“But there won’t be any reason to try,” Zoe said firmly, “if he goes back to Boston.” She didn’t have quite enough courage to say it directly at Kell.
“I’m not going anywhere.” Kell dropped back onto the love seat, leaning to brace his forearms on his knees. “You’ve just worked hard to convince me that Olivia is safest if you finish the job you started. The more help you have, the faster you can do that. Isn’t there a ticking clock here?”
“Blood moon,” Grant confirmed. He checked his watch and headed for the door. “I’m sure you two have more to talk about. We’ll meet for breakfast downstairs at seven-thirty and then head out to the ranch with the rail car.”
“I think you need to explain that,” Kell said to Zoe.
“Don’t stay up all night,” was Grant’s parting shot.
She didn’t miss his double meaning.
Chapter Nine
“Are you sure this is it?” Zoe leaned between the seats of the SUV Grant had rented the previous afternoon. He clenched his jaw against the smell of her skin blended with the expensive body wash the hotel supplied. This was harder than yesterday’s flight had been. Even four hours right next to her wasn’t the torture sharing her with Kellen Stone was.
The other man had been in the room when she showered. Maybe he’d showered with her. At breakfast, Grant had been brought up short when he automatically moved to seat Zoe and Stone cut him off. The other man had shot him a knowing look, but Zoe hadn’t noticed. Grant’s hand kept reaching for her back or elbow to guide her, and once he’d even started to wrap her hair around his fingers, something he’d done when they were together over a decade ago.
He had to keep fighting the urge to claim her, and it was making him irritable.
“I’m sure,” he growled belatedly. Zoe shifted away from him. His jaw throbbed from the clenching.
“What are we expecting to find here, after all this time?” Stone asked.
Grant kept silent. He knew he was being childish, but he’d probably continue until Zoe called him on it. At least it would get her attention.
“Expecting? Nothing,” Zoe answered. “It’s just the best lead we have. Only lead.”
“Does the owner know we’re coming?”
“No.”
Now Stone was silent, and Grant read disapproval at the way they were handling this. Too bad. Zoe had come to him for his expertise, so his way would be the way they handled it. At least this part. Stone was smart and not without ability, and Grant wasn’t so immature that he’d fail to use an important asset if it would help their mission. But for now, the plan was his.
He turned left off the main road onto a dirt lane and pointed to the right, where an overgrown railroad track was visible. “See?”
“Okay, so we’re in the right place.” She leaned forward again, her shoulder brushing his. Probably Stone’s, too. “Any idea where the car would be?” Before either man could answer, they reached the main house. Partially visible to the right, about fifty feet behind the house, was a bright orange rail car. Tall grass grew up around the edges and in front of the side door. The ladder at one end looked rusted, and the part that connected to the next car in line supported a row of cracked wooden flower pots, only two of which sported blooming fall flowers. It obviously hadn’t been opened in a long time.
“So what do we do first?” Stone asked.
Grant shoved open his door. “Knock.” He strode up to the ramshackle farmhouse. Silence reigned around them, the kind of silence that went with abandonment, even temporary absence. There was no movement at the windows as they climbed the steps, no sound from within. But the porch was swept clean, the panes of glass in the top of the door intact. The screen had no holes.
Grant rapped on the side of the screen door and half turned so he could watch for dust on the drive. As their own dust cloud settled lower and lower, sparkling in the sunshine, no sound came from inside. Zoe knocked again, impatiently, while Stone strolled to the end of the porch and peered around the side of the house.
“No one’s here,” Zoe said after a minute.
“Doesn’t look like it.”
“So what now?”
“Grab the crowbar from the back of the truck.”
“Thank God.” She hopped down the steps and hurried to the vehicle.
Grant joined Stone at the porch’s far rail. The visible portion of yard was barren, no tire tracks in the scrubby grass.
“We need a lookout,” Grant said.
Stone didn’t turn. “You’re the expert. I’ll go in with her.”
Figured. “Not sure we can get in.”
Stone straightened. “We’ll have to play it by ear, then.” He turned and crossed to the steps, meeting Zoe at the bottom and saying something Grant couldn’t hear. He had to give the guy credit. Most guys would assume the worst in a situation like this, and act blustery and territorial if not downright hostile at the threat Grant posed—real or not. But not Stone. He was civil, accepted that Grant knew more than he did about some things, and acted like they all had the same goals. And maybe they did, at least as far as getting the totems went. But that wasn’t the only goal Grant had.
He braced a hand on the rail and leaped over it to the ground below, landing lightly next to Zoe. She ignored him, all her attention on the rail car.
“What do you think?”
She moved forward slowly, zipping up her hooded sweatshirt and pushing her hands into the pockets. “It’s not the same color.”
“No.” Grant scanned the ground between them and the car, then moved forward. “It’s been painted. A few times.” When he reached the side of the hunk of steel, he flicked a bit of peeling paint. Green patches showed through the orange, and a few scratches revealed brown underneath.
Zoe took a deep breath and tilted her head up at the door. “It doesn’t look locked.”
Stone tested it. It didn’t budge. “Rusted.”
“That’s what this is for.” Grant lifted the crowbar from Zoe’s hand and stepped to Stone’s side. “Look out.” Stone backed up a few steps. Grant raised the bar and jammed the end between the door and the main wall. When he put pressure on it, paint and rust showered the grass below. Stone tried the door again. This time the metal groaned.
“Zoe, watch the road.” She frowned, but turned to look down the lane while Grant moved the bar higher and pried again. This time, when Stone shoved at the door, it moved a few inches.
“There’s no one coming,” Zoe insisted. “Let me help.” After Grant did one more jam-and-pull as high as he could reach, she ducked under Stone’s arm and pushed with him. With an eardrum-shearing protest, the door slowly slid sideways.
“If anyone’s in the house, that’ll wake ’em up.” Grant caught Zoe’s arm to keep her from clambering immediately into the big box. “Let me check first.”
“Why you?” For the first time, Stone sounded like a threatened fiancé.
“Because I have this.” Grant slipped his pistol from the clip holster under his loose shirt and showed them. “Arguments?”
Zoe folded her arms, but let him pass. “I think the rusted-shut door already made one, but go right ahead, Mr. Macho.”
She was right, but it never paid to make assumptions.
“How’d you get that, anyway?” Stone asked as Grant hefted himself into the opening and peered around, the gun held ready. “You couldn’t take it on the airplane.”
“I have my ways.” He’d gotten it while he was out arranging for the SUV, but it was none of Stone’s business how.
He moved into the empty car, hoping there’d be something in the shadows that they could at least look through, but there was nothing. The unit was completely empty.
Shit. This was going to crush Zoe.
“Well?” she called from outside.
He reholstered his weapon and hung his head for a second before going back to the opening. “It’s empty.”
Disappointment flickered over her face, but she didn’t hold on
to it. “Let me see.” She reached for him to pull her up. He grabbed her wrist as she braced her foot and pulled, aided by Stone lifting her from behind. Then Grant was obligated to boost the other guy in, too. He jumped down instead of lingering with them in the gloomy space. The need to keep watch wasn’t stronger than the need to be ready to comfort Zoe, but it was more urgent. He stood outside and listened to their conversation.
“I don’t know what I expected.” Her low voice echoed against the metal. “Storage, maybe. Boxes we could move around and dig through.”
“Look around anyway,” Stone told her. “Maybe there’s something crammed into a corner or something.”
Footsteps clattered across the floor. “No. I tossed the bag inside, to the right. Here.” Grant could hear scraping, like she moved debris with her foot. “It’s not like there’s anywhere for it to be hidden.” She huffed an exasperated laugh. “What, did we think someone had left a note? ‘If you forgot a bag of metal things in here, call me.’ This is so ridiculous.”
“Maybe it’s not the right car.”
“It is.” Her voice caught and changed. “See that graffiti over there?”
“The skull and dagger? Or the profanity?” Stone said it with amusement, but Zoe wasn’t ready for that.
“The skull. I described it for the FBI after I escaped. It was in the file.” Her voice slowed with despondence. “I don’t know why they didn’t paint over that, but this is the same car. There’s just nothing here. It was a wasted trip.”
“It was worth a try,” Stone soothed. Grant imagined he pulled Zoe into his arms and rubbed her back. She probably rested her head on his shoulder.
Dust appeared down the lane. A car was coming.
“We have company!” he called over his shoulder. “Book it!”
Zoe jumped out. Stone followed, and the three of them shoved the door closed. Zoe and Stone raced toward their parked SUV. Grant stayed behind to make sure they hadn’t jammed the long grass in the door. If someone looked closely, they’d see the paint on the ground and even notice the fresh marks from the crowbar. He hoped they could be gone before the owner looked that carefully.
He joined the others at the SUV. When he brushed his hands off, paint fell. “Check your hands,” he told the others. They swiped at flecks of paint while he circled them, making sure none of them had paint on their clothes. Stone scuffed dust over the flakes on the ground.
Then they stood still as the dust cloud down the lane resolved into a pickup truck barreling toward them. The men flanked Zoe, who stepped forward when the truck slid to a stop and a fat, balding man in sagging jeans and a Denver Broncos jersey got out.
“What can I do you folks for?” he called across the drive, hitching his pants before striding toward them.
“Hello!” Zoe called back. “We’re railroad hobbyists.” She walked toward him, a convincing grin spreading across her face. “We’re so glad you’re here. We were checking out your car”—she motioned behind them—“and hoped the owner could give us some history of it. Are you the owner?”
“That I am. Rudy Rumbolt.” He smiled as he shook her hand, then stretched to shake Stone’s and then Grant’s. “You were just passing through and spotted my rail car?”
It was a testing question, Grant knew. You couldn’t see the rail car from the road. He spoke up before Zoe could lie and get them in trouble. “No. Zo here tracks down cars sold to private individuals and seeks them out. She likes to track where they end up and stuff.”
Rudy nodded like that made perfect sense. Maybe some of those railroad nuts really did that. “Well, I’m happy to share what I know.”
“Do you have time now?” Zoe asked eagerly. “It’s an old car, isn’t it?”
“Sweetheart, I have all the time in the world!” He hitched his pants again and checked his watch. “Well, all the time there is until noon. Gotta lunch meetin’ at noon.”
Grant had a feeling that was more of a social thing than a “meeting,” but so what? There were nearly two hours until then. He hoped Rudy had a lot to tell them.
* * *
Kell was having a hard time keeping his attention on the conversation.
It wasn’t that Rudy was boring. Any other time, Kell would have been engrossed in his stories of working the railroad and the characters he ran into. Zoe was far from unique in stowing away on a freight train, even in modern times. And Rudy’d found a mess of cool and not-so-cool items both on and off the trains.
But bits of last night kept coming to mind, alternating between the horrors of Zoe’s abduction, the surrealness of their current situation, and the confusion of being back with her, close to her, with everything different. He couldn’t believe less than a month had gone by since she left him. Nothing was what he’d thought it to be, not before she left, not after.
Last night he’d gotten her to talk more about the past, and she’d shared things with him that she’d never even hinted at before. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” he asked her more than once, trying to get past her shields. “Why did you decide leaving me was the only option?”
She’d looked at him with haunted eyes. “It wasn’t who I wanted to be,” she’d finally said, but Kell knew it was more than that. It wasn’t who she wanted him to see. To her, the Zoe Ardmore who ran a successful business and charmed high society at charity balls was completely different from the Zoe Smith who’d been abducted and held for a year. She hadn’t said it, not like that, but he could see it. Hear it in her tone when she talked about the past. As far as he could tell, she didn’t hold back details of what had happened. But she did hold herself apart from it, and from him.
The fear of losing her—really losing her this time—kept him awake almost all night.
Everything he knew was different now. Last week, he’d walked into her company and introduced himself, sending a shockwave through the room. Every person there knew who he was. But not a single one of them approached him about Zoe. Though he sensed the grapevine humming after the initial meeting, he didn’t think any of them were in contact with her. There’d been a definite division between employer and employees.
It made him sad, because he realized all Zoe’s friends were their friends jointly. James and Sonya. People from the social circuit, or his law firm. If she had friends from college, she didn’t stay in touch with them, or at least, he didn’t know about it. That all fit now, with the deep chasm she imagined between her past and present. A chasm she’d been pulled back across, leaving him—and everyone else in her life—on the other side.
As much as it had sent him reeling, he could have gotten over it. Could have convinced her to come back to him. It would take time to rebuild their relationship. He had to get over the feeling that he didn’t really know her. Everything she said or did, he couldn’t take at face value. But eventually, it would have worked out.
Except for Olivia.
He’d called his sister while Zoe was in the shower last night. She sounded fine. Happy and chatty, as usual. She’d asked him if he’d heard from Zoe, and he lied and told her no. Lied to his baby sister for the first time in his life. Zoe had done that. But she’d also, through her silence, put Liv in danger. It just made no sense. If he’d known about Zoe’s past from the beginning, none of this would be happening now. Even if she’d told him a few weeks ago, when she learned her abductors were out on parole, they could have taken steps to protect both of them. He would have hired someone to search for the totems so they could have stayed safely in Boston.
How had Zoe trusted him so little? And how could he have been so oblivious to all of it? He couldn’t love someone he didn’t know. Couldn’t marry someone he didn’t trust. But none of that kept him from longing to be next to her. Touching her. Dragging her away from Grant’s side.
He’d also done some digging on Grant last night. If the men he’d asked to watch Olivia were as good at their jobs as Grant appeared to be at his, then Kell would try not to worry about her. And there was logic to Zoe’s pla
n, even if it was far from the path he would have chosen.
So last night had been tense and awkward. Zoe had gotten into the bed closest to the door, as if she was still trying to protect him. She’d turned her back to him, but hadn’t slept. Not until well into the dark hours of the morning. He knew, because he’d lain there listening to her stillness, unable to get over the shock of what they’d become.
And trying not to think about how Grant Neely fit into it all.
Kell dragged himself back to the conversation. Rudy was answering something Grant had asked.
“Sure, sure, we had a tradition, even. Once a month, at the Salty Chicken, we’d get together and do a trade.” Rudy pushed himself out of his ratty armchair and walked to a set of dusty shelves on one wall. “Got some of it here.” He lifted an Alabama license plate that said 4TI2DE. “One of the guys on the overnight found this stuck to an engine. Weren’t any reports of crashes on that line, so it must’ve gotten kicked up off the tracks somehow.” He pondered the plate for a minute, then set it back on the shelf. “I got ’bout fifty a those, out in the barn. That’s what I collect. Stuff with state markings. Few keychains, mugs, clothes. Don’t wear the clothes, of course.” He chuckled and sat back down. “Never been outta Utah, if you can believe it. That’s why I like getting stuff that has.”
“So does everyone specialize?” Zoe asked. “Like, when you find stuff, do you know who might collect that kind of thing?”
Rudy narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re gettin’ at something specific.”
She opened her mouth, half closed it, then leaned forward, clearly unsure what to say.
Kell jumped in. This was his forte. “Did any of your colleagues collect curios? Dustcatchers. Statues and figurines and stuff like that.”
“Oh, yeah, that’d be Ozzie.” He turned his shrewd gaze on Kell now. “He was the sucker of the group. Liked that stuff so much he’d give ya anything for it, ’specially if it was unusual. One time, he gave me three plates and a hubcap with a Texas star on it just for a coupla hunks of brass.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Worth at least a one-for-one trade, but you know, how much you want something’s always going to dictate how much you pay for it. Ain’t always about value.”
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