Boneyard Ridge (7 page)

Because of its seclusion, there had never been any reason to put in a lock, and for decades, the door had remained unlocked and the cabin undisturbed. But Hunter didn’t see the point of taking chances, not after how easily he’d been ambushed and abducted several months ago. He’d installed a sturdy padlock on both the front and back doors of the cabin, and new latches on all the windows.

He saw Susannah eyeing those latches as he led her into the cabin and turned the dead bolt behind them. Probably thought he was keeping her prisoner, and he didn’t hurry to disabuse her of the idea. If a little healthy fear would keep her from doing something foolish, like trying to sneak off on her own again, then he’d use it.

“Nice place,” she said. Her tone wasn’t obviously sarcastic, but he assumed she meant the comment that way.

He knew the place wasn’t much, but it offered him a sense of security in an increasingly insane world. It was one of the few things he owned that he hadn’t sold to raise his sister’s bail money.

“I know it doesn’t look very big, but there’s a good-size bedroom. You can have it, of course. I’ll take the couch.”

He saw her eye the old sofa with skepticism, and he couldn’t really blame her. He’d bought the battered piece of furniture at the thrift store in Barrowville a few months earlier, but for all its shabby appearance, the springs were sturdy enough and the cushions comfortable, even though his legs hung off a bit when he slept there.

He’d stayed in the cabin several times since returning home from Afghanistan, when his guilt about his sister’s legal troubles had gotten to be too much for him to cope with back at her place. He’d bunked down here on the sofa more often than not, finding its rougher embrace easier to deal with than the civilized softness of the bed.

“How can you be sure I won’t sneak out while you’re asleep?” she asked quietly as he dropped the rucksack on the low coffee table and began to unpack supplies.

He slanted a look toward her. “You’re not my prisoner.”

“Forgive me if I feel that way.”

He waved his hand toward the door. “You know how dead bolts work. Feel free to let yourself out.”

She actually took a couple of steps toward the door before she stopped, her chin dipping to her chest. Not looking at him, she asked, “Why were they trying to kill me?”

There was a strange undertone to her question that piqued his curiosity, as if she already knew the answer but needed him to say the words aloud.

So he did. “You’re in the way of their plan.”

Her gaze flickered up to meet his, confusion glittering in her eyes. He saw with a jolt of surprise that one of her brown eyes had gone light gray with a touch of hazel around the pupil. He blinked a couple of times before he was sure what he was seeing.

“What?” she asked, noticing his reaction.

“You wear brown contacts.”

Her brow furrowing, she blinked a couple of times herself. “Damn.”

“Why would you want to hide your eye color?” he blurted.

She looked down. “I like variety.”

She was lying.

“You didn’t finish answering my question,” she continued, her gaze stubbornly averted. “I’m in the way of what plan?”

He might as well tell her, he supposed. If anyone had a right to know what was going on, it was the woman who’d damn near given up her life for what the BRI had planned.

“A militia group called the Blue Ridge Infantry is planning to sabotage the law enforcement convention being held at the hotel this weekend.”

Chapter Five

“Why?”

The question spilled from Susannah’s lips before she had time to formulate a rational thought. If she had, she might have asked a more important question, such as how he knew these things and how the attack was supposed to take place.

But she supposed “why” was a good start.

Especially since her cousin McKenna was going to be one of the attendees.

Another question popped into her head. Could the Bradburys have made the connection between Susannah and her cousin? Had they targeted the upcoming conference knowing McKenna was going to be there?

Wouldn’t that be ironic? Targeting the conference because of McKenna, never realizing that Susannah herself was right there in the thick of it all.

But the Bradburys had never been connected to any militia groups, had they? They’d always been freakishly clannish, prone to trusting nobody but family, however vile and revolting those kinsmen might be.

Hunter’s growl of a voice interrupted her musings. “Two hundred top cops from three states in one hotel? Hell of a temptation to a bunch of people who loathe authority.” He waved toward the sofa, a tacit invitation to have a seat.

She limped to the sofa and sat on one end, surprised to find the piece of furniture sturdier and more comfortable than it looked. She glanced up at him, putting aside the thoughts of her cousin and any possible connection to the Bradburys of Boneyard Ridge. Sometimes coincidences were just coincidences.

“And you’re part of the plan?” she asked.

“I was what you’d call a forward scout, I suppose.” He answered with his back to her, crossing to the fireplace that took up half the near wall. But instead of logs, a large space heater filled the width of the fireplace. He plugged it in to the wall socket and a few seconds later, the unit hissed to life, giving off blessed heat and ambient light.

“What do you do for heat when the power’s out?” she asked.

He glanced at her. “There’s a woodstove in the bedroom and another one in the kitchen. But the lines to this place were laid underground, so there aren’t as many outages as you might expect from a place this far up the mountain.”

“How did you ever find this place?”

“My grandfather built it. Let’s just say, he lived through the early years of the Cold War and prepared for any eventuality.” He smiled, but behind the humor, she saw a hint of admiration as well. He seemed to be a man who appreciated the benefits of having a good contingency plan.

Military, she thought after a moment’s consideration, remembering the rucksack full of necessary supplies. Not one of those desk-jockey rear-echelon types, either. She tried to picture his hair, currently collar-length and wavy, cut in a crisp, military style. What did they call it, high and tight?

She could see it, she decided, her gaze narrowing as it skimmed the hard angle of his jaw. Could explain the bum leg as well.

Something flitted in the back of her mind, tantalizingly out of reach. Something to do with a wounded warrior—

“No more questions?” he asked, jerking her attention back to her present situation.

“Why me?”

“I told you. You were in the way.”

“Of what? I’m not in security.”

His gaze flicked her way. “Yeah, I know.”

“What was your role? Following me around? Is that why you stayed on the elevator earlier today instead of getting off?”

His lips curved slightly at the corners, carving shallow dimples in his lean cheeks. “No, that was my own bit of freelancing.”

“I suppose you’re going to tell me you’re really on my side.”

The dimples deepened, though there wasn’t much in the way of mirth shining from his green eyes. “I suppose you wouldn’t believe me if I did.”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, then immediately wished she’d just kept her mouth shut. She was in a very vulnerable situation at the moment, and showing any sign of weakness in front of this man was just asking for trouble.

If her grandmother had taught her anything during the long, hard years of her childhood, it was to never show weakness. Displays of weakness made you look like a tasty morsel for the big, bad wolves of the world, and in the neck of the woods where she’d grown up, there were a whole hell of a lot of nasty wolves roaming those hills and hollows.

She knew from personal experience.

“I don’t want anyone hurt. But whatever they’re planning for the conference is only the opening act. And I’m not sure what they have in mind for the main event.”

Though she wasn’t a hundred percent confident that he was telling her the truth about where his loyalties lay, he clearly wanted her to believe he was one of the good guys. So for now, she’d play into that conceit, she decided. What she needed most at the moment was more information, and she’d get it more easily with cooperation than conflict. “What you did for me blew your cover, didn’t it?”

He released a long, gusty breath. “I’m not sure.”

“They were pretty close when they started shooting.”

“They consider me a loser. It’s why they didn’t let me in on all their plans.” He turned to look at her. “You almost didn’t recognize me out there yourself, did you? And you were a hell of a lot closer.”

She hadn’t, she realized. Not at first. Of course, she didn’t exactly know him well. “I take it you like for them to think you’re not much of a threat.”

“It served my purposes,” he agreed. “If there’s one way they’re akin to a real military unit, it’s that the people in charge like to make sure there are plenty of warm bodies out there as cannon fodder while they plot world domination from the rear.”

Yup, she thought, former military. And not a big fan of authority himself. She filed that thought away and turned her gaze toward the glow of the space heater. Her feet felt as if they’d swollen to twice their normal size, and she didn’t look forward to putting her weight on them anytime soon, but the lure of heat proved too powerful. Nibbling her lip to keep from whimpering, she hobbled over to the fireplace and outstretched her hands toward the heater.

Hunter stepped out of her view, and it took all her willpower not to turn and watch where he went. But the whole point of this cooperative captive thing was to convince him it was safe to let down his guard.

She heard the scrape of wood against wood, and then Hunter’s big, warm hand flattened against her spine, sending shock waves rippling through her flesh. Clenching her jaw to control her body’s helpless reaction, she turned and found him eyeing her, his expression wary. He gestured with his free hand toward the ladder-back kitchen chair he’d retrieved for her. “Sit down. Let me take a better look at your feet.”

She sat as he asked, curling her fingers around the edge of the chair seat when he picked up one foot and propped it on his knee.

“May I?” He met her narrowed gaze before nodding toward her foot.

She nodded briskly, and he untied her shoelaces, easing the sneaker from her foot. Her feet had definitely swelled a bit, if the painfully tight fit of the shoe was anything to go by. The socks he’d provided were stained in places, sticking to her foot here and there where blood had dried. But she barely felt any pain, her nerve endings focused entirely on the light rasp of his work-roughened fingers against her bare skin.

He winced a little as he tugged the fabric away from a particularly large scrape. “Sorry.”

She took the chance to tug her feet away. “I can take it from here.”

He left the front room, disappearing somewhere into the darkened back of the cabin and returning a short time later with a wet washcloth. He handed it over, and she gasped a little at the coldness of the water.

“Sorry. It takes a bit for the water heater to kick in, and I didn’t want to make you wait. Warm it a minute in front of the heater if it’s too cold.”

She didn’t wait, welcoming the sharp bite of the cold cloth on her skin as a necessary distraction from her body’s troubling response to his touch. The last thing she needed to do was get sucked into some stupid Stockholm-syndrome crush on the man who was, for all intents and purposes, her captor.

No matter how sexy he looked when he watched her with those smoldering green eyes.

He passed her a tube of antibiotic ointment when she’d finished washing the scrapes and cuts on her feet. “Want me to make sure you got all the dirt out of those wounds?”

She shook her head quickly and took the ointment. “I’m good.” She slathered the ointment over the abrasions, rebandaged her feet and took the clean pair of socks he offered. “Thanks.”

He settled back on his haunches, looking up at her through narrowed eyes the color of the Atlantic in winter, somewhere between green and gray. “I know you’re scared,” he said in a low, gravelly tone that scattered goose bumps along her arms. “I won’t let anyone find you here. I promise.”

Pretend you trust him. Get him to drop his guard.

She forced a smile. “Thank you.”

He gazed at her for a long, unnerving moment before his lips curved at the corners and those incongruous dimples appeared in his lean, hard face. “I’ll go get the heater in the bedroom cranked up so you’ll be nice and toasty. Sit here a while longer and thaw out.”

She watched him until he disappeared through the door that led somewhere in the back of the small cabin. Releasing a gusty breath, she looked into the glowing wires of the heater and willed her trembling limbs to stillness. She wanted to believe him, she realized with alarm. She wanted the warmth and kindness she’d heard in his voice to be real.

But it couldn’t be. Even if he was telling her the truth, he had his own agenda and it had nothing to do with her. She’d be a fool to trust her life to him or anyone else.

If she’d learned anything in the last twelve years, it was that the only person she could depend on was herself.

* * *

S
HE WAS GOING
to run again. Hunter didn’t think it would be tonight, not after her close call in the woods. She might even bide her time here for a day or two, let her battered feet mend a bit more. Learn a little about the lay of the land, take time to formulate an actual plan, rather than act on impulse.

But she was going to make a break for it, sooner or later.

She wasn’t the pampered princess he’d thought she was. That much was certain.

But what, exactly, was she? Why was she hiding those gorgeous hazel-tipped gray eyes behind contacts? Why had he spotted in her dusky hair hints of blond roots gleaming like gold in the firelight?

And those scars he’d spotted, barely visible on her smooth, shapely legs, weren’t razor nicks. They were evidence of a hard-knock childhood spent doing things like climbing trees and skinning her knees and shins on rocks and roots.