When he turned around, she asked, "What's up?"
"My XO," he said. "There's a situation that has gotten a lot more serious over the past forty-eight hours."
"You have to go back?" That thought made her heart lodge in her throat, and not simply because she needed his protection.
He shook his head. "No. There are some things I know about the situation that he needed." Jack glanced at the sky, which was filled with the afternoon promise for a thunderstorm. "I promise I won't leave you unprotected until this is all over."
"I know," she said. He'd made it more than apparent that he took her safety both seriously and personally.
"Looks to me like you've got some of your cumulated congestion and soprano status forming."
She laughed, knowing he had deliberately mangled the names of the cloud structures. "That would be something to see."
Looking pleased that he'd made her laugh, he said, "I was hoping you'd think so. Sure you don't want to go storm chasing?"
"I don't have any of my equipment."
He took her hand. "Then we can go watch just for the fun of watching."
Remembering how much she had liked simply watching the sky when she first went to college, she nodded. The storms had seemed huge to her, the thunderheads towering into the sky bigger than mountains. So different than the storms she had grown up with, she spent hours watching them, especially during the evening when the forks of lightning would light up the sky.
"Okay," she said after a moment's thought. "I know a great place to go."
He opened the door for both her and the dog. "I knew you would."
They headed east, as was her usual custom. This time into the Pawnee Grasslands and toward the Pawnee Buttes. Despite her determination to enjoy the day without thinking about her encounter with Doreen, her thoughts kept circling. Finally she unclipped the cell phone from her pocket and dialed the number to Doreen's office.
When Doreen answered, Dahlia said, "I'm checking in with you, as requested. We're on our way to Pawnee Buttes, and I don't expect to be back until late."
"It's not me you need to tell," Doreen replied. "Since Sam is the lead on the project now, you'll need to check-in with him."
"Fine," Dahlia said, disconnecting the call.
"Now what?" Jack asked.
Dahlia shook her head, pocketing the phone. "Now she wants me to check-in with Sam. Like he'll care."
Jack reached for her hand. "So, for the afternoon, you're free. We're not going to think about her anymore, right?"
"Right."
As they drove, the farms became ever more far apart, the wheat and cornfields giving way to open prairie. Some of the grasslands had been allowed to become wild again, the prairie grasses still green. When they came across the first sparse herd of antelope, Jack stopped the car to watch.
"Wow," he said.
"Wow, as in great hunting?"
"No." He turned a shocked look on her that was funny. His attention returned to the animals.
"You don't like to hunt?" Somehow she imagined that he would, maybe because of his familiarity with weapons and the ease with which he handled them.
Again, his brilliant eyes rested on hers. "Actually, no." His arm lifted to encompass the sky and the surrounding landscape. "Why would I want to do anything to interrupt the tranquility of this, especially when I can go to my local market and buy the meat I need. Now, if hunting meant the difference between feeding my family or not…" His voice trailed off as his attention again returned to the animals. "I'd still hate to kill one of these."
One of those nameless yearnings in her heart popped open. This was part of what she wanted. A man who loved being in nature the way she did, there for the pure enjoyment of it.
"They are just amazing," he said.
"Yes," she breathed around the lump in her throat, thinking the same was true of him.
The interlude with the antelope set the tone for their journey—they stopped to look at the sky and weathered windmills, solitary cottonwoods and the occasional cow with a young calf.
The Pawnee Buttes had just come into clear view when Dahlia heard a thud-thud sound at the rear of the car. Jack was already pulling over to the edge of the road. When he got out to look, she did, as well. The rear tire on the passenger side of the vehicle was flat.
"Well, damn," Jack said.
For reasons that she couldn't have named, his irritation tickled her. "I know how to change a tire," she said. "It was one of my dad's List of Ten that we had to master before being able to leave home. This I can help with."
He grinned and pulled her close for a kiss. "You can supervise. A man's gotta draw the line somewhere."
He opened up the back door and set down the tailgate. It seemed to her that he'd packed everything but the kitchen sink in the back of his SUV.
"You know, Mary Poppins carried only a satchel," she teased.
"And maybe she would have needed a bigger bag if she'd been a bodyguard instead of a nanny." He retrieved the jack and lug wrench from their compartment.
"Maybe." Dahlia's laugh faded and she looked in both directions of the road. That again. "I didn't notice anyone today."
"I didn't, either." Jack loosened the nuts on the wheel, then stuck the jack under the frame.
Dahlia knew the steps to changing a tire, and though she had done the task numerous times herself, Jack accomplished each one with far more ease than she would have.
Deciding she had to do something to help, she got out Jack's binoculars to study landscape in the manner she had watched Jack do. Today, they were in a shallow, and she couldn't see that far, behind them less than a half mile and ahead of them only to the next intersecting road.
"What are you doing?" Jack asked.
"Being the lookout," she returned with a grin. "I'm not ready to strap on one of your guns, but I thought the least I could do is keep an eye out." Being a lookout when she didn't expect trouble was much easier than when they had. They were in Jack's car today, and if he hadn't seen anyone, she was confident of his judgment. "Have you done this a lot—keep watch?"
"Sometimes too much." With a final twirl of the lug wrench, he dropped the last lug on the ground with the others, then pulled off the flat tire. "Mostly through the scope of a sniper's rifle."
"Really?" She found herself way more interested in watching Jack than in watching the landscape. "I thought you were an instructor for hand-to-hand combat."
"That, too."
"And an electronics expert."
He shook his head. "On that, I get by. Compared to Snap—he's our main electronics guy—I'm strictly novice."
He had just taken off the tire and rolled it to the side when a car turned from the nearest intersecting road and began moving toward them. She lifted the binoculars back to her eyes and was relieved to see the car—an old maroon sedan of some kind—was filled with a family. Kids in the back seat and a dog whose head hung out of one of the back windows, its ears flapping in the wind. She smiled, thinking of Boo, who liked to do the same thing—an activity Dahlia rarely allowed since her dog was little and could easily fall out of the car. The driver was a woman, her hair blowing in the wind.
"I hear a vehicle coming," Jack said from where he knelt next to the car.
"It just turned onto our road. Looks like a whole family, including a dog," she said.
"You're sure?"
She lifted the binoculars to her eyes and studied the car again. Two people, both women with long hair, in the front seat. At least two smaller ones in the back, plus the dog.
"I'm sure," she said.
Jack patted the ground next to him. "Come over here. I want you next to me with the car between you and the oncoming lane."
"It looks like a family," she said.
"Dahlia." His voice had that warning tone back.
"Okay," she said, coming toward him. "You've got it. No more decisions by committee."
This time, though, she was positive the car couldn't hold any d
anger for them. Since the thugs who had broken into her house were in jail, she knew that they had to worry about only one man—Mr. Pale Eyes. And if that man had a family—that would really stretch her imagination.
When she sat down next to the car, Jack smiled at her. Her glance fastened on the shoulder holster. Odd, but she had gotten so used to seeing him wear it that it hadn't registered he was armed—as always, except when he was in bed with her.
As the car drew closer, Dahlia's apprehension increased. She hated the feeling, and she was looking forward to a time again when she didn't see every person around her as someone to be leery of. With that thought she edged closer to Jack, comforted to be near to him and grateful for his continued caution.
The vehicle slowed, then stopped.
"Need any help?" the driver called. Definitely a woman's voice, though a bit on the shrill side.
Even as a sliver of apprehension niggled down Dahlia's spine, she decided that she would have been more worried if the car hadn't stopped. Out here, neighbors helped neighbors.
"Nope. We've got things pretty nearly squared away," Jack said.
"Well, that's real good to know."
Dahlia saw a flash of hair as someone came to the rear of the car. She—he—had a baseball bat in hand.
Things happened so fast they blurred.
He swung toward Jack's head. Jack raised his arm, and deflected the blow and reached for the gun with his other arm. He raised up on one knee.
The bat swung again and this time hit Jack directly across the knee. Jack grunted and sat down hard, dropping his gun.
The guy pulled off the blond wig and let it drop to the ground and pulled a gun from the waistband of his pants.
Mr. Pale Eyes.
Her heart stopped. It couldn't be.
He pointed the gun at them.
Without taking her eyes off the man, she helped Jack sit up, positive this somehow had to be a horrible figment of her imagination. She had been so sure the car was filled with a family.
She stretched up on her knees to get a better look at the car. A smiling, blow-up doll with a wig sat in the front seat. The "children" were also plastic dummies, and the dog was a realistic looking stuffed Labrador retriever.
"Oh, God," she muttered, and she glanced at Jack. "Dolls. He has dolls in the car."
"Put your hands against the vehicle where I can see them. You, too, Ms. Jensen." His glance went back to Jack. "What's your name?"
"Jack Trahern. What's yours?" His hands curled into fists against the car, Jack's voice was so cold, so clipped that Dahlia hardly recognized it. Only the sweat on his upper lip gave her any indication of just how badly he was hurting.
"That would be entirely too easy now, wouldn't it?" He motioned a hand toward Dahlia, his aim on Jack not wavering even an inch. "I'm going to need your help, Ms. Jensen. If you would be so kind."
"So kind as to what?" she demanded.
"Why assist me, of course. Get up and come toward me with your hands locked behind your head. You know how it's done—you've watched television."
"No," Dahlia said.
"No?" He shook his head. "Ah, such a powerful word no."
His aim shifted slightly and he fired the gun. Jack toppled over.
* * *
Chapter 14
« ^ »
Dahlia screamed. She stood and lunged toward Mr. Pale Eyes.
"How could you do that?"
"Very easily." The deadly barrel of that gun pointed directly at her brought her to a halt. "Really, Dr. Jensen. Are you really so ready to die right now?"
Her attention shifted to Jack. She couldn't see where he was wounded, but blood was pooling on the gravel next to him. Oh, God, was he dead? Shaking, she stumbled back to him. She knelt over him, feeling for his pulse, trying to figure out where all the blood was coming from.
He groaned when she turned him over. Still she didn't see where he was wounded.
"Oh, God. Oh, God." Awful panic erupted through her and spilled over. So much blood. And her fault. Her fault!
There had to be something she could do. Damn it, where was all this blood coming from?
She felt something lock around her wrist. Until the man yanked her arm behind her, she didn't recognize that it was a handcuff. He fastened the other one around her other hand.
She yanked on her hand. "You can't do this."
"I just did." He hauled Dahlia to her feet and gave her a push toward his car. "Let's go. Your boyfriend is good. Just not quite good enough."
Carelessly he pulled the plastic, smiling dummies out of the car and shoved her into the back seat next to the stuffed dog.
Dahlia looked back at her car. Boo sat at the driver's seat, her paws on the window frame, whining and stretching her nose toward the open space at the top of the window. Oh, God, how could she have made such a terrible mistake. How?
"Please, don't leave him here. What if he dies?"
"What if he does?" He stared at her, his eyes just as cold and unfeeling as his response. You stay put, Dr. Jensen."
Those pale eyes were blue, she realized. Not the brilliant deep turquoise of Jack's eyes, but a pale watery color that had no more warmth than ice.
"Just so you understand completely. Have you ever been shot?"
She shook her head.
"You wouldn't like it. I can hit any one of a number of vital organs that will eventually kill you while keeping you alive for as long as you're useful to me. You'll be in pain, Dr. Jensen, and I won't do a damn thing for you."
Even though she recognized his statement to be a scare tactic, she believed him.
He locked her in the car, and she cried out in frustration. Her gaze returned to Jack, visible beneath his vehicle. His eyes were open. The panic rose within her all over again.
He blinked. And she realized he was looking directly at her.
Mr. Pale Eyes was walking back toward Jack's car. He opened the door on the driver's side and to her complete shock, petted her dog. The man could shoot Jack, threaten her and pet her dog? What kind of monster was he to do such things? A second later she realized he had Jack's keys in his hand. He threw them, and they landed somewhere in the field. The wheat wasn't yet at all that tall, but even if he managed to get up, Jack would never find his keys. Dahlia's heart sank even lower.
With a last scratch to Boo's head, the man closed the door, then walked around the vehicle. He picked up Jack's Glock and retrieved Jack's weapons from the back of the SUV.
Then, the bastard used the stock of the rifle to butt Jack on the head. Locked in the car, she couldn't hear anything but her own sobs. It must have been a figment of her imagination that Jack had looked at her because he didn't so much as move. She could only imagine the pain that he would have felt if he'd been conscious.
"I'm sorry, Jack." He didn't deserve this, especially as it was her mistake. Furious with herself and with Mr. Pale Eyes, she watched Jack, hoping for some sign that would tell her that he wasn't so badly hurt as she feared.
Mr. Pale Eyes started the car.
Her gaze never left Jack. Move please, she silently begged. Damn it, Jack, show me that you're awake … alive.
He had been so resourceful, she had to believe that somehow he was okay. Oh, God, he couldn't be dead. Renewed tears began streaming down her face and blurring her vision.
"Crying will do you no damn good," Mr. Pale Eyes said.
The comment sounded so like the things she'd been told a thousand times while growing up that she leaned her head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes. The man was right. Stop acting like a hysterical ninny and think.
She glanced at the road behind them, Jack's car becoming smaller with each passing second.
Think, Jensen, think. Instead of the clear reasoning that she wanted, she kept reliving that instant when the man shot Jack. Fear, anger … impotence … bubbled through her veins.
Somehow she kept hearing Rosie's voice in her head. Her sister had often taunted her that she
wasn't good enough, fast enough. If there was one thing Dahlia had always wanted, it was to best Rosie at whatever she did. That competitive spirit had taken Dahlia to the state championship in track, had ultimately won her a scholarship to the University of Montana. Never quit—watchwords she had lived by for years. No way was she giving up.
She found herself thinking about Rosie's insistence that she take a self-defense class that she had even sent money for. Dahlia hadn't completed the course, but she remembered important pieces of advice. Don't act like a victim. Keep your head. Have the will to live.
She closed her eyes and sent another prayer to Jack. Have the will to live, Jack Trahern. You can't die.
Think, she told herself. Get a grip and think.
"I want to know your name," she demanded, staring at the back of the man's head. From her vantage point he looked ordinary. To her surprise his hair was mostly gray.
"Mr. Pale Eyes," he said.
A melon-size lump rose into her throat. There was only one way he could have known that—he had listened to the conversations.
"You planted the bugs in my house."
He shrugged, an elegant continental gesture that chilled her to the core. "I don't like that name," he said, "so you can call me Max."
Her fingers behind her back were beginning to tingle, and she sat up straighter trying to take the pressure off her shoulder. And she felt the weight of the cell phone in her pocket. If there was only a way to get it out without wiggling too much.
He knew what they called him because of the bugs. But they hadn't said where they were going.
"You didn't tail us today," she said, scooting closer to the stuffed dog. She hoped its leg was stiff enough she could use it as leverage and keep the phone from sliding back into the bottom of her pocket.
"That's right," Max answered.
"So how did you find us?"
He caught her glance in the rearview mirror. "Dr. Layard was very helpful. I told her I was a colleague from Oklahoma State University and that I'd lost your schedule so I didn't remember where you were going today. She told me what I needed to know, so all I had to do was wait."
"That's her," Dahlia muttered under her breath. "Helpful to the bitter end."
FRIEND, LOVER, PROTECTOR Page 18