At the ripe old age of nineteen, he became an orphan, not even having ever met his grandparents as they'd been estranged from his mother for some time. He also learned his first valuable lesson: money didn't buy happiness. Even though the settlement provided substantial financial resources, it couldn't bring his mother back. Nor could it bring Lindsay back years later.
The single-level all brick ranch house he presently owned provided shelter, peace, and much needed quiet when he could find some downtime between missions. In truth, he spent more time away than there, but the comfortable home gave him a small spot on the earth to return to, kick back, and find what solace he could.
Sliding out of his truck, he pulled a large black duffle bag from behind the seat. With a tilt of his head, he indicated for Josie to follow him. She shot him a puzzled look but trailed along as he entered the house and stepped into the kitchen. Immediately, he set his carrier on the floor, slid his boots off, and headed toward the bedroom.
"Bathroom is the first door on the left."
Striding into his bedroom, he went directly to the closet, dug out a handful more bags, and started packing clothes. At least he had some to pack unlike the woman under his protection.
"Can I do anything to help?" She stuck her head in the doorway.
He tossed her a charcoal backpack. "Under the bathroom sink is toiletry stuff. Don't bother with the open bottles, just take the new ones."
"You want linens or just shampoo, toothpaste, and the like."
"No room for linens. Just basic supplies will suffice."
She turned to go.
"Grab a spare toothbrush while you're under there. Razors too."
With a nod, she disappeared.
By the time he finished packing enough clothes for a week in a variety of places, she returned with a fat backpack. She'd removed her shoes as she entered the house, just as he did. The gesture didn't go unnoticed. He unzipped the top, peeked inside, and nodded in approval.
Walking back to the closet, he pulled a heavy coat from a wooden hanger. "Here."
"What?"
"You'll need this." He gave the garment a toss.
She caught it and held the long black coat with hood up for inspection. "You might need it."
He shook his head. "I have another." Grabbing a nearly identical winter coat, he picked up the clothing bag and headed back toward the kitchen. Once there, he deposited the second container against the first.
Ghost took a moment to visit the bathroom before grabbing up another duffle almost as large as his primary carry-on. Walking into the living room, he came to a halt.
Josie stood next to his gun case, staring through the glass at his small collection of rifles. Interest and awe flickered across her face as she sidestepped from one side to the other.
Turning her head, she met his gaze. "This one. Sniper rifle, right?" She pointed toward the farthest gun to the left.
"Yeah."
"McMillan Tac-50?"
He stared at her for a long moment, surprised she'd know such details about any of his weapons, let alone his military grade choices. "Yeah."
"Cool. Are we taking it with us?"
"No." He didn't need to raid his storage case, not when he had half an arsenal in his big duffle bag, not to mention the couple of SIG P239 handguns on his person. He carried the Barrett M82 and M98B sniper rifles with him on all missions, another MK 15, along with the strategically hidden pistols in holsters. If those weapons didn't provide enough firepower, he was in deep shit.
She frowned for a split second before turning her attention to the other rifles under glass.
A little voice nagged him, pestering him with queries and concerns of how the petite blonde knew about his rifle. She didn't appear old enough to have spent much time in the military, and he didn't see any weapons in her apartment in the brief moments he took to check out the torn apart area. Of course, any invaders would probably have seized the gun without a second thought. Yet she told Ryan nothing important remained. Unanswered questions brought trouble.
"You know guns." He made the words a statement.
"Yeah." She didn't bother to even turn to answer. He waited patiently for her to explain further. When she said nothing, he prodded her along.
"How?"
Turning, she looked at him, those green eyes shadowed in the dim light from the kitchen thrown across the large area. "My father owns a gun shop and shooting range. I've been handling guns and shooting for as long as I can remember." Her words carried truth.
"Yet you told Ryan there was nothing of value inside the apartment to steal."
"There wasn't." She glanced down and shifted her weight.
He waited a beat as he watched her body language carefully for signs of withholding information or outright lies. While she seemed a bit antsy, nothing told him she wasn't being totally honest.
"You didn't have a weapon in your apartment?"
She shook her head. "No."
As much as his curiosity beat at him to learn more, he blatantly ignored the voice inside his head. The more he knew, the more he'd likely want to know, which would lead down a twisting road to nowhere. No. His job remained the same. Keep her alive. Period. Involvement, even as little as sharing stories about lives, did nothing for his mission and only distracted him during times he should be on high alert.
"Grab the backpack." He lifted both duffle bags by the straps and started toward the door, pausing to slip his boots back on. The sooner he hit the road, the sooner they arrived at the safe house. From there, he could count down the hours until this mission ended.
Opening the back of the older model SUV also in the garage, he stashed the supplies, taking the loaded backpack from Josie when she handed the item over. Slamming the door shut, he gestured her back toward the house. "Food and bottled water in the kitchen if you want it. We'll be leaving in a few minutes."
Heading back inside, he repeated the action with his footwear long enough to stuff a laptop into another backpack, this one deep red in color, along with another cell phone. Both untraceable even by the Feds. By the time he zipped the top and slung the pack over his shoulder, Josie stood at the door with a two fat plastic sacks.
"Water for the trip. Sandwiches and fruit, too. Who knows what food the house has in stock? I'd rather eat sooner than later."
He nodded in approval, slipped his boots back on, waited for her to do the same, then waved her out into the garage ahead of him. He shut and locked the door in their wake. Stashing the second backpack with the rest of the bags, he slid into the driver's seat, finding Josie already on board, jostling space for her bags in the floorboard between her feet.
With a push of the button, he waited for the garage door to go up, started the engine, and pulled out. One more push and the door shut tightly. For a moment, he stared at his home.
"What is it?"
He couldn't put his finger on the odd sensation, almost like he hated to leave for fear things would be drastically different when he returned. Or if he returned.
"Nothing." Backing out of the driveway, he put the vehicle in gear and started toward their destination.
Chapter 11
"How safe will this place be?" Josie quietly asked. The silence weighed heavy on her as did Ghost's reluctance to speak. She understood boundaries and the importance of secrets, but something prodded her to delve past the surface with this cold, hard man. Despite the lack of life broadcast in his eyes, she truly believed his heart and soul simply remained dormant like an ice-covered volcano. Inside, a red hot molten mix stirred and bubbled, building until one day the top would blow, sending fresh lava down the mountainside, forever banishing the frozen liquid that had held the volcano caged for years. She only hoped to see Ghost once he morphed from ice sculpture to hot-blooded man.
He shrugged. "Eighty percent. Best guess until I see the place."
"That good, huh?" She put a light teasing into her voice as she slowly grinned.
He didn't take the bait. S
imply stared straight ahead as he navigated traffic lights and turns. Obviously, that topic didn't get his juices flowing.
"That McMillan Tac-50 is gorgeous. Did you get to bring that home from the military? Or did you find it around here?"
She bit her tongue and waited. If anything could get him to talking, she figured the weapons gleaming in the glass case like cherished possessions just might break through.
"The military frowns on anyone bringing home their equipment for personal use." He stopped at a red light and looked at her. "For the most part, I've bought my weapons." His baritone voice caressed her, soothed her, despite the lack of inflection or any sort of emotion in his steady but flat tone.
"Most part?"
"You don't want to know."
"Okay." She pondered the meaning of his words, then decided to keep the conversation light rather than to ask too many deep questions and clam him up again. "Do you have a favorite rifle?"
"The McMillan is one. The SPR is another."
She nodded. "I've heard of those. Light rifle with distance. Heard they're popular with the military, special forces in particular. Do they shoot about the same?"
"Somewhat. I've worked with both enough to be very comfortable with either one."
Without saying much, Ghost just gave her a couple of clues about himself. She would have placed bets upon meeting the guy that he once wore military fatigues. Now, she'd upgrade him to special forces. His carriage, absolute confidence, his choice of weapons all shouted elite forces. She filed the information away.
"I've never had the honor of shooting such weapons. My father normally carries the basics, not much in the line of specialty rifles. Except for my Anschutz Fortner, of course."
"Anschutz?" His brow furrowed the slightest.
She nearly patted herself on the back for getting him to actually participate in a conversation, but to prove for the first time to her, that his expression could actually change, even if the amount proved minimal.
"Anschutz Fortner. My biathlon rifle."
He turned his full attention on her for a brief moment, then straightened back again to watch the road. "You do the biathlon?"
"Yep. Well, I kind of retired last year. But I've been doing biathlon since I was seven years old. That's all I did growing up. Ski and shoot. Travel to events."
"Worldwide?"
"Once I managed to make the top levels in the sport, yeah. I've been all over. Even participated in summer biathlon, which involves running rather than skiing, but never liked it as well as the winter version."
"Olympics?"
"Three years ago. I finished fifteenth. Not medal worthy, but I couldn't complain. Free trip to the Olympics. Skiing with the best in the world. The highlight of my career."
"What's the distance?"
"Skiing is fifteen kilometers for women, twenty for men. Nine point three miles for women, to do the math. Twelve miles for men. The targets are fifty meters. Four and a half inch targets standing, silver dollar sized when prone."
He nodded marginally. "What ammo do you use?"
"Twenty-two LR, non super-sonic."
"Just basic rounds, nothing special?"
"Yep. It's all about precision. The distance is to check accuracy while your heart is pounding and you're panting like a tired sled dog. Besides, the race officials hate it when you break one of their metal targets."
For a split second, she thought she saw his lips twitch, just the slightest. However in the dim light provided by street lamps, she could have been mistaken.
"So you retired from the sport and became a librarian."
She shrugged, even though the truth put into a short sentence sounded like she took a giant leap downward on the status scale. "Yeah. It works for me. Or did. Until I went to an estate sale, bought a box of books. Found a priceless lost treasure, then was dumb enough to email pictures to a couple of appraisers and museums in order to learn more about my find. Now I have most likely several bad guys on my tail, who would stop at nothing to get their hands on the Royal Casket items, and I'm on my way to an FBI safe house to hide for who knows how long until some of the bandits can be rounded up." With a man named Ghost who would scare my socks off except that he's all that stands between me and some deadly characters. Josie sucked in a breath. "Yippee for me."
Ghost pulled into the driveway of a house at the end of a cul-de-sac. The vehicle's headlights showed an average-sized, single-story house covered in white siding. The lawn looked fairly well maintained with a couple of decent-sized trees to provide a semblance of shade to the front during the hottest days.
Digging out a pair of gloves, he jumped out of the vehicle and walked directly to the box located to the side of the garage. He slipped the gloves on quickly, flipped open the lid, and punched buttons. A moment later, the garage door lifted. He strode back to the SUV and climbed in.
"Let me guess. Didn't want to leave fingerprints."
"Yeah."
His careful action didn't surprise her in the least. Assassins probably lived with a near paranoid attitude about leaving evidence behind. "You gonna wear those gloves the entire stay?"
He shot her a quick look that could have meant anything, then pulled the vehicle into the garage. "Stay here. Let me check it out first."
Before she could answer, he left the truck, tapped the garage door control on the wall, flipped on the lights, and eased through the door into the house.
Josie waited patiently, not particularly worried or anxious. After all, this safe house sat in the middle of a nice neighborhood, and if Ryan kept his promise, an agent or two should have just visited to drop off the clothing she requested. At most, the house had been empty for two, three hours tops.
As silently as Ghost left, he reappeared, opening the driver's side door. "It's clear."
Josie latched onto her purse, grabbed the bags of food and water, and slid out. Easily juggling her load, she managed to pick up one of the backpacks from the back and carry everything inside, absently noting Ghost followed in her wake, his arms full of items from his house.
She stepped into the door, finding herself in a cozy but clean kitchen. Setting the bags down on the countertop, she quickly glanced around, noting the living room adjacent to the tiled floor separating the two rooms, a side door presumably a bathroom, then a small hallway with other doors, most likely bedrooms.
"There's clothes laying on the bed in the closest bedroom for you." Ghost lowered his load to the floor.
"They work quickly." A sense of relief washed over her. With a change or two of clothes, personal hygiene materials, and a hot shower, she could endure anything. "Maybe they left the tags on so I can figure out how much I owe them."
He moved past her into the living room. "I doubt it."
She gazed at his back, noting the strong arms, wide back that tapered to a narrow waist, and a rear that looked finger-licking good. The man carried enough sex appeal to make a nun consider leaving the convent permanently. Oddly enough, while his delectable body caught her eye and made her appreciate the male form, his quietness and attitude drew her major interest. He was a mystery, a totally different type of person than she'd ever been around before. Top everything off with her woman's intuition that deep down he carried excruciating pain, which continued to burn him like a branding iron, and she found herself needing to know more. To do something for him in return for his protectiveness. To provide even the smallest amount of hope and healing in order to see emotions flash across his face and his eyes light up.
"How long will we be here?"
He shrugged. "As long as necessary."
"If we're depending up on the federal government, my bet would be more toward a year than a day." She shook her head in disbelief of her situation. Three days ago, she went to work, lived her normal life, and her worries consisted of when she'd have time to run or what she'd make for supper. Today, she stood in a FBI safe house with a closed-mouthed man called Ghost and simply waited for someone to track down bad guys
before they found her first.
"Better be more like days. The FBI will have to find you another babysitter if it's much more than that."
She met his gaze and knew he spoke the truth. From the moment Ryan dumped her into Ghost's lap, he made no secret that he held disdain for the job. She sensed his animosity and frustration, read between the lines of his few and far between statements.
"Do you have another job to go to?"
He remained mute.
Josie sighed but didn't press the issue. If she was ever going to get more than the very basics out of the man, she needed every ounce of patience she possessed. If she got lucky and the FBI worked extraordinarily fast, she wouldn't have to worry about a lack of conversation since a few days of silence would do her good. Not.
Antsy and uncertain what to do, she unpacked the bags. "Do you want to eat now or later?"
"Whatever." He patted his pockets and adjusted his holster, his eyes flitting back and forth from the front window to her.
He pinged a nerve. She bit her tongue and tried for mannerly niceness. "It doesn't matter to me, either. I just need to know whether to unload this stuff into the fridge or on the table for us to eat. Or if you want something else to eat, I'll see what's available and whip something else up." Moving across the room, she pulled open the refrigerator door and peeked inside. "Looks like we've got a decent supply. Ham. Hamburger. Vegetables. Some fruit. Probably have other stuff in the cupboards." She leaned back to glance at him. "What do you think?"
"Let's eat what you brought first. We'll worry about cooking later."
With a nod and a grin, she shut the door. "Good deal."
Ten minutes later, they sat across from one another at the table eating their sandwiches, potato chips, and a bowl of hot soup from the cans she found in the small pantry. She studied him, searching for signs of fatigue or worry. She found none.
"Do you think it's okay to shower tonight?"
He bit into a chip and nodded.
"What about you?"
His light blue eyes locked onto hers. "What about me?"
Ghost's Treasure Page 5