by Gemma Bruce
She turned to Mac for an explanation, but Mac merely grinned back at her and said, “All in good time,” and took Dillon’s other side to help him through the woods.
They reached the dirt road in less than ten minutes. And there parked off to the side was a black SUV. They eased Dillon into the backseat and waited for Andy to climb in beside him. Mac pulled two blankets from the cargo area, tossed them into the backseat, then climbed in beside Hank. Hank patted her knee before he backed the SUV out onto the road.
Another ten minutes went by in silence as Hank maneuvered them up the winding dirt road and Andy tried to assimilate what was happening. Dillon lay back against the seat with his eyes closed. They climbed higher and higher until Hank turned off the road onto a narrow, winding cart track that plunged deep into the woods. Minutes later, they came to a stop on the side of a mountain with a breathtaking vista of miles of wooded hills. An impressive log house stood in the clearing along with several outbuildings.
Mac and Hank took Dillon up the steps to the wooden porch and went inside. They continued down the hall, Dillon between them. Andy stopped in a large, airy living room. Only slightly rustic, the wooden floors were polished and covered by area rugs woven in Navajo designs. A big leather couch sat facing a huge picture window that looked out on the view. The walls were whitewashed and covered in framed photographs of wildlife and nature panoramas.
Mac came back into the living room, carrying a pile of clothes, and motioned to Andy to follow her down a hall that ran toward the back of the house.
“Guest bedroom,” she told Andy as they entered a large room with a pine four-poster bed and another picture window that looked over an equally breathtaking view. Mac went into the bathroom and turned on the shower.
“Stay as long as you like. There’s plenty of hot water. My clothes shouldn’t look too awful on you. Maybe a little big in the beam, but hey, not any worse than that getup.” She looked pointedly at Andy’s soggy shirt and khakis. “What were you thinking? No, don’t tell me. A disguise, right?” She shook her head and pushed Andy toward the open door. Then she was gone.
Andy, feeling more than a little overwhelmed, stripped out of her clothes and climbed in the oversized tub. She didn’t climb out until her skin was pink.
When she finally came into the living room, dressed in Mac’s black stretch pants, a light blue mohair sweater, wool socks, and suede Birkenstocks, Dillon was sitting on the couch. He was propped up by a pile of handwoven pillows; one leg was stretched out along the seat. The jeans and sweater he was wearing made him look like the Incredible Shrinking Man.
There were several bottles of pills lined up on the coffee table, and Mac was attempting to apply an ice pack to his knee.
“I know this is the last thing you want after your adventure in the lake, but it’s for your own good. Coffee’s almost ready. And the pills will help.”
Andy could smell the brewing coffee, and she suddenly felt like crying. She was safe. Mac was safe. Dillon was safe. But how had it all come together like this? She had a million questions to ask Mac. And just as many things to tell her. But what did it all mean? People were trying to kill them. Had probably killed Imogene Southwaite and God knew who else. Dillon was some kind of agent. And Hank? Who the hell was he? It was the most convoluted plot she’d ever worked with. And even if she managed to figure it all out, who on earth would ever believe her?
She walked over to the couch, placed her hand on Dillon’s shoulder. He looked up. His eyes were slightly unfocused, but there was color in his cheeks.
“You okay?” she asked.
He nodded. “You?”
She nodded. She wanted to kiss him, but for the first time in her life, she was shy in front of an audience.
“He’ll be fine. I gave him a couple of painkillers and some anti-inflammatories. He’ll be right as rain in a few. Come help me with the coffee.”
A few what? wondered Andy as she followed Mac into the kitchen. A few hours? A few days? Months? The kitchen was another big room, with big windows, and a big wooden table running down the center of the room. Everything big for a big man.
“Who is Hank exactly?” she asked.
“He’s a nature photographer. This is his house.”
“Those are his photos on the walls?”
“Sure are.”
“But how did you get here?”
“It’s a longish story. Let me deal with the coffee and we’ll have a long chat.”
———
“It was simple really,” said Mac, looking at Andy over her coffee cup. She and Andy sat at the kitchen table. Dillon was zonked out on the couch, and Hank had taken his camera and wandered off into the woods. The two of them were alone. The kitchen was warm and cozy, and it was easy to forget frigid waterfalls and maniacal killers.
“My life was kind of blah, you know, not that much work for an aging stuntwoman.” She held up her hand. “I know I’m not old, but I’m also not twenty anymore. I’ve pretty much been relegated to car chases.”
“But a lot of people depend on you.”
“I know. But getting other people work isn’t exactly the same thing as working yourself. I was missing the excitement. I’d seen Dr. Bliss on TV and thought, what the hell. So I signed up for Terra Bliss. Thought it might shake up some things.” She smiled. “And it did, in a roundabout way.”
“You found the lake, too,” said Andy. “I knew you did.”
“Of course. Exercise bikes and treadmasters are a little tame for my blood . . . and yours, too, it seems. So I climbed over the wall and there was the great swimming hole of life. I met Hank when I was there one afternoon. He was taking photos.” She wrestled with a reminiscent smile.
“Of the wildlife?”
“That and a few of me.” She snorted. “In the wild so to speak.”
Andy laughed. It felt good, especially since a few hours ago she’d thought she’d never laugh again.
“One thing led to another, so I went AWOL. Which I felt a little bad about because by that time I’d figured out that they were using posthypnotic suggestion to fleece their richer clientele. But hard to prove, you’ve got to admit.”
“Yeah, but it’s more than that.”
“I started figuring that out when I saw you swimming at the lake last week. I was floored.”
“You saw me? Why didn’t you come down?”
Mac glanced toward the door. “You were, uh, busy.”
“Oh, that day.” Andy felt the blood rush to her cheeks.
Mac nodded. “Don’t worry. You still had on your clothes. At first I didn’t believe it was you. I came back the next day, and the next, but you didn’t come. So I called Galena to see what the hell was in the air. I got the basic hysterical story from her. Didn’t make a whole lot of sense then. But once I saw what you were wearing today, I figured it out. They sent you incognito to make sure I wasn’t the victim of . . .” She dropped her voice to a spurious rumble. “Foul play.”
“Mom saw the article about Imogene Southwaite and tried to call you. When they said you’d left, she got worried.”
“Galena needs to get a life. She’s beginning to take the movies too seriously.”
“We were all worried.”
“Our whole damn family is nuts,” said Mac. “I told them I wouldn’t be back until August. And I told them to call you and tell you I was fine and to go home. Betty said you had to give up your vacation.”
“Acapulco.” And Andy realized she didn’t miss it at all. “But I never got the message.”
“Why am I not surprised.” Mac nodded toward the open kitchen door. “No matter. It doesn’t look like the trip was a total waste. Dillon’s hot, if a little beat up. And he isn’t an actor, which should get Betty and Galena off your back.”
“Not an actor. Worse.” Mac raised her eyebrows. “He’s an agent.” Mac’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding. What’s he doing here? Looking for talent among the ruins?”
“Not that kind of an
agent. A James Bond kind of agent.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Yeah.”
“Then all this murder business is true?”
“It certainly looks like it. Or why try to kill Dillon and me? Not that we can prove it. Their word against ours.”
“Oh, we have a little more than that,” Mac said and gave Andy a satisfied smile. “Like what?”
“Pictures. We’ve been hanging around waiting for you to show up again. Then when we heard about the death of that attendant, and that the police were hanging around, we became vigilant. Then suddenly, this morning, there you were about to be pushed over the falls. Nice dive, by the way. Anyway, while I was hotfooting it down the mountainside to save you, Hank was shooting the whole thing. Got Bliss pushing you over the falls, and the meatheads with the metal and everything in between.”
Andy jumped up. “That’s fantastic. Wait ’til I tell Dillon.”
“Sit down. Dillon won’t be back from the land of nod for several hours. I want to hear what happened at your end to make them out for your blood.”
“I haven’t figured that out. I showed up with these stupid glasses that blinded me, a wrinkled suit, and a bun. Dillon figured out right away that I was a fake. But I don’t think anyone else did. I broke into the business office and rifled the files looking for info about you, but came up empty. But while I was there, Dillon broke in and nearly caught me. That’s when I started thinking he was more than just a poor dumb slave.”
“I bet he looks good in a kilt. Sorry. Go on.”
“Well,” said Andy. “I knew he was something more than a goddess slave. But he wouldn’t share information. We’ve kind of been working at cross purposes ever since.”
Mac nodded.
“But then Katherine Dane invited me to join her meditation group. And I remembered reading in the files that you and Southwaite had both been members. So I got suspicious. It took me a few days to figure out what she was doing. The hypnotic suggestion thing. And I don’t know how I managed it. Just luck, I guess.”
“Not at all,” said Mac. “I figured out the same thing. Remember when I broke my leg from that Inferno fall?”
Andy nodded. For several months they had worried that Mac would never work as a stuntwoman again.
“Scared the shit out of me. I can tell you. I was afraid to go up again. Went to a hypnotist to get me through it. Didn’t work. She said I wasn’t a good subject. I could never get far enough under for it to do any good. You probably inherited it.”
“But you went back up,” said Andy, momentarily distracted.
“Sheer guts, not hypnotism.” Mac paused in her story, her eyes drifting to someplace faraway. Then she was back. “Anyway. I figured out immediately what Katherine was up to. I decided to leave and maybe report it to some authority or another. But in the meantime, I’d met Hank, and thought what the hell, it could wait. So I took everything and went over the wall. Had a wonderful time.”
“Had?”
“Well, this latest development sort of changes everything, doesn’t it?”
Chapter 27
When Dillon awoke, the day had turned to dusk. He was stretched out on a leather couch, a blanket over him. His knee was throbbing. He felt disoriented and sluggish, but gradually he remembered the fight, the trip to this house, Andy’s aunt and the man named Hank.
His knee. They’d bashed the butt of a rifle into it. Panic rose up through the fog and he sat up. His head swam and his stomach turned over. He blinked, took in a few slow breaths, then pushed the blanket away. The ice pack that Mac Houston had placed on his knee fell to the side. He scooped it up and seeing that it had a screw top placed it on the floor beside the couch. He dropped his feet to the floor, gingerly touched his knee. It was swollen. But was that all? He had to know.
Cautiously, he stood up, resting his weight on his good leg and bracing his hand on the arm of the couch. He shifted his weight onto his injured knee. Nausea rolled through him as pain shot up his thigh, but when it passed, he was still standing. He shuffled to the side, past the coffee table. With a supreme effort of will he let go of the couch, tottered on his feet until he found his balance. Took a minute step. And was still standing.
He heard voices from another room and the sounds of chopping, and became aware of an aroma that made his stomach growl. He took another step, gritting his teeth. And another, until sweat beaded his forehead and trickled down the inside of his arms. Another step. And another.
———
“Ah, you’re back,” said Mac, looking toward the door. “Come on in.” She turned back to the stove and tipped a cutting board full of carrots into a cast-iron pan.
Andy turned around, expecting to see Hank. Dillon stood in the doorway, looking like a waif in Hank’s large jeans and bulky sweater. Even the socks swallowed his feet. He was pale, looking as if he’d barely returned from the grave, and totally yummy.
He swayed and Andy started forward. Mac stepped in front of her to reach for the potatoes and gave her a look. Don’t baby him. And she knew Mac was right. Dillon would hate being seen as weak.
He walked slowly to the table and eased himself into a chair.
“You want some water? Coffee?” asked Andy, trying not to look concerned. “How are you feeling?” She had to ask. He looked so awful.
“Okay,” he said. “And yeah, I’d like some water. Please.”
Andy got down a glass and filled it from the spring water dispenser. She set it down on the table, lingering over Dillon’s shoulder just to feel him, alive, warm, solid. She longed to put her arms around him. Make sure he was okay. This slightly dopey, quiet, injured Dillon was unsettling. She wanted him back in his satirical, bad boy angry self.
“Hank should be back soon,” said Mac. “He went into the nearest town to get you some clothes that fit. And some shoes.” She grinned at him. “Since we didn’t have time to pick yours up on the way back.”
Andy moved away and concentrated on stirring the stew. “I told Mac about what we found out. Do you think Talbot’s still inside the retreat? Do you think we can get in touch with him?”
Dillon put down his glass. “I can’t think at all at the moment.” He rubbed his hand across his eyes.
“You don’t have to think until after dinner,” said Mac. “Hank is also stopping by the police station to leave a message for your friend.”
Dillon attempted to get up.
“Don’t worry. He knows how to be discreet. And he’s well known in these parts. After dinner is soon enough to worry about what to do next.”
But when Hank came back a half hour later, he had nothing but disturbing news.
“The whole patrol, including your Mr. Grayson, is holed up at the retreat. I guess all hell’s broken loose. They’ve locked down the entire establishment, since two people have gone missing. I guess that would be you. And since communications are blocked, they can’t get a message to him. They’re waiting until one of their boys comes out.” He placed a bag and a shoe box on the table in front of Dillon, shrugged out of his jacket, and tossed it onto a peg by the back door. “Best I could do under the circumstances.”
“Thanks,” said Dillon. “I owe you.”
Hank grunted. “Better look at them first.” He pulled a bottle of red wine out of another bag and began rummaging in a kitchen drawer. “Where’s the damn cork screw,” he muttered.
Mac leaned over him and lifted it out of the jumble of utensils inside. He smiled, patted her on the butt, and went to work on the wine bottle.
Andy stared. Men had lost vital parts for less. But Mac seemed to enjoy having her butt patted by Hank. Wonders never ceased.
She hadn’t gotten a chance to really look at the man Mac had been living with for the last three weeks. Now she gave him a good once-over.
The blond hair was shot with silver. He was older than she’d thought at first. But pretty damn buff for a big guy. Not so bulky as he’d seemed in the woods, but definitely substantial. His eyes were a
greenish blue that sparkled continuously beneath bushy dark eyebrows.
She looked up to see Mac watching her. They exchanged mutually approving looks. Not bad, being stuck in the woods with a couple of body beautifuls. Andy was beginning to see romantic comedy here, with no stunts more dangerous than falling out of bed.
Too bad the bad guys were still out there.
Mac dished up the stew, and Hank passed around the wine, bypassing Dillon’s place. “Sorry, man, but you’re dopey enough for one night.”
And strangely enough, Dillon smiled at him.
“Definitely a keeper,” whispered Mac as she passed Andy a basket of homemade bread.
He was a keeper, but it probably wouldn’t be her doing the keeping. Once they saw this through, they’d go back to their separate lives. It was all in a day’s work for him. He’d have another, probably more exciting assignment, and she’d become a dim memory. If he remembered her at all.
Maybe it wasn’t just actors she couldn’t keep. Maybe there was something wrong with her. She shook the thought away. There were more important things at stake here than her deplorable love life.
The stew was delicious and Andy was ravenous. It worried her that Dillon didn’t eat much, but she reminded herself that he was hopped up on painkillers, which tended to kill your appetite as well as the pain.
After dinner, Hank went out to the living room to build a fire. They were pretty high up in the mountains, and the air was definitely colder here than it had been down at Terra Bliss. Dillon followed him out and Andy and Mac were left in the kitchen.
“You’re going to do his dishes?” asked Andy, astounded.
Mac made a face. “I can load a state-of-the-art dishwasher, hon, just watch.” She pressed a panel, it slid to the side, and the double racks of a dishwasher rolled out. “This is my idea of roughing it,” said Mac and began putting bowls and silverware into the plastic slots.
“Whew,” said Andy. “Works for me. Hank lives here?”
“Year-round. Except for winters in the Yucatan.”
“And he got rich on nature pictures?”
“Don’t know. Didn’t ask.”