by Lucy Farago
“I don’t have a problem.”
Said the person with the problem. “Is it love in general? Or people getting hitched? Are you feeling left out?” her question intended to sound as derisive as his bungee comment. Then she thought maybe she’d stepped out of line. Maybe he’d had his heart broken recently and she was rubbing salt in his wounds.
“None of the above.” He spooned the now-hot chili into the bowls…avoiding eye contact. “I’m happy for everyone. Lucky bastards.”
Again, the sarcasm. Interesting. Not a broken heart. She’d found herself a nonbeliever. Hmmm; what had happened to Monty that turned him off love? Or was it women themselves?
He took their food to the small table, then returned to the cupboard and withdrew a bottle of water for himself. “Do you need a refill?” He pointed to the water she’d left on the coffee table.
“No, that one is still full.” She retrieved it and returned, eager to see if he’d answer her questions.
“Sorry. Normally, we have power and more than canned food. Hopefully, Daniel and his pals will give up sooner rather than later and we can get out of here.” He yanked out a chair for her and took one for himself.
“Thanks.”
He grunted some reply and they sat across from each other. The chili, like the soup he’d served her earlier, wasn’t half bad for a can, and she realized she was hungrier than she’d thought. Eating, she sneaked peeks at the man across from her. Maybe it was her job, maybe it was something else, but she wanted to know what made this man so opposed to happy endings. “You never answered my questions. Is it love you’re against? Or marriage?”
He loaded his spoon with chili and put it in his mouth.
“Would you rather we talk about those computers in the other room?” She didn’t normally play dirty, and in all honesty, he’d eventually have to divulge more information or she would drive him crazy. Although Monty wasn’t the first man she’d come across with commitment issues—some didn’t know they had them—she made it a point to try to understand men’s psyches. It made her work a whole lot easier.
He swallowed his food. “Neither. Whatever makes people happy.”
Not quite. “People, but not you?” And before he thought to deny it, she added, “Because that frosty demeanor isn’t syncing with what’s coming out of your mouth.”
“Considering what you do for a living, I know you want to beat this to death. But I don’t. If people want to get married, I wish them all the best. End of story. Let it go, Taylor.”
She didn’t believe it was the end of the story, but had to respect his wishes. His issues were none of her business. “Let’s change the topic.”
“You’re also not getting any more information about who I work for.”
“End of story?”
He smirked. “Glad to see we understand each other. Now, finish eating and I’ll show you where you sleep.”
“You know, I’d feel a whole lot better knowing I can trust you.”
“Would it make you feel better if I told you I was military intelligence? Would that somehow appease your distrusting soul? ’Cause I would think saving your life would do that. But if that’s what you need to hear…”
“Were you?” It would make sense.
He threw his hands in the air. “Do you never give up?”
Not since her father cut her off. But she didn’t want to antagonize the man. He was right. He’d saved her life. “I’ll make you a deal. Tell me one personal thing about you and I’ll drop it.” For now. He could lie to her, but she wanted to at least pretend she knew something about the man she’d be sharing this secret bunker with.
“Would it make you more comfortable around me?”
She nodded.
“Okay; anything in particular you want to know?”
This one was easy…or so she thought. “Your name.”
“Not a chance. The only person who would remember that…” He paused as something akin to regret—pain? something he didn’t like recalling?—flashed across his features before he caught himself and said, “That person is dead.”
“I’m sure another computer nerd would be able to find it. You have a birth certificate,” she pointed out.
He filled his spoon and looked at her with such certainty, it oddly turned her on. She didn’t like smug men, but on him it was sexy. “My birth certificate,” he said, “reads Monty Buchannan.” He put the spoon in his mouth and slowly withdrew it with a flick of his wrist, then chewed.
“You changed the name on your birth certificate? How—Never mind; I don’t want to know.” Wasn’t that illegal? “Must be some name.” Then again, maybe he’d do her the favor and change hers. Wouldn’t that just stick it to her father.
“So, smarty-pants, what do you think about my theory on human traffickers?”
“You really want to know?”
“I asked.”
Monty finished his dinner and pushed the bowl to aside. “You have very dangerous people after you.”
“I know that.” But hearing him confirm it, made it far scarier. Although none of it made sense. Did he know these people? If so, how? And why hadn’t they killed her right away? Why drag her all the way out here? And then try to kill her? Maybe it wasn’t her they were shooting at?
Monty was in a secluded cabin…alone…oddly, with no way to communicate with the outside world. He’d said his friends would arrive in six days. Were Daniel’s pals Monty’s? Was this a trick to get her to hand over the evidence? That didn’t make sense. Why shoot at Monty if he was working with them? She made herself take a deep breath. Paranoia was unbecoming. But trusting the wrong person could be deadly. Had she done that? She shoved her bowl away, no longer hungry.
“Don’t be like that,” he said. “It doesn’t suit you.”
“Don’t be like what? And what do you know about what suits me? You don’t know anything about me.” Or her him.
“I know you’re smart. And you have guts.” He rose and took his bowl to the sink. “Eat. You need the protein.”
What she needed was reassurances he couldn’t or wouldn’t give her. Someone had hacked into her computer. And Monty was a computer expert.
“You survived two days alone, on the run. I bet you were scared,” he said.
“Within an inch of my life. More so when they were shooting at us.” And he’d gone after them…alone. “Monty…never mind.” It wasn’t like he’d tell her he was working for them. “I’m exhausted. I think I need to sleep.” Maybe in the morning things would make more sense.
“You’re not hungry? I slaved over a hot stove to make that chili.”
Had straight-faced Monty made a joke? “You opened a can.” And saved her life. Was she being paranoid? There was only one way to find out. “How do I know you aren’t working for them?” she blurted out before losing her courage.
He put his elbows on the table and leaned forward, looking her straight in the eye. “Is that what’s got you all weirded out? You think this is some ruse? To what end?”
“I told you I made a backup.”
“You did. And I know you have it on you. I could kill you now and that would be the end of your evidence.”
True. “Maybe it was you they were shooting at. Why bring me up here just to kill me? You’re the one…hiding out in a cabin.”
He laughed, not a she’d-pissed-him-off laugh but more like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. That was a good thing, right? She was so confused.
“Trust me, I’d rather be anywhere but Alaska.”
“Why are you here, then?”
“I don’t want to get into it right now. Suffice it to say, it wasn’t of my choosing. I’m not one of the bad guys, Taylor.” He pushed the chili toward her. “I’m not part of some elaborate plot, and maybe after some more food and rest, you’ll be thinking clearly enough to realiz
e that.”
She stared down at the bowl and knew that somewhere, under all her suspicions, he was right, and she wasn’t thinking clearly. It didn’t make her less worried, but it was a start. “You know I don’t expect you to keep serving me.”
“That’s all right. The last few days have been stressful for you.”
“It’s only fair I help. And I’m positive I can do better than canned chili.” Plus, she needed to feel like she was contributing to the fate of her life.
“Are you, now?”
Was his skepticism meant to be a challenge? “Absolutely. I used to be a poor student.” Before she moved in with Bubbe D and her family. “I know how to improvise.”
“I smell a bet,” he said, baiting her.
He had no idea who he was messing with. “How? There’s no one else to judge.”
“Taste is irrelevant. We’ll score on creativity. No just opening cans. You have to take the food we have and transform it. Deal?”
“What happens if I lose?”
He glanced at their bowls. “KP duty the entire time we’re here.”
That was fair. “Deal.”
“Okay. Breakfast is on you,” he said, the corner of his mouth kicking up in a half smile.
Breakfast? “Didn’t you say all we had were cans?” she asked, watching him leave.
“Knock yourself out,” he said. “Finish eating. I’m going to light the fireplaces in the bedrooms. They run on a low flame and take a while to heat the rooms.” Then he disappeared through another pocket door.
In college, she’d skipped breakfast. How was she to make a decent breakfast from canned food? Damn, he’d set her up.
Chapter 6
Monty took his time lighting the fireplaces, wanting to digest all that had transpired without Taylor muddling his thoughts. He couldn’t—he wouldn’t—tell her what he didn’t have any proof to back up. The Russian Bratva weren’t the only ones running human trafficking rings in the United States. But he’d seen them use the same tactic Taylor had discovered. What she should have done was notify the FBI the second she’d suspected something was wrong. Cybercrime took many forms. Blake was taking a year sabbatical to spend time with Rhonda and their son, but as soon as Monty was able, he’d call him for advice. Out of all of them, Blake had more experience in dealing with the Russians…and running from them.
Monty checked the small bathroom shared by both rooms. He opened the cupboard under the sink and restocked the supplies of shampoo and soap. Then he filled the toilet paper roll and figured he’d let her snoop for the rest. Women liked that kind of thing. Women liked a lot of things he wasn’t good at. Like falling in love and getting married. Not that anyone would blame him. He’d been raised by a woman who’d decided she needed to marry the men she dated before she’d have sex with them. She’d done that once and gotten him, so she refused to make the same mistake twice. Why she failed to notice the irony in seven husbands was beyond him.
His birth father had taken off before Monty had taken his first step. Although it was never spoken of, he’d learned later that the town suspected husband number two, his uncle, and a discovered affair, had had something to do with that. Husband number three, a funeral director in the next town, helped to bury number two after a tree killed him in one of his more awake days. Four-wheeling drunk with friends was never a good idea. When his mom decided living beside a funeral parlor was too depressing, she left, her first of two divorces. She didn’t stay single long, though. In her defense, she didn’t know husband number four had a bad heart or that husband number five didn’t understand power tools and water didn’t mix.
The one good thing that had come of her need to be loved was husband number six, Archie Deveraux, a successful medical supplies salesman. Without him, Monty might still be living in that run-down Appalachian cabin she’d run back to after the funeral director.
Deveraux had bought Monty his first computer, claiming it was to keep the bored ten-year-old out of trouble, something Monty had mastered to a fine art. But Monty knew better. The man had pitied the kid whose mother was too busy collecting husbands to bother raising him. She’d chosen well in Deveraux, but her needs would get the best of her as Archie spent more hours on the road than she cared for. When Monty was fourteen, she’d divorced Deveraux, claiming abandonment.
Wanting to forget husband number seven, he retrieved a down-filled comforter from the only closet in the room and placed it on the edge of her bed. The fireplaces were set to give off maximum heat for minimal gas. Which translated to warm covers and socks for bedtime. Staring at the bed, he shook his head. All Taylor’s talk of marriage had made him think of home, something he hadn’t done since he’d escaped. That was what he’d told himself anyway. No one, not even Ryan, had guessed he’d been born in Kentucky. He’d left everything behind, including the accent ignorant people assumed meant he was backwoods stupid.
By the time his hostess duties were complete, Taylor was wrapped in that blanket and warming herself by the fire on the sofa. “Are you cold again?”
“A little,” she said, keeping her eyes on the flames.
“Your room is ready if you want to see it.”
“Maybe later. Aren’t you ever cold?” she asked as he entered her line of vision and took a seat on the far end of the sofa.
“Not as much as you.” Kentucky mountains could get cold if you weren’t dressed right. Which his mother had never bothered to check.
“I was born and raised in San Diego.”
That explained a lot. “The weather there doesn’t prepare you for this.” It was always sunny in San Diego.
“I guess not. What town are you from?”
“Is that what you really want to ask me?” He was avoiding the question but suspected she had something else on her mind.
“Do you know who hacked my site?”
He considered lying. But she had a right to know who it was who might be gunning for it. He moved closer and tried to keep his tone neutral. “I have no proof, only supposition.”
“And experience, I’ll bet.”
Just in case she could see him out of the corner of her eyes, he gave her an apologetic smile. “I can’t tell you how I know, but the Russian mob—the Bratva, the brotherhood,” he translated, “is involved in human trafficking.”
“I see,” she said, not overly surprised.
“You suspected the same thing?”
“No, but everyone on the plane spoke Russian, so it makes sense.”
“They grabbed you in San Diego? What time?”
“I left the offices around noon and went home to change my clothes. That’s when I was nabbed. I was going to my car to meet Riley.”
He didn’t know why he did it, only that it was something he had to do. He reached out and squeezed her hand. It was the second time he’d touched when he didn’t have to. She felt a whole lot nicer than his keyboards. “Are you certain everyone else died?”
“I’m not a doctor, but the metal sticking out of the pilot’s gut looked deadly to me.”
“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he said, giving in to the part of him that didn’t want to take his hand off hers. It was odd and out of character.
“It could be worse. It could’ve been me sporting that new belly-button ring.” Her shoulders rose in an exaggerated breath. “Now what?”
“Now I need to make sure Daniel and his buddies don’t hurt my friends. I’m going to hike back to see what’s going on.”
“Alone?” She yanked her hand out to clutch his wrist. “Are you crazy? They have guns.”
“Uh, Taylor. So do I,” he said, in case she’d forgotten about the cabinet in the other room.
“Okay…but you’re outnumbered.”
“I have the advantage of darkness. They won’t see me.”
Her grip tightened. “It’s raining.”
But she was having none of it. “Don’t leave me.”
“I’m coming back.” He had to learn more about their operation and whether they could make it to the panic button. “I’ll be back,” he repeated when she didn’t look convinced. He reminded himself she was scared, and rightfully so.
“I saw this movie when I was a kid. This stalker kidnaps a girl and imprisons her in the cellar in his house in the country. After a few weeks, she knows her only way out is to convince him she loves him, so that he’ll let her go. But she ends up having to attack him. He manages to get out, but not before locking her back in. He dies from his injuries and she’s stuck in there forever.”
“So, not a love story?”
“That’s not funny. That movie scared the bejesus out of me.” She finally let him go, then crossed her arms.
She was surprisingly even more beautiful when she was upset. “It was meant to. You just described The Collector. And it’s a movie. This is real life, and you aren’t locked in here. Even if something happens and I don’t come back, you can still leave.” She wasn’t helpless.
“And go where? I might as well be trapped.” She brought her knees to her chest, huddling in the corner. “I don’t like being dependent on anyone. This sucks.”
He understood that. It was better to be on your own than to be disappointed by those who claimed they loved you. “I get it, but I still need to know what we’re up against. Hey…” He wasn’t sure if this would work. Appeasing scared women wasn’t something he had practice with. He moved closer and put an arm around her shoulders, drawing her next to him. She didn’t protest, so he figured he’d gotten it right. “We’re in this together,” he said, holding her tight. It felt good, pressing her warmth against him.
When she relaxed, he closed his eyes for a second and allowed himself to enjoy the soft woman in his arms. “I won’t leave you behind,” he promised. And he wouldn’t. Not as long as he was breathing.