by Cindy Dees
“I feel like a freaking dog.”
“You’d make a cute puppy.”
“There is no part of this that I like,” he declared.
Gunner grinned as he unzipped his combat boots and set them just inside the flap. “Aww, c’mon. It’s not that bad.”
“I can see my breath,” Chas complained. “And the ground is hard. I’m gonna have bruises in the morning just from sleeping.”
“I put foam pads under the sleeping bags.”
Chas lay down experimentally. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“Oh, you’d know the difference. You’d have pebbles and sticks digging into your back if I hadn’t.”
“This is barbaric.”
“It’s nicer than the way mankind lived for millions of years.”
“I, sir, am not a caveman,” Chas announced indignantly.
Gunner’s chuckle floated out of the darkness. “I put a bottle of water by the top of your sleeping bag for you. It’s deceptively dry in this part of the country. Easy to get dehydrated, especially when it gets cold.”
“Speaking of which, I’m shivering.”
“You have to mummy up your sleeping bag.”
“What the heck does that mean?” Chas demanded.
“At the top of your sleeping bag’s zipper, there’s a drawstring. Pull it until the top of the bag forms a hood around your head. If it gets really cold tonight, you can tighten it down until there’s only a tiny hole left to get fresh air through.”
“You do realize I’m claustrophobic,” Chas grumbled.
“Think of it as sleeping in a coat.”
Chas thrashed around, hating the confinement of the sleeping bag and unable to get comfortable on the hard alleged pad. He wasn’t at all convinced there actually was a pad beneath him. He could totally see Gunner not giving him one as a joke. He opened his mouth to accuse Gunner of that very thing when a haunting noise, almost like a ghost moaning, made him freeze.
“What was that?” he asked in a whisper.
“An owl.”
“Oh.”
He listened for the sound again but instead heard what sounded like bones rattling nearby. “What’s that?” he whispered a little more urgently.
“Wind rattling tree branches against each other.”
“Oh.” Chas tried to block out the night sounds, but damned if he didn’t hear something moving outside. Close. “What’s that?”
Gunner replied deadpan, “A bear. And it’s going to rip through the tent and eat you if you don’t be quiet.”
Holy crap. Chas lay perfectly still in his sleeping bag for long enough to hear Gunner breathing deeply. He’d fallen asleep with a freaking bear outside? How dare he—?
And then it hit him. There had never been a bear at all. The jerk had just wanted him to stop asking questions. Furious at Gunner for tricking him and more furious at himself for falling for it, he turned over with a huff and closed his eyes, determined to get the best night’s sleep ever, just to spite Gunner.
When he woke again, green-tinted light with an odd glowing quality to it met his confused gaze. His nose and cheeks were freezing, but the rest of him was toasty warm. And darned if he didn’t feel well-rested. He rolled over and was startled to see Gunner’s sleeping bag flat and empty.
Chas sat up fast and hit the ceiling of the tent with his head. A strange sliding noise startled him. What on earth?
He unzipped his sleeping bag and quickly rezipped it as frigid air poured into his warm little cocoon. The tent zipper moved and he lurched, looking around frantically for a weapon. He flung an arm out of his sleeping bag and grabbed his shoe, holding it up menacingly.
Gunner’s head poked through the opening. “Morning, sunshine.”
Chas scowled at Gunner but then stared over his shoulder in disbelief. “Is that snow?”
“Why yes. Yes, it is. I believe they have it in New Hampshire too. You know, white stuff. Falls from the sky. Accumulates in the driveway and is a pain in the ass to shovel?”
“Ha, ha. Very funny. How much fell overnight?”
“About six inches. It’s why the tent is so warm this morning. Stuff’s a great insulator. Eskimos knew what they were doing building igloos.”
“This is cozy?” Chas squawked.
Gunner laughed. “God, you’re fun to camp with.”
“Fuck off,” Chas bit out.
“Can I interest you in driving to town for a hot breakfast? Maybe a nice stack of pancakes slathered in maple syrup?”
Gunner remembered that was his favorite breakfast of all time? “I don’t know whether to be charmed that you remember I love pancakes or livid that you’re trying to sweet-talk me after making me sleep in a tent in a blizzard.”
“I vote for charmed. I am a charming guy, after all.”
Chas tried to stay mad, but when packing up the tent devolved into a snowball fight that he lost hopelessly, he ended up laughing as hard as Gunner. Rosy-cheeked, his hands wet and half-frozen by the time the tent was packed up and stowed in the trunk, he realized he was happy as Gunner drove away from the campsite.
Happy was not a state he often associated with himself. He managed cozy on a reasonably regular basis. Satisfied with a good day’s work. Occasionally he even got to content. But happy? Joyous? Thrilled to be alive and with this man at this moment?
Impulsively, he leaned across the car and grabbed Gunner by the neck, planting a big, sloppy kiss on his mouth.
“What was that for?”
“I love you, dude.”
Oh, holy God. The words were out of his mouth before he knew they were coming. He hadn’t even had that thought consciously, but the words just spilled out.
Gunner’s face froze into a mask of shock.
Should he retract the statement? Make a joke out of it? Pretend he’d never said it? His brain locked up, and by the time he decided to blow it off as a casual comment, Gunner had turned to face the road and was staring straight ahead with robotic concentration.
Shit, shit, shit.
Chapter Sixteen
GUNNER SQUEEZED the steering wheel like it was a cobra and he was choking it to death. Chas loved him. Love. Goddamn.
Love.
The big L. The real deal. Serious. Adulting. Commitment.
Shit, shit shit.
He was supposed to say it back, right? Wasn’t that how it worked? But did he even know if he loved Chas? Sure, he’d loved him like a brother forever. Loved him as a friend. But that wasn’t what Chas was talking about.
It felt as if the rules of the game had suddenly changed. Instead of playing the football he was familiar with, he found himself in a rugby game with only the faintest idea what the hell was going on, where he was supposed to go, what he was supposed to do. Hell, maybe this was a cricket match. He had no idea how that game worked.
Breakfast was a quiet affair. They ordered food at a local diner, gulped it down, paid the check, and hit the road. They barely spoke two words to each other the whole time. Gunner knew why he was freaked-out, but why was Chas freaked-out?
Although it was not as if he was about to ask Chas to clarify on his earlier declaration of love.
He stared at the road, not really seeing it, driving on autopilot. His mind raced in circles. Did he love Chas? How would he know if he did? Was there some test for it? Would he feel different? Act differently? Did it come to a person like a revelation—boom, all of a sudden it was there?
Wasn’t he at least supposed to say thank you or something in response to Chas’s declaration? God, he sucked at this relationship stuff. No doubt he had feelings for Chas. Big ones. Deep ones. Adding sex to their relationship had totally changed the equation and left him not knowing at all how things worked between them anymore. It had always been so easy being best friends. They could talk about anything, were always there for each other no matter what. Had he sacrificed all of that for the sex?
He turned down Chas’s offer to drive, preferring to keep busy concentrating on the r
oad winding ever deeper into the Rocky Mountains. Winter had come to the higher elevations, and snow lined the roadways and coated the slopes around them in black-and-white relief. Only the deep, faded green of the pine trees interrupted the stark, photo-like contrasts. As they neared the Continental Divide, even the pine trees gave way to just snow and rock—white on black, light on shadow.
He headed more north than west as the roads allowed, making his way toward Wyoming. He’d never been to Yellowstone National Park, and now was as good a time as any to see it. It lay at the junction of Idaho, Montana, and Wyoming and took most of the day to get to, given the back roads they took when they could and the poor condition of the main roads when they were forced onto them.
Dusk was falling as they pulled into a magnificent lodge just outside the park, a huge log structure decorated with rustic furnishings and exceptional taste. Even Gunner could tell it was a classy place. Chas made a quiet “Ohhh” as they stepped into the lobby.
“I figure I owe you a night at a nice place after forcing you to camp last night,” Gunner said gruffly.
“I’d hate for this place to get shot up, though,” Chas muttered under his breath.
“Even if the bad guys figure out we’re here, they won’t be able to get here tonight. This isn’t the easiest or fastest place in the world to get to.”
“You said that last time.”
“If nothing else, I’m betting they spent today dealing with the body of their guy. They either buried his remains or had to collect his body and get it shipped home.”
“Any word from Spencer and Drago?”
“We’ve been in cell phone dead areas most of the day. I’ll call them when we get to the room.”
He was relieved Chas was talking again. The silence in the car had been almost total today, and it had been unnerving. Chas was usually the gregarious one who carried the majority of the conversation. But he’d barely spoken a word since that fateful declaration this morning.
Not that Gunner minded silence in general. Most of the guys he worked with were taciturn types, and SEALs ran most of their missions in complete silence. They became adept at communicating through looks, facial expressions, and subtle hand gestures.
But Chas was an expressive person and used his words to convey pretty much everything he felt or thought. Gunner appreciated knowing in general what was going on with Chas without having to try to figure it out.
They checked into a deluxe suite using one of the credit cards Drago had provided. It was set up not only to be easily trackable but to report back to Charles Favian whenever somebody else tracked its use. When the tangoes chasing them figured out they were here, Favian ought to be able to warn them that the thugs were inbound. In theory.
Now that they’d caught one of the bad guys, the game would be to stay one step—or ideally several steps—ahead of the hostiles and not engage with them again until he and Spencer and Drago were prepared to take them out for good. From here on out, they would be leading the bad guys into traps and not the other way around.
They hauled in all the baby gear, and Chas carried in the doll. When a woman asked to see Poppy 2.0 in the elevator, Chas murmured that she was asleep and had had a long day. Gunner traded amused looks with Chas as the woman got off at her floor and they continued up to the concierge level.
Gunner opened the suite’s door and held it for Chas.
“This is more like it,” Chas declared, standing in the center of the spacious living room and turning in a full circle.
A fire burned cheerily in the fireplace, and tall picture windows looked out upon a valley straight out of a picture postcard. White snow blanketed the slopes and weighed down the boughs of the fluffy pine trees. The narrow black ribbon of a running stream cut through the valley floor, and a herd of elk drank from it. The last light was just fading, and as they watched, the valley slipped into peaceful night.
Gunner had to admit, it was darned near perfect.
Chas exclaimed from the bathroom, “Oh my God! You have to come see this! There’s a giant hot tub in here.”
Gunner stepped into the doorway and spied Chas already running water to fill the huge tub. The fireplace turned out to be two-sided, and the hot tub stood next to its far side. Chas looked up, his entire face lit with joy. “Order up a bottle of wine, will you?”
“I don’t know anything about wine.”
Chas straightened thoughtfully. “Ask for a port. It’s a red dessert wine, but with some brandy added in. More kick than regular table wines. I think you’d like it.”
“Will you like it?”
“I love the stuff. I’m a cheap drunk on it, though.”
Gunner grinned. “I’ll order two bottles.”
Chas rolled his eyes, but at least he smiled a little. Profound relief flooded Gunner. He hated being at odds with Chas.
While they waited for the big tub to fill, he placed a call to Spencer. “Hey, it’s Gun. Any information forthcoming from our guest?”
“Oh yeah. Took waterboarding him once, but then he sang like a canary.”
“And what did he sing?”
Chas tugged on Gunner’s sleeve, doing charades to indicate he wanted to hear too. “I’m putting you on speaker phone so Chas can hear too,” he told Spencer.
“I’m doing the same. Drago’s on with me.”
“Great. We’re all here, so tell us what you learned,” Gunner said impatiently.
“Our prisoner works for the Oshiro gang.” Spencer paused for a moment. “But he had an interesting tale to tell.”
Drago picked up the narrative. “Apparently the Oshiro gang is dealing with some internal politics. The old Oshiro leadership wants to sit pat on its drug smuggling in the United States. But a group of younger Oshiro lieutenants wants to go international. They think there’s more money to be made if they control both ends of the smuggling chain from Asia to North America.”
Chas asked, “What does that have to do with Poppy?”
“According to our prisoner, the splinter group of pro-expansion Oshiro guys kidnapped Poppy. Our guy thinks it was some sort of show of force to intimidate the Tanaka gang.”
“Do they want ransom for her?” Chas asked.
Spencer answered, “Our prisoner didn’t know. He thinks the Oshiro guys who took Poppy want something else from Kamiko’s grandfather, Yuzio Tanaka. He’s the head of his clan. We think it’s possible they’re trying to get control of a port currently controlled by the Tanaka clan.”
Drago took over. “Charles Favian has been digging around. He talked with the folks over at the CIA’s Asia desk, and they say Yuzio Tanaka and his son, Kenji, have had a serious falling out and aren’t on speaking terms.”
Gunner frowned. “Meaning what? The Oshiros aren’t going to get what they want from kidnapping Poppy because Grandpa is pissed off at Poppy’s daddy?”
“Potentially,” Drago answered grimly.
Chas frowned at Gunner. “What does that mean?”
Gunner answered, “It means they’ll need to dispose of Poppy, assuming they can get ahold of her again. They can’t just give her back when they can’t strongarm Grandpa into doing what they want.”
Spencer said, “I think we have to proceed on the working theory that once these guys figure out the old man isn’t going to bend, they will ultimately kill Poppy.”
“She’s a baby!” Chas exclaimed in a combination of horror and dismay.
Drago replied, “She’s a Tanaka. Which means she’s smack-dab in the middle of this feud, whether she deserves it or not.”
“Who doesn’t love their own grandkid?” Chas demanded indignantly.
Gunner heard the shrug in Drago’s voice. “Ol’ Yuzio may not believe in giving in to extortion, even if Poppy is his own blood. It may not be about love. It may be purely about the principle of the thing.”
Spencer added, “J. Paul Getty refused to pay ransom for his grandson’s return after a kidnapping. He said he had a bunch of other grandkids, and if
he gave in on one of them, they all would be in terrible danger.”
“Didn’t Getty end up coughing up a couple million bucks for the kid?”
Spencer snorted. “Only after the grandson’s ear was sent to a newspaper.”
“That’s cold, man,” Gunner commented.
“There’s a wrinkle to all of this,” Spencer said grimly.
“Which is?” Gunner asked when Spencer didn’t continue right away.
“Kenji Tanaka told me he got a ransom demand five days ago, and his people thought it came from the Oshiro gang. But other Oshiros had already contacted Kenji’s father with different demands. Sounds to me like the two branches of the Oshiro gang are working at cross purposes with each other. And possibly, they each have different plans for Poppy.”
Gunner frowned. “Either way, that doesn’t bode well for her. Clearly we need to smack down whatever Oshiro gang members try to come after her until we can hand her off to her daddy.”
“Exactly,” Spencer replied.
Chas gasped beside him. Yeah. Gunner felt the kick in the gut too. Their kiddo was caught up in the middle of a nasty and dangerous mess. Any time money and power were involved, bad people would be prepared to do terrible things.
Spencer continued, “A friend of Drago’s at the agency collected a DNA swab from Kenji yesterday and is personally flying it to the US to be compared to the swab we took from Poppy. We should have results on that in a couple of days.”
Chas looked ready to puke, which Gunner totally related to. The idea of losing Poppy, of having to hand her over to a stranger, made him feel faintly ill as well.
“I don’t want to do anything too dramatic until we have the results of the DNA test,” Spencer said. “Once we know she’s the right kid, I’d like to draw together both factions of the Oshiro gang and eliminate them both or least give them a good spanking, before we hand her back to Kenji Tanaka. I’d hate to return her only to have something bad happen to her because his family’s enemies are embarrassed.”
“Where’s the Oshiro prisoner now?” Chas asked curiously.
