PhD Protector

by Cindi Myers

  “Christy wasn’t like me. She was outgoing. Generous. She reveled in luxury. When we married she said my decorating style was ‘dorm room aesthetic.’ She turned our home into a warm retreat. I appreciated those things about her, even if I didn’t always understand her.”

  Erin caught the wistful note in his voice. “I didn’t mean to make you sad,” she said. “I’m only trying to understand what brings a couple together. My mother always says she loves Duane, but I can’t understand how that could be possible.”

  “People who knew me and my wife probably wondered what we were doing together,” he said. “She could have had any man on campus that she wanted. For whatever reason, she chose me.”

  Maybe that was all love really was, Erin thought. Two people who needed each other. Mark had found a woman who overlooked his reticence and she had gained the home and security she craved. No wonder Erin had never had a serious relationship. She had spent most of her life learning to not need anyone.

  “When we get out of here, I’m going to tell the police everything I know about Duane and his followers,” she said. “Even if it means hurting my mother, I can’t let him keep escalating his bizarre plans. Next time he might find a less ethical scientist to work for him.”

  “Yes. We have to make sure there’s no next time.”

  “I won’t let him capture me again, either,” she said. “I couldn’t bear it.” The murderous look in the guard’s eyes when he had slapped her would haunt her for a long time to come.

  “We won’t let him get to us again,” Mark said. “I’ll fight with everything I have to keep that from happening.” He glanced at her. “But I really think the worst of our ordeal is over. We’ve got a big head start on the guards who were hunting us, and it’s going to take them a while to regroup.”

  She wanted desperately to believe him, to believe they were almost safe again. She was about to say as much when something soft and wet hit her cheek. She wiped away the moisture. “I guess things can get worse after all,” she said, then bit her bottom lip to keep from bursting into tears—or hysterical laughter.

  “What are you talking about?” Mark asked.

  “It’s snowing.” She looked up, and the swirl of white looked like a lace curtain settling over them. “We don’t have to worry about Duane and his men finding us. We’re going to freeze to death first.”

  Chapter Nine

  The snow fell wet and heavy, melting on their clothes and bare skin. The clouds had foretold a storm all morning, but knowing it was coming hadn’t really prepared them for the onslaught. Mark shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket and hunched his shoulders against the icy wind and damp flakes. Erin huddled against him, her teeth chattering. “This snow just might save us,” he said. “The guards will have a harder time following us, and it will cover our tracks.”

  “They might have a harder time following, but we’re going to have a harder time moving, too.” She tilted her head back to look up at the gray sky, snowflakes drifting down over her.

  “Come on.” He put a hand to her back. “We’d better get moving. That will warm us up, too.” Though already he could feel the damp chill settling in.

  They kept to the edge of the road, pausing often to listen for the rumble of engines or nearby voices. But a deep, muffling silence had descended with the snow, which fell in a white curtain, already almost obscuring the road, and settling in clumps on the bushes and trees around them. “Do you remember how long you traveled on this road after you turned off the highway when they brought you here?” Mark asked.

  “I think we were on a series of roads like this for a while,” she said. “I remember a lot of bouncing around over rough ground and a lot of turns or curves. But I was blindfolded and disoriented, so I can’t be sure. I thought they were taking me out in the wilderness to kill me, or to abandon me and leave me for dead.”

  The tremor in her voice made Mark tighten his hands into fists. If he did nothing else once he was free, he would see that Duane Braeswood paid for the suffering he had caused Erin and others like her.

  “Did you ever hike in this area before?” she asked as they negotiated a narrow passage around a grouping of boulders.

  “Nothing around here looks familiar,” he said. “I think we’re farther south than I ever ventured. Old mining claims like the one we were on are all over the place in that part of the state. People use them as summer retreats, but the roads don’t get much use in the winter.”

  “Too bad for us. If we could flag down a tourist, they would probably have a cell phone we could use.”

  “Phones might not work up here,” he said. “I haven’t seen any cell towers and companies don’t have much incentive to build them in an area with so few people.”

  “Then I’d settle for a ride in some tourist’s car to a town with working phones and police.”

  “I guess it doesn’t hurt to dream,” he said.

  They fell silent again, only the sounds of their breathing or the occasional shifting rocks beneath their feet disturbing the winter stillness. Had the guards stopped their search, or moved to another area? Or were they even now scanning with infrared scopes, looking for the moving outlines of heat amid the cold that would give away their position?

  “We’re going to have to risk walking on the road for a while,” he said when they came to a section with a wall of rock on one side and a drop-off on the other. “We’ll duck back into the woods as soon as we can.”

  She said nothing, but followed as he dropped down onto the road, discernible only as a flat, white track alongside the cliff, the dirt surface completely obscured by an ever-deepening carpet of white. They rounded a curve and something darted from the rocks ahead. Erin’s hand tightened on his arm, then she relaxed. “That rabbit scared me half to death,” she said.

  He looked down at the rifle, which he had instinctively brought into firing position. “No one could blame us for being jumpy,” he said. He scanned the area, trying to make out anything unusual in the whiteness. They moved forward again, though he kept both hands on the rifle, ready to fight for his life and hers.

  Behind him, Erin stumbled. “What the...?”

  He turned. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” She held up a round, red reflector on the end of a three-foot long rod. “I tripped over this. Why do you think it’s up here?”

  “Maybe it’s marking a culvert or some other hazard.” He moved toward her, scanning the area.

  “I’ve seen these at the ends of people’s driveways.” She started to toss the marker aside, but he took it from her, his heart thudding at her words.

  “I think that’s exactly why this is here,” he said. “Marking a driveway leading to one of those mining claims I told you about.” He scanned the roadside and spotted the opening in the trees. Only about eight feet across, the space was cleared of trees and brush and dipped down below the level of the road. “Come on.” He took her arm and pulled her toward the drive.

  She dug in and refused to move. “Where are we going?”

  “If it is a claim, it might have a cabin,” he said. “We need shelter to warm up, and they might have food, too.”

  “You just said the magic words. Let’s go.”

  They stumbled down the steep, narrow track, snow falling hard enough now to obscure their vision and slow their progress. But at least the storm would cover their tracks. Mark had taken the reflector with him. If Duane’s men didn’t already know about this place, they weren’t likely to find it now.

  “I don’t see any cabin,” Erin said when they had traveled about a hundred yards. They were well below the level of the road now, out of sight of anyone passing by.

  “This drive has to lead to something,” he said. Maybe they would find only someone’s campsite, or an old mine dump. But at this point, when he could
no longer feel his fingers or feet, he would settle for any kind of temporary shelter. If they didn’t get warm soon, they risked frostbite. And spending the night in this storm meant the real possibility of freezing to death.

  They trudged on, the track gradually leveling out. Then he spotted the cabin ahead. Painted a dull green and almost obscured by trees as it was, he might have walked right past if he hadn’t been so intent on searching for it. “Is that what I think it is?” Erin asked, stopping beside him.

  “Let’s go find out.”

  The cabin was even smaller than the one where he had been held prisoner, and looked much older, the paint dulled by weather and streaked with moss. Heavy wooden shutters covered the windows, and a stout padlock secured the door. They walked all around the building, but Mark couldn’t see a way inside.

  Erin hugged her arms across her chest and stamped her feet, visibly shivering. “Can we break in?” she asked.

  “I could shoot off that lock, but the sound of gunfire carries a long way,” he said. “It could lead Duane’s men right to us.”

  “What about the windows?” She looked around them. “There must be some way to pry off those shutters.”

  He spotted a shed a short distance away. It proved to be a combination outhouse and woodshed. Far in the back, he found an ax, the blade red with rust. Hefting it, he returned to the cabin. “Stand back,” he said. “I’m going to try to wedge the blade under one of the shutters.”

  He moved to the back of the house, so the damage wouldn’t be visible to anyone approaching down the drive. He found a gap at one corner of a wooden barrier, inserted the blade and put all his weight into pulling back on the ax. The wood gave way with a groan he hoped was muffled by the storm. Working the blade along the edge, he managed to pry away the entire shutter.

  Erin tried to shove up the window sash, but it refused to budge. “It’s stuck.”

  He peered over her shoulder. “I think it’s nailed shut.” He pointed to the heads of large nails visible on the inside sill.

  She muttered a curse and pounded her fist against the window. “I don’t want to steal anything, people,” she said. “I just want to get warm.”

  Mark hefted the ax once more. “Stand back. I’m going to break the glass.”

  The pane shattered into dozens of shards that glittered on the snow before the fast-falling flakes obscured them. Mark wrapped his hand in his jacket and knocked out the remaining shards, then reached in and managed to grab hold of the nail head. He pulled and the nail slid out. Erin stared. “How did you do that?”

  “It was probably designed to come out so whoever lived here could open the window for ventilation,” he said. “Let me get the others.” The remaining nails also slid out with little protest. Mark turned back to Erin. “Come on. I’ll boost you inside, then I’ll climb in after you.”

  * * *

  THE CABIN SMELLED of dust and rodents. Erin tried not to think of all the mice—or worse—that might be living here as she moved away from the faint light streaming through the uncovered window, into the dark interior. She stumbled against something and felt along the back of a sofa, then turned to see Mark climb in after her. He was still carrying the ax, and leaned it against the wall beneath the window.

  “We need to find a light,” she said.

  He lit a match, which illuminated grim surroundings—a sofa so faded the pattern of the upholstery was indiscernible, two wooden bunks along one side wall and a table and two chairs along the other wall. A two-burner camp stove and a metal bucket sat on the table and above that hung a wooden box with assorted canned goods, the labels worn and faded. Next to the canned goods sat a camping lantern. Mark crossed to this and lit it, the golden glow making Erin feel a little less desolate, if not any warmer.

  A large, shallow box of sand occupied the middle of the room. Erin studied it. “Someone’s idea of a cat box?” she asked.

  “Probably for a woodstove.” Mark pointed to a square of galvanized tin tacked to the ceiling. “That’s probably covering where the stovepipe exited the room.”

  “Just our luck the stove is gone.” She dragged one finger through the layer of dust on the table. “I don’t think anyone has been here in a long time,” she said.

  “No. But that’s something in our favor, I think.” He slid the rifle from his shoulder and set it beside the ax beneath the window. “Let’s find something to plug this broken pane.”

  She unearthed a towel from a box beside the bunks and he stuffed it in the broken window, blocking the draft, though the cabin remained cold. “I’m tempted to start chopping up chairs and build a fire anyway,” she said.

  He moved to the end of the bunks and pulled off a rolled-up sleeping bag. “Bundle up in this while I check out the canned goods,” he said. “If there’s propane for the camp stove, we can at least have something hot to eat.”

  She unzipped the sleeping bag and shook it out, grateful to see no signs of mice. Wrapping it around her, she settled on the sofa and watched as he sorted through the cans on the shelf above the table. “Beef stew, chili or chicken noodle soup?” he asked.

  “Soup.” She burrowed deeper into the sleeping bag, still shivering.

  She closed her eyes, the sounds of him opening cans and shuffling pots lulling her not to sleep, but into a kind of frozen daze. The sleeping bag smelled of mildew and wood smoke, the scents transporting her to a long-ago camping trip with her mother and Duane. She had been fifteen, and had wanted to be anywhere but in the woods with a man she already despised. What her mother had promised would be a fun getaway turned out to be Duane’s idea of survival training—sleeping on the ground in army surplus camping gear, cooking over a campfire and enduring daylong hikes that were more like forced marches.

  When she had complained, he had threatened to leave her behind with only a compass and a sleeping bag to find her way home on her own. Her mother had watched, tight-lipped and wide-eyed, as Duane berated Erin, but the unexpected appearance of a trio of other hikers had prevented him from carrying out the threat, and Erin had reluctantly trailed after him all the way back to Duane’s car.

  “This should warm you up.” Mark handed her a tray on which sat a bowl of fragrant soup and a steaming mug.

  Erin balanced the tray on her lap and warmed her hands around the mug, inhaling deeply of the rich aroma of the contents. “Chocolate.” She almost sang the word, and grinned at him.

  He settled beside her and dug into his own bowl of soup. “There’s enough food and bottled water here that we could hold out for several days if we have to,” he said.

  “We’ll have to leave eventually.” She touched the collar at her neck. “We can’t linger too long.” Duane had said the bomb would go off in a week, which left, what—five days? So little time.

  “We’ll leave as soon as we can,” he said. “But not until the storm is over. For now, we’ve got a safe place to spend the night and regroup.”

  They ate in silence until their bowls and cups were empty. Erin set her dishes on the floor beside the sofa and burrowed deeper into the sleeping bag. “I feel so much better,” she said. “I don’t know how much longer I could have gone on out there.”

  “You and me both.” He carried their dishes to the table, then retrieved the sleeping bag from the second bunk and settled in beside her with it wrapped around him. Though many layers of cloth separated them, the position felt somehow intimate.

  “About what happened earlier,” she said. “That kiss...” The memory of his lips on hers had haunted her all day and she had to clear the air.

  “I’m not going to apologize for that,” he said. “My timing may have been lousy, but I’m not sorry it happened.”

  “I don’t expect you to apologize,” she said. “And I’m not sorry it happened, either. I just wondered why you kissed me.”

  “Does a
man need a reason to kiss a woman he’s attracted to?”

  She shifted, as if simply changing position could somehow make her comfortable with this awkward conversation. “I meant, why are you attracted to me? Is it just because you’ve been alone so long? Or do I remind you of your wife?” Erin bit her bottom lip, dreading the answer to her question, but needing to know.

  “Maybe part of it is because I’ve been alone awhile, but I like to think I’m a little more evolved than that. I’m not attracted to you simply because you’re a woman. As for my wife—no, you don’t remind me of her.” He sounded almost angry.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said.

  “I’m only upset that you seem to think so little of yourself. That I couldn’t be attracted to you just because you’re you. It’s not only that you’re beautiful, but you’re strong. I was ready to give up on my life, and you showed me I still have so much to live for.”

  She looked away. She didn’t feel strong most of the time. Yes, she had endured a lot, but she hadn’t really had a choice. And as for her looks, they hadn’t brought her anything but attention she had never wanted.

  He leaned over her and gently took her chin in his hand and turned her head until she was looking into his eyes. “It’s my turn to ask you why you kissed me back.”

  “Because you’re the first man I’ve met in a long time who I felt I could trust.” She said the words before she could stop them, and the truth of them shook her.

  “You thought I was working for Duane,” he said. “You came into that cabin already hating me.”

  “You convinced me I was wrong.”

  “How did I do that?”

  He had let her glimpse his vulnerability before he showed her his strength. But she didn’t know how to say that without embarrassing them both. “You didn’t take advantage of me when you could have. You stood up to Duane’s thugs. And I believed your story. I’ve spent a lot of years seeing through lies, and I believe you’ve been telling the truth.”