by Lucy Farago
“I’m scared.”
He tucked her head under his chin. “I know.” He was going to regret this, but she was right. What if he didn’t come back? “I’ll show you everything you’ll need down here before I go. I shouldn’t, but I am.” Maybe it would be reassuring to know she wasn’t trapped in a cellar where no one could find her.
She pulled away and stood faster than he had time to blink. “You’re not coming back.”
He mentally slapped himself in the head. That’s what he got for thinking with his heart instead of his head. “No. I mean, yes.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Damn; I suck at this.”
“At what? Leaving helpless women behind?”
“First off, you aren’t helpless.” Far from it.
“Not now, but how long before I freeze to death or run out of food? I’ll never make it down the mountain alone,” she said, starting to lose it.
Getting back to civilization wouldn’t be easy. God knew he’d thought about it. And he didn’t believe that when push came to shove, she wouldn’t try. But discovering the Russian mob may have hacked into your computer for their own evil agenda would frazzle anyone. And a frazzled Taylor was good to no one, especially Taylor. “Come on.” He took her hand and dragged her back through the control room, grabbing one of the lanterns on his way.
“There are all kind of maps of the area in the control room. You might want to familiarize yourself with them. The kitchen is well stocked. There’s enough food and water to last you several months.” Meant to house and feed four men for a couple of weeks, it would take her a lot longer to go through the supplies.
Farther down the tunnel, they reached a room. “This is one of many,” he said, opening the door.
“So that first door was to another supply room?”
“Yes.” There were enough explosives in there to blow the mountain. “Inside here are portable propane tanks and fuel for generators that don’t work right now. They’re stored in another area—”
“Why don’t they work?”
“No sparkplugs.” His friends had taken them. “There are, however, enough batteries for the lanterns to last a year. The fireplaces and stove draw their fuel from a small anteroom behind the stone wall. Too much fuel in one space isn’t a good idea. Questions?” When she shook her head, he moved on to the next room. He shone the light inside so she could see. “More food supplies. Dehydrated packs too, if you’re feeling daring. And,” he pointed to the boxes on the shelves, “you’ll find stuff like shampoo, soap, razors, bathroom supplies. The toilets are nonelectrical and composting, but we draw water from an underground spring for the showers,” he said, leading her back out into a fork in the tunnel. “You’ll notice hand pumps near the sink and in the bathrooms, but if you need emergency water, about five hundred feet to the right of us you’ll find a cavern and a well. It’s cold, so don’t fall in.”
“Ha, ha.”
He led her down the tunnel to another closed door. “In here, you’ll find camping equipment, tents, backpacks, portable equipment, thermoses, emergency blankets, etc., and first aid kits to rival a first responder’s.” Getting shot or badly injured wasn’t new to anyone on the team. Then he showed her a room with clothes and survival wear. “This isn’t a fashion boutique. We only have the basics. But you should find something that fits you.” Several women worked for ICU. “So, you see,” he said, “you have everything you need to survive.”
“Except you.”
“You’ll have me too. I don’t plan on getting caught.” What the army hadn’t taught him, Ryan had.
“I didn’t plan on being drugged and taken to Alaska. And yet…” She paused. “Either I’m getting used to it or it actually feels warmer.”
“That’s because it is. That underground spring is heated. You haven’t noticed the sulfur smell?”
She sniffed with her nose the air. “I do now.”
“It gets stronger the closer you get to it. Rumor has it, it’s very therapeutic.”
“Switzerland has those.”
“This one’s not as pricey.”
“A house in Malibu isn’t as pricey.” She laughed, then caught herself, as if embarrassed she knew that and lowered her head. “I don’t think I’ve thanked you for all this. Or said I was sorry. I put your life in danger.” She met his gaze. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“It’s not your fault.” If this was the Russian mob’s doing, he understood how they worked only too well.
“I want you to know I’m not normally a needy person.”
Yeah, he’d be itching all over right about now if she were. “I believe you. Look, I’m going to need warmer clothes. You can grab what you want, and maybe boots with better traction.”
“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”
“Probably not.” Not that he minded grabbing her ass when she slid. It was a great ass. Fit right into his hands. And if he didn’t stop thinking about it, it was going to be an uncomfortable few days.
After several minutes of searching through the supplies, they found what they needed and headed back.
“My boss is a tea junkie. Why don’t you go make yourself a cup? In the cupboard by the stove, you’ll find brews from all over the world.”
“Why do people think tea is the answer to stress? It makes no sense. It often contains more caffeine than coffee.”
He set his new boots, the fleece, and the rest of what he’d chosen on the floor. “Right, which is why I was about to tell you there’s a fully stalked bar to the left of the refrigerator.”
“Now that’s more like it,” she said, making her way to the kitchen, her arms full with new clothes. She dropped her lode on the counter, then stuck her head in a cupboard, mumbling something about teacups.
He stripped off his sweatshirt and picked up the thermal fleece.
“Do you know if there’s cognac?” She turned, holding a mug in her hand. It slipped, and she had to juggle to catch it before setting it down on the counter. “Clumsy.” She laughed and flung open the fridge door to stick her head inside.
“You know there’s no power to that, right?”
After several long seconds, she reappeared. “Don’t know what I was thinking. You’d better put some clothes on before you freeze.” Then she quickly went about making her tea.
He glanced down at himself, only half-smiling. A full smile would make him conceited. It had been a long time since a woman had looked at him the way she just had. He enjoyed the ego boost, but more so because it came from her.
He dragged the fleece over his head and beelined it to the control room. First, he unlocked a smaller cabinet and was surprised to see the box tucked under the night goggles. He grinned, having forgotten he’d left these here. This would make her happy. And why he cared about that he didn’t know. But, for some reason, he wanted to calm her fear.
He chose three guns from inside the cabinet. Two he tucked into the back of his pants, the other, already strapped into a shoulder holster, he slipped on.
Taylor waited just inside the door, tea mug warming her hands. “How long do you think this will take?”
“In the dark?” he said, walking past her. “I’m guessing an hour.” He tugged on the boots and threw on his coat and vest.
“I don’t want to sound like I’m repeating myself—”
“I’ll be careful. And…” He passed her the box. “I found these.”
Inside were two earpieces. He pulled one for himself. “They’re wireless. You’ll be able to talk to me. Just not loudly, okay? You’ll either blow my eardrums or, worse, alert anyone around me. Keep your voice normal and no one will be the wiser.”
He waited for her nod, then took out her earpiece. She looked at it a good long time before saying thank you. When her shoulders visibly relaxed, he felt better about leaving her alone. “Nor
mal voice?” he said, wanting to know she’d understood. On several occasions, his teammates had nearly deafened one another, then pointed the finger at him after he’d warned them to shut the hell up. His technology hadn’t needed adjusting. They had.
“Normal voice,” she repeated. “You’ll keep me in the loop?”
“As long as it’s safe to do so. Now, go drink that tea and chillax.”
He’d turned to leave when she snagged his elbow. He understood fear, but part him was growing impatient. He’d thought she’d had more guts than this.
“Don’t get caught.” She looked like she wanted to say something more, but she didn’t. Finally, she let him go and stepped back. “I’m watching the time. Don’t make me come after you.”
She had to be fucking kidding. Please, let her be kidding.
Chapter 7
Taylor wasn’t joking. She’d thought it over and couldn’t allow Monty to risk his life for something she’d gotten him involved in and then twirl her thumbs if trouble found him. She wasn’t that girl anymore.
“Taylor,” he said, with a tad too much condescension for her liking. “I’d feel a whole lot better if I knew you weren’t going to do something stupid.”
“Not going to happen.” She wasn’t going to sit around like some Victorian damsel waiting to be rescued…or married. It wasn’t who she was then; it wasn’t who she was now. She’d proven that by leaving home and yanking that silver spoon out of her mouth, and she needed to remember that.
“Worrying about you will only distract me.”
“Then don’t.” She’d taken care of herself when no one thought she could survive, let alone thrive without her father’s money. This wasn’t the same thing, and she might very well die trying—a scary thought. But to hide until she ran out of supplies? Then what? She had no choice. She’d fight tooth and nail to get off this mountain, even though she’d much rather do it with special-agent-whatever-he-was Monty.
He inclined his head, giving up far too easily. He was up to something.
“And don’t think about trying to fool me with this earpiece.” She waved it in front of his face. “If I don’t like what you’re saying, I’m coming out of the bunny hole.”
“If they find me, they’ll know you’re not far. Better for you to stay here.”
“Better for me, not better for you. Look, you can’t outstubborn me. Bubbe D taught me a thing or two about holding my ground.”
“You’re Jewish?”
“Me? No. But I roomed with a Jewish family while I was at NYU.” The old woman had somehow sensed Taylor’s need for a family and had taken her under her wing. “I thought about converting a time or two.”
Monty’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you religious?”
She shrugged. “More spiritual than anything. But I realized I fell in love with the culture, not the religion. You make it back here in one piece and I’ll tell you all about it. I have some great stories.”
“Deal. And I’m going to make sure you don’t have to leave this bunker.”
“I’m sure you will.” But, she wasn’t.
He stared at her for a few seconds, probably wondering how she’d managed to switch gears from spineless girlie to Amazon warrior. She hadn’t. She was still scared. But if he was brave enough to risk his life to help her, the least she could do was pretend she was right there with him. And she realized he shouldn’t have to add worrying about her on top of trying not to get caught. “I promise not to do anything foolish. And I know you’ve probably done stuff like this before; just don’t count me out.” She smiled. “I have better shoes this time.”
He returned her smile and, after tucking his earpiece in place, left. She did the same and returned to the sofa to wait. “Monty?” She tapped her ear.
“I haven’t even made it out of the tunnels yet.”
“I know. Just testing this thing out to see if it works.”
“Well, it does,” he said, and even though she couldn’t see him, she swore he was laughing at her.
“I’ll be quiet now.” She tucked her feet beneath her and sipped her tea.
“Okay, I’m outside and it’s still raining.”
“Maybe you should come back.” Was it too much to hope for?
“Rain is good, Taylor. It’ll cover my tracks.”
Had Daniel tracked her to Monty’s cabin that way? “Monty?”
“Taylor?” he said, thankfully still patient with her.
“You should tell me your real name. So I know what to put on your grave if you don’t make it back.”
He laughed. “I’ll be back.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. Now sit tight.” Then he went silent.
She promised herself not to bother him…and not to obsess over the fact that in all likelihood, the Russian mob wanted her dead. Whether she’d keep those promises was debatable.
* * * *
Proud of herself, after a full fifteen minutes in, she’d kept it together. But no patting herself on the back yet. Monty was the first to break radio silence by keeping her in the loop with his progress. His, “Oh no, someone’s watching me. Nope, forget it. It’s just an owl,” har-har, she could’ve done without. But she appreciated his trying to lighten her mood, so her screech had been a soft one. Har-har.
Unable to sit and brood, she snooped. The kitchen—stocked, as Monty claimed—bored her and did little to keep her mind from fixating on the likelihood of who exactly wanted her dead. Anyone wanting her dead was scary as hell; make it the Russian mob and she had to wonder what in the hell she’d done to deserve this.
She moved on to the bedrooms. Except for the cute, in-wall fireplace, both were functional. Each room’s twin wrought-iron beds had a matching white nightstand between them. The muted gray walls served to accent the beautiful thick red-and-cream-colored rugs covering most of the concrete floors. Go figure; someone had taste.
Monty’s shirt was tossed on one bed, so she assumed the other room was hers. The pocket door was a tad disconcerting, considering there wasn’t a lock, but if she trusted the man with her life, she could do the same with her virtue. Not that it was pristine, but she was so busy with everyone else’s love life, her own took a back seat.
Standing just inside the door, she noticed one of the beds had an extra blanket folded neatly on the end. Did he do that? If he had, it was sweet. If he hadn’t… well, shame on her for wanting such a thing. They weren’t dating. They weren’t even friends. She barely knew him. And honestly, he wasn’t sweet. He hadn’t sugarcoated a single word that came out of his mouth. In fact, he’d barely been polite. In an odd way, it was…refreshing. At least with him, you’d know where you stood.
She tried to make herself at home. She retrieved her purse from where she’d dropped it by the fire and kicked it under the bed, where she wouldn’t trip on it, then fluffed and spread out the extra blanket. Now what? She was running out of things to do. She tapped her earpiece. She’d anticipated Monty’s breathing down her ear canal would bother her, but not being able to hear him was worse. Her mouth opened, then closed, remembering her promise to herself. A book; that was the answer. In the living area, she grabbed one from the many that lined a bookshelf and settled down to read. When she saw what she held in her hand, she dumped it on the coffee table. Red Flame, Secrets of a Russian Spy. “Yeah, no thanks.”
“Taylor. I’m at the bottom of the hill.”
She covered her mouth with her fingers and smiled. “How did you get there that fast?” Hadn’t it taken them longer?
“No offense, but you need to work out more.”
Had he just called her fat? “Did you just call me fat?” She wasn’t fat. Was she?
“Are you bored and looking for a fight?”
“No.”
“Did I say you were fat?”
“No.” But a smart man wouldn’
t come out and say it. Not if he wanted to live.
“Good. I thought maybe we had a bad connection. You will learn, Taylor,” he said, as if he’d been the one insulted, “I say what I mean. And you move about as fast as molasses running uphill in winter.”
She’d argue, but he was right. It was just as important to take care of your heart physically as mentally.
“And Taylor…”
“Yes?” She wouldn’t brood about him being right. In her defense, she’d gotten so caught up in work, she’d forgotten to take care of herself.
“Speaking from firsthand experience, your ass doesn’t need thinning out. It’s perfect. I’ll let you know when I reach the creek and then it might be silence. Don’t get upset and start worrying. They could have men watching the cabin.”
“Okay. And Monty…”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.” It had been a long time since someone had noticed her ass…or anything at all.
“I told you I’d check in.”
It wasn’t what she’d meant, and he was smart enough to know that.
“Now go read a book or something. I’m busy.”
She heard the humor in his voice and grinned. She was going to tell him to be careful but suspected he wouldn’t appreciate her beating a dead horse.
She found those maps Monty had spoken of and was surprised at how quickly she pinpointed her location. She found the cabin, and the creek she’d fallen into, and was fairly certain she could trace the direction they’d taken to get to the bunker. Bringing them with her, she made herself another cup of tea, then went to the bathroom, snooped in all the cabinets…found nothing but the ordinary…and when she realized she’d find nada to keep her occupied, came up with a better idea. She returned to the control room. Monty had pulled out all kinds of neat gadgets. What else would she find? Unfortunately, the cool cabinet was locked and all she could do was peek in through the mesh door where the guns were kept.
Other than what she’d seen at the movies, she knew nothing about firearms. You pulled the trigger, something—or someone—died, end of story. She didn’t want to get shot. She put a hand on the freezing steel cabinet for support and stared down at the lethal objects. Were those hand grenades? She didn’t want Monty to get shot either. Her father was right: She was a screwup. So what if her business made money? It had attracted bad people doing horrible things to innocent women. She wasn’t finding love and contentment for those who couldn’t find it for themselves. She was a conduit for evil.