?”

  “They put it out of commission.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  He glanced at Ryder, who was listening avidly. “Tell you later,” he said as his mind worked on a plan.

  They couldn’t risk looking for the militiamen’s car down the road. They’d have to go through the woods and take the long way around, because the road would probably be too dangerous, but he wasn’t going to say that in front of the enemy.

  As he sensed the problem, Ryder grinned at him.

  Repressing the urge to kick the man in the face, Jack crossed to the kitchen, grabbed two dish towels, and used them as gags. Then he pulled Ryder across the living room and out the door onto the porch before doing the same with Danforth. When they were outside, he rolled them off the porch and left them lying on wet leaves in the front yard. Trying not to breathe hard, he watched them struggle for a few minutes, satisfied that they were secure before returning to the house.

  Morgan was standing in the doorway, staring from him to the men he had just tossed out like sacks of garbage. “What are you doing?”

  “Stowing them where there’s not a chance they can hear us discussing our plans,” he clipped out as he came in and closed the door. It had been kicked in, and the lock no longer worked, but he hoped nobody could tell that from the outside.

  “Won’t… won’t someone find them if you just leave them there?”

  Her shaky voice tore at him. “Like he said, when they don’t come back, their buddies will be looking for them. They know their assignment, so it doesn’t make any difference if they’re inside or out. The main point is that we have to get out of here—fast. And we’re going to have to hoof it.”

  She didn’t move, and the doubt and confusion on her face made his chest constrict. They’d known each other for only hours, yet in some ways it felt like a lifetime. Before he could consider what he was doing, he reached for her and pulled her into his arms.

  She held herself stiffly for a moment, then melted against him, her head dropping to his shoulder.

  “You handled that like a pro,” he murmured as he cradled her in his arms, feeling her shaking in reaction. She might have been shocked and scared when Trainer’s men had burst in, but she’d kept her head and defended herself—and him.

  He stroked his hands over her back and shoulders. It felt amazingly good to hold her. Too good. He hadn’t allowed a woman into his life since before Afghanistan. He hadn’t been seeing anyone special, and he’d thought it wasn’t fair to start something when he was leaving and might not come back.

  But circumstances had thrust this woman into his path, and he was holding on to her like they meant something to each other, even when all the reasons for not getting involved with anyone still held. All those—and more. He should turn her loose immediately, but he couldn’t do it. Not yet. Not when it felt like he had been out in the cold forever, and she was offering him her warmth.

  Or more likely, it was the other way around. She was the one who
needed him. Too bad he couldn’t spare her more than a moment’s comfort.

  ***

  Morgan had been without a man since Glenn’s death, and she liked it that way. Well, not liked it exactly. She knew that she was rationalizing, but she hadn’t been able to imagine a relationship with anyone else besides her husband.

  At this moment, she wasn’t sure what she had with Jack No-Last-Name, but she allowed herself to lean on him as she tried to cope with everything that had happened in the past few minutes—or in the past eight hours, come to that. For a few moments, it was comforting to focus on the man who held her in his arms.

  She was amazed by how much everything had changed since last night. When she’d found him in the woods and dragged him inside, he’d been barely functional. And when she’d examined him, she’d been appalled by his injuries. Today he seemed to be operating on what would pass for full power with most men, even when she was pretty sure he still wasn’t up to par, not by his own standards.

  She didn’t know much about him. But she’d seen him in action a few minutes ago and knew he was capable of extraordinary bravery and of calling on hidden reserves of energy when he went into defender mode. When the knock had sounded on the door, he could have tried to get out of there before the invaders discovered him. Instead, he’d come charging down the hall to rescue her from men who had as much regard for her as they might have for a cornered mouse.

  He’d knocked them out of commission, then started thinking ahead. He was a tough, decisive guy, competent and sure of his actions. Yet the way he was holding her told her that he had a tender side.

  She marveled at what she was feeling now. Last night, before he’d stumbled out of the woods, she’d been dragging herself along, fighting the deadened sensations in her mind and body.

  Now her heart was pounding, and all her senses were more alive than they’d been in months. She hadn’t even been sure she wanted to live. Danger had convinced her otherwise. Danger and whatever she was feeling for the man who held her.

  “I’m damn sorry for dragging you into this,” he whispered, his lips brushing her ear and sending a shiver over her skin.

  She nodded against his shoulder, then realized she couldn’t simply accept the apology—or anything else—at face value.

  “Those men aren’t FBI agents, are they?”

  “No.”

  “Why are they after you?”

  “Long story.”

  Pulling herself together, she broke the contact with him, rearing back, angry with herself for giving in so easily to her needy feelings when she had to stay in control.

  As much to convince herself as to convince him, she made her expression fierce. “I think you know you almost got me killed. Tell me what’s going on right now—or get the hell out of here.”

  His features were equally vehement. “I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Too dangerous. Those guys came looking for me here. And before they knocked on the door, they disabled your car. That should tell you something about their intentions. When they don’t come back, the big kahuna will send more of his men. And it won’t be to thank you for helping me.”

  She made a scoffing sound. “I’m supposed to take your word for all that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, they may be minions of the evil overlord, but I can’t go with you unless I have more information. Who are they? What did you do to them?”

  ***

  Jack kept his gaze on her defiant face. She wasn’t bluffing. She meant what she said, and he couldn’t allow her to kick him out. That was simply too dangerous for her. He dragged in a breath and exhaled to give himself another couple of seconds. He’d been in deep cover for months, and he was breaking protocol if he told her anything. But that cover was already blown, he reminded himself. That’s how he’d ended up naked in her front yard.

  “Okay. They belong to a homegrown militia organization that has their headquarters near here.”

  “I never heard of a militia around here.”

  “They’ve been in the area less than a year, and they don’t advertise their presence. On the compound they wear uniforms. But if they go out in public, they change into civilian clothes.”

  “Why are they after you?”

  The sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. He clenched and unclenched his fists.

  “I was on an undercover assignment, infiltrating their group to find out what they’re planning. I must have blown my cover.”

  “How?”

  He kept his voice steady as he said the part he detested revealing. “I don’t know. I mean, my memories before the interrogation are… missing.” His jaw clenched. “The first thing I remember is waking up on their torture table. You saw the results.”

  He had the satisfaction of seeing her wince, but she was back to business immediately.

  “And you’re working for?”

  “Rockfort Security.”

  “Not the government?”

  He answered with a harsh laugh. “In this case, the government’s using a contractor. Rockfort is doing the heavy lifting.”

  When she opened her mouth to ask another question, he shook his head. “Not now. We have to get out of here before the others show up. And I have to let my partners know what’s going on. Do you have a working phone here?”

  “The power was out last night.” She raised her head and looked toward the ceiling fixture. “I had that on last night. It hasn’t come back on.”

  He crossed to the phone and picked up the receiver, then snorted in disgust. “Dead. Where’s your cell phone?”

  “It was out of power, and I was going to charge it,” she answered in an apologetic voice.

  “Then we’d better split. And let’s hope we have a little time to prepare.”

  “Like how?”

  “I found a couple of packs in the bedroom closet. Get a change of clothes. The same for me. And some water and food that’s easy to carry.”

  ***

  Morgan nodded and ran into the kitchen. As she grabbed some power bars, water, and more crackers and cheese, she could see he’d already helped himself to some food. Which made her wonder again if she could trust him and trust his story.

  And trust herself. She didn’t like the way she’d melted into his arms like a woman whose lover had just returned home. He wasn’t her lover. He was still a stranger. And more important, still dangerous. He’d gone after those two men like a fighting machine. But he’d been defending himself, and her, she reminded herself.

  And at the moment, the alternative to the man looked worse—if she believed his story. Opening one of the drawers, she took out a knife. Again she saw that he’d already raided the drawer. From the utility closet she grabbed another ground cloth.

  Her mind raced as she tried to think of what they’d need. Stuff she’d taken on camping trips. But not too much. Not more than they could easily carry.

  Her next stop was the bedroom, where she grabbed some clothing—for herself and for him.

  She saw he’d already set out two packs and a sleeping bag, further evidence that he’d been getting ready to leave when the men had showed up at the door. Now he’d changed his mind about going solo.

  She swallowed hard. His altered plans argued that he was telling the truth. It was too dangerous for her to stay here. Why else would he bring her along to slow him down?

  Unless the militia were the good guys, and he didn’t want her talking to them. She made a snorting sound. They hadn’t acted like good guys. More like thugs.

  Straining her ears, she listened for signs that men were sneaking up on the house. But it was quiet outside. Too quiet because she couldn’t even hear the birds who usually sang in the morning in the trees. Quickly she stuffed socks into one of the packs.

  “We should go,” she called out.

  From out in the living room, she heard him swear. In the next second, the rattle of gunfire made her heart stop, then start up a
gain in double time.

  Automatic weapons, it sounded like.

  “Get down,” Jack shouted as she heard bullets raking the wall and thudding into the door.

  She dropped to the floor, flattening herself and crossing her arms over her head to ward off the noise as more bullets tore into the front wall of the cozy vacation house that had suddenly been turned into a war zone.

  Oh Lord! Jack was in the living room.

  Raising her head, she called his name. “Are you all right?”

  When he didn’t answer, her heart leaped into her throat. The barrage stopped, and she heard glass breaking, then bullets from a handgun.

  He’d broken a window and returned fire. At least she knew that much, but she didn’t know if he’d been hit. And if he was still all right, how long could that last? He was only one man with a pistol against guys who had brought along much more powerful weapons.

  She hadn’t been sure what they were up against. Now she had a much better idea.

  She wormed her way to the bedroom door, trying to see down the hall. “Jack?”

  Another barrage of fire came from outside the house, and she saw him hit the floor, shouting at her above the clatter of the weapons, “Stay down. Stay back. Don’t come any closer.”

  She held her position, waiting with her heart pounding while the house seemed to shake around her like someone had thrown it into a giant cement mixer. When the noise stopped, she looked toward the living room, seeing the holes that had materialized in the wall—and Jack holding a sofa cushion in front of his body.

  “Jack Barnes, come out with your hands up, and the woman won’t be hurt,” a voice from outside boomed.

  “They’re lying,” he spat out as he ducked low and ran for the hallway where Morgan crouched.

  “Jack Barnes? Is that your real name?”

  “No. It’s the name I was using with them.”

  “Jack Barnes, come out with your hands up,” the voice boomed again.

  When he ignored it, she looked toward the window. “How many are out there?”