Dark and Dangerous

by Jeanne Adams

  God, let me be lucky.

  In the long wakeful hours, so many nights since she and Xavier had run, she'd worried and prepared. The FBI couldn't convince her Donovan was dead, murdered by his "associates." She knew better. They'd never found a body. He'd talked with her in better times, about faking his death. She knew he'd done it, gone under. Waited. He'd plot and scheme no matter how long it took, then one day, when he believed everyone had relaxed, he'd come for Xavier.

  It gave her no satisfaction to realize she'd been right.

  The toilet flushed.

  She passed the bathroom without a glance at her son. She knew if she did, if she focused too closely on what was happening, she'd lose her nerve.

  Stepping around the doorframe and into her room, she paused. Hand on the triggering remotes, she waited for them to make their move. She would give no shot across the bow, no warning that she was aware of their presence; nor would she give any quarter, not when it came to her son's safety. But with so few options of her own, she wouldn't make the first move.

  If she'd pegged it right, the ground team would be going for the alarm system. They'd attack when they saw her or when the system went down.

  "Three, two, one . . ." she counted in her head. No more had "one" left her lips than the sound of machine gun fire blasted through the night. She dove for the hallway floor, pushing two buttons on the remote.

  The roar of the guns didn't quite block out the screaming.

  Her first trap had sprung, no doubt electrocuting their alarm disabler with his own wire cutters. Simultaneously, she hit another sequence, setting off small charges in the huge planters on the patio. Shrapnel would be flying with the bullets now.

  Glass shattered under the steady barrage, and she heard the television crash to the floor. At least one man still stood, since the rounds continued to tear through her room.

  Struggling to be still, she focused on separating the noises outside. Dimly, through the tumultuous wail of the activated house alarm, she heard the renewed clangor of her garden bells and managed a grin. The chopper was on the go. Pressing another sequence, she exploded the barrel at the rear of the lot, spraying the air at her property line with nails, bullets, and chunks of rock. A series of chuffing clangs told her she'd at least hit the helicopter. Now she heard the engine's whine, the whump of the blades. The pilot had slipped out of silent mode and was bugging out.

  "Xavier, stay still, there'll be another blast!" she shouted. Adrenaline rushed through her as she set off another charge. It demanded she leap into action, run to protect her son. She could almost feel the waves of fear and longing rolling from her boy as he wailed.

  "Mommrnmmmm!"

  "Stay on the floor," she hollered.

  The house shuddered with the force of the detonation. She clawed at the carpet for balance, pleased, even in her terror. That will teach you, you monsters, to try to take my son.

  Along with the ringing in her ears, Dana heard sirens. She closed her eyes in thanks, for the barest moment, that help was on the way. They weren't clear yet. She sensed it in her bones. The helicopter was gone, the machine gun fire had ceased, but someone on the ground team might still be alive. That someone could do a lot of damage before the cavalry arrived.

  "Xavier, if you love me, stay where you are." Using the wall, she struggled to stand, steadying her nerves for what came next.

  "Mom, no!" His voice quavered.

  "Do as I say. The police are coming, don't go with them unless you see me first. It might be a trap."

  "The police? Mom—"

  "No argument, Xavier," she called to him as she snatched an H and K MP5 submachine gun and extra ammo magazine from the hiding place in the linen closet. She raced downstairs, knowing she had to get them before they reached Xavier.

  Rounding the corner into the family room, the first thing she saw was the red-gold flames devouring the bushes beyond the broken windows. The sofa smoldered, and smoke smudged the ceiling above it. Shit, shit, shit, she cursed in her mind. She had to find any ground men, deal with them, and get Xavier out before the whole room caught fire.

  Heart pounding, she tiptoed through the wreckage with as much stealth as she could manage. She couldn't lose it now. At the door, she flattened herself against the wall, twisted to peer out, then jerked back.

  The crackling glow of the blaze lit an unholy scene. On the patio, her teak furniture was alive with fire, as were the vines and trellises on the walls of the house. Fortunately, the brick and siding dampened its progress, and the structure wasn't involved yet.

  Two of her huge planter pots were smashed and overturned, the bases disintegrated by the charges she'd implanted. The terrace was blackened by the blast. Beyond the pots, illuminated in the eerie light cast by the burning chairs, she was both relieved and sickened to see a twisted, charred shape lying by the wildly sparking alarm box. Another motionless form lay in the yard.

  In front of the blown-out wreckage of the French doors, protected by the other two planters, lay the body of a third man. He was still alive, still twitching. Glass crunched underfoot as she ducked through the mangled wood frames to stand above him, her gun aimed at his head. This man had come to kill, to destroy. Could she shoot him? Anger rose to swamp any trace of remorse. Yes, she could.

  Her finger tightened on the trigger as he stirred. Through the haze of her rage, a warning bell rang in her mind. Don't do it, it said, and the clamor of that inner voice rose to a shout. He rolled, and she followed the movement. When he looked up and saw the gun, he froze.

  Caine opened his eyes to the second nasty shock of the night, followed hard by the third. The woman standing over him held a gun pointed at him with deliberate intent. He knew she saw a hated henchman sent by her ex-husband to kill her and take her son.

  With the utmost care, he opened his hands, palm out, in a display of surrender. Death stared at him down the barrel of a gun, not for the first time, but he saw it more keenly than he ever had before. Hot blood ran freely over his brow, a wet, warm trail. His head hurt. He knew he was fading. He wanted to live, needed to. Had to ... He had to tell her. ...

  Holding onto consciousness with gritted teeth, he struggled to remember the code words, the phrase that would reveal who and what he was.

  What the hell was it?

  Chapter Two

  "I come from Salem with news. ..." The man lying on the ground blurted the words as his hands fell limply to the stones. With a jerk, Dana raised the gun.

  Holy crap, he was FBI.

  "How the hell. . . ?" she wondered aloud. "Doesn't matter." She cursed under her breath as she bent to beat at his smoking clothes. The growling note of heavy engines and the fire crew's sirens could now be heard distinctly. From the sound of it, they'd be there within minutes. Should she hide him? Would the police know how to handle it? She had seconds to decide.

  The tight grip of his hand, clamping over her wrist had her swinging the gun down in reaction. Fortunately for them both, she had good reflexes and belayed the strike before it landed.

  "I have to get out of here, they can't find me. I can't blow my cover."

  "You're injured. You need a doctor," she protested.

  "It's not bad. Help me up. I'm sure I can stand. If the police expose the covert op, you, your son, and I will be toast before the week's out."

  Conviction rang in his voice, so she took him at his word. He had the code, which meant he was Federal and knew Tervain. Since Dana had devised the cipher for this sort of situation herself, she had to at least listen. The main objective was to protect her son.

  Leaning heavily on her arm, he rose. When he tried to walk, however, he almost collapsed.

  "You can't run, not with that leg." She pulled his arm over her shoulder. "Which means you can't get off the property before the cops and firefighters get here."

  Making her decision, Dana turned them toward the house. She didn't want to leave him in her hidden room, especially injured, but if he insisted on secrecy, so be it
. "Come on, I have a panic room, we have to hurry."

  They made their way through the debris and headed for the basement door. Even at a hobble, they got down quickly. She didn't turn on the lights at the bottom of the stairs, concealing her actions as she slipped a key from its hiding place on top of a picture frame. "Follow my lead, and you won't bump into anything."

  Through the blown-out basement windows, she heard the sirens come closer. From the noise, she guessed they were turning into the driveway. She hadn't opened the gate, so they'd be stuck there for a moment. Even so, she didn't have much time.

  "Hold onto the wall," she ordered, shrugging him off to brace on the wall. With three deft motions, she shoved a wall hanging aside and opened the locks on a concealed door. "Go in. There's food and water, lots of first aid supplies. I'll come for you as soon as I can. Don't expect me for several hours at the very least. Clean up, get out of those clothes if anything in there fits you." As she turned away, he grabbed her arm.

  Off balance, she stumbled into his chest. With no rhyme or reason, she felt a surge of attraction, heat. What the hell?

  She tried to pull away, but he held her tight. "Already falling for me," he rasped, and gave her a cocky grin, which faded to grim seriousness as he tugged her close in a one-armed, comradely hug. "You're one gutsy lady, Dana Markham."

  He released her and hopped forward into the box-like room. As she closed him in, their eyes met.

  "Hey," he called, and she halted the door's swing. "Thanks for not shooting me."

  Her last image of him was of a tall shadowy form, braced on one leg, the other carefully held off the ground.

  Slamming the door, she twisted the locks. A surprised laugh escaped her.

  Giving herself a mental shake, she pocketed the key and kicked into high gear. She had no time for pondering a hug and a devil's grin, even if the devil did have great lips.

  And a hard, muscular chest.

  Her traitorous mind added that last bit to taunt her. Why on earth had she noticed either of those tilings?

  Running across the basement, she paused at the stairs when she saw blood on the carpet and at the basement door. Darker imprints from his boots were barely visible, thank goodness, and she scuffed her shoe over those.

  The movement left a dark smear along the carpet. Lifting her foot, she checked the leather. A slit gaped along the side and the sock and skin underneath were sliced as well. It didn't look deep, but blood oozed over the leather as she watched.

  Well, hell. Her stomach pitched, and a near-hysterical giggle escaped her lips.

  "I kill two guys, deal with a fricking FBI agent, and my own blood wigs me out." Her wavering voice echoed in the stairwell, making her realize how close to a full-blown panic attack she was.

  She had to lock it down and get Xavier out. Then she could engage in a fit of the vapours. But not now.

  "Get it together, girl," she ground out the self-admonition as she dashed through the kitchen.

  Her mind whirling, she worked out her story. The blood on the rug was easy to explain as her own, a check of the downstairs. If he'd left the blood trail, it would have been impossible to conceal.

  Running now, she called for Xavier and Shadow to come. The sound of their rushing feet gladdened her heart. Rounding the corner into the foyer, Dana was in time to meet her son's desperate hug and keep the fire chief from breaking in.

  Throwing open the door, she and Xavier began the first of a long series of explanations.

  An hour later, huddled in a blanket, Xavier sat on the bumper of the ambulance while the EMT tended to Dana's bloody foot.

  "You really need to go to the hospital, ma'am, to get a tetanus shot." The EMT had said the same thing, or a variation thereof, repeatedly since she first started working on the cut.

  Smiling, Dana thanked the woman and declined again. "Since you're sure it doesn't need stitches, I'd rather have you deal with it so I can be here for the fire department or police with any questions."

  "But you'll need to stay off of it, and your shoes, they're ruined—"

  "I know, and I will. And," Dana quickly forestalled the other woman, "I'll go right away for that tetanus shot. My doctor should be able to get me in for that tomorrow. Besides, as I said, I'm needed here."

  With a final twist of tape, the woman finished her bandaging. A waver of headlights caught Dana's eye, and she squinted through the glare of emergency flashers. Two dark sedans pulled along the driveway and parked next to the police cars. Four people approached, silhouetted in the glow of the fire truck's headlights.

  From his perch, Shadow's leash in hand, Xavier watched as well. He shifted restlessly, and she knew he recognized what, if not who, had arrived. Federal agents. When he glanced her way, she was ready with a reassuring smile. "They'd come as soon as they heard, of course," she said softly. "They warned us something was coming."

  They didn't have to wait long for the agents to approach the parked ambulance.

  "Mrs. Markham," an older man spoke first, automatically flipping a leather wallet open to show his creden-tials. "I'm Agent Parlier with the FBI."

  He didn't quite mask his surprise when she held out her hand for the identification. Pain and deceit, Donovan's enduring legacy, had taught her caution. Thanks to him, she'd recognize forged ID. Scanning it, she searched for telltale signs. Seeing none, she returned it and let the muscles in her neck relax a fraction.

  "And your associates?" she questioned.

  At his nod, a man and a woman approached to present their credentials. "Agent Booth and Agent Sears." From behind him another man came forward as well. "You know Agent Tervain."

  Relief flooded her as Tervain's familiar face appeared in the light. Parlier and his agents seemed competent, but she knew Tervain, trusted him.

  "Thank you." She handed the wallets to each of them. "I'm sure you've guessed what happened here tonight." Her voice was grim, and she knew it held accusation as well. She directed her comments to Tervain as much as to the others. "So much for your assertion that you were tracking him closely. Then again, as of a month ago, you weren't even willing to admit he was alive, so I shouldn't be surprised. At least you believed me, Tervain. That's something, I guess."

  Agent Parlier had the grace to look embarrassed. "Yes, ma'am. Why don't you tell us what happened?" He seemed to finally notice Xavier. "Agent Booth can walk your son over to the house, maybe they can get you the socks and shoes the EMT mentioned."

  At her raised eyebrow, he admitted he'd asked the EMT about Dana's injury. It annoyed her, but she let it go. However, she wasn't going to dismiss Xavier because the agent believed her son to be a young, impressionable boy. They were in this together and she never forgot it.

  "Xavier, do you want to stay here for the recap or go to the house? Your choice." When he met her eyes, she nodded and held out a hand. "We're a team, always."

  "Always," Xavier repeated. He rewarded her with a relieved grin, and he grasped her hand and started the complex handshake routine they had developed in fun.

  That completed, he stood, back straight and head erect. "I'll go to the house and get your shoes." He flipped a measuring glance at the agent who was to ac- company him, then peered at Dana. "Is she gonna be able to get me and Shadow past the fire and police lines?"

  Shadow. Now that was a problem. The dog might alert someone to their visitor in the hidden room if Xavier went wandering through the house. "There's a lot of glass and debris, honey. Since the agent will be with you and is, I presume, armed?" She waited until the woman flipped her jacket open to show a gun. "Why don't you leave Shadow with me?"

  Xavier searched her face, trying to see if she was warning him in any way. She gave a minute shake of her head and a smile to reassure him. Evidently satisfied, he handed her Shadow's leash and headed off toward the house, the agent in tow.

  "Nice boy you got there."

  She leveled a stare at Agent Sears, and within seconds the agent averted his gaze. Parlier cleared his throat
, turning her attention his way. "Uh, Mrs. Markham, we do need to chat. Agent Sears, if you'd make sure we're undisturbed? Agent Tervain, if you'd take notes?"

  Propping one foot on the heavy bumper, Parlier leaned in. His smile was friendly, but his eyes were flat. Cop eyes.

  "Now, start at the beginning, and don't leave anything out."

  Gritting her teeth at the condescension in his tone, Dana told her tale. When she outlined her defenses, the agents exchanged surprised glances.

  It irritated the shit out of her.

  "Contrary to your assurances," her voice dripped sarcasm. "I knew Donovan wasn't dead, and I knew he wouldn't rest until he found Xavier. When you finally admitted it, I took quite a number of precautions. I can also tell you this won't be his last attempt. What are you going to do about it?"

  "If I might interrupt?" Tervain's piercing gaze flicked from her to Parlier and returned. The frown on his saturnine face cautioned her to silence. "Do you know, Mrs. Markham, if anyone actually made it into the house? As you and I discussed last week, we discovered Donovan was still alive and we traced the organization. The data was classified, so I wasn't at liberty to tell you we'd embedded a man on the inside."

  The emphasis he placed on his inability to discuss the matter told her Parlier didn't know about the code phrases she and Tervain had arranged. Interesting. Why would one sector of the FBI keep secrets from another? When he continued speaking, she filed the info for later consideration.

  "Our last transmission from the inside agent indicated they'd discovered your location and had been given orders to hit your house next week. We were planning to relocate you and Xavier tomorrow."

  Anger rose, hot, hard and soul-deep. "You knew they were coming?" she grated, her hand shooting out to grab the man's tie and draw him to her. At her side, Shadow's rumbling growl made a counterpoint to her staccato words. "You knew and gave me no warning? You risked my son's life?" She had yanked him so close she saw the flecks of black in his blue irises. "You bastard."