“I’m not convinced he’s all that innocent,” Quinn said, with a hint of something in his voice as he glanced at the dog—who seemed annoyingly happy at the moment—that sounded almost like amusement. Almost.
She challenged him, hoping he’d think she wasn’t afraid of him. That mattered, for some reason. Never mind that inside she was practically quaking.
“What makes you think it will work?”
He shrugged. “You saw we were armed and you still came running after him.”
She drew back slightly, looking up at him in genuine curiosity. “Why would you shoot an innocent woman chasing an even more innocent dog?”
“I didn’t know you were innocent.”
Something curled and knotted inside her. What kind of world did he live in, where the assumption was the opposite, where you were presumed guilty, or at the least a threat, until proved otherwise?
The kind of world that can put that look in someone’s eyes, that coolness, that control, that world-weariness and distrust, she thought. His eyes weren’t just blue, they had a tinge of ice.
“For all I knew you’d set him on us,” he said.
That was so preposterous words burst from her. “Do you often get attacked by total strangers’ dogs?”
He shrugged again. “It’s happened.”
“Hard to believe, you’re so charming,” she said, then wondered when she’d developed the habit of speaking before she thought.
But there it was again, that hint of a change in his face that could, if you stretched your imagination a bit, be amusement.
“And you,” he added, almost conversationally, “charged armed men. Given the circumstances, the wise thing, the thing most people would have done, was turn tail and get as far away as they could. But you—”
“So I’m an idiot. Fine,” she said, bitterly aware it was true.
“You love him.” His gaze flicked to Cutter, then back to her. “Enough to charge into figurative hell for him.”
“And that makes me easy to manipulate.”
“Among other things, yes.”
She didn’t want to know what those “other things” were. Anybody who’d use a dog, threaten to starve it, wasn’t starting out in a good place with her.
Not that it mattered. It would work. She couldn’t do anything, risk anything, because he just might be cold enough to do exactly what he’d said. And if she made him angry enough, there was that gun....
Although killing Cutter—she swallowed as the words went through her rattled mind—would lose him his lever.
“You said he could be helpful.” Even she heard the undertone of desperation in her voice.
“He already has been,” Quinn admitted. “But we’ve survived this long without a dog on the team, I think we can make it a bit longer.”
“What ‘team’? Who are you?”
The thought that she was better off not knowing made her regret the question as soon as it was out.
“Right now, we’re the ones in charge of you, and your dog. You should remember that.”
Another threat? It took every bit of nerve she had left to meet his warning gaze. It seemed important somehow, not to cower in front of this man, even if that was what she felt like doing.
But she couldn’t fight them. Couldn’t fight him. She had no weapons, not enough strength or knowledge, and even if she could get free, there was that middle-of-nowhere thing to deal with.
No, it was in her and her dog’s best interest to…just behave.
And she hated that she was scared enough to decide to do just that.
Chapter Nine
“Boss?”
Quinn snapped out of his musings about the woman upstairs and turned to look at Liam. The young man was also their IT guy, or as he jokingly called himself, their propeller head. He had his laptop, a rugged, rubber-bumpered version that was utilized by many military operations, set up on the coffee table in the center of the room.
His skill with computers, matched with a surprising skill with weapons and physical toughness, was a prized combination Quinn had been glad to find, even if it had come with the beginnings of a police record. But Liam had taken to their work with dedication and flair; all he’d needed was a purpose.
“You need to take a look at this.”
Quinn looked up from the status report—they had another team on a secondary mission—he’d been reading on his smartphone, aided by the cell tower they themselves had installed, disguising it much as they had the cabin, inside the weathered, broken-looking windmill.
If Liam said he had something worth looking at, he did; the man was a master at tracking, in both the real and cyber worlds. And he also understood what some didn’t, that checking your back trail could sometimes be as important as checking the trail ahead.
“What is it?” he asked as he walked over to look at the laptop screen.
“Found this on a local news station out of Seattle.”
Quinn leaned in to look at the video embedded beneath a large headline that read “One Feared Dead After Explosion, House Fire.”
Back trail it was, Quinn thought as he looked at the video. He read the first paragraph of the story.
“I’m pretty sure—” Liam began.
“It is,” Quinn agreed.
“They’re saying the explosion could have been propane.”
“Logical assumption. There was a tank.”
They both knew better.
“It says the explosion was reported just after 0100 hours,” Liam said. “We lifted off at 0032 hours, so they were right on our tail. Minus a few minutes for them to set up whatever they blew it with, that’s less than a half-hour margin.”
“Close.”
“Way too close. There’s no way they should have been able to pull that off.”
“They shouldn’t have been able to find him in the first place.”
“You think we’ve been compromised?”
“You think that—” Quinn gestured at the laptop “—is coincidence? That an empty house just happened to blow up within a half hour of us being there?”
“No, sir. I don’t believe in coincidence any more than you do.”
“Occam’s razor, Liam.”
“What?”
“If you have to work too hard to make another theory fit, it’s probably wrong.”
Quinn took his cell phone out again, and keyed in the message he hated having to send.
“We’re going dark?”
“We are,” Quinn said grimly. It cut them off from all information and help, but he had no choice until they were able to set up secure communications again.
“We have a leak?” Liam sounded disbelieving; Quinn liked his faith in their own people.
“Someone does,” Quinn said, and sent the signal that shut them down.
Hayley backed silently away from the edge of the loft and sat on the edge of the bed. Her legs were a little cramped from crouching there so long, peering over the railing down into the living room. Cutter followed, and jumped up on the bed beside her.
She wondered if the men below had heard her. She hadn’t been able to hear much of what they’d said, since they had their backs to her. And only when Quinn had moved aside to take out his complicated-looking smartphone had she been able to see the laptop screen.
She’d barely managed to suppress a gasp of shocked horror at what she’d seen. She’d only been able to read the blaring headline on the news site from up here, but the accompanying video had begun by showing the road in front of the location, and then the distinctive peaked roof of her neighbor’s house. Engulfed in flames that shot toward a dark sky.
The headline had said one was feared dead, yet she knew her neighbor was here, alive and well. And as far as she knew, he’d lived alone.
As far as she knew.
All sorts of wild scenarios began to race through her head; had there been another person living there? Had the person died in the fire? Or was he or she already dead? Was her quiet, r
eclusive neighbor really a killer, hiding some poor soul in that house, and—
Cutter let out a small sound and squirmed slightly; she’d tightened her grip on him too much, tugging on his fur.
“Sorry,” she whispered to the dog.
In case someone came up to investigate the sound, she lifted her feet up to lie on the bed, where she had been before she’d decided to take a look downstairs. She’d been futilely trying to rest with some idea her mind might sharpen up enough to figure a way out of this if she just got some sleep.
But everything had shifted now. Had they set some kind of bomb, to blow the place up after they’d left? With someone still inside? Quinn had come out a few minutes after Vicente and Teague, so perhaps he’d set it himself. Which would make him…a murderer.
Of course, the headline had said “feared dead.” Maybe they just didn’t know yet, maybe they were assuming it was her neighbor, since they obviously wouldn’t be able to find him.
She wouldn’t have thought things could get more ominous than they already were. But somehow the idea that they had destroyed that quirky house that had stood for over half a century, just to cover their tracks, made it worse.
But had they? The only two words she was certain she’d heard from up here were “explosion” and “leak.”
Had it been an accident?
In a house that had had propane for years without incident, precisely when all this had happened?
Her own thoughts rang with such sarcasm in her mind that she chastised herself for being fool enough to even consider the idea. She might not live in Quinn’s world, whatever it was, but even she couldn’t believe in that much coincidence.
On the comfortable bed, her tired body at last succumbed to sleep. But her mind never surrendered, and treated her to a string of nightmare scenarios that made the sleep anything but restful. And on some level, in that strange way of dreams, her mind knew that what it was producing was no more frightening than the reality she was going to wake up to.
Chapter Ten
Hayley awoke with a start. And alone; Cutter had vanished. Under the circumstances, it was disconcerting to think the dog had slipped out of her grasp without waking her, jumped off the bed without waking her and apparently gotten down the stairs without waking her.
She sat up, looking around to make sure the dog hadn’t simply decamped to the floor. It was still full daylight, but she sensed she must have slept at least a couple of hours, maybe three. It was starting to get a bit warm up here in the loft, which made her think it must be afternoon by now. And that perhaps Cutter had headed down to cooler environs; that dense, double coat of his made him well suited for the cool, rainy Northwest, but not so much for this hotter clime, wherever it was.
She got up and walked as quietly as she could to the edge of the loft and looked over. There was no one in sight. Even the laptop that had displayed the video that had unsettled her sleep was gone.
As was her dog.
She hoped Cutter hadn’t irritated the already irascible Quinn. Although he’d seemed much more kindly disposed toward Cutter than her. The dog, he’d admitted, could be useful.
And unless you were utterly stone cold, it was pretty hard to ignore a dog who took a liking to you. She didn’t want to know the person who could look at those bright eyes, lolling tongue and happy tail and walk away without even a smile.
But she wasn’t sure she liked the idea of her dog being useful to a bunch of armed men of uncertain purpose. That kind of usefulness often didn’t end well.
Cutter’s instincts about people were almost supernaturally accurate. In fact, she couldn’t think of an occasion—until now—that they had failed. It had been the dog who had led her to make overtures to crusty Mr. Elkhart from the library, who, as it turned out, had merely been a lonely old man who had always relied on his late wife to break the ice with people. He was also, she’d found to her awe, a war hero who had come home from Korea with a box of medals and stories that made her marvel at where such men came from. And, even more surprising, he was an artist of no small talent. The quick charcoal sketch he’d done of Cutter hung in a place of honor in her study.
The image of the drawing hit her unexpectedly hard, and it took her a moment to realize she was wondering if she’d ever see it again. What would happen if she never came back? There was no one left in the family except for some cousins in Missouri whom she rarely saw, and of course Walker, her wandering brother. She wasn’t even sure where he was just now. She hadn’t heard from him in nearly a month. But she knew he wouldn’t want the house. She didn’t think Walker was ever going to settle in one place. Never had anyone been more appropriately named.
And she was ginning up chaos in her head again, thinking of any and everything but the situation she was in. And that needed to change. Now.
Steeling herself, she crept quietly down the stairs. Surely they didn’t expect her to stay up there all the time? Quinn had ordered her to stay except for bathroom runs, but maybe he wasn’t here right now. Besides, if they really meant it strictly, wouldn’t they have tied her up or something?
She shivered at the idea. Maybe they would, if she poked around too much. That they hadn’t, while encouraging, did little to relieve her fears.
When she got to the bottom of the narrow stairs, she saw Liam in the kitchen, drinking from a bottle of water. The young man smiled at her, looking oddly apologetic.
“Hi,” he said, as if she were just an ordinary guest. He lifted the bottle. “There’s more in the fridge.”
Was that an invitation? She walked toward him cautiously.
“I thought water was an issue.”
“Just from the well. It’s never failed, but it’s kind of slow. You can’t use a lot at once.” The young man smiled again, more normally this time. “No twenty-minute showers, I’m afraid.”
“But now there’s me. And my dog. Where is he, by the way?”
“We tend to overstock, so we’ll be okay, and if we run low, there are options. And your dog is out with Quinn. He’s out on watch. We stagger them. I’m hydrating because I’m his relief in ten minutes.”
“He takes a watch?”
Liam shrugged. “He doesn’t ask anybody to do what he won’t do himself.”
“You sound…admiring.”
Liam looked puzzled. “Of course. I wouldn’t work for him if I didn’t admire him. He pulled me off a bad path. He’s the best boss I’ve ever had.”
For a guy who looked so young he could have been flipping burgers at a fast-food place not so long ago, Hayley wasn’t sure that was saying much.
“Oh, that reminds me. He left some stuff for you in the bathroom.”
Hayley blinked. “Stuff?”
“Pair of sweats, a T-shirt, that kind of thing. To wear while those—” he gestured with the water bottle “—are in the wash.”
She was so startled it took her a moment to process. “Quinn did that?”
Unlike his boss, Liam’s smile broke free. Was it just that he was younger, or that he hadn’t been at this—whatever “this” was—as long?
“He’s not nearly as bad as he comes across. He’s just all business, all the time.”
All the time?
She managed to stop the question before it came out, realizing ahead of time—for once—what it might sound like.
“So,” she said instead, “is that part of the overstocking, extra clothes? And what wash?”
Liam grinned then, and for the moment looked like any ordinary guy. If it hadn’t been for the weapon on his hip.
“Let’s just say we have the best logistics person on the planet. Thinks of everything.” He pointed toward the bathroom. “And there’s a small washer and dryer in the closet opposite the bathroom.”
Since he seemed open enough, Hayley decided to risk something she instinctively would never try with Quinn. “What on earth is going on? Who are you guys?”
As quickly as that, the easy demeanor was gone, vanished behind the br
isk, professional manner.
“You’ll have to talk to Quinn about that.”
“And I’m sure he’ll answer loquaciously,” she said drily.
“Quinn,” Liam said, with a glint of humor returning to his eyes for a moment, “doesn’t do anything loquaciously.”
“Now there’s a surprise.”
Hayley was startled at her own snarkiness. She was being held by armed men of unknown intent. She should be thinking of survival, not mouthing off and inviting a smackdown.
She studied Liam a moment, finding it hard to believe that open, boy-next-door face would be involved in something as nefarious as this seemed to be.
“Question is,” she murmured, almost to herself, “is his hat black or white?”
“Oh, definitely white. He’s the goodest of the good guys,” Liam quipped, then snapped his mouth shut, as if he regretted speaking so impulsively. Or perhaps that he’d talked so much at all.
He finished his water quickly, said a goodbye that was just as quick and started to walk away. She wished she felt more reassured than she did by his quick, heartfelt response. But she wasn’t a fool. She knew that many people who did crazy, even evil things thought they were in the right. From eco-terrorists to the international variety, from black-swathed anarchists to fist-clenching Marxists, they were all convinced their cause was right.
She heard steps on the porch before Liam got to the door, and realized only then that he must have heard someone coming. Something she hadn’t heard at all. Then she realized she should have known; they would never leave her here alone, unguarded, so he would never have started to leave unless he knew someone else was coming.
She’d doubled their workload, she realized. They not only had to watch for whatever outside threat they were worried about, they had to worry about her. If they were somewhere where escape might do her some good, she could use it as a tool, but not out here, where it seemed there was no possible help for miles, miles she couldn’t cross without supplies, especially water, if she could at all. She was in decent shape, but she had the feeling an escape would require a lot more than decent.
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