Killing Time (One-Eyed Jacks) (23 page)

“I think you could call that a very special delivery,” Eva said.

Mike grunted in agreement. “Let’s hope we don’t need to use them.”

After putting the door panel back in place, they headed back to the highway.

•   •   •

Neither of them had had more than snacks on the go since they’d gone wheels up that morning, and since this might be their last chance to grab a square meal for a while, Mike stopped in the little town of Priest River long enough for them to eat. The Feed Store was a combo restaurant and yes, livestock feed store, and sat right next to the railroad tracks and the Pend Oreille River.

It was a good time to sit down on something that wasn’t moving, take a deep breath, and reassess. A little over a half an hour later, they walked back outside. It was almost four thirty, but he wasn’t worried about losing daylight. In July the days were long, even in the mountain west. But he had done a lot of reassessing over his burger and fries.

He took a good look around him as they walked down Main Street toward the Jeep. They were in a valley surrounded by mountains on every side.
In the
middle of nowhere. With nothing but our wits and our purpose to get us through what happens next.

This was it, he realized, as he settled in behind the wheel and slipped his dark glasses back over his eyes. The point of no return. He knew that he might not walk out of the UWD compound alive, and he was willing to take that chance—with
his
life.

But not with hers.

They were 100 percent on their own. The guns had made it real. The isolation as they’d driven deeper and deeper into the panhandle made it clear. No cavalry would ride in at the eleventh hour to save them if things went sideways. Help would be hours away. He was squared away with that. But Eva—God, he never should have let her come along.

Feeling the weight of her safety like an elephant on his shoulders, he made one last-ditch effort.

“It’s not too late.” He looked across the seat at her, wishing that just once, when he looked at her, his heart didn’t jump like a frog on speed. “I can put this off until tomorrow. Drive you back to Spokane tonight, get you on a flight back to D.C. It’s not a problem.”

She already had that closed look on her face.

“Damn it, Eva, listen to me. You don’t have to do this.”

She stopped in the process of buckling her seat belt, lowered her chin to her chest, and let out a heavy breath. After a long moment, she met his eyes. “Take off those glasses so I can see your eyes and know you’re listening.”

He did as he was told, then waited. But not for long.

“I’m only going to say this one more time,” she said with crisp efficiency. “Whatever happens out here, it’s not on you, okay? It’s on me. Going in is
my
choice. So stop feeling responsible for me. Stop trying to protect me. I can handle myself, but if you don’t start treating me as an equal, this is never going to work.”

Her brown eyes were almost black with conviction, and damn if he didn’t fall a little deeper into whatever mess he was falling into that he refused to give a name.

“And stop calling me Eva,” she added with a glare. “It’s Maria. I may be your loving wife, but you’re indebted to me for getting you an early out and for sticking with you until you got released. And you are definitely not the boss of me. Get used to it.”

The last thing he’d expected to punctuate the end of this conversation was a grin. But damn, if she didn’t worm one out of him.

“Okay,
wife
.” He shifted into gear, checked in his rearview, and pulled out onto the street. “If it’s not too much to ask, please navigate us the hell out of here, would you? It’s time to get this show back on the road.”

And it was time for him to accept that she was in to stay. She was also right. If they were going to pull this off, he had to stop worrying about her and start working with her.

•   •   •

“Aside from the fact that this land already belonged to Lawson, it’s pretty clear why he picked this valley as UWD’s base of operations,” Eva said as they drove deeper and deeper into endless stands of tall pine and cedar.

They’d turned off the highway onto gravel several miles ago. Spindly birch and maple trees sprouted up here and there but the ponderosa was king, so towering and dense that in most places sunlight never hit the forest floor.

“You want seclusion and privacy, it doesn’t get any better than this,” Mike agreed.

The five hundred–plus acres that made up Squaw Valley was private land surrounded by the Idaho Panhandle National Forest—unless you were a long time local who still called it by its original name, Kaniksu. This road was the only way in or out, if horsepower under a hood was involved.

“In addition to the Priest River, two creeks run through the UWD property,” Eva added, studying her map. “The Upper West Branch and Good Creek. So there’s their water supply. Where do you suppose they get their power? Generators?”

“Could be. More likely, they’ve tapped into the electrical lines that run along the road. The power company probably wouldn’t even know if they did it.”

“Do you think we can get cell service up here?”

He’d been wondering the same thing. “Guess we’ll find out.” With the size of the mountains
they’d been driving through, there were bound to be dead zones.

“I’m thinking it’s a good thing we’re here in July,” Mike said. At Eva’s instruction, he turned off the gravel and onto a dirt road. The power lines that had run parallel to the main road disappeared from view. “Bet this sandy dirt turns into mucky ruts once it starts raining.”

“Slow down a little.” Eva looked from her map and concentrated on the road ahead of them. “We should be getting close to the next turnoff.”

“Within a couple of miles, if those ‘Keep Out’ and ‘No Trespassing’ signs are any indication. Can’t say they don’t give fair warning.”

“There’s supposed to be an old forest-fire lookout tower around here. Wait. There it is. Turn left there. The entrance should be at the end of this road—less than a quarter of a mile.”

He braked suddenly. Jammed the Jeep into park, turned off the ignition, and stared at the dark glasses he’d whipped off and held in his hand.

“What?” she asked after several seconds ticked by.

He turned his head slowly. “I need a moment.”

She looked puzzled, then amused. “A
moment
? You need a . . .
moment
?”

“Okay, fine. I
want
a moment.”

Then he reached for her.

She had to know what he was going to do. The question was, would she let him? He didn’t give her time to decide. He dragged her against him and kissed her. Kissed her as if yesterday was nonexistent,
tomorrow would never come, and
this
moment was all that mattered.

Because it was. All of his fear for her, all of his second-guessing, his bafflement over this crazy hold she had over him—
all of it
—dissolved into feelings that only made sense when he had her in his arms and his mouth was pressed over hers.

Her taste alone was insane, intoxicating. Yet unbelievably grounding. The feel of her in his arms was, hell, it was perfect. And if he’d learned anything that one single night, those few amazing hours in her bed, it was that what he felt for Eva Salinas didn’t have to make sense. Not when he was kissing her. Not when he was inside her. Not when she was gasping his name and moving against him with an abandon that she could never have given in to if there wasn’t something important happening between them.

But that wasn’t happening now. He pulled away, pressed his forehead to hers, and dug for control. There were other important issues they still had to deal with. Ramon was one. History was another. The snake pit they were about to set foot in was yet another.

“We will finish this,” he whispered, then dove back for one final taste. “When this is over, we will figure this out and we will finish it.”

As abruptly as he’d grabbed her, he let her go. Sliding back behind the wheel, he cranked the ignition and glanced at her. Her lips still parted, her nipples erect against her thin knit top, her expression was
slumberous and sexy—and damn if it didn’t make him smile.

“Ready?” he asked as if he hadn’t just kissed her into next week. He was pretty pleased with himself for not only catching her off guard but for bringing her on board. If they weren’t where they were, he’d have dragged her out of the Jeep, flattened her up against the door, and taken her right there. And she would have let him.

“Ready?” he asked again, his voice low this time, intimate, and she finally snapped to.

“Um . . . yeah.”

Oh, yeah. She definitely would have let him.

He felt smug as hell. So sue him.

To be continued.
“Then let’s do this.”

Her hand on his arm stopped him. The dreamy look in her eyes had been replaced by something that sobered him.

“This isn’t going to be easy for you, Mike. Coming face-to-face with Lawson. Buddying up to him. Pretending to drink the Kool-Aid. You sure you can handle it? Because you really need to be sure.”

She wanted guarantees that he could keep his cool, contain his anger, and play nice with the man who had ruined his life and was responsible for ending the lives of some of the best men he’d ever known.

“I can handle it.” He
had
to handle it.

She searched his eyes, then squeezed his arm. “Then let’s do this.”

He put on his sunglasses and shifted into gear.

They were as prepared as they could get. They both knew their own and each other’s cover as well as they knew “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.” They’d studied the intel on the Squaw Valley area and the encampment. They knew the United We Denounce doctrine as well as they knew their own faces. All they needed was to get into the compound.

Which would be no easy feat, if the size of the guns held by the men in the camouflage pickup that suddenly roared up to meet them was any indication.

“You can’t read the signs?” The guy riding shotgun—literally—stepped out of the pickup, a big-ass, 16-gauge double-barrel propped against his shoulder. Dust rolled up from under the truck where its oversized tires had skidded to a stop on the dirt road.

Mike squinted through his shades and sized up Mr. Personality with the 16-gauge. He put him at around forty. He was broad-shouldered, beefy, bald, and judging by the swagger and the scowl, saw himself as bad to the bone. Two guys, a few years younger with more wiry builds, sported short dark hair and beards. Both stood in the truck bed, elbows propped on the roof; each had one foot hiked up on the rim of the box in a combative stance. One carried an AR-15 assault rifle. The other held a shotgun that would have been a twin to Mr. Personality’s if the barrel hadn’t been sawed off to next to nothing. All three wore camo T-shirts, cargo pants, combat boots, and varying degrees of a Hitler complex. Mike guessed that the guy behind the wheel was decked
out and armed pretty much the same, but couldn’t see him clearly behind the dust on the windshield.

Mike glanced at Eva. “Showtime.” Then he opened the door and stepped out of the Jeep.

“That’s far enough.”

He lifted his arms away from his sides to show he’d come in peace. “I’m looking for Joseph Lawson. Maybe you boys can help me.”

Dead silence. Stone-cold glares.

“This is the UWD compound, right?”

“Don’t matter what this is,” Sawed-off said, all slow and hostile. “ ’Cause it’s no business of yours. You’re on private property,
boy
. Best you turn around and head back the way you came.”

Mike stood his ground. “Came a long way, fellas. All I want to do is see Lawson.” Not deal with jerk-offs like you, his tone made clear. “I was told I could find him here.”

Personality glanced over his shoulder at Sawed-off, then back at Mike. He was close enough by now that Mike could see
SIMMONS
stenciled on the pocket of his T-shirt. “Is that a fact? Told by who?”

Mike returned his glare for a tense moment, then finally gave it up with a hint of exasperation. “Barry Hill.”

Hill’s name got exactly the reaction he’d been shooting for. Simmons wasn’t the brightest bulb in the fixture, and the look on his face gave away his surprise. “Hill? What have you got to do with Hill?”

“That’s between me and Lawson,” Mike said, making
his impatience clear. “Look. I’m not here to cause trouble. I’m just here to talk to your boss. Now is he here or not?”

Simmons got a real mean smile on his face. “I asked you to tell me how you know Hill.” It was no longer a question but a demand.

“I don’t have to tell you anything.” Another show of irritation that Simmons found amusing.

“Now, see, you’re wrong about that. You don’t get to Lawson unless you get through me.”

Mike pretended to consider, then surrender. “Yes. I know Hill. He said he and Lawson were tight. Brothers in the movement.”

Simmons still wasn’t buying it. “I got a little problem with your story. No way you coulda talked to Hill.”

“Because he’s in stir?” When hostility turned to surprise then to interest, Mike put a cap on it. “He joined the club a couple months before I got out.”