by Rebecca York
If she had more specific information on Lancaster, maybe that would help her figure out how to approach Hunter, she thought, knowing she was grasping at straws. But it was better to have some constructive focus for her thoughts than to simply sit and worry.
Perhaps she could get what she wanted from Dr. Kolb. He had proposed a meeting. What if she could use that to her advantage?
She was about to call him when the phone rang, making her jump. Scrambling out of her seat, she answered on the second ring.
A man with a stuffed-up nose said, “Dr. Kelley?”
“Yes?”
“This is Bob Perry calling about Hunter.”
As he started to speak again, she’d thought she recognized the voice that was muffled by the nasal congestion. But she’d never talked to a Bob Perry, as far as she could remember.
“What can I do for you” she asked, waffling between hope and caution.
“There’s been a change in plans. Mr. Emerson wants to know if you would be able to work in a session with Hunter at noontime.”
She tried to hide her burst of elation as she answered, “No problem.”
“He’s on a field exercise at one of the cabins down by the lake. He’ll be having a lunch break in forty minutes. Would that be convenient for you?”
“Of course.”
“The cabin is a little unusual. It’s on the end of a pier that juts out into the water. You should recognize it right away.”
“How far is it? And I’ll need directions.” Opening the drawer under the phone, she found a notepad and a pen.
“It’s about a ten-minute drive,” the caller said, then went on to tell her what turns to make, where to park, which trail to take through the woods, and how to reach the correct cabin.
“Thank you,” she said when he finished.
“Not at all,” he replied courteously.
He was more civil than most of the other staff members she’d had contact with, she thought, as she replaced the receiver and headed for her bedroom. She needed a shower and clean clothes. But she should be able to make it to the meeting in time.
As she hurried to get ready, she started worrying. She should have asked if Hunter knew she was coming. It wouldn’t be good to take him by surprise. What if he refused to see her, she thought with a pang?
Praying that they’d let her talk with him alone, she climbed into the car, checked the directions, and headed toward the unpopulated side of the grounds. Ignoring the speed limit, she was soon at the edge of the woods. When she’d jogged down here, the road had had a security barrier blocking off traffic. Now the gate was open, and she drove through, into an area she’d never seen before. There were no buildings, only virgin forest. This must be what the rural landscape was like before the Army took over, she mused as she came to the top of a hill and saw the lake sparkling in the sunshine. She hadn’t even known it existed. If DOD ever needed quick cash, they could sell Stratford Creek to a developer and make a bundle.
It was dark and cool under the shade of the trees. In another quarter mile, she came to a road leading off to the left. Taking it, she ended up in the parking lot Perry had described. There was only one other vehicle in the lot, a jeep sitting at the far end. She pulled in next to it and scanned the woods. Several paths led downhill—presumably toward the lake. She took the middle one and came out facing a stretch of pristine beach, reinforcing her previous observation that this was prime resort real estate. The lake was calm, with tiny waves lapping the sand. No one was in sight, and the only sign of habitation was the gray weathered pier that stuck out over the water. The cabin Perry had described was at the end of the dock, although it wasn’t quite what she’d been picturing in her mind.
“Hunter?” she called, but the noise of a commercial jet far overhead blotted out the sound of her voice. If he was there, he couldn’t hear her she thought as she stepped onto the worn boards and started toward the cabin.
The footing was uneven, and she picked her way, hoping she wouldn’t step through a rotten board.
###
Over the noise of the jet, Hunter thought he heard Kathryn call his name and looked up in surprise. He and Reid had set the explosives on the underside of the shack at the end of the pier. Then Reid had gone off to do something, leaving him alone to wait for additional instructions.
He’d been sitting with his back against the trunk of a tree, holding a flower by its stem and stroking the petals against his mouth, remembering the wonderful softness of Kathryn’s lips against his. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine she was with him, and they were in the place where the deer came to drink from the stream.
Now he heard her voice. Was she really here? How had she found this place?
He saw her step onto the boards of the dock and start walking tentatively toward the doomed little house. The charges were in place, expertly positioned to blow the structure into oblivion. All somebody had to do was press the buttons on the detonator.
“Get back,” he shouted at Kathryn above the drone of the jet. She didn’t hear him, and he started running, calling more loudly and frantically waving his arms.
She stopped at the sound of his voice and tipped her head to the side, but she was looking in the wrong direction and didn’t see him. After a moment, she started moving again along the pier—toward the enclosure with its deadly charges.
At the same time, from the corner of his eye, he saw Reid running down one of the other paths from the parking lot. He broke into the clearing along the shoreline and dashed toward the spot several hundred yards away where they’d set up the detonators.
Hunter’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing?” he called.
The man didn’t answer. Instead, he kept moving toward the firing mechanism. If he’d wanted to get Kathryn Kelley out of danger, Hunter reasoned, he would be running in the other direction—shouting at her to get away from the pier.
Instead, he was hurrying to set off the charges! That was the only logical explanation.
Reid was farther away than Kathryn. There was no chance of intercepting him before he could get to the detonators. All Hunter could do was dash toward Kathryn, sprinting with every ounce of power he possessed, knowing that he had little chance of getting to her in time.
Chapter Eleven
Kathryn reached the cabin and stooped to peer in a broken window, but there was no one inside.
“Hunter?” she called, turning away in perplexity from the dilapidated building.
Had Perry been mistaken? Or—what?
It was then that she saw Hunter dashing madly toward her and heard him shouting, “Get away from the house. Get away.”
He came toward her at full tilt. Behind him, she saw a blond man fleeing in the opposite direction toward a little stand of trees. It was Reid, she realized. The security guard who had rabbit-punched Hunter when he was helpless to defend himself.
At that moment, Hunter gained the end of the pier, leaped onto the worn boards, and came straight at her. She expected him to slow down. He plowed ahead, like a freight train speeding down a mountain, and she knew that when he hit her, the impact would be painful. Cowering back, she stiffened her body against the inevitable crash.
She screamed as he struck her with the weight of his muscular frame, screamed again as he took her over the side of the flimsy railing and into space.
They fell toward the lake, her body under his. And she had time for only a partial gasp of air before they hit the cold water.
As they splashed down, she heard an explosion like a dozen thunderclaps coming together in the air above them. Then they plummeted below the surface, and she felt a shock wave hit the water.
Hunter held her down, at the same time kicking strongly and towing her away from the spot where they’d gone over the side. She hadn’t taken in much air, and she felt as if her lungs would burst. When he tugged her to the surface, she dragged in grateful drafts of air.
“Breathe. We must go down again,” he gasped.
Pieces of wood were raining down around them in the water. One hit her shoulder and she winced as Hunter dragged her under again, pulling her parallel to the shoreline and into a stand of water grass that swayed wildly in a sudden pounding of waves.
They surfaced among the quaking stalks, and she sucked in oxygen, shivering in the cold water.
Hunter put his arm around her. “Stay low,” he hissed.
She ducked into the greenery, lifting her head only enough so that she could breathe.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked urgently, his hand gliding along her arm.
“I think I was more frightened than hurt.”
“I saw you on the dock, and I didn’t know what else to do.”
“It was the right thing,” she assured him as she swung around and stared at the spot where she’d been standing moments ago. It no longer existed. In fact, only the first quarter of the dock was still visible, listing at a steep angle toward the water. As she watched, it fell sideways and hit the surface of the lake with a large splash, adding to the fury of the churning waves.
Wide-eyed, she gaped at the scene, her mind trying to make sense of the destruction. The pier and the cabin had disappeared, replaced by a mass of gray boards and small pieces of shredded wood madly bobbing on the surface of the foaming water.
“What happened?” she asked in a strangled voice.
“He waited until you were out on the pier. Then he set off the explosives. Why were you here?”
“A man named Bob Perry called me. He told me to meet you here. He described the location. But just now, I saw Reid.”
“When did this Bob Perry call you?”
“Around eleven thirty.”
“That was one of the times when Reid left me alone.”
She nodded tightly, remembering that she had thought the voice was familiar. It might have been Reid—trying to make her think it was someone else.
As they watched, the man in question moved along the beach near the ruined pier, shading his eyes and scanning the wreckage.
“We must get away from here,” Hunter said. “When he doesn’t see our bodies, he’ll look for us farther from the explosion.”
She made a small sound of agreement, gripped his arm. The last time they’d met, she had been too shocked to speak coherently. This morning, she’d come prepared with explanations and apologies. The words still raged inside her. She wanted desperately to make him understand what was in her heart, but it would have to wait.
“Follow me. And stay down,” he said.
Her legs felt shaky, but she managed to keep up with him as they moved farther from the site of the devastation.
She imitated his crouched posture as they moved through the reeds. When a small black snake slithered past, she made a muffled sound and pointed.
Hunter turned and looked at the creature. “It won’t hurt you. There are no poisonous snakes in this lake.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“But watch for snapping turtles.”
Right. She didn’t tell him she wasn’t an expert at turtle identification. She simply kept following him, her teeth chattering both from the cold water and from reaction.
“It will take longer if we climb out of the water,” Hunter told her. “And you will be colder in the air.”
“I’m fine,” she lied.
Hunter paused, then gestured toward a point of land in the distance. “Can you swim that far?”
She eyed the peninsula, telling herself it was well within her range. Never mind that she’d never been in worse shape for a long swim.
“I can make it.” To prove the assertion, she pushed off and started stroking. Hunter came after her, caught up, and kept pace easily as they crossed the open water.
She was a good swimmer, but not today. By the time she was three quarters of the way across, she was breathing hard, and her arms were aching.
“Are you all right?” Hunter asked.
She nodded and kept moving, then finally she reached a point where her limbs simply wouldn’t work.
“I—” She started to slip below the surface. He grabbed her around the chest and pulled her up.
“It is only a little farther. Rest for a minute.”
She let herself go limp, holding onto his arm, relying on his strength to keep her afloat. She thought she felt his lips brush her cheek. “You are very brave,” he whispered. “Very determined.”
“I’ve tried to be,” she answered, then gulped, her vision blurring as his murmured praise rekindled the deep feelings of guilt that had haunted her since he’d fled the guest cottage. All at once, it was impossible to hold back the unspoken words pressing on her heart. “Hunter, the other night . . . I was too shocked and frightened to act normally. I hurt you. I am so sorry. I don’t feel the way you think I do.”
His grip on her stiffened, but he said nothing. When she tried to twist around so she could see his face, he held her fast.
His reaction made her take a gasping breath so that she could keep talking, force him to understand. “When I got up the next morning and found that you had left, I felt so awful. I wanted a chance to explain what happened—that I’d been frightened. And upset. But not with you. Then Reid called, and I was so glad I was going to see you again—talk to you.”
“We cannot stay in the water,” was all he said, sounding as if he hadn’t heard anything she’d tried to tell him.
“Hunter—please.”
“This is a dangerous place for a discussion.” Stroking strongly with his free arm, he began to tow her toward shore. She wanted to dig her fingers into his flesh and force him to listen, but she knew he was right—and that he wasn’t prepared to let her hurt him again.
“I can swim,” she managed.
“I’ll do it,” he said in a gruff voice.
Though pride made her want to insist, she knew it was better to save her strength for walking when they got out of the water. So, she let him tow her.
Finally, she realized he must be standing on the bottom. After climbing out onto a flat boulder, he pulled her from the water. In the chilly air, she began to shiver again.
His look of concern made her clamp her teeth to try and stop their chattering.
“We can’t stay here,” he said. Taking her arm, he guided her toward a stand of pines.
While she propped herself against a rock outcropping, he went back to scatter pine needles over their trail.
She watched him numbly. When he came back, he squeezed her hand, then led her farther along the rocks, searching the edge of the cliff.
His face took on a look of satisfaction as he pointed to a spot where a narrow trail wound upward.
“I thought this was the right place.”
He helped her up the rocky trail to a low door hidden in a crevice. The door looked like it was secured with a padlock, but it wasn’t really locked. Hunter twisted the hasp open, then helped her through the doorway. They crawled about ten feet down a dark tunnel.
“Where are we?”
“I think this is what they used to call an atomic bomb shelter,” he said, switching on a powerful portable light. “It must be from the time when Stratford Creek was a military base.”
In the shaft of light, she could see a room about twelve by nine feet cut into the side of the mountain. Various supplies were ranged on metal shelves around the wall.
Too worn out to stand under her own power, she leaned against the wall, breathing hard and making damp little pools on the plastic floor where the water dripped off her clothing.
“Are we safe here?”
“Yes. I discovered this place when I was on a survival mission. I come here sometimes, when I am supposed to be hiding in enemy territory. Nobody has ever found me here. I brought some lights—and emergency rations.” He switched on another large flashlight, then swung the door shut, dropping a stout metal bar in place to seal the entrance.
“Is the air all right with the door closed?” she asked.
“There
are ventilators,” he said.
After turning a crank in the wall, he eyed her critically in the dim light. “You are cold. You must get warm and dry.” Briskly, he crossed to the wooden boxes on the shelves and rummaged through them until he found blankets. Then he turned back to her and began to unbutton her shirt, his fingers a bit clumsy as they struggled with the wet buttonholes. Where he touched her chilled flesh, he left a trail of heat.
He finally got the buttons open, then slipped the shirt off her shoulders and down her arms.
A moment ago, she had been wilting with fatigue and aching with the knowledge that he didn’t want to hear her explanations. Now she felt a new burst of energy—and hope. Although he hadn’t listened when she’d tried to tell him how she felt, perhaps a more basic approach would get through to him.
“Maybe we’d better make a comfortable place to sit down,” she suggested.
“Yes.” He spread blankets on the floor before turning back to her and tackling the snap at the waistband of her slacks. Then he worked the zipper open so that he could kneel and skim the wet pants down her legs. When she stepped out of them, she was wearing only panties and a bra and feeling a good deal warmer than she had when she’d come into the shelter.
He stayed on his knees for a moment, his warm breath fanning her belly. She lifted her hands as she gazed down at his dark head, wanted to tunnel her fingers though his hair and press his face against her. But she bided her time, letting him stand and drape her soggy clothing over the edge of a box.
“You’re as wet as I am,” she said, trying to sound objective.
He looked down at his clinging knit shirt and chino pants, then tugged the shirt over his head. Unselfconsciously, he unzipped the pants and stepped out of them.
He was still wearing his damp briefs, but the knit fabric left little to the imagination. As she regarded him through half-closed lids, she wondered when it would dawn on him that there was more than one way to get warm.