Dark and Dangerous

by Jeanne Adams

  "Uh, sir?" another man spoke, but even as he did, his eyes flicked over Donovan, searching for the knife.

  Amused, Donovan chuckled. "Sir? We have worked together too long, Patrick, for me to be 'sir' to you. What is it that you would know?"

  Confusion tripped the man's tongue, and Donovan's smile widened. This cat and mouse game with his underlings was one of the things he loved best, one of his greatest amusements. They never knew when the lash would strike, when the blade would slip free to slash them, or when he would give them a bonus, or gift them with property or women.

  "Uh, yeah, uh ... um, Donovan. We're gonna have to find another disabler. We know the annoy—Petey's dead. And Spike too."

  "And if Spike weren't already dead, I'd kill him myself," Donovan said conversationally, delighted with the near-simultaneous flinch he saw in each of the men as he bluntly declared Spike's uselessness. "I told him no noise. No using automatic weapons. He took chances with my son."

  The fury rose again in him. There was nothing else to throw. The breakables in the room crunched under his feet. He refused to start on the furniture or windows. No. He must, he would, control his rage that much. Words would work just as well.

  "Nothing. Nothing is more precious than Donovan, Jr., do you understand this?"

  There was a chorus of "Yes, sir" and "Yes, Donovan."

  "He is to be untouched. How will I regain his trust after the poison Dana has fed him if you frighten him beyond his wits?" Donovan raved. "Patrick," he pointed to the man, and Patrick winced as if Donovan's finger were a whip. Donovan enjoyed the image and let the quiet do his work for him once more.

  "Yes, Donovan?" the man finally said nervously.

  "You have a son."

  Ah, that pause which screamed a million protests.

  "Uh, yes, I do."

  "A life. A good one, for yourself, your beautiful wife. Your son."

  "Thanks to you, yes." This a bit bolder. Good. It was good that Patrick remembered who to thank for his fortune, even for his wife and son.

  "Yes. You know best of all why I must have Donovan back with me. You know why he must not be frightened."

  Patrick nodded cautiously. "Yes, I do. Boys are easily frightened, and their mothers have a strong hold."

  "Exactly!" Donovan nearly yelled the words, and the men shifted uneasily. It was like watching a play. He could predict their reactions, one by one. He was going to miss Pollack. That one had been different. He had been dangerous in his difference, but that had added spice.

  There was a chance he was alive, but little certainty. The pilot had seen him go down, but not die, before he had to leave, thanks to Dana's little bombs.

  Donovan had to admire her, a fierce admiration for an enemy's skill, even as he cursed her and wished her deader than Pollack, deader than the annoyance she had so neatly electrocuted. He grimaced as he turned back to the blue-sky vista, deliberately showing the men his back, using his body language to demonstrate his disdain for them.

  Dana had done him a favor, in a way. Spike was obviously too stupid to live if he couldn't follow simple instructions. Donovan would have had to kill him for his crass disobedience, even if the mission had succeeded. And the annoyance.

  "We won't need another alarm worker. Especially one like Petey. Madmen are useful, to a point. That one had passed his 'point,' so my wife," he added special emphasis to that, "has done us a favor."

  "Patrick," he said it casually, sill facing the windows. Donovan had no fear of these who remained. Animals they might be, but he was their pack leader by right and they would no more think to harm him than they would harm Patrick's son. "You put together the new team. Use the property in Baltimore. They haven't gone far, not yet. They're still on the East Coast for the moment."

  "You got it, Donovan. Um ..."

  Wait for it, Donovan thought. The supplicant must ask the leader for direction. If I order him, I'm a boss. If he asks me for help, he's bent knee to my leadership and will forever be mine.

  "Um ... do you want me to put out word for additional men?"

  "No." Donovan's delight surged within him. Once again, those lessons from the old masters of war, Machiavelli and Sun Tzu, served him well. "Leave that to me. You assemble an assault squad and set up a base in Baltimore. Check with Paulina about what property up there is vacant. She'll know."

  "Yes, Donovan."

  "The rest of you, Patrick speaks for me. If he tells you to jump off a bridge, you do it." He whipped around, met each man's eye. "Do you understand me?"

  A bleating, ragged set of affirmatives straggled through. "You may go. Patrick, you stay for a moment."

  The others filed out, Patrick waited. All he needed was a cap to twist in his hands, and he'd look like a nervous messenger from an old Robin Hood movie, facing the nefarious sheriff.

  "Watch out for Emil. I shamed him, so he'll pick a fight tonight to reestablish himself. Head it off. I don't want to lose him. If he won't listen though, you know what to do."

  "Yes."

  "Give my regards to your wife."

  "Thanks."

  Donovan returned to watching the boats in the canal below. When he heard the doorknob turn he spoke.

  "Patrick?"

  "Yes, sir?" Perfect. He'd responded perfectly. God, my timing's amazing.

  "Hug that boy of yours, Patrick. Appreciate that you have him. You, out of all of them, understand what I'm missing." A threat and empathy in one fell swoop, tying Patrick even more to his quest. If he was right, Patrick would give it away in the tone of his voice when he answered. . . .

  "I do. Understand, that is."

  Dead on. Patrick would die before he returned to Donovan without the boy.

  "Thank you."

  Patrick hesitated a few seconds before leaving, waiting to see if any other orders fell from his master's lips. Much as Donovan ached to see his own son again, to hold him, to watch him sleep as he had when Donny, Jr., was small, this power, this control over others that he had learned through that loss, almost made up for it. Almost.

  The door closed behind his minion, and Donovan was alone once more.

  The dawn breeze was cold and stung her cheeks as Dana swiped the credit card Caine had given her through the station's pump. With casual ease, she catalogued everything she saw, from the skinny young man perched behind the station's counter engrossed in a novel to the gaggle of semis parked in the lot.

  Four rows away, a sleepy eyed blonde in hospital scrubs gassed up. A pen stuck out of her ponytail, standing over her head like an Indian feather. As Dana watched, she drove off, still yawning.

  Glancing at the surrounding businesses, she searched for signs of watchers, for anything out of place. Then she went one better. Closing her eyes, she listened with all of her other senses on alert. There were no hits on her internal alarms. She got none of the quasi-queasiness that usually presaged danger. Satisfied, she opened her eyes.

  With a yelp of surprise, she stumbled back. Caine Bradley was standing in front of her. She hadn't even heard the car door open. Cursing herself for being tired, she recovered.

  "What are you doing?" His hissed whisper was accompanied by a plastic smile.

  "Nothing." She returned the play-acting with her own smile. "Get in the car. The station attendant's looking out. Don't make him any more curious."

  With a casual pat to her back, he returned to the passenger side.

  Commanding her heart to stop its pounding flight-or-fight mode, she grumbled to herself. "And he's one of the good guys, on our side." She shook her head and finished with the pump. "Christ, he nearly gave me a heart attack." The fact that he made her uneasy wasn't about good or bad. It was about her response to him in other ways. But that didn't bear thinking about either.

  No, she decided, shooting him a glance as she climbed into the car, Came disturbed her because she couldn't read him, couldn't see him with those other senses she relied on so much—her intuition, her gut instinct. For the first time in a lone time
she'd seen someone as attractive. Why the hell did it have to be him?

  And he's a fricking Feebie, Dana, she reminded herself. For all she knew he was one of the dead men Donovan had loved to find and convert to his cause; agents and special forces guys who knew how to disappear, go under deep. Donovan had managed to find and seduce a number of those men. They'd been weary from the burden of secrets they carried, the things they had seen.

  As in the proverbial sale of a soul, once immersed in Donovan's world, those men found themselves at the mercy of and beholden to someone more ruthless than any regime or dictator they'd ever faced.

  There was no end to the payment, short of death.

  With those bleak considerations circling in her mind, she followed Caine's murmured instructions, pulling through the just-opened McDonald's drive-thru for coffee and biscuits.

  He looked back, and she did as well. Xavier hadn't stirred.

  "Will the boy eat biscuits cold?"

  "If he won't, Shadow will."

  At the sound of his name, the dog poked his head over the seat and licked her elbow, the one thing within easy reach. She broke off a piece of her biscuit and slipped it to the dog. She heard the heavy whump of his tail slapping the leather seat.

  "Shhhhh," she admonished. "Jump back up and lie down, boy." With a last lick, the dog complied.

  "Well trained," Caine commented.

  "And well loved. He's a good one."

  "Will you leave him with the boy if the decoy plan comes through?"

  Dana considered the question and took several long gulps of the strong coffee before answering. "On the slim chance that Agent Tervain's plan works out and we take on another agent posing as my son, then yes, I would leave Shadow with Xavier." For some reason, she was driven to tell him her reasoning. "God forbid, if the plan fails, Xavier would at least have Shadow, even if he lost me."

  "Poor substitute," Caine said, his voice quiet.

  "But better than no one at all."

  The sun rose, smudging the mountains with gold and red. In the valleys, darkness still reigned, but she saw from the lightening sky that it would be a beautiful day. How ironic.

  "We'll need a dog food run at some point," Dana finally broke the silence. "I have some, but he eats a lot."

  "There's a farm and feed store at a crossroads several miles before our turn. I need some other clothes. I'll be able to get some jeans there, some shirts, as well as the dog food. I'll go in alone on that one, so it seems as if I'm traveling solo with the dog."

  Morning advanced and Xavier woke, yawning and stretching. "Mom, I have to go to the bathroom."

  They were traveling along I-64 West, and exits were scarce. With a glance at Caine, she answered him. "As soon as I see a busy exit, someplace where we can blend in, okay? Can you hold it till then, or do I need to find a roadside stand of trees?"

  "Yuck, Mom. I can hold it. Okay if I put on my headphones and listen to some tunes till we get there?"

  "Sure." She flicked a look at Caine, but he was mum as usual. With full daylight upon them, the views were lovely. Dana tried to distract herself with them but instead went round and round debating the merits of running, staying, fighting, or giving up. That brought a grimace eased only by an occasional burst of song from Xavier when he got to a favorite lyric.

  What would happen to Xavy if she was killed? Could he live with Donovan? Would the values, the sense of right and wrong that she had worked so hard to instill make him a prisoner in his father's house? She had no doubt that Donovan would dote on the boy, but she also knew he would embroil his son in the game as soon as possible.

  Although Xavier had a strange existence, ever on alert, often worried, sometimes on the run, he seemed happy. Why couldn't Donovan leave them alone?

  "You can take this exit," Caine said, breaking into her bleak reverie. She changed lanes to take the exit. As she descended the ramp, she watched the rearview, trying to spot any tails or followers. She saw that Caine was bending forward to check the side-view mirror.

  Turning right under the highway, she chose a burger place at random. From the backseat, her son piped up. "Not there, Mom. Let's go to McDonald's. They'll still be serving breakfast" Rolling her eyes, she returned to the roadway, crossing to the omnipresent Golden Arches.

  The restaurant was moderately busy, enough so that their visit would likely go unnoticed. After finishing her turn using the facilities, she paused to grab extra napkins. Men never got enough.

  "Do you want me to drive?" Caine asked.

  She looked at him in surprise. "Is your leg well enough for that?"

  "Not really, but if you're tired, I can manage for awhile."

  "Oh, no. It's okay. I'm doing all right, but we'll need to switch before the feed store."

  "There's a scenic overlook a mile before it. We'll change there."

  Xavy overheard this and wanted to know the game plan. She filled him in as they drove, outlining what she knew.

  "So we're gonna wait at some cabin? What happens if Donovan finds out where we are?"

  She heard the fear in his young voice. He called his father Donovan, never my father or my dad. Just Donovan. It hurt her that he couldn't know a real, honest man as his father. She also knew that he was in run mode, as she was. Again her heart clenched at the burdens he took on at his young age.

  "Right now, it's the best plan. Agent Tervain is trying to plug the leak inside—"

  Caine broke into her explanation. "We'll stay for a day, maybe two. If we can't get info, we'll head out, keep dodging and dancing. There are documents and some money at the cabin, supplies too." He had turned in the seat to face Xavier. "Your mom and I agreed to wait at least a day for Agent Tervain to contact us, try to work within the system."

  "That true, Mom?"

  Even as she reassured him, she realized he'd doubted Caine's veracity and wouldn't believe the other adult until she confirmed. How sad was that?

  "And if that falls through?" her boy asked quietly, sounding old beyond his years.

  "Honey—" she began, but was quickly overridden by Caine.

  "We keep going until he can help us." The two eyed each other over the smooth leather seats. "We've got some options."

  "What kind of options?"

  She started to speak, but Caine laid a warm hand on her arm, forestalling her. Never taking his eyes off the boy, he detailed some of their possible scenarios.

  "First, we wait for Agent Tervain. If we don't hear from him in a day or so, we go to plan B."

  "Which is—"

  "Change our identities to travel as a family. Hair color changes, clothes, that kind of stuff." Caine smiled. She caught the toothpaste white gleam of it from the corner of her eye and turned to stare. He glanced at her, then returned his gaze to Xavy. "Maybe we'll punk you out, go bright blond on ya'. Whaddya think?"

  In the mirror, she saw the sharp surprise on her son's face. "Hey, Mom ..."

  "Yes, we can," she read his question before he asked it. "Whatever it takes. Blond and buzz-cut might be nice," she said, deadpan, waiting for the explosion.

  "Awwwwww, no, man," he rose to the bait. "Not a buzz." To Caine, he added, "She's just saying that. She always says it. She's not going to go for the jarhead cut, are you, Mom?"

  She grinned. "Naaaah, but your uncle would resent that jarhead remark, being a Marine himself."

  "Yeah, yeah, so you say. Am I ever gonna meet him?" It was always the same answer each time he asked, and he knew it.

  "One day, I hope. Even if we didn't have to be ... careful you couldn't meet him now. He's in Iraq."

  "Is he why you pray for the soldiers every night?"

  "Yes, he is. I would anyway, but he's the biggest reason."

  "He's younger than you, right?"

  "I'm really old, of course."

  "Mommmmmm, you know what I mean," Xavy rolled his eyes.

  "I know. Yes, he's younger. Two years."

  "What's he do, again?" Xavy seemed eager for the distraction of
idle chatter as he wolfed down breakfast, slipping bits to the dog as they talked.

  "I don't really know." It hurt all over again, as it always did, when she thought of her brother, James.

  "He's a demolitions expert," Caine said, speaking to her now, rather than to her son. "He's in Baghra working with a team of contractors to dispose of captured ordnance and caches of obsolete weaponry. It's stashed everywhere. Some of it dates to World War II. It's going to take years to find and discharge the munitions."

  Tears stung Dana's eyes as she heard this small piece of news. That Caine knew when she didn't hurt, but she shoved it aside, wanting to hear more.

  "Discharge . . . Wow! Does that mean he explodes stuff, like for a job?" This, of course, from Xavier.

  "Everyday."

  "Double wow," Xavy said, awe in his voice. "I bet he's got some stories."

  "Bet he does," Caine agreed.

  They talked some more about explosions, munitions, and Jimmy's job before Xavy tired of the subject and returned to his music.

  "I guess it runs in the family," Caine said with a smile.

  She turned at this comment, staring. "What?"

  "Blowing things up. You did a damn fine job at it, back at the house."

  "Thank you for telling us about Jimmy," she said, ignoring his comments because she couldn't tell if it was a real compliment or a sarcastic one. "It means a lot to me. How did you ... I mean why ..."

  "I checked. I knew you were Donovan's prime objective when I took this mission, but he's devious, indirect if he can't be direct. If Donovan knew about your brother, I figured he'd use it. He knows, of course," he glanced at her and she nodded. "But Iraq requires a longer reach than even Walker can muster."

  He was quiet for a moment then added. "If I can, I'll keep you posted."

  She said the sole thing she could get past her tight throat. "Thank you."