by Kim Baldwin
A nice voice, she thought hazily. A caring, kind voice. Her mind conjured it up again. There was a hint of an accent, wasn’t there? Sexy. It was a distraction from the pain. From her disorientation. In...and out. In...and out. She surrendered to the voice and drifted back into an emptiness devoid of dreams.
*
She’ll have more questions when she wakes up, Hunter thought as she returned to her living room. I better start thinking about what I’m going to tell her, who I’m going to be. Nothing too elaborate. Keep it simple. Of course, the bunker does make things a little more complicated.
She had adopted a number of personalities over the years. Heiress, Pilot, Chef. The heiress identity had gotten her close to a rich Italian shipping magnate whose secret business involved the transporting of illicit human flesh to high-paying clients who used them for sex and servitude. Girls and boys, most not yet sixteen. She felt no remorse when she put a gun to the man’s head.
Not the heiress, she decided. Maybe the chef? She went to her refrigerator and pulled the door open. There were a few apples, two eggs, and a half brick of cheese—the only remnants of the perishables she’d brought in by snowmobile three weeks earlier. She usually stayed in the bunker between jobs. Nah. Can’t be the chef. Even one eccentric enough to have a bunker home would still have more in her icebox.
The food situation wasn’t as dire as it appeared. A door off the kitchen led to a large pantry, twelve feet long by eight feet wide. Deep shelves held a large variety of dried and canned goods and staples like flour and sugar, powdered milk and eggs.
I should go back to pick up the deer, especially since I have another mouth to feed. Hope nothing’s gotten to it. She was glad she had field dressed the animal and that the temperature outside was well below freezing. She also needed to retrieve her rifle. Wouldn’t hurt to have another look at that car, either.
She headed back to her desk and picked up the remote control as she dropped into the chair and turned to face the monitors. She clicked on the first one and studied the security camera’s image of the forested area just outside the well-hidden entrance. The tracks from the sled were still visible. That’s pretty easy to follow, if someone has an inclination to.
She wasn’t expecting company. But this was apparently a night for the unexpected, so she didn’t like having a clear trail from the wreck right to her front door. What the hell was she doing out on that road?
Hunter flipped off the monitor and wheeled around to face the desk. She reached for her computer keyboard and opened her instant message program, selecting “Kenny” from her list of contacts.
Kenny Foster was the closest thing she had to family. They’d met seven years ago at the Academy. She was a veteran by then, but still living on the grounds.
He was ten years younger, and still a new recruit. At first, Hunter regarded Kenny as nothing more than another link in the chain of computer whiz kids who were common at the Academy. They came and went with startling frequency—most of them geeky, adolescent boys who leered at her and hit on her mercilessly until they learned who she was.
Kenny was different. He had a genius level IQ and a maturity that belied his age. Though he too had a hideous crush on her, he hid it well most of the time and never approached her about it or spoke to her at all. But she caught him watching her surreptitiously when they crossed paths at the cafeteria or elsewhere on the grounds.
He began to get a reputation at the school—a difficult task in an environment of overachievers. He had a special gift with computers, and it was rumored he could crack into any database or computer in the world. Despite his tender age, he began to be assigned some top-level jobs. His first assignment in the field was under Hunter’s supervision, and it was fortunate it was or he’d not have made it back.
When she learned they would be working together, Hunter sought him out. She found him alone on a bench on the grounds and joined him. She was a little intrigued by the baby-faced, slightly built teenager. She’d heard about his technical skills but knew very little else about him.
“You don’t look old enough to drink,” she said by way of greeting.
“Good disguise, huh? I’m really forty-two and balding.”
She laughed.
“We’re going to be working together, I hear,” he said. “I don’t want you to think I can’t take care of myself because I can.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“I scored a 92 on my marksmanship test yesterday.”
“Impressive,” she said.
“Getting there. But I don’t think I’ll ever have your consistency. Did you ever get less than a perfect score when you were in training?”
She smiled at him. So he’d hacked into her file. “What else do you know about me?”
“You’re twenty-eight and single,” he offered. “You speak six languages fluently: English, Greek, French, Spanish, German, and Arabic. And you know a smattering of Italian, Portuguese, Russian, Chinese, and Japanese. You have black belts in several martial arts disciplines, and you’re an expert fencer. And you weren’t born in this country, but I couldn’t track down where you were born, or what your real name is.”
“Pretty good,” she said. “Now what about you?”
“I’m eighteen,” he said. “Good at computers and math, but not much else, I’m sorry to say.”
“Parents? Family?”
“Dead,” he said, without elaborating.
She looked into his eyes and saw herself—a solitary orphan with pathetic social skills and no direction. He was a kindred spirit.
“Mine too,” she revealed. But the memories were still too painful.
There was another long silence.
“You’ll do fine,” Hunter said, getting to her feet. “I’ll keep an eye out for you.”
She had done just that, and brought him home alive.
Afterward, at her urging, he decided to remain in the relative safety of the computer room and kept his ear to the ground. That suited Hunter fine. She didn’t have to worry about his well-being, and she had a faithful ally in the inner sanctum. Two years later, when she escaped the Academy, she took Kenny with her.
There was nothing he wouldn’t do for her.
She typed: Hey buddy, checking in. Anything interesting on the pipeline these days?
She glanced again at the photo on the desk while she waited. Her guest wouldn’t be up and around for a while, but she thought it best to put it away. Avoid questions. She opened the bottom drawer and put the photo face down atop a pile of file folders. Then she locked the desk and pocketed the key.
A chime from her computer drew her attention back to the monitor. The reply from Kenny read: Shit yes, Hunter. You’re in danger! I’ve been trying to reach you for two days—someone’s put a million dollar contract out on you. Don’t know who yet, or whether anyone’s gonna try to collect. Working on it. Be careful.
Hunter took a deep breath and let it out slowly, forcing herself to relax against the tension building between her shoulder blades. She typed: Keep me posted, but quit worrying. I’m safe.
Yeah, right. Where have I heard that before?
Hunter stared at her computer screen. Someone puts a million-dollar price tag on your head one day, and the next—a woman shows up on your lonely road. With no ID. Driving a stolen car like the devil himself was after her. The hair stood up on the back of her neck.
You should rest, she told herself. She’ll be out for a while, and you should be sharp for question-and-answer time.
Hunter lay down on the leather couch in the living room. Let’s just say for a moment she isn’t after me. This is just some weird coincidence. Whoever this woman is, what the hell am I going to tell her?
She closed her eyes and began to take deep, even breaths. As she drifted off, her mind considered and rejected several more identities. Law enforcement. Personal trainer. Musician. Possible. But the security monitors would be kind of hard to explain. Gardener. Architect. Paramedic. That one’s not bad
. But a paramedic would have a phone and a pager. And better medical supplies. No, it should be a job where I could be working from home. Maybe something connected to the Internet...
The dream began as it always did. She was opening the door to his bedroom. Everything was going smoothly. The layout of the house had been exactly as described. She had only to dispatch her target and get the hell out of there. No muss, no fuss.
His outline under the covers was clearly visible in the moonlight streaming in through the window beside the bed. The blankets were in disarray. Like Hunter, he was a restless sleeper. But he didn’t stir as she approached the bed, and his soft snoring satisfied her that he was well and truly asleep.
She didn’t know his name. She knew nothing of him at all, except that he was alone in the house, and he had to die. Garner thought it best, in the beginning, to give her as little information as possible.
So she put the gun to his head. But before she could pull the trigger, there was a noise behind her. She whirled around. A figure stood silhouetted in the doorway.
It was only her third assignment, and it was the first time things didn’t go exactly as expected. She did as she’d been taught. It had been drilled into her, over and over again. Leave no witnesses.
She raised the gun and fired at the silhouette, then spun back to the bed and fired again as the sleeping figure came awake. The man in the bed made no further movement or noise. But the other did not die immediately. There was a sound from the doorway, a soft moan of pain.
Hunter had to be sure. She pulled out her flashlight and approached the dark figure on the floor. The flashlight’s bright narrow beam found a teenaged boy. Tall. Blond. Young. Fifteen or sixteen, probably. He had pajamas on, and there were braces on his teeth. Blood was pumping out of him at a furious pace from the hole in his chest, and Hunter knew he would die soon.
“Dad!” the boy moaned. He reached out with a bloody hand and grasped the cuff of Hunter’s pants. “Dad!”
Hunter woke from the dream as she always did, thrashing about in a cold sweat, trying to shake the boy off, heart pounding.
She never knew the boy’s name. But he haunted her still.
Hunter lay on the couch, feeling not at all rested from her nap. Her eyes scanned the wall of bookshelves facing her, and she considered what lay behind them. The secret chamber that housed her arsenal. Her mind returned to her search for the right identity. And just how would you ever begin to explain the tools of your trade?
It was that thought that gave her the answer she was looking for. The persona that was perhaps closest to her heart was perfect for her current situation. It would explain the bunker, the isolated location, even the security monitors. The tools that were behind the wall—some of them anyway—would be the perfect window dressing to the story. So would the bunker’s décor.
She went to the bookshelves and removed a first edition of The Secret Garden from a high shelf. She stood on her tiptoes and pressed the button that was hidden behind it. A loud click confirmed the unlocking of the center panel, which she swung open to reveal her armory. She ignored the safes that contained her weapons and moved to the one that housed her surveillance equipment.
Hunter opened the safe and pulled out a high-powered spotting scope, her night-vision goggles, and her 35mm and digital cameras. She placed them on the coffee table in front of the couch. Her large-format field camera and tripod were set up in a corner of the living room before she closed the bookshelf panel and locked it again.
She was pleased with her solution, and not just because her photographer identity would explain the bunker and its contents. I don’t want to lie to her if I don’t have to, she realized, and this is close to the truth. The admission startled her. She was a practiced liar, and did it well. Why don’t I want to lie to her?
She had no answer for that. There was just something about the woman that she found intriguing. The stranger brought out a gentle, nurturing side of Hunter that she wasn’t aware she was even capable of. And she had certainly stimulated Hunter’s libido.
Resigning herself to the unfamiliar feelings, Hunter began thinking about how she would introduce herself to her guest. She swore long ago she would never tell anyone her real name again, yet she didn’t want to use Hunter, either. She didn’t know what the woman was doing there, or who she was. It wouldn’t be prudent to admit her real identity.
And there was another reason.
You just don’t want to be Hunter anymore, do you? Hunter is ruthless. Unfeeling. And that’s not what you want to be with her.
No immediate solution came to mind.
She returned to her computer to check in with Kenny. Anything new? she typed.
His response came at once. Yes. At least two takers on your contract. Our old friend Otter, and a woman—no ID on her yet. Still don’t know who is behind it. More soon, I hope.
A woman? Oh, Lord. This just gets better, Hunter thought. Her head began to throb.
Her gut feeling still refused to acknowledge that the woman in the next room might be dangerous. But she had to admit that she wasn’t altogether certain her hormones weren’t clouding her judgment. She vowed not to let her guard down.
She returned to the bedroom. The only light spilled in through the half-open door. She checked the woman’s forehead again. The fever seemed to be gone, but the woman moaned softly in her sleep, apparently in pain.
Hunter untucked the blanket on the left side of the bed and pulled it back to check the makeshift splint she’d wrapped around her patient’s left wrist. Not a bad job, if I do say so myself. That’ll heal just fine.
She started to cover the woman again, but froze when she caught sight of something she had missed earlier while treating the woman’s injuries. Damn. How could I not have noticed that? Probably because you were staring at her breasts. Hunter frowned. She felt a sharp pang of disappointment. I bet someone is looking for her.
Chapter Two
Six days earlier
Scout had been tracking her quarry for four days. The trail had led her to St. Ignace, just north of the Mackinac Bridge, the five-mile span that joins the two peninsulas of Michigan. Here the trail had turned cold, so she was checking places she knew that Hunter was known to frequent before hiding out—groceries, car rentals, and post offices.
Scout had done her research. She was certain she was well ahead of anyone else trying to collect on the million-dollar contract. Not that many would even try. Although Hunter’s reputation had been exaggerated over the years, it was not entirely false. But Scout was confident she would prevail. I know how you think, Hunter—because I’m just like you. That gives me an advantage. That’s how I’ll catch you. And no one is more motivated than I am.
She parked the stolen Sebring sedan behind a small post office, next to a battered red pickup that probably belonged to the clerk. There was only one other car, parked directly in front of the main entrance. She waited until it pulled away.
Stepping into the small alcove, she paused to study the clerk behind the glass door ahead of her. Perfect. Piece of cake. Scout unzipped her coat and opened the top three buttons of her blouse.
The clerk was middle-aged and balding, with a bit of a paunch. Part of a tattoo peeked out from his rolled-up cuff. He looked up when the door opening triggered a little bell.
Scout put on a smile sure to melt any man and sashayed toward him. “Hi there,” she said, leaning forward across the narrow counter. “Can I steal a few minutes of your time? I’m new around here and I bet you are just the guy I need to talk to.” She reached out and touched his arm. “Whatcha say, sugar? Help a girl out?”
The clerk almost managed to hide his surprise. “I’m all yours, beautiful.” He grinned.
“I’m looking for a girlfriend of mine,” Scout purred. “She’s the memorable type. Tall. Pretty.” She reached into a pocket and withdrew a small photograph. It looked like a driver’s license or mug shot photo. Face front, plain background. Hunter wasn’t smiling.
>
Scout handed it to the clerk. “I haven’t seen her in a while. Her hair might be different,” she said, studying his face.
One of Scout’s best talents was reading people. She noticed the tiny changes in body language that signaled when someone was hiding something or lying. She’d seen the man’s eyes widen just slightly in recognition when he looked at the photo. Yet he did not readily admit he’d seen Hunter.
“She was in here waiting for a package?” she encouraged, giving his arm a little caress.
“Well, honey...” he finally said, a leer spreading across his face, “I may need to think about that a while. I get off in an hour, how about we go get a drink and talk about it?”
“Look...I’m in a hurry now to find her, but I’ll take you up on that when I’m done with my little errand.”
The clerk scarcely heard her. He was too distracted by her cleavage—her breasts barely contained within a lacy red bra that peeked out of her tailored silk blouse. He licked his lips as his eyes traveled upward, taking in her fair skin and tousled blond hair. Meeting her eyes again, he gave her a wink. “Now, I’m sure whatever it is can wait until my memory comes back. Maybe I need a little incentive.”
Scout’s flirtatious façade evaporated. The pouty smile disappeared. Her eyes narrowed to slits. “How’s this?” she snapped, moving before he could react. She pinned down his arm with the hand she had casually caressed him with, cutting into his wrist with sharp fingernails. Her other hand brought a small but razor-sharp knife to his throat.
Oh, Jesus. He felt it nick his skin, drawing blood. He froze. She was at least a head shorter than he was, but he knew immediately not to resist. “Hey, now, no need to get upset, lady,” he stuttered. “I was just trying to be friendly. I didn’t—”
“Shut up. Just tell me what you know.” Scout pressed the knife against his throat again, this cut a little longer and deeper. A small stream of blood trickled down his neck, mixing with his sweat. Her face moved to within inches of his, and he could see a savage determination in her eyes.