Rival Forces (24 page)

He turned fully to her, a question is his eyes. “Would it really matter?”

Yardley didn't misunderstand. “Of course it matters. I don't want anyone else to get hurt.”

“No.” He reached out and began drawing a slow circle on her cheekbone without a bruise. “I need to know. Would it matter personally to you, Yard?”

She took a deep breath but she was already nodding. “It would matter, Kye. I just don't know how that changes anything.”

She could see him trying to evaluate her words as if each and every one was a puzzle to be solved.

Muttering a curse word, he moved suddenly into her and grabbed the back of her neck as his mouth swooped down on hers. His one-arm embrace crushed Lily between them but the dog didn't struggle to get away. It was a hard kiss, as if he was trying to brand the impression of his lips on hers. Just as quickly, he dropped his hand and backed away. “Finishing the task before me. That's where I am. After that…”

After that what?
He would fight for her? Did he see David as a rival?

While those thoughts chased one another, he turned and slipped out the door with a whispered, “Lock it.”

Only when she had locked the door and turned away did she notice David standing in the doorway. How much had he seen, or heard? Impossible to tell. His expression was composed only of pain.

She felt her neck flush but her tone was brisk. “I'm calling the sheriff. Kye needs backup. We'll talk later.” Though she hadn't the slightest idea what she would say to him about what he'd just seen, maybe heard. It was impossible to make decisions when the sky was falling.

David braced himself against the door frame. “Kye looks like a man who can take care of himself.”

She nodded. “I sure hope so.”

David offered her a probing stare. “About that gun you were discussing earlier.”

Ooo-kaaaay.
He'd heard a lot. She nodded and went to get it, pulling out her cell phone to call the sheriff as she climbed the stairs to the second floor.

She reappeared from an upstairs bedroom less than two minutes later, Glock and bullets in hand. David was perched on the arm of her sofa, his mouth a firm line of pain. “The sheriff says he'll get someone out here as soon as he can. There's been a pileup on the main highway and the state police pulled in all available law enforcement personnel to help. Meanwhile we should find a safe place and hide.”

He looked at her dubiously. “Where would that be?”

The lights flickered and went out. Their enemy had gotten to the generator.

Please let Kye be safe.
That was the only thought in Yardley's head as she stood rock-still, waiting for who-knew-what.

“Yardley?” David's voice was no more than a breath.

“I'm okay.” She puffed out the words into the silence.

She strained so hard for sounds from outside that her head began to ache. But all that happened was her eyes gradually became accustomed to the light source beyond the room—the security light on the telephone pole out front. It was connected to a separate line from the one that ran to the house and generator. The light bounced off the snow, making it eerily bright as it seeped between the gaps of the curtains at the window.

“I can't sit by and do nothing. Kye won't know where things are in the dark. If he uses a flashlight, it will make him a sitting duck.”

“You aren't armed. Yardley, don't do this. I know you care for Kye. I understand. But it isn't safe.”

“It isn't about that. I wouldn't leave you, or my brother Law, or any of my trainers to face God-knows-what while I hid. It's not in me to let someone else fight my battles.”

He nodded. “Got it.” But his expression said he understood a lot more. And none of it in his favor. “Take this.” He handed her the loaded gun.

“I don't think—”

“Don't think. Just do what you have to do.”

She stared at him. “Could you shoot a man who came through the door?”

“If he was trying to hurt you, in a heartbeat.”

“That's why you get to keep the gun.”

Giving up, he pulled her close and kissed her. He was hot with fever and trembling. “I want to be your hero. I'd follow McGarren out there in a heartbeat if I could.”

“I know. I know.” She cupped his handsome face in her hands, trying not to let him see that she knew how every breath was taxing him. “You're already trying to save millions of people. Let me try to help out one Hawaiian dog handler.”

*   *   *

Keeping to the shadows, Kye made his way, boots sinking to the ankles in fresh drifts, to the back of the bunkhouse before the lights went out a second time. He knew the generator was right behind the bunkhouse because it had been revving up the night like a lawn mower on steroids. Suddenly the motor coughed, sputtered, and died, leaving the shock of silence. The house and all the buildings on Harmonie Kennels' property went dark.

Heart slamming against his ribs, Kye turned with gun in hand expecting to encounter the saboteur who'd shut down the generator. But nothing moved in the cold, blank darkness. Even the snow could no longer be seen, only heard as it whispered past his face. He pressed his back against the building and waited for his eyes to adjust. As he expected, gradually a light source appeared in the twenty-yard space between the main house and the guesthouse. The security light was still on in the front driveway. It swept a clean white arc through the snow, stopping just short of the tree line where the ground began to climb steeply to the hillside not far from the back the house.

He waited, listening so hard he heard the blood roaring in his ears, for any sign that he had been spotted. There was someone out here with him who wanted very badly to keep them contained. Why? Was he waiting for reinforcements, as Purdy had been? Or was he taking precautions to keep them off balance until he could determine how best to attack?

Nothing. Silence. Only his heartbeat for company.

Kye glanced back at the house. He thought about going back to protect Yardley. But the three of them penned together inside a house they could not adequately protect wasn't a good idea, either. He needed supplies, something to fight back with. A stun grenade in hand sounded better and better.

He sent his gaze sweeping over the dark ridgeline, looking for any sign of a presence there. He'd seen the utility road halfway up the ridge this morning. But nothing penetrated the night.

After what seemed like forever but was only minutes, he forced himself to begin moving again. This time the crunch of ice under his boots sounded as loud in his ears as an ax splitting wood. His only protection was the dark. But he wasn't a stealth panther prowling on silent paws. He was more like a buffalo stumbling along. The ground was uneven behind the bunkhouse, icier than where the new snow was accumulating.

Breathing through his mouth had several drawbacks. Not only was it unnatural—a mouth breather he wasn't—but the icy air was drying out his mouth and his throat had begun to ache.
Shit fire.
He hated cold. He'd had enough already this season to last him a good long time.
Skiing, my ass.
He was going home, maybe to stay. At least until he was flambéed by the sun over every single inch of his body.

Finally he reached the end of the bunkhouse back wall. The shadows beyond were deeper where the NightWatcher security light was blocked by the building. Twenty feet ahead was the corner of the classrooms, his destination. He leaned out cautiously to check the side of the building for intruders.

And then he heard it. The sound of a door opening. Behind him. He whipped around and waited. He was certain he'd stopped breathing by the time a shadow appeared opposite the bunkhouse. The figure moved cautiously but much more quietly than he had. Long. Lean. Something familiar in those movements.

Well hell.

He ducked back behind the side of the bunkhouse and waited. Just in case his eyes were fooling him. He wasn't dressed for the weather. Already his hands were beginning to ache from the cold. The gun in his hand burned his palm, the cold steel giving the false impression of warmth. But he didn't pocket it. Not when he didn't know who or what was out here with him.

As the figure came even with the edge of the building, he grabbed and slammed his follower back against the wall, simultaneously pressing a hand to the mouth as he jabbed his gun into the middle. It took only a second to confirm what he suspected but could not trust. He had Yardley jammed between the wall and the weight of his body. He dropped his hand.

“Fuck.” It was all he could think of that was appropriate as he stared into her frightened face.

“Kye?” Her breath came back unevenly. “Thank God.”

He pulled the gun out of her middle and pushed her back into the dark shadows behind the building. And then he found his voice again.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Helping you.” He couldn't see her face any longer, but he didn't have to. He recognized that squinty-eyed tone anywhere.

“Help—” He was at a loss for words again. Finally, Yardley had struck him dumb. He peeled his body away from hers slowly, looking back past her shoulder, as if expecting she had brought along company. The long strip of darkness was empty. Beyond, fresh swirls of snow tumbled more thickly than before in the broad white expanse of the security light.

He felt hands cup his hand, fingers like icicles after just a few minutes of exposure. She leaned in against him, her height making it easy to bring their faces close. “With the lights out, you won't be able to find things. I know where everything is.”

She spoke so quietly, her words were mere puffs of warm air in his ear. But he welcomed every sweet whisper, if only because her lips kept brushing his lobe. Even so, half of him wanted to throttle her for taking the chance. The other half wanted to stuff her in his pocket and head for the trees and safety.

He leaned in close, using a hand to embrace her by the waist as he pressed his lips to her ear. “Did you call the sheriff?”

She nodded, rubbing her cheek along his. “He and his officers were called to a bad accident at the junction of Highways 81 and 64 up near Staunton. He says hold down the fort at least an hour.”

Kye didn't bother to curse. A waste of breath. They were on their own. Anything or many things could happen in an hour.

“Don't speak. Don't stop. Stay close behind me. If anything happens, make for the tree line above us and hide. Stay there. No matter what happens. Until the sheriff arrives.” He pushed back from her warm body, reluctantly, and grabbed her hand. He tugged, the equivalent of
come on.

Yardley fell into step behind him. A moment later she almost jumped out of her skin when a swoosh of falling snow dumped on their heads from a cracking tree branch far above their heads. She had neglected to pull her hood up and the ice sluiced down her neck, under her neckline, and down her spine, making her gasp and shiver.

Kye's head swung around, tossing more melting snow from his hoodie into her face. “You okay?” At least that's what she thought he said. Between the dark and the danger she wasn't sure he'd even spoken aloud.

He pulled her in close by the wrist. “Move fast.”

All at once he was sprinting across the open space between the bunkhouse and the classroom building. She wore combat boots, the same as he did, and this was her property. She knew every rut, stone, pothole, and scrub. But snow and fear were making it all seem unfamiliar, alien, even hostile. Twice she slipped, her footing almost giving way beneath her, but Kye didn't slow his speed, pulling her along by his momentum so that she just stumbled forward, her face colliding with his back as she scrambled to right herself.

It was only thirty feet but it seemed like fifty yards as they ran straight out for the deeper darkness on the other side of the open ground. She could hear Kye's sharp breathing, remembered how he was hampered by the swelling and bandages of his broken nose. But it didn't seem to affect him. He moved strongly and confidently over strange ground until, finally, they slipped into shadow in the rear of the building. Only then did he turn to her, hands going to frame her shoulders.

“You okay?”

She nodded. No need to tell him she'd turned her ankle a bit. It wasn't that bad. Nothing she couldn't walk off. “The keys.” She placed her hand against his chest so he'd know where to put them.

He handed them over and she turned, feeling her way along the back of the building until she came to the first door. All the classrooms opened to the outside. A center corridor gave access from the inside. With K-9s needing frequent breaks, this arrangement came in handy. It also meant that one key fit many locks. She felt along the key ring in the dark, counting the number and then choosing one that felt most familiar. Like trying to read Braille, she ran her hand over the door until she found the lock, using a fingertip to locate the keyhole and then pushing the key in.

She swallowed a little
ta-da
of achievement when the key turned. He had needed her. This wouldn't have been so easy otherwise.

They pushed into the dark of the classroom smelling faintly of dry eraser, wooden desks, two-week-old stale air, and the ever-present whiff of K-9, an earthy, not unpleasant musk she loved.

“This way.” She was whispering, though once the door closed behind them she thought they were probably safe enough. She grabbed his wrist this time, the thickness and heat a welcome reminder of his presence, and led him through the configuration of the room. In her mind's eye she pictured the long desks with chairs pushed in. Much easier to navigate a room with indoor obstacles used to teach K-9 techniques. Once in the corridor she turned left into the utter darkness of the interior space. She ran a hand lightly along the wall, counting doors until she was past the third classroom door. The corridor formed a T. Straight ahead was the cafeteria/social room. To the left was the supply room containing ordnance.