Terror Stash (40 page)

She shook her head. “I don’t get why you think it is the same. Is that because I’m a woman?”

“It’s because you’re a nice person,” Steve told her. “You haven’t rubbed shoulders with enough screwed up bastards in your lifetime to truly understand how they work and the very thin difference between doing what needs to be done and vengeance.” He shifted on the bed, trying to get more comfortable and hissed sharply as pain speared him.

Montana straightened. “We should leave you to sleep,” she told him. “Three days lying on a camp bed in Bruce’s beach shack hasn’t done you any favors.”

“The docs say I’ll be just fine once my vision comes back together,” Steve grumbled. “You don’t have to go. I’ve slept nearly a week already.”

Montana gently squeezed his shoulder. “And you should sleep some more,” she told him. “You’re already looking tired.”

“Only if you promise you’ll visit again so I don’t go crazy with boredom when I
am
awake.”

Caden snorted. “Your plain clothes detail outside the door is stupefied by the number of beach bums and long hairs trooping in to see you at all hours of the day. You’re not hurting for company.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “They last about thirty seconds,” he said, his lips turning up in a small smile, “and they edge toward the door the whole time, trying to watch the security guys and worrying about if they’re going to get patted down before they leave.“ He gave a small laugh that cut off quickly as he winced and held still, his eyes shut.

Montana leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Get well, Steve,” she murmured. “You’re a nice person, too.”

He cleared his throat. “You keep hanging around with the big guy, there, you’re going to get an education a nice girl like you may not want. You know that, right?”

Montana glanced at Caden. He had his arms crossed and his legs spread.
Defense mode
. He had heard what Steve said, for Steve had made no attempt to drop his volume. Despite Caden’s defensive posture, he had a neutral, even amused expression on his face. His gaze caught Montana’s and he really did smile. His shoulders lifted a fraction of an inch. It was a shrug.

“You don’t know Caden like I do,” Montana assured Steve. “He’s completely harmless if you keep him fed.”

Steve shifted impatiently on the mattress. “I know him. I know enough.
He
might be on his best behavior when you’re near, but people have a habit of turning up dead around him.”

Montana recoiled both physically and mentally, cold shock slithering through her. “Steve…” she began, but halted, unable to think of anything else to say. All the mellow pleasure of the day had disappeared. “I thought you… Never mind.”

Steve’s fingers gripped her wrist. “I’m not saying he’s going to butcher you while you’re sleeping. If I thought that, I’d have his ass thrown behind bars quicker than a snake’s blink.”

Montana detached her wrist from his weak grip. “Good,” she said, her tone cool.

Steve took a breath and let it out. “You hang with him, Montana, you’re going to see things you never knew existed in the world. You’ll figure out the difference between true good and evil better than I could ever lay it out for you, and you’ll wish you had got to stay a nice lady, instead.”

“Thanks for the character reference, Scarborough,” Caden growled.

Steve swore under his breath. “You’re one in a million, Rawn. The sort of character and strength you’ve got only comes along once every couple of generations. But you walk down some of the darkest tunnels the world has invented. She has to know that.”

“She already knew that,” Montana said, and wrapped her arms around her middle, as the high level of air conditioning in the hospital finally registered on her bare arms. She shuddered.

Caden dropped sunglasses over his remarkable eyes. “But now she’s thinking it through all over again, isn’t she?” he asked her, his voice soft. Soft and deadly.

Before Montana could push aside her shock and formulate a decent answer, he shook his head. “Don’t worry about driving me back to the motel. I’ll find my own way.” He slipped out of the room with the sort of quiet stealth that made him such a dangerous opponent of bad guys everywhere.

Montana stared at the empty doorway, her mind blank and her heart bewildered.

“Fuck,” Steve muttered.

The Bommie was ground zero. It was here that every surfer and a good portion of the residents of Margaret River and Yallingup all converged, just on sunset.

A huge bonfire made of malley roots collected over the summer and every piece of driftwood and flammable piece of flotsam
was built in the middle of the beach.

That was just the center of the party. There were other, smaller fires, dotted around. At the top of the beach where sand gave way to the tough grasses and pigweed, a beer keg had been tapped and was dispensing beer as fast as the brew would flow.

Every other type of alcohol known to man could be found somewhere on the beach, along with an expensive and well-hidden haul of pot, mild hallucinogenic and other party drugs. Then there was music.

A ghetto blaster, even a good one, wouldn’t do for a party like this. Everyone had contributed a few dollars and a mobile deejay had been hired on the strict condition that he keep the talking and slow dancing to a minimum and kept the good tunes flowing. He was complying to the letter.

As Montana climbed out of her SUV, she was hit with a blast of classic INXS at top volume. She inhaled, smelling the sweet, musky scent of marijuana and smiled. The party was underway.

She walked to the edge of the grass and bent to unbuckle her shoes. She didn’t get the chance.

“Montana! Hey, Montana’s here!” It was Bruce’s voice; although she could barely hear it above the music.

She straightened up as a dozen or more people slogged up to her through the sand, all gabbling at once. Caden was not among them. Of course he wouldn’t be.

She waved her hands at them and cupped her hand to her ear. “I can’t hear! One at a time!”

Jacko tapped Bruce’s shoulder and both of them dipped down simultaneously, and their shoulders came up behind her thighs.

She gasped and clung to them as she was carried across the sand, trailing a tail of surfers.

She was deposited on a picnic table someone had managed to unlock from its anchor over by the car park and carry to the fire.

She turned to thank Jacko and Bruce and every word died in her throat. There were dozens of people surrounding the table, waving at her—many of them with bottles in their hands—and smiling and dimly heard, cheering.

For her.

The music switched off quite suddenly, Michael Hutchence silenced in mid-warble.

“Guys and gals, if you haven’t figured it out already, the guest of honor has arrived.” It was Greg on the microphone, his voice ringing up and down the length of the beach. “Everyone, say hello to Montana Dela Vega!”

There was a good round of cheers and claps and Montana waved hello. Her cheeks were burning. She tried to scan the people surrounding her, to see if Caden was amongst them, but there were too many.

“And just in case you wandered into this party without an invite—”

Lots more cheers, more loudly this time.

“—and don’t have a friggin’ clue who Montana is or why you’re here, lemme put you straight. This here lady saved my life two weeks ago. She hauled me out of the sauce right here at the Bommie.”

More cheers. They would willingly cheer anything, she thought.

“But that’s not the only reason we’re here. The other reason, the one a lot of you probably don’t know about is that you’re looking at a real, true blue hero, folks. You all know about the den of crooks they dug out of the caves last week. Jesus, you’d have to be brain dead if you haven’t heard about it on the news. It’s been on every channel and in every paper for five days solid. What you don’t know is that Montana was the one that found them and busted the operation wide open.”

The cheers were quieter this time and she could see that a good many of the assembled crowd were staring at her, talking to each other. Did they find it too difficult to believe?

“Greg—” She turned to him. “Enough. Really.”

He shook his head. “Nope, we’re getting to the important bit right now. Here’s the bit you’ll like, guys. Remember our all-time favorite cop, Steve Scarborough?”

Some cat calls and whistles this time. The mood was turning, getting subdued, and the general surfing philosophy was to have a good time come hell or high water.

Greg was bringing them down.

“I think pretty much everyone’s heard that someone tried to do Steve in a few weeks ago and for a cop, he’s an okay guy. He’s respected around here. Montana’s been kinda busy, people. She was also the one that tracked down and busted the people that had a go at Steve. As I said, a real hero.”

More cheers—they were past the hard part now and ready to party.

“Tonight we get to say goodbye to Montana because in three days’ time she’s on a plane out of here. After six years of showing us how you wind surf, she’s going back to America.”

Montana glanced around. Where
was
Steve? Was he here at all? He hadn’t said he’d come, but he’d been tickled pink when she’d told him the surfers were throwing her a farewell party. He’d got more pleasure out of the idea than she had.

“Montana,” Greg continued, pulling her attention away from the faces around her. “On behalf of all of us here, I’d just like to say...it’s been really great knowing you and the last few weeks have pretty much guaranteed you’ll be welcome back here any time you want to drop in.”

“Thanks, Greg. Everyone.” She had to lift her voice. “It’s been great. Margaret River and Yallingup will always be one of my favorite parts of the world and that’s mostly because of the people here.” She spread her hands, including all of them. “You guys.”

Jacko and Bruce jumped up onto the table with her. They were carrying between them a heavy parcel wrapped in birthday paper. “Ignore the paper,” Bruce told her. “It’s the only kind the chemist had.”

She laughed. “This is for me?”

“From all of us.”

“Hell, guys, you didn’t have to.”

Jacko smiled. “That’s right, we didn’t. So open it, will you?”

“As long as someone around here gets me a drink!” she shouted.

Instantly, dozens of bottles and glasses were placed upon the table or waved at her, clinking together in unmusical notes.

* * * * *

Someone had remembered Montana’s fondness for Plantagenet wines. The winery was a small estate not far from Margaret River and didn’t export its wines, so it was likely that tonight would be the last chance she’d have to taste their Cabernet. In three hours, Montana tasted it thoroughly.

She knew the moment when Steve arrived because a ripple of mild concern passed through everyone on the beach, moving ahead of him like a gentle sea swell, as they carefully hid their pot and other stashes of illegal substances and put out their joints and bongs. It was a measure of their respect for Steve that they didn’t simply leave the party at full speed. Instead they greeted him calmly and some of them said hello with genuine pleasure.

Steve was in civilian clothing. Jeans and a simple tee-shirt, which displayed surprisingly tanned and strong arms. He had kicked off his shoes and he slogged through the fine white sand barefoot, over to the table where Montana sat watching the bonfire.

“I’m not even going to ask if they got a fire permit,” he said, sitting on the opposite bench to Montana.

“You’re late,” she told him.

“Steve,” Bruce said, holding out a can of beer so cold the sides were frosted over.

“You read my mind. Thanks, mate,” Steve said, taking the can. “I owe you. Again.”

“Figure I’ll end up needing to collect one day, given my life, ya know?” Bruce said, with a small smile.

Steve took a deep swallow. “You and I will have to talk it through over more than a beer or two, one day. Not tonight though. It’s a bummer subject.”

“It is that,” Bruce agreed, his smile getting bigger. “Good to see you up and about, mate.”

“Agreed,” Steve told him.

Bruce lifted his hand in a casual wave and headed back down the beach.

“They’re alright, most of them,” Steve observed, taking in the crowd on the beach.

“When you compare them to the low life that was living in the caves, they’re all archangels in comparison.”

“True.” Steve grimaced and took another swallow. He turned back to face her. “I’m late, because I know that being here makes a lot of them nervous. So I gave ‘em all time to get a few tinnies and…” He shrugged. “A hit or two under their belts, so they were nice and relaxed when I showed up.” He lifted a finger toward her. “But I never said that, okay?”

Montana grinned. “Forgotten already.” She sobered. “Although I think they like you more than they liked Caden. You as a person, I mean. They’re nervous about the law in general, not you, Steve Scarborough. Caden, on the other hand…he just terrifies them. Period.” She sighed. “That’s really bad English.”

“How many glasses of that have you had, anyway?” Steve asked, nodding toward the elegant bottle of wine.

Talk of Caden had triggered a slew of hot hard feelings in her that she didn’t want to stop to analyze. Not tonight. She had been prodding those feelings way too much lately. “I haven’t drunk nearly enough of it, I think,” she told Steve, reaching for the nearly empty bottle.

Steve grabbed the bottle before she did, holding it on the table so she couldn’t lift it. “Did you invite him to the party, Montana?”

She glared at him. “He walked out on me! Of course I didn’t invite him! I don’t even know his bloody number and the asshole hasn’t bothered contacting me for two entire fucking weeks….” She caught back the hot flood of words trying to get out. It wouldn’t be fair to dump all over Steve.

Steve nodded, studying her face. “I invited him,” he said softly, giving the bottle a little shake for emphasis. “I figured it was only fair after what I did in the hospital.”

Her hard, angry words evaporated. In their place, silvery, light, panic-inducing hope rushed through her like the world’s greatest adrenalin rush. “What?” she whispered.