by Paula Graves
They waited for what felt like an hour but must have been mere minutes. At some point, Megan got another text message, the hum of her cell phone making them both jump. She read it quickly and didn’t comment, just closed the phone and tucked it back in the pocket of her jeans.
With no further noises outside the cave, Evan whispered, “Should we try it now?”
“One at a time, in case there’s an ambush.”
“I’ll go first,” he said.
She shook her head. “You’re bigger and stronger. You’d have a better chance of rescuing me than vice versa. I’ll go first.” She gave his hand a hard squeeze, and darted out into the night.
She went forward about ten yards, past his field of vision. His chest tightened with anxiety.
Then she was back. “They seem to be headed east. Let’s go while we can.”
The run down the mountain was nearly as harrowing as anything he’d experienced during his time in Kaziristan. The pitch-dark night and the lush spring growth in the woods made for treacherous footing.
Megan was as sure-footed as a cat, and apparently as sharp-eyed, as well, for she seemed able to use the faint blue glow of moonlight filtering through the trees to see ahead far better than Evan could. She nimbly sidestepped obstacles that would have sent Evan sprawling face-first into the forest floor. He quickly learned to stay in her wake, letting her search out and neutralize the dangers ahead.
The dangers behind, however, posed a much greater problem. Two-thirds of the way down the mountain, with the lake now visible, gleaming like blue diamonds through the trees, Evan felt something whistle past his head. Nearby, the trunk of a tree shuddered from the impact, spraying splinters outward.
“Go low and zigzag!” he called to Megan, but she was already off like a rabbit, scampering through the underbrush like a wild thing. He and his aching ankle struggled to keep up with her pace, especially since he took a different route to force their pursuers to track two targets instead of one.
He felt another bullet snag the sleeve of his jacket, but he couldn’t stop long enough to check if he was hit. He didn’t think so—he felt no pain—but adrenaline could be a trickster.
“Here!” He barely heard Megan’s whisper over his own thundering pulse. He spotted her ahead and dashed toward her, tripping and sprawling when his foot caught a large tree root sticking out of the soil.
He felt her hands on him, pulling him to his feet, and he gladly took her hand and let her lead the way toward the darkened boathouse he saw just ahead, a simple wood structure on stilts that hung out several feet past the shoreline into the gently lapping water of Lake Gossamer.
“What now?” he asked, crouching behind the large black speedboat moored in the boathouse.
“We get this thing on the water.” She was already climbing into the boat, feeling around the interior compartments until she found what she was looking for—a key. “Can you untie the moor rope? We’re getting out of here.”
He limped over to the post and untied the rope. “Who leaves the key to his boat in the boat?”
She flashed him a grin big enough that he could see her white teeth glimmering in the darkness. “My cousin Gabe, when I ask him to.” She pocketed the key and went into the well of the boat, coming back with two large oars. “They couldn’t have seen where we went after that last turn in the woods, but they’ll come looking for us sooner or later. So we take this boat out slow and quiet, okay? Just beyond the point, then I’ll engage the trolling motor for a little while after that before trying to start the outboard.”
He was glad she knew what she was doing. For all the time he’d spent on lakes and ponds as a kid, he’d never learned much about boats. His family had never been wealthy enough to own one of their own, nor had any of his boyhood friends.
The boat was sleek but large. Rowing their way out of the boathouse without crashing the vessel into the wooden pier took serious effort, the need for quiet forcing them to row longer and more slowly than he’d have liked.
As they neared the point of land jutting out into the lake, he spotted two black-clad men moving stealthily through the woods about a hundred yards from the boathouse, barely visible through the trees. “Get down,” he whispered urgently to Megan.
She crouched low in the boat, stopping her rowing, but the forward impetus kept them gliding silently through the water. Evan hoped the boat was as difficult to see as the men were.
The boat slowed, forcing them to risk rowing again. They passed the jutting point of land, putting more distance between themselves and the men skulking through the trees. By now, Evan’s muscles burned with exertion, and he could tell from Megan’s pinched face that she was beginning to feel the toll of rowing the big bass boat across the murky surface of the lake.
The sound of a couple of fast-moving boats skimming across the water toward them sent Evan’s nerves jangling. Soon shouts could be heard, as well, from one boat to the other.
It sounded like some good ol’ boys out late fishing, but Evan dropped his hand to his side, where the SIG sat heavy on his hip, looking over his shoulder at the approaching boats.
Megan’s hand closed over his on the holster. Turning, he found her crouched beside him, smiling up with gleaming eyes. “It’s my cousins Jake and Aaron. They’re giving us cover to get out of here.” She eased back to the outboard area and put her hand on the trolling motor.
As the boats came nearer, she cranked the trolling motor. It hummed quietly, completely drowned out by the larger outboards of the two bass boats skimming toward them.
The boats slowed as they drew close, giving Megan a chance to put a little distance between herself and the shore without being heard. The two bass boats flanked their boat like an honor guard, throttling their engines down to trolling speed.
All three boats eased their way up the lake until there was no way anyone from the boathouse could possibly see them. Then the bigger of the men—Aaron, Evan remembered—tossed something into their boat and whipped his boat off in another direction.
The other boat settled in beside them, the dark-haired man in the driver’s seat nodding at Megan.
She nodded back and put her key in the ignition, starting the outboard engine. The sound was shockingly loud, making Evan wince. She gestured him into the passenger seat and he slid in, giving a wave of gratitude to her cousin Jake.
Jake throttled his engine back up and stayed with them for about a mile as they skated across the water at top speed. Megan handled the large power boat as if she’d been driving them for years—which she probably had, he supposed, remembering how much time she’d spent with her cousins growing up.
She handed him a wad of paper—the thing Aaron Cooper had thrown into the boat, he realized. “Hold this until we’re safe to throttle down!” she shouted over the sound of the motor and the wind beating through their clothes and hair.
They neared the dam and she finally pulled back, easing the power boat down until they were moving at a stately pace, barely putting out a wake.
“There’s a flashlight in the bin right behind you,” Megan told him. “Let’s see what that is.”
He retrieved the flashlight, and she held it while he unfolded the ball of paper. One page was a map with an X on it. “Map of the lake.” He showed her the page.
“That’s old Beaver Creek Dam,” she said. “All the kids used to go parking up there.”
The other two pages were instructions. “It’s an email from your brother Jesse. They’ve spotted guys they’re pretty sure are SSU doing surveillance on all of their residences as well as Cooper Security.” His throat tightened, feeling the noose. “No coverage on the cousins yet, which is why they sent them to our aid, but he thinks we need to get out of town for a while, until they can figure out what’s really going on here.”
“Good thing we kept our bags with us,” she said.
“He says your cousin Cissy is waiting for us at the dam with her boyfriend, Shane Mason. He’s agreed to let us bor
row his truck since it’s not likely to be easily connected to Cooper Security. We’ll take the truck, they’ll take the boat back to Cooper Cove Marina.” He looked up at Megan, shaking his head. “What are you Coopers, a bunch of secret agents?”
She shot him a wry grin. “Not by choice, believe me.”
Beaver Creek Dam was another couple of miles away. They made good time on the first mile and a half, running the boat at full speed. But they had to throttle down again at the mouth of the creek and came to a full stop at a rickety-looking pier that jutted into the wide creek. Standing on the pier, a tall, dark-haired girl of twenty or so and a taller young man with sandy hair wearing a denim jacket were playing a convincing pair of lovers, wrapped around each other in the dark.
They broke apart as the boat idled up to the pier. The girl grinned sheepishly at Megan. “Truck’s up at the top of the hill—blue Ford with a flag sticker on the windshield. We parked it away from the other cars up there, but you may want to hold hands or something so nobody looks at you suspiciously. Uncle Luke sent you a pair of cell phones. We left them on the seat. They each have a thousand minutes a month and they’re untraceable. He said you should leave your phones with us.” She motioned toward the rope coiled at the back of the boat. “Mr. Pike, could you toss me that rope?”
He hurried to get the rope, glad to note his ankle wasn’t hurting as much as it had earlier. He threw the girl the rope, and she and her companion pulled the boat flush with the pier.
Megan cut the engine and left the key in the ignition. When she had climbed up to the pier, she gave the girl a hug. “Thank you, Cissy. And you, too, Shane.”
The boy smiled at Megan and nodded politely to Evan. “Don’t scuff up my truck, okay? It’s my baby.”
“We’ll do the best we can to bring it back in the same condition,” Evan promised, remembering how much he’d loved his first truck when he bought it.
After handing over their cell phones as requested, they left the kids with the boat and started up the crooked path. Megan grabbed Evan’s hand, as Cissy had suggested. He wasn’t sure it was necessary; from what he remembered of his teenage days, the last thing he’d cared about was what other people were doing in their cars on Lovers’ Lane.
But he wasn’t going to complain about holding Megan’s hand.
She snuggled even closer as they reached the top of the rise, where the land flattened to a level dirt parking area on one side of the dam. “I doubt anyone’s looking,” she murmured, raising her face to him. “But just to be safe—” She rose on her tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss against his lips.
Desire swamped him, flooding his insides with sweet heat. He cupped the back of her head in his palm and held her still, kissing her back with fierce hunger. Only the sound of a car moving along the road nearby drove them apart, and they hurried to the truck, stashing their bags on the bench seat of the extended cab.
“Let’s wait here a little while. Don’t want to draw too much attention by heading right off,” Evan suggested, though he was disappointed to see that, unlike his first truck, this was a newer model with the gear console on the floor between them.
Megan didn’t let the console bother her, crawling across the console until she was in his lap. “Put the seat back, she ordered. “The steering wheel’s diggin’ into my ribs.”
He did as she asked, feeling sixteen again, breathless and out of control. Her hot breath mingled with his as she bent and brushed her mouth against his again.
“For show,” she whispered, cradling his face in her hands and lowering her mouth to his in a third kiss.
He threaded his fingers through her hair, holding her close, driven by adrenaline and relief and a richer, darker emotion he didn’t want to name. She was a live wire beneath his hands, shooting sparks through his system until he thought he would ignite from the inside out.
He was fast losing his hold on the world around him, drowning in her, and that scared the hell out of him.
“No,” he gasped, pulling away. “This is not the time to forget ourselves.”
Her low groan of frustration rumbled through him. She pressed her forehead to his. “I’m sorry.”
He covered her hands where they lay against his cheeks. “Why don’t we just get out of here?”
She dropped back into the passenger seat of the truck, her head falling back against the headrest. “Any thoughts where we should go now?”
There was only one place he could think of, one place where even people who knew him well would never think to look for him.
One place he hadn’t been since he was seventeen years old and still nothing more than a naive kid from coal country.
He turned and looked at Megan, at her weary expression and the trust that shined like a challenge in her scared gray eyes.
“Yeah. I have an idea.” He buckled himself in and cranked the truck. The engine roared to life, its full throttle purr humming in his ears like a hillbilly anthem.
After eighteen years in the wilderness, Evan Earl Pike was going home to Kentucky.
Chapter Twelve
Somewhere around Lenoir City, Tennessee, Megan fell asleep, her head slumped against the truck window, and dreamed.
She was home, at the cozy bungalow in Gossamer Ridge, sitting on the top step of the porch. Vince sat beside her, helping her shell peas into a large white bowl sitting on the step between them. Under his breath, he hummed an old Alabama song—“Dixieland Delight,” one of his favorites. He couldn’t carry a tune worth a damn, but his enthusiasm was infectious, and she found herself humming along.
“You’ve been wearin’ black long enough, baby.” His familiar voice wrapped around her like a cloud.
No, she thought sadly. Like a shroud.
“You’ve been sleepin’ on my grave again.” Vince sounded so sad it made her want to cry. “That ain’t necessary, you know. I ain’t there anymore. You’re just lyin’ with bones.”
Looking down at herself, she saw she was dressed in the black silk dress she’d worn to his funeral, the glossy fabric streaked with the red clay dirt of his grave.
She woke to the sound of rain pattering on the window beneath her head and the soft swish of windshield wipers beating a cadence in rhythm with her heart.
Through the windshield, the headlights illuminated a curvy two-lane highway, flanked on either side with thick woods. Ahead, rain clouds kissed the top of a gentle mountain slope.
She stretched and yawned. “Where are we?”
“Harlan County, Kentucky,” Evan answered flatly. He sounded as if he’d just answered, “Hell,” instead.
“You never told me why you chose Kentucky,” she commented carefully, recognizing quicksand when she saw it.
“Because nobody who knew me would ever think to find me here.” His tone discouraged further questions.
By the time they reached the outskirts of Cumberland, Kentucky, the rain had stopped and a watery sunrise struggled to burn through the thinning clouds. Instead of continuing on the highway, Evan pulled the truck down a narrow road into a hollow. She could tell by the tense set of his jaw that he was taking her somewhere familiar to him.
“You’re a Kentucky boy,” she said softly.
He glanced her way. “You reckon so?” She hardly recognized his voice, tinted now with a drawl as deep and hard as the hills around them.
“Kentucky’s a beautiful state,” she ventured.
“Beautiful. And terrible.”
“The drug cartel that killed your brother wasn’t from South America,” she guessed. “Dixie Mafia?”
He shot her a bleak look.
“I’m sorry. My sister Isabel had some trouble with the Alabama version last month.”
“Nate wasn’t working for a charity. He got sucked into a mess. Mama warned him to stay away from the Bufords. Nate thought he knew what he was doing.” Evan shook his head. “We never got to bury him. They threw him in an old mine shaft and collapsed it on top of him. Didn’t tell us until it was too l
ate for hope.”
“My God.”
“Would’ve put too many people in danger to try to dig his body out, so we left him where he lay.”
She reached across the space between them, brushing her fingers down his arm. His jaw tightened, and she dropped her hand away. “How long since you’ve been here?”
“Eighteen years.”
She couldn’t imagine being away from Alabama that long. “Do you still have family here?”
“My father moved north years ago,” he answered. “My mother lived here until she died a couple of years ago. All that’s left here are cousins on her side.”
“Any that will help us?”
“Not sure,” he admitted. “Daddy never liked Mama’s side of the family. I guess he thought he was better than they were—he worked for the mining company. He was from Pittsburgh originally, and I guess deep down he thought he was marrying beneath him when he took a Cumberland girl for his wife.”
She grimaced. “Sounds like your mama was the one marryin’ down, to me.”
He smiled at her. “You might be right.”
He reached down and turned on the radio, a burst of static making him grimace. He fiddled with the dial until he found a station playing country music. “When in Cumberland…”
“Where does this road take us?” she asked.
“You’ll see.”
The road twisted along the flow of a river, taking them deeper into the mountains. It didn’t look very different from the hills and hollows of her home in Chickasaw County, but she imagined a stranger like Evan’s father might look at the wilderness ahead and think he’d entered another world.
The first sign of civilization in miles loomed in the gray dawn, a small, shabby-looking one-story motel. The marquee outside the small brick building was barely legible, the paint flaked and faded. “Meade Motor Inn,” Megan read aloud.
“Everybody calls it MeMo,” Evan said. “I wasn’t sure it would still be here—it was already on its last legs back when I was a kid. I worked here every summer for three years.”