by Jenna Ryan
“I’m sorry to tell you this, Mama K, but you need to refocus. There’s been a vehicle cruising around the bend and on past the gate to the commune since before Amber and I got here. I caught a glimpse of it while we were driving. I think it’s an unmarked cop car.”
“Police have cruised past us before and will again.”
“The cops inside aren’t looking for Amber.”
“Who then?”
“You need to ask Knute that question.” Crouching, Gage used the side of his finger to tip Amber’s chin up. “Are you awake?”
“More or less.” The haze in her head was beginning to dissipate. “I feel buzzed, but okay. Why are cops hanging around?”
“Because someone in this commune isn’t here to experience a more powerful way of life. He, she, or they have a tidy little operation happening that isn’t strictly legal.”
Through a shimmer of residual sparkles, Amber saw Krista’s features harden. “Is someone growing marijuana?”
“I imagine many are, but that’s not the problem. There are two old barns on the west end of the property that are being used as storehouses for stolen goods. Everything from electronics to a damn fine Hummer.”
“Those barns are falling down. They’re dangerous. A year ago, I had signs put up forbidding anyone to go inside them.” Removing the scarf from around her neck, Krista tied it over her hair. “You have told me, Gage, and I now will see for myself how bad this situation is. Can you tell me who is behind the thefts? Is it Knute?”
“I don’t know.” Gage winced as he stood and drew Amber to her feet. He checked his side for blood and saw none, but the pain was like hot knives through his ribs at that point. “We got into it before I could find out. He took off after I planted a fist in his throat.”
Krista shook a stern finger. “I warned you not to fight dirty.”
“He kicked me in the balls.”
“You’re a US Marshal. You should have seen it coming. Knute has never fought fair.” She turned her attention to Amber. “Remember what you have drawn from your subconscious, and use what you can of it to help your sister. Is there more I can do for you, Gage, before I go and drag my son back here by his ear?”
“I need a laptop.”
“I don’t have one. Few of us do. Maybe you can find something useful in one of our barns.”
“Or I could talk to Scrap.”
“Or that. You go your way, I’ll go mine. I might need your help to refocus the attention of the police.”
Gage examined Amber’s eyes. “Cloudy but clearing,” he remarked, then said to Krista, “That’s not very ethical, considering.”
“It will be in the end. Tonight, you need to sleep. Talk to Scrap.”
Her sandals flapped against the soles of her unmatched socks as she left the room.
Amber desperately wanted to sink back onto the floor and do as she’d been instructed. Sleep. Instead, she let Gage shake her one last time before she forced her way out of the clingy haze and returned to the present.
“There’s no place like home,” she said, rolling her head in a slow circle. “Why is there always such a vast distance between concept and reality?”
“The mind paints pictures.” Gage took one last look into her eyes. “Those pictures tend to be somewhat abstract. We’ll do as Krista suggested and wait until morning. I’ll take you upstairs. Scrap gets up early. Just be aware, he doesn’t like unexpected visitors dropping by asking for favors.”
Amber pushed her feet into her boots. “Tell me honestly, Gage. Do you know anyone who’s remotely normal?”
“Knute’s relatively normal.”
“Knute kicked you in the balls.”
“After I kicked him.”
She slid her arms into her hoodie. “I sense we’re going to wear out our welcome here very quickly.”
Gage said nothing, just took her up a narrow set of stairs to one of the second floor bedrooms.
Capturing her chin, he looked into her eyes. “You’ll be fine tomorrow, Amber.”
“Will I?” She swayed against him, smiled when his expression darkened. “Gotcha thinking.”
“I’m always thinking when I’m with you.” His fingers stroked the sensitive skin of her jaw and throat. “You’re a dangerous woman on too many levels to count. A smart man would have ditched this assignment at the first sight of you.” He lowered his head. “Looks like I’m not very smart.”
When his mouth covered hers, every thought in her head turned to mush. Her insides softened, then began to sizzle. However, before it could get out of hand, Gage stepped back. “Not smart and not going to take advantage of what Krista’s done.” He gave her another brief, hot kiss. “Sleep, Snowbird. We’ll talk to Scrap first thing in the morning.”
Sighing, Amber opened the door and went inside. She spotted a robe and floppy slippers in the spartan room. Her pack sat beside a long single bed. Still feeling floaty and strange, she used the bathroom and climbed under the covers.
Naturally, she dreamed about Gage. Which was better than having nightmares about Rachel being tortured or Owen Fixx on a rant.
…
The next day dawned cloudy and damp. Gage knocked early. He barely gave her time to shower and dress before he dragged her down to the kitchen and out the door.
“Muffin, orange.” He handed her one of each.
“You’re all heart.” Shoving them in the pocket of her hoodie, Amber secured her hair in a sleek ponytail. “Having Krista wander through my mind last night was weird.”
“I can imagine.”
“She called up memories I didn’t realize I possessed and made things even muddier than before. I appreciate the attempt, but I’m not sure how helpful any of what I remembered is going to be.”
Gage shrugged. “I have Bear’s computer disk in my pocket. We’ll see what he has for us.”Be positive, Amber reminded herself. She had to believe Bear was still alive and that his efforts hadn’t been wasted. Efforts he’d made while she and Gage had been tangled up in a kiss that refused to let itself be shoved to the back of her mind, no matter how hard she struggled to get it there.
The landscape roughened as they made the wide turn from the woods that surrounded Krista’s home to the eastern edge of the vast commune.
“Krista’s husband owned the entire valley when she met him,” Gage revealed. “He was a recluse. One look at Krista in her heyday and he fell. He died ten years later and left everything to her. Krista started the commune when Knute was two years old. It means more than the world to her. It’s her life.”
Amber avoided a ridge filled with water. “We need to help her lose the cops.”
“We will. Tent’s that way.” He nodded to a dirt path on the right. “Don’t step in a snare.”
“Jesus.” She stopped dead. “Your friend sets traps?”
“Only for the unwary.” Gage grinned, took her hand. “You need to cultivate a sense of adventure.”
“Right.” She hopped over a fallen branch. “Because my life’s so dull and boring at the moment. Are we going to be dodging bullets again?”
“Not unless something’s happened to spook Scrap since the last time I was here.”
“Which was how many years ago, exactly?”
“Quite a few. Cultivate the adventure, Amber, and lose the paranoia.”
“Uh-huh, because after being shot at and having an arrow fly across the windshield of a truck I was traveling in, why shouldn’t I think twice about approaching the home of a snare-happy recluse at the crack of dawn with mist swirling around, thieves in the vicinity, and I’m guessing a cop still outside the gate? No need to worry, just stroll right up and…” She blinked, stared at the object in front of her. “Bang the gong?” She regarded the round metal object that had suddenly materialized through the fog. “You are not serious?” A laugh escaped. “Why do I say that? From rifles to gongs. Maybe I should just go to Fixx and explain.”
“Mockerie.” Gage unhooked the hammer from a splintere
d pole and struck the gong. The sound reverberated through the morning air. A lone light inside the raised tent revealed movement. When the flap eased up, the figure of a man bent low peered out at them.
“S’at you, Gage?”
“Last I checked.” Gage pulled Amber forward. “Got a friend with me.”
“Any friend of yours, man.”
Amber told herself not to gape, but really, all she could think was “Chong.” A little older, a little grayer, but bearded, barefoot, and dressed in full hippie regalia.
Inside the tent, also decked out like a 1970s hippie den, Scrap studied her through a pair of wire-rimmed glasses.
“Great skin,” he said at length.
“Thank you.” Amber resisted a strong urge to step back. “Your place is very eclectic.”
“It’s a hole.” Scrap continued to inspect her. “Classy, Gage. Has taste. I’m feeling some fear underneath the polish. Got people chasing you. Bad dudes. Serious shit. Sucked you into the mire now. You’re thinking maybe I can help her crawl partway out.” His smile revealed two slightly chipped front teeth. “That about the size of it?”
Gage shrugged. “Pretty much.”
Still a little unsure, Amber looked past Scrap’s shoulder. “Is that a comm link on the table back there?”
“Sharp as a tack.” Scrap punched Gage in the arm and swept a hand toward his makeshift kitchen. “Got bacon on the hotplate, eggs and booze somewhere hereabouts. Got two ears, mostly working, and one or two other things might serve your purpose.”
“Got a laptop?” Gage nudged Amber forward. “I have a disk that needs reading.”
“All in good time. I want to look at your lady over a steaming hot omelet. Krista made the plates. I’ll make the steaming hot.”
“What kind of omelet?” Amber refrained from stomping on Gage’s foot when he continued to push her forward. “It won’t have any squirrel or grasshoppers in it, will it?”
“Nah, I don’t use crap like that. I’m a vegetarian. Even the bacon’s not real.” A huge grin split his bearded face. “I rely on the local fungi for my cooking. You getting my drift here?”
“Unfortunately.” She kept her tone pleasant and her expression neutral. “We’re having a mushroom omelet, right?”
“Sharp as ten tacks,” Scrap decided. He winked at her.
Amber glanced back at Gage, who merely smiled.
Sighing, she murmured, “Let the magic begin.”
Chapter Ten
Mockerie used Owen Fixx’s hotel office to do his contemplating. And to work through the fierce rant that accompanied it. Throwing things hadn’t been his habit for years, but the urge lingered. Hell, sometimes it burned. With his feet propped on Owen’s desk, he turned a fascinating crystal orb over in his hands, tested the weight of it, then gritted his teeth and launched it at the far wall.
The crystal shattered beautifully and destroyed a small Picasso in the process. The double destruction made his minor rant much more satisfying than expected.
On to business.
Using his own specially programed laptop, he Skyped one of his government insiders. McCabe and his US Marshal cronies might think they only had one turncoat in their midst, but it went a little deeper than that.Mockerie considered the newest member of the turncoat team a coup. He hadn’t anticipated success with that particular acquaintance, but as he well knew, money talked—and walked and danced and sang.
He kept the conversation short, no extraneous details required. Alexa Chase, currently known as Amber Kelly, was on the run with one of McCabe’s more unpredictable marshals. That sucked, but unpredictable was Mockerie’s middle name. That should’ve given him some kind of edge.
“So where do we go now?” he asked his contact. “Owen’s been driving the usual route, and it hasn’t generated the results I’m after.”
The office door opened, and Owen Fixx stepped inside. His instinctive scowl came and went so quickly, a less perceptive man might have missed it. Unfortunately for Owen, Mockerie missed nothing. He continued his conversation.
“Give me something here. Tell me about the agent who’s protecting her.”
“Sources are sketchy on him. He was LAPD in a former life. Possible crappy childhood. I’m looking into that. Surreptitiously, of course.”
“Don’t dig yourself into a hole. Just let me know when you hit pay dirt.”
“You’ll be the first. My lines are open, should the need to use them arise.”
Mockerie broke the connection, kept his eyes on Owen’s face. Looking around, circling the room. Then pow. He saw the damage. And, oh, the horror that invaded those Ken doll features. The outrage, the delightful implosion.
“Oops.” Mockerie smiled. “I hope you have insurance.”
Owen breathed in through his nose. “I do.” And out. His fingers wiggled at his sides. “Are you here to look over my shoulder?”
Mockerie’s smile widened. “Let’s just say I’m adding some more of my resources to yours. She’s been far too lucky for far too long. Hurt the sister.”
“The woman’s not stupid, James. Hurting Georgia won’t entice Alexa to turn herself over to us. She’ll know how it’ll go from there. She’ll die, her sister will die, and that’ll be the end of it, for all of us. Except it’s not the end she wants, and you can bet the guy with her…”
“Gage Morgan.”
“Won’t just let her come charging in to a suicidal situation.”
Mockerie’s patience began to wear thin. The urge to throw something weightier than a blown crystal orb reasserted itself. Tempering it, he picked up Owen’s gold letter opener. “Bait a trap then.”
“She’ll recognize it for what it is. Or Morgan will.”
“Doesn’t matter. Emotions often trump logic, and for whatever reason, she seems to love her sister. Bait an inescapable trap.”
“And if it doesn’t work? Do I bait another and another?”
“The right one will do.” Mockerie slid the letter opener through his fingers. “If it fails, it wasn’t the right one. I’ll bait the next. And I’ll use a pair of corpses to do it.” Tossing the letter opener up, he caught it by the blade and launched it at the ruined Picasso. It landed between a pair of distorted eyes and brought a pleased smile to his lips. He turned his gaze to Owen’s face. “Point made, I trust.”
…
Scrap’s omelet wasn’t magic, and it sure as hell wasn’t good. It tasted like tree bark boiled in dirty water, and his elderberry juice was even less palatable.
Gage ate and drank for form, and he had to admire Amber for doing the same.
Krista called via her comm link to say she’d dealt with her surly turd of a son. But he’d zipped up. He wouldn’t give her any more details about the thieves than Gage already knew. No surprise there. Their best bet lay in the hope that the cops who’d been cruising past the commune would grow tired of the hunt and go home when their nightshift ended.
After breakfast, Scrap perched his feet up on a mauve hassock and smoked a meditative cigarette. “Laptop’s in the cupboard over the wastewater bucket. Careful you don’t drop any of the cords into the bucket when you lift it down.” He moved his cigarette between Gage and Amber. “You two had sex yet?”
“No.” Gage opened the cupboard, rummaged.
“Why not? Are you gay?” Scrap asked Amber.
She grinned. “No, I’m just off men. My last relationship ended really badly. In fact, my whole life changed because of it.”
Gage located the laptop and wedged it out of the cupboard. Thankfully, it looked quite new. “We all have our horror stories, I guess.”
Scrap snorted. “Me, I got a mess of them. That’s why I’m here. Is it working, Gage?”
“Enough for my purposes.” Once the computer loaded, he dropped the disk in and leaned on the counter to see what Bear had unearthed. “Looks like your boss has a thing for high- and low-end establishments, Amber. Slick and moneyed in Las Vegas, cheap and utilitarian in New Mexico. He’s lookin
g to buy up a collection of boutique hotels in L.A. Has a man who does his dealing for him. Guy owns a bunch of piss-pot motels that stretch from Georgia to Arizona.
Amber swung her head around. “Is the man’s name Carlin?”
“Could be. Bear came up with the initials RC.” Gage pushed upright, removed the disk. “Piss-pot motels are often situated within spitting distance of railroad tracks.”
“The train we heard during Rachel’s call,” she murmured. “Did Bear hack this information from Fixx or Mockerie?”
“I’m seeing the name Tony Fixx, so it’s door number one. Fixx is an old-fashioned bank to Bear. Mockerie’s firewalls are more likely to resemble Fort Knox.”
Rising, she rubbed the heels of her hands together and, in as much as she could, paced. “Okay, so, we have a clue. Piss-pot motels going from Georgia to Arizona. Train tracks. They wouldn’t have taken her very far, would they? And she was probably en route to New Orleans or Miami with Jess Murkle when they caught her. We need a map. Can you…?”
“No internet here.” Scrap blew a series of thick smoke rings. “I mostly keep the generators running, and repair the one and only truck in the commune. Even so, it coughs and wheezes like my ninety-five-year-old granddad.”
“Ours sputters when it idles.”
“Untamed engine,” Scrap said.
“I guess. Bear’s sounds like a locomotive, and it backfires.”
“Well-tuned engine.” Angling a stream of smoke through the last two rings he’d blown, Scrap closed a canny eye. “Cop car outside’ll be smooth as a baby’s butt. Pansy ass vehicle overall, but then that’s the condition of the whole police department hereabouts. Even an untamed truck shouldn’t have a lick of trouble outrunning it. You hearing me, man?”
“Loud and clear.” Gage checked his side for blood, found none. His ribs hurt, and a few other parts were still feeling the effects of Knute’s boot. All in all, he was good to go. And had better go before more than that lone cop car cruised by.
Scrap gave them a bottle of elderberry juice for the road, then returned to his cigarette and solitude. The light in the tent went out behind them.