Chapter Five
“We’re up and running,” Liam Burnett said briskly as he joined sniper Rafer Crawford in reporting in.
Quinn nodded as he stretched gratefully; he’d expected nothing less. His crew was well trained and could think for themselves. They’d have everything ready to roll.
Then Liam spotted their extra half-passenger roaming about, and Quinn could see his detail-oriented mind kick in. And then he noticed the woman still aboard, and that mind revved up even further. Quinn followed the progression of his thoughts as they went from the logistics of an extra person and an animal, to the realization that person was a woman, to the recognition that she was a rather attractive one. Liam always had had the worst poker face of them all. Came with youth, Quinn supposed.
“So,” Rafer said, with a sideways glance of his own at the woman still in the chopper, “how’d she happen?”
“Unavoidable,” Quinn said with a grimace, and gestured with a thumb toward the dog, who was ranging out toward the barn, investigating the grounds with a thoroughness he had to admire. The animal would probably know who and what had been through here for the past six months before he was through.
“The dog’s fault?” Rafer sounded even more puzzled.
“It’s a long story,” Quinn said as he watched Teague open the far door of the helicopter and help Vicente out. The older man moved stiffly, almost gingerly. Rafer quickly went to help; he had some experience with moving through pain.
“We have any painkillers in stock?” Quinn asked Liam. “Seems the old man’s got arthritis pretty bad.”
“Standard first-aid kit issue, plus Rafer’s stash of ibuprofen.”
“May have to raid that,” Quinn said. “Hope he’s not having a bad week.”
“Seems okay,” Liam said.
Since Liam and Rafer worked together a lot, he should know, Quinn thought. As much as anyone did, anyway; Rafer did a good job of hiding any pain the old injury gave him. If it wasn’t for the slight limp, no one who hadn’t seen the impressive scar would know there was anything wrong. And he refused to let it slow him down; it had been a long, painful process, but he’d pushed so hard and learned to compensate so well he was as efficient as any of them at anything short of long-distance running.
“Sometime today?”
The words came from inside the helicopter. She was sounding a bit snappish, Quinn thought, smothering a wry quirk of his mouth.
“If you’re lucky,” he retorted, not even looking at her.
“What’s her name?” Liam asked, lowering his voice.
“No idea.”
Liam stared at him for a moment, then shook his head ruefully. “Only you could spend all this time with a woman who looks like that and not even find out her name.”
“If you’re so interested, you watch her,” Quinn said drily. “You might find her more trouble than she’s worth.”
“I don’t know,” Liam said, giving her a sideways look, “she looks like she’d be worth a lot.”
“I’ll get her inside while you secure and refuel the chopper, then she’s all yours,” Quinn said. He reached over and yanked open the door. “Keep her under control.”
From the corner of his eye he saw the woman stiffen, drawing up straight. She’d reacted to his last words much as he’d expected, and he felt a tug of relief as he handed responsibility for her over to the young and earnest Liam. If she was the girl-next-door type her loyalty to the dog suggested, they’d be perfect for each other.
“What about the dog?” Liam asked, keeping his eyes on the woman as she emerged from the helicopter.
“Our other uninvited guest? I’ll round him up,” Quinn said. “He seems to like me.”
“No accounting for taste,” the woman muttered, and he saw Liam smother a grin.
“No, there surely isn’t,” Liam said, no trace of the grin on his face sounding in his faint Texas drawl.
Quinn watched as she stepped down to the ground. It was past dawn now, and he could see what he’d missed before. She was a little taller than he’d first thought, maybe five-five. The curves were definite but not exaggerated. And the hair he’d thought was simply brown in fact was a combination of brown and gold and red that made the chill morning air seem warmer.
I think you’ve been cooped up too long, he told himself, smothering another grimace.
“She says she needs a bathroom,” he said, quickly reducing things back to the basics. He thought he saw her cheeks flush slightly as he announced her needs to all present, but as he’d guessed, it truly was a necessity this time, because she didn’t protest.
But then she turned and got her first look at where they were. And her thoughts were clear on her face; he had the feeling that, maybe for the first time in her life she really, truly knew what the phrase “the middle of nowhere” meant.
They were on a slight rise, but as far as the eye could see around them was nothing but empty, nearly flat land, unrelieved by anything but dried-up grasses, scrubby plants and an occasional tree. It wasn’t desert, at least not the kind the word summoned up in his mind—sand and wind and dunes—but it was very, very far from the green paradise they had left last night.
He could almost see her hopes of escape plummet; not that he would have let her get away anyway, but she wouldn’t be the woman he was beginning to think she was if she hadn’t at least been thinking about it. But he saw the realization of the odds that she would make it to any kind of help or even civilization dawn in her eyes as she looked out over the remote emptiness.
“Be careful what you wish for,” she said softly, in an almost despairing whisper.
It didn’t take a genius to guess what she meant; all those hours when she’d probably been wishing the interminable helicopter flight would end, and now that it had she wanted nothing more than to get back on the thing and get out of here. Because that seemed the only way to leave this utterly isolated place.
Good, Quinn thought. As long as she realized that, hopefully she wouldn’t try anything stupid.
And then she turned around, and saw the cabin.
She really did have an expressive face, Quinn thought. Playing poker with her would be like taking money from a baby, even more than Liam. Not that he really blamed her. The cabin looked as if it was about to fall in on itself. All but a strategically placed couple of windows were boarded over, and the roof sagged and looked as if it would leak like a sieve, if it ever rained in this place. There were loose pieces of siding here and there, and things at odd angles and heavily weathered. The only solid-looking piece of it was the river-rock chimney, standing as a testament to the skill of the long-ago stonemason. The place looked as if it had been abandoned for years.
It looked exactly as it was supposed to look.
“Quinn?”
He turned to look at Liam. “The dog. Are we going to need a run into—”
The words broke off as Quinn gave a warning flick of a glance at the woman. Admittedly the nearest little town, tiny though it was, was not one she’d likely heard of, but he didn’t want to give her any ideas.
“Don’t worry about feeding the damned dog.”
The woman went still. “He has to eat,” she said.
Quinn didn’t even look at her.
“I’ll get everybody inside, and out of sight,” he told Liam. “You get with Teague and secure the bird.”
Liam nodded.
“He has to eat,” she said again.
He turned then. “Shouldn’t you be worried about how and whether we’re going to feed you?”
She never hesitated. “He comes first.”
He blinked. “He’s a dog.”
“I’m responsible for him. He trusts me to take care of him. It’s part of the deal.”
He thought she might be getting a bit esoteric about it, but he couldn’t deny he admired her sense of responsibility. And thankfully, Charlie believed in overkill when it came to stocking up for an indefinite stay.
“He can eat what we eat, for no
w.”
She seemed to relax a little at that, letting out a breath of relief. And she still didn’t ask if that we included her. He watched the dog for a moment as he sniffed around the barn. And then, as if aware of Quinn’s gaze, the dog turned, head up, looking toward them. And unbidden, started toward them at a tail-up trot. He really was a distinctive-looking dog, with alert, upright ears and a dark head and thick ruff that gradually shaded back into a lighter, reddish-brown coat over his body. He looked intense, like the herding dogs he’d seen in Scotland on the many pilgrimages he’d made.
“His name’s Cutter?” he asked, almost absently as he watched the animal cross the yard between the ramshackle barn and the even more ramshackle cabin.
“Yes,” she said. “And mine is Hayley, not that you bothered to ask.”
No, he hadn’t asked. Hadn’t wanted to know. Had been much happier when she’d just been “the woman,” an unexpected annoyance that had to be dealt with.
“Don’t tell me,” he said. “Tell Liam. He thinks you’re a welcome addition to the scenery.”
Like you don’t? a traitorous little voice in his head spoke up.
But she didn’t seem bothered by the implied aspersion. Instead she looked around at the barren landscape before saying with a grimace, “Middle of nowhere, careful what you wish for, and now damning with faint praise. My life’s suddenly full of clichés.”
Quinn nearly gaped at her for a moment as her first words echoed his exact thoughts of earlier. Any other normal woman he could think of would be in hysterics by now. Or at least too frightened to think straight, let alone come back at him with wit. He was beginning to think she was going to be more than just a fuel-eating inconvenience.
He’d better tell Liam to keep a really close eye on her.
Chapter Six
Hayley stopped dead in the cabin doorway, startled. No, beyond startled, she was stunned. After the outside, she’d been expecting thick dust, holes in the walls, broken furniture if any and traces of wildlife.
Instead, she was confronted by a spotless and amazingly whole and modern interior. Most of the main floor was one big room, the upper level an open loft that looked down into the main room. There was new-looking furniture that was surprisingly nice. A sofa in a soft green and tan, and four armchairs in a matching green, seemed to echo the colors outside. Yet where they were drab out there, inside they seemed soothing. There were loose pillows on the sofa for lounging, and a knitted green throw for cozying up in front of a fire in the big stone fireplace. Decidedly—and unexpectedly—homey. Except for the large, utilitarian metal locker that sat between the door and one of the few unblocked windows.
There were even coordinating area rugs on the floor, which was wood burnished to a high sheen, although it was slightly uneven and looked distressed enough to be the original. It fit, she thought. With the big, square coffee table, it was a comfortable and inviting setting. Which shocked her to no end.
“I thought you wanted a bathroom.”
Quinn’s voice came from right behind her, sounding clearly impatient.
“Judging from the outside, I didn’t expect one inside,” she snapped.
To her surprise, his mouth quirked at one corner, as if he were about to smile. If so, he efficiently and almost instantly killed the urge.
She stepped inside, looking around even more intently. There was a big table with eight chairs, in the same style as the coffee table, over near a half wall that formed what appeared to be the kitchen. There was a compact stove, a small refrigerator, and even a microwave sat on the counter, so clearly they had power. Which, come to think of it, was puzzling as well, since she hadn’t seen any power lines. Not surprising; if they told her they were literally a thousand miles from nowhere, she’d believe it. A generator? She hadn’t seen that, either, or heard it. They weren’t uncommon where she lived, she had one herself, and she’d never heard a truly quiet one.
Maybe they’re environmental fanatics and there are solar panels hidden somewhere, or maybe that windmill wasn’t really broken and had been converted to power production instead of pumping water, she thought, not finding the idea particularly comforting. Zealots of any kind made her nervous.
She nearly laughed at herself. Nervous? How about terrified? Spirited off in the middle of the night by one of those black helicopters that had become a cultural myth....
Something else registered as she studied the kitchen area. Instead of cupboards there were open shelves, and they were clearly well stocked with easily stored food, some canned, some freeze-dried, some packaged. So well stocked, her stomach sank; just how long did they plan on keeping them here?
“In there,” Quinn said, pointing toward one end of the room where a narrow hall led off to the right.
The need was rapidly approaching urgent, so she followed his gesture. For a moment she wondered if he was going to follow, to watch, and she frowned inwardly. But, in one of those constant trade-offs of life, dignity lost out to bodily imperative.
To her relief, he let her shut the door. Probably, she thought as she flipped on the light and glanced around, because there was no window in the small bathroom. The sink, with a narrow cabinet, was in the far corner, with the toilet—thankfully—opposite. There was no tub, and the stall shower was tight quarters; she couldn’t imagine a man the size of Quinn using it easily.
Oh, good, she thought caustically, let’s start thinking about the man in the shower, naked and wet.
Although she had to admit, it would be a good way to keep her mind off the fact that he’d kidnapped her and dragged her off to a place that looked, on the outside at least, as if it could belong to some crazed, manifesto-writing bomber or something. Probably about the only thing that could keep her mind off it; for all he’d done, she couldn’t deny Quinn—was that his first or last name?—was a fine-looking man.
“The laws of the universe really should include one requiring bad guys to look like trolls,” she muttered as she finished making use of the facility.
Then she turned on the water, quickly washed her hands and dried them on the hand towel politely waiting on a wall hanger. With the outgo problem resolved, she took a quick drink, her dry mouth and throat welcoming the soothing wetness. Then she left the water running while she investigated the cabinet and the small medicine chest.
She found nothing but more towels, and unopened packages of soap, toothpaste, toothbrushes and safety razors. She pocketed one of those, even as she told herself they were called safety razors because you couldn’t do any major damage with them. It just made her feel better, and she left it at that.
And then, for the first time, she looked in the mirror over the sink. Bleary, tired eyes stared back at her. And as if they’d been a signal her brain had until now been too revved up to hear, a wave of weariness swept her.
She shouldn’t be so tired, she told herself. She’d often pulled all-nighters with her mother in those last, grim days. She’d learned then to nap in small increments when she could, getting just enough sleep to keep going. And that had gone on for months, so one sleepless night, even a stressful one, shouldn’t make her feel like this.
Maybe being kidnapped is a different kind of stress, she thought, then nearly laughed aloud at herself, trying to be reasonable and logical when her entire world had gone insane.
“The water supply isn’t endless.”
The sharp words came from outside, and with a start she quickly shut the water off. When she opened the door, Quinn was leaning against the doorjamb, left thumb hooked in the front pocket of his jeans, his right hand loose at his side. Keeping the gun hand free? she wondered, scenes from a dozen movies coming to mind. Did he really think she was going to attack him or something?
It was all she could do not to reach into her jacket pocket and finger the razor she’d snagged.
“Find anything?”
The question was pointed, in the tone of a man who knew perfectly well there was nothing to find, and was just letting
her know he knew she’d looked.
“I’m sure you already know the answer to that. What do you think I’m going to do, sharpen a toothbrush?”
“No, although it’s been done. You might want to use one, though.”
She instinctively drew back; was he saying her breath needed it?
He’s just trying to keep you off balance, she told herself. And succeeding, she amended sourly.
“How kind of you to offer,” she said sweetly. “Should I waste the water?”
His mouth quirked again, but he only shrugged. “Just don’t be profligate. You’re already an extra person. Unless you want the dog to go thirsty.”
“He’s going to need water,” she protested instantly. “In case you hadn’t noticed, he’s got a pretty heavy coat.”
“Not my problem.”
“Yes, it is. He didn’t ask to be dragged off to the middle of this desert, wherever it is.”
“Then you can give him your share.”
She would, of course, if it came to that. “I didn’t ask for this, either,” she reminded him.
For the first time she saw a trace of weariness around his eyes. Blue eyes, she saw now, in the growing morning light. Very blue.
“I know,” he said, that barest hint of weariness echoing in his voice. “But there was no choice.”
Was he softening, just slightly? She was torn between wanting to demand answers and a gut-level instinct that she might be better off not knowing the answers.
“I am very sorry, miss.”
The quiet words came from her left, and snapped her head around. It was her neighbor, looking at her with troubled dark eyes.
“It is my fault,” he began, formally, still apologetically. “I—”
“Enough, Vicente,” Quinn cut him off sharply. “Don’t talk to her.”
Hayley smothered a gasp, as if he’d slapped her. So much for any softening, she thought angrily. Vicente sighed, and retreated to the living room. Then Quinn turned on her.
“You, get upstairs. And stay there. Don’t leave except for the bathroom.”
She had to fight the urge to scamper up the narrow stairs like a skittish cat. It took every bit of nerve she had to meet his gaze.
Operation Midnight Page 4