by Paula Graves
Olivia and Seth both stopped to help him back up. “You want me to pull the mule cart for a while?” Seth asked, nodding at the travois with a friendly grin.
“Let him do it,” Olivia told Landry in a dry tone, already heading back onto the trail. “Serves him right for letting Quinn turn him into his personal bloodhound.”
Landry handed over the travois poles and caught up with Olivia on the trail. “Are you sure heading into town is the best idea? Quinn clearly doesn’t trust me or he wouldn’t have sent your huckster buddy back there to make sure you were okay in my company.”
Hammond’s voice piped up behind them. “Reformed—”
“Shut up!” Landry and Olivia snapped in unison.
Olivia slanted a quick look at Landry, her lips curving in a half smile. “I don’t know if it’s the best idea,” she admitted, her smile starting to fade. “But it’s the best one I have. You have any better ideas?”
“No,” he had to admit.
“At the rate we’re going, we should hit town in about two hours. Then the pace should pick up because the streets are relatively flat, and you won’t be tripping over hidden stones every few yards.”
“What’s between here and town?”
“Enemy territory,” Hammond said, his voice closer. He’d caught up with them despite his heavier load.
“There’s a small enclave of people who claim allegiance to the BRI,” Olivia explained. “Their cabins are a little ways off the trail, so if we’re lucky, we shouldn’t have any trouble with them.”
Landry caught her arm and stopped her in her tracks. “If we’re lucky?”
“It snowed nearly a foot up here in the mountains. Power up this way is spotty on a good week, so they’re probably hunkered down, trying to stay warm. It’ll be all right.”
“You hope.”
“I expect,” she said firmly. But he saw her grip her Mossberg shotgun more tightly as she started hiking forward again.
They walked awhile in silence before Olivia broke it with a soft question. “Where is your evidence?”
So much had happened between the time he’d shown up at her cabin and this laborious hike down the mountain, it took Landry a moment to understand what she was asking.
“Evidence?” Hammond prodded when Landry didn’t answer immediately. “Evidence of what?”
“Of the BRI putting a hit out on me,” Olivia answered in a flat tone that belied the feral alertness behind her blue eyes.
“It’s not a hit exactly,” Landry corrected her.
“So they interrogate me roughly for a few days before they put me out of my misery. Close enough to a hit for me,” she said.
“Wait—what?” Hammond wriggled out from under the travois and trudged forward to join them. “Someone’s trying to take you prisoner, and you’re out here hiking into town by yourself?”
“She’s not by herself,” Landry protested.
Hammond shot him a hard look. “Close enough. Why didn’t you tell Quinn? He could have put a half dozen agents on your place to stand guard.”
“So then I’m Quinn’s prisoner instead.”
“At least Quinn’s not looking to put a bullet in your brain,” Hammond snapped, all of the folksy humor gone from his demeanor. “Damn it, Sharp, why do you always play it this way? Why don’t you let anybody help you?”
Landry looked from Hammond to Olivia, taking in the bristle of anger in her expression and the frustration in Hammond’s voice. Apparently, this wasn’t the first time Olivia had clashed with her fellow agents at The Gates about her lone-wolf attitude.
He guessed a few things about Olivia hadn’t changed in the past few years after all.
“Let’s just get to your office and get warm.” Landry nodded at the travois Hammond had dropped. “You can call Quinn and tattle on her when we get there.”
The sharp-eyed look Hammond threw Landry’s way would have intimidated a different man. But after all that Landry had gone through over the past few months, it would take a hell of a lot scarier man than Hammond to make him flinch.
Hammond released a harsh breath and stalked back to the travois.
“You want me to spell you for a bit?” Landry asked as the other man jerked the lashed poles over his shoulders.
“I’m good,” Hammond growled.
“You have such a way with people,” Landry murmured to Olivia as he caught up with her.
“I don’t want people at the agency thinking I need to be wrapped in cotton and put away somewhere safe.”
“Do they do that as a rule?”
She cut her eyes at him. “I haven’t tested the theory yet.”
“If you’re so worried that’s what’s going to happen, why are we going to The Gates in the first place?”
Her voice rose. “Because I have nowhere else safe to go, okay?”
They walked on in silence for another half hour, battling a rising wind that whipped up the mountain, blowing snow around them and limiting visibility to a few dozen yards. The watery sunlight that had offered a brief reprieve against the icy chill had faded behind a sheet of low-lying clouds that threatened more snow.
“What was the forecast the last time you checked?” Landry asked. He’d lost his cell phone months ago and had never bothered to replace it. Whom did he have to call? But he’d seen Olivia checking her phone that morning before they hit the trail.
“It might snow a little more,” she answered. “They weren’t sure.”
“How much more?”
Coming to a sudden stop, she didn’t answer. Landry followed her gaze into the blowing snow and saw what she’d seen. Movement, straight ahead.
There was someone out there in the woods ahead.
“How close are we to the BRI enclave?” Landry asked softly.
“Too close,” she answered.
Behind them, Seth Hammond uttered a soft expletive.
“Well, now,” came a low drawl, “look who just wandered into our territory, boys.”
Landry froze, a flash of images flooding his memory so hard and fast he felt as if he’d been gut-punched.
He knew that voice. He’d heard that voice every day for a month, the deceptively gentle tones that had been a sound track for the brutality of his henchmen.
He’d never seen the face—they’d made sure of it. But he’d know that voice anywhere, even in his nightmares.
Landry turned slowly, bracing himself for his first look at the monster who haunted his dreams.
But before he could move, a crack of rifle fire split the icy air, and he threw himself at Olivia, shoving her to the ground beneath him.
Chapter Nine
The idiot was trying to protect her!
But in the process, he’d damn near knocked the Mossberg out of her hand. She shoved him off her and rolled onto her stomach, leveling the barrel toward the last place she’d seen their gun-toting intruders.
But they were gone, running through the snowy woods like wraiths, fading into the whitewashed scenery.
As Olivia turned her head to check the rear, Landry pushed her down again, his weapon hand whipping toward a spot behind her. “Don’t move.”
“Landry—” Hammond began.
“Shut it,” Landry barked. “Put the guns down.”
“You’re outnumbered.” The familiar voice sent a shudder of relief ratcheting through her body. She shoved Landry off again, ignoring his growling order to be still, and looked up to confirm what she’d heard.
Six men in arctic camouflage stood in a semicircle around them, eyes alert and rifles raised. One man was clearly in charge, a dark-haired man with dark hazel eyes and lean, chiseled features. He wore the camo like a second skin, which made sense, she supposed, given his decade in the US Army.
&
nbsp; “They’re friendlies,” she said sharply to Landry, putting her hand over the hand that held his gun.
“Says who?” he growled, shoving her hand away.
“I say,” she said firmly, circling to stand between his pistol and her colleagues. The second she got a look at his wild-eyed expression, a quiver of pure terror ripped through her gut. In that moment, she realized, he could just as easily shoot her as not.
Then his gaze focused on her. His expression softened a notch, and he slowly lowered the Kimber to his side.
“Friendly to whom?” he asked, his voice raspy and unsteady.
“To me. And you.” She held out her hand to him.
For a moment he looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. But she didn’t budge.
After a long, breathless moment, he turned the Kimber grip toward her and handed it over.
She slid the Kimber into the waistband of her jeans and turned to face the men from The Gates. “You should have brought Ava,” she said to the leader. “He knows her.”
“Yeah, well, she and Solano are down in Alabama. Solano’s sister had her baby a week early.” Sutton Calhoun shrugged and nodded toward the men flanking him. “Somebody go help Seth out. He’s too damn scrawny to be a pack mule.”
Hammond made a rude gesture at Calhoun, earning a laugh from Calhoun and the other guys on the squad. But he stepped forward and gave Sutton a downright brotherly hug. “How’d you know to come to our rescue?”
“We didn’t. We just knew from your last text that y’all were heading down the mountain in the morning, so we figured you might run into trouble here in the redneck red zone. Quinn asked for volunteers, but when nobody spoke up, he made us draw straws.” Calhoun grinned. “We got the short ones.”
“Funny.”
“This him?” Calhoun nodded toward Landry but looked at Olivia for a response.
“What, you don’t have my mug shot hanging on the office wall?” Landry’s sarcastic tone almost hid his underlying tension.
Almost.
“I’m Sutton Calhoun.” Calhoun extended his hand.
Landry ignored it.
“Manners,” Olivia murmured.
He looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. When he answered, his coastal Georgia drawl kicked in. “This ain’t a cocktail party, darlin’.”
Calhoun shrugged and finished the introductions. “This is Fitzpatrick to my right. That’s Dennison on the left. Cooper’s the big guy. Jackson’s the guy on the end.”
“And I believe we’ve spoken before.” Nick Darcy stepped forward.
“You answered the pay phone at the Econo-Tel,” Landry said, showing the first hint of relaxing. “The guy with the British accent. You were protecting Rigsby.”
Darcy nodded. “You probably saved her life with that call. If we’d been even a few steps behind Darryl Boyle—”
“Olivia says Rigsby’s okay.”
“She’s splendid,” Darcy answered in a tone so besotted, Olivia couldn’t quell a smile.
“I see,” Landry murmured, glancing at Olivia.
“We probably shouldn’t stick around here much longer,” Calhoun warned. “Those fellows might have gone for reinforcements.”
“Don’t suppose you brought any skis with you?” Hammond muttered.
“You can’t ski worth a lick anyway,” Calhoun said, clapping his friend on the back before barking an order in the sharp tone he must have learned during his days in the Army. “Move out.”
* * *
THE LITTLE TOWN of Purgatory looked like a Christmas card, covered with snow and sparkling with lights in the deepening twilight. The temptation to stop his weary trudge forward and just enjoy the sight was more than Landry could resist.
He’d been in and out of civilization over the past months, slipping into bigger towns when he needed supplies or information, but most of his time had been spent in the hills, bunking down wherever he could find a kind soul who would take pity on his homeless state and give him a hot meal and a place to stay for the night.
He hadn’t stayed overnight in a town since he’d got away from the BRI, and he’d begun to wonder if he ever would again.
“Can’t linger.” That was Sutton Calhoun’s voice, gentle but firm in his ear as he nudged Landry forward. “We’re almost home.”
“Home,” it turned out, was a deceptively shabby-looking mansion on a large, tree-shaded corner lot near the center of town. An engraved plaque near the large iron gates read “Buckley Mansion, est. 1895.” A smaller, less ostentatious sign on the gates themselves, however, proclaimed that they’d arrived at The Gates.
“Why The Gates?” Landry asked Olivia as they entered through the iron portal and started up the snowy walk.
“I’m not sure,” Olivia admitted.
“The gate of purgatory,” Dennison offered as he passed them on the way to the front porch. “Though some of us think it’s the gates of hell instead. Occasionally.”
It looked like heaven to Landry, welcoming lights glowing warm in the windows, though when they walked inside, the front lobby was empty. But there was light and blessed heat, and an instant sense of safety, however transitory it might prove to be. The temptation to relax his guard was almost more than Landry could resist.
“Who else is here?” Olivia asked.
“Rigsby’s here,” Dennison drawled. “You know Darcy—never leaves home without her. Brand is up with Quinn at his office.”
“Delilah’s working the storm shift?” Olivia asked.
“Along with Sara and Ivy.”
“Sara’s Dennison’s wife—Ridge County sheriff’s deputy,” Olivia told Landry. “Delilah and Ivy are married to Brand and Calhoun, respectively.”
“They’re both local cops over in Bitterwood.”
“Y’all have some sort of law-enforcement dating service going on the side?” Landry asked softly as Olivia led him to the winding stairway leading to the second floor while the other men headed out of sight, shedding their outerwear as they went.
She smiled. “Easier to date someone who gets your crazy hours. You should know that better than anyone.”
He did. Of course, he and Olivia had shared most of those crazy work hours, which could have been a problem, he supposed. But somehow it never had been. Work was one part of their shared lives that had never been an issue.
Until Richmond.
He put the dark memories out of his head and followed Olivia down a dimly lit hallway to a room at the eastern corner of the house. She gave a soft knock but didn’t wait for a reply before she entered.
A sandy-haired man in his forties sat behind a large oak desk, leaning back in his chair with his hands steepled over his chest. He looked up, unsurprised. “You’re an hour later than I expected.”
Olivia sighed. “We ran into a couple of BRI boys. Slowed us down.”
“Everybody unscathed?”
“I’m sure Sutton or someone on the team has already texted you the details,” she drawled, nodding at the other man in the room, a tall, dark-haired man with blue eyes who had turned at the opening of the door. “Brand.”
Landry froze. “You’re Adam Brand.”
Brand’s dark eyebrows lifted. “And you’re Cade Landry.”
“You were on the FBI’s naughty list, too.”
“I was,” Brand said with a nod and a faint whisper of a smile. “Unfairly in my case. What about yours?”
The smile hadn’t disappeared, but the room felt instantly colder and less hospitable.
“Definitely unfair in my case,” he said firmly. “All the way around, as a matter of fact.”
“So we’ve concluded,” Quinn said mildly, waving at the empty chair beside Olivia. “Sit. You must be exhausted.”
Landry wished he could
make a stand, but his aching legs told him to stop being a stubborn fool. He sank gratefully into the armchair, turning so he could keep both Quinn and Brand in sight.
“We know Darryl Boyle was working with the BRI. We have no reason to think you were, despite your unexplained disappearance. Would you like to explain it?”
Landry glanced at Olivia. “Not at this time.”
“Understandable. There’s hot food in the kitchen downstairs, and you’d probably like to take advantage of indoor plumbing about now. Sharp can show you where everything is.”
“That’s it?” Landry asked.
Quinn’s sandy eyebrows lifted a notch. “Did you expect something else?”
“You’re an ex-spook. I guess I anticipated some sort of enhanced interrogation techniques.”
“You’ve already been through enough of those. Haven’t you?” The gentleness of Quinn’s tone caught Landry off guard. Apparently, it came as a surprise to Olivia, as well; she stared at her boss with a look of confusion.
“Go get settled. Get warm. Eat some food, drink some water and then get some sleep. We’ll all still be here in the morning. Maybe you’ll feel more like talking then.”
Olivia rose first, heading for the door in stony silence. Landry followed her out, catching up with her halfway to the stairs.
She turned to look at him, her eyes snapping with anger. “That bastard’s trying to play you.”
Landry nodded. “Yeah, I know. We used to interrogate suspects, too, remember?”
She let out a long, slow breath, visibly trying to relax. “I know. And I know he needs the information. Hell, I still don’t know everything that happened to you, either. And I’d like to.”
He shook his head. “No, you wouldn’t.”
She put her hand on his arm, her fingers still icy from the hike in the snow. “I need to know. So when you’re ready—”
He covered her hand with his for a moment then gently pulled her hand away, taking a step back from her. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready, Olivia. Can you deal with that?”