by Anne Stuart
Merlin didn’t disagree. Evangeline couldn’t shake the quiver of uneasiness in the pit of her stomach. She felt as if something catastrophic was about to happen. It was probably nothing more than the end of her sabbatical looming on the horizon, but it seemed like something more troubling was ahead. She wanted to stop time, pull the camper up, and stay in the woods, away from prying eyes and prying hands.
She shook herself. It wasn’t as if northern Montana was a hotbed of big-box stores and suburbia. Where she was heading wasn’t much different than the wilds of Canada. It was just closer to the realities of her ordinary life.
“I’m being an idiot, Merlin,” she grumbled. He simply looked at her. “We need to get to our new campground before it gets dark, and I can’t sit around with my thumb up my ass brooding. Tell me to get a move on.”
Merlin rose up on the seat, gazing at her intently. “Okay, message received,” she muttered, making a face, as she pulled out onto the narrow paved road, heading toward the border crossing.
It was even smaller than she expected. One window, though she knew perfectly well they weren’t going to just let her go through, not with a dog and a trailer. She was flagged over before she even approached it, and she pulled up behind the small building with a sigh, yanking the cap off her head and threading her fingers through her hair. It was going to be a long day.
She’d underestimated the border agent’s zeal. He was a tall man, with a moustache and a lean build, but he still seemed to crowd her. Presumably that was the reason he was the first man in a uniform who Merlin immediately distrusted, and the feeling was mutual. He’d made her put Merlin in the kennel in the back of the building, then locked her in a room where she could watch him tear poor Annabelle to pieces while she listened to Merlin’s mournful howl. Everything came out, even her granola and smoothie mixtures. She half expected him to upend the toilet, which wouldn’t be that bad because she didn’t like to use it, preferring the wilderness if given the choice. She’d gotten very adept at squatting.
It was going to take hours to put everything back together, and that wasn’t part of the border agent’s job. She wasn’t getting out of here anytime soon, and she began revising her itinerary. Of course they’d taken her cell phone, but she had an almost photographic memory, and there was a little-used campground just a couple of hours past the border where she could stay for the night instead of her planned stop. She let a litany of truly obscene epithets run through her head as she looked at the sour-faced guard. One of the other agents should be questioning her while he went through the trailer, or vice versa, but the two other people in the building didn’t seem to feel any more friendly toward her own personal border agent than she did.
And even though she’d taken precautions, she was going to need a toilet sooner or later. Plus, Merlin hated being away from her, and his howls were getting more determined. She lost track of time—there was no clock in sight and she used her smart-phone instead of a watch—but eventually her entire life was spread out by the side of Annabelle, and the unpleasant-looking guard was sauntering back toward the building. At least one of the other guards was repacking her trailer. She knew from experience they could have left it up to her, and she thanked heaven for small favors. Now if she could only have a bathroom.
She knew better than to ask. The border guard came into the room, pulled out a chair, and sat across from her, a sour expression on his face.
“Are you going to stop that damned dog from barking?” he opened the interview.
No attitude, she reminded herself. He was just doing his job. “I can’t very well calm him if I can’t even see him,” she said politely enough.
He shuffled through her papers, screwing up her careful order, dropping a sheet on the floor and stepping on it before he picked it up, leaving a big boot print in the middle of it. “So your dog’s papers are in order. Yours, not so much. There’s no record of when you entered Canada.”
She controlled her weary sigh. “They don’t stamp passports when I drive through. I entered Canada on May twenty-seventh, as you can see from my notes and my records, and I’ve been there ever since.”
“Doing what?”
It was right there, and she’d already explained herself twice, but she patiently did it again. “Research for a book on abandoned vacation lodges from the early part of the 1900s.”
“You got any proof of that?”
Don’t lose your temper, she reminded herself. “I have my identification card for Greenbough College, where I teach the history of architecture, I have pages and pages of notes and drawings, I have a letter of permission from the Minister of Canadian Heritage, I have camping receipts from the areas where I’ve been working.”
He grunted. “There was nothing incriminating in your trailer. I’m just deciding whether to send you to the auto unit to pull your tires.”
Alarm shot through her. Not that there was anything to see, but that would take hours, and Annabelle was finicky; and how damned long would it take before she could get a bathroom?
She kept her face stoic, knowing he was watching her for every tic. “Is there anything I can help you with?” she said politely.
He ignored her question, turning back to the papers. “I think that dog is dangerous. I’m thinking of having him kenneled till we can get a vet in to certify that he’s not a problem.”
“What?” Her voice rose in panic. She wasn’t about to leave Merlin in their hands. “Why?”
“I don’t have to give you a reason, Ms. Morrissey. And why do some of your possessions identify you as Evangeline Williamson, with another address entirely?”
Shit and double shit. “Because I got divorced.”
“How long ago?”
“Three years.”
“That should be time to update everything.”
“I have a lot going on.” She sounded a bit testy, and she cleared her throat. “Please don’t impound Merlin. He needs to be with me.”
“He stays here . . .” he began. Just then the door opened and one of the more pleasant looking agents poked his head in.
“Boss says no to the canine impound. The kennel is full,” he said apologetically. “Unless he’s bitten someone you have to let him go.”
The first agent looked furious. “Have you seen that dog?” he demanded.
“Seemed harmless enough when I checked him out,” the second man said. “Let the two of them go. We’re about to get a bus of college students down from Toronto, and you know what a pain in the ass they can be.”
The agent wasn’t happy. He looked at Evangeline out of his oddly emotionless eyes for a long chilling moment, and then he rose, his chair scraping on the cement floor. “You’re free to go. And take that hellhound with you. Just give us your destination tonight in case we have any follow-up.”
She didn’t want to tell him, but that was childish. It was just a campground. She would have given anything to snarl at him. Ever since . . . Italy . . . she hadn’t been big on patience, but she knew when she was outclassed. She gave him a polite smile, rising and gathering her papers together, and told him the name of the camping area she’d decided on. “Thank you.”
The second agent rolled his eyes, looking at his fellow worker, and some of Evangeline’s anxiety faded. If they all thought the man was an asshole, then she wasn’t alone. And she was about to get a bathroom, her dog, and her trailer, in that order. At this rate they’d make it to the camping area near Bear’s Claw, Montana.
There was no sign of her nemesis when she emerged from her blissful time in the ladies’ room, and once released, Merlin was a perfect gentleman as always. What had gotten into him, to be so aggressive with the border patrol? He seemed absolutely fine around the other two on duty, treating them with polite friendliness, even condescending to wagging his tail when one of them scratched him behind his ears.
“Fine dog you have ther
e, miss,” the man said. “Sorry you had to deal with Smith. He’s a newbie and he’s a little too by-the-book.”
“That’s one way to put it,” the other man muttered, clearly not impressed with their new agent. “Do you need any help getting your stuff together?”
She smiled at them gratefully. Maybe all men weren’t buttholes. “No, thanks. I’ll be fine. I just want to make it to Bear’s Claw by tonight.”
“That’s a pretty remote area, miss. You sure you’ll be all right? Even this time of year there aren’t many people around.”
Merlin lifted his head, offended, and Evangeline laughed. “I’ve got Merlin. He’s more than enough protection.”
“Well, he sure as hell didn’t like Smith, so the dog clearly has good sense.”
Merlin paced beside Evangeline as she checked the trailer hitch, just to be sure, then opened the door of the old pickup. The dog hopped in and settled down on the bench seat before she could say a word, and she climbed in after him, grabbing a Diet Coke from her cooler and refilling the water pan she had strapped to the floor on the passenger side. A moment later she was off, the obnoxious border agent forgotten.
The roads were rough as she drove into Montana. For some reason Merlin seemed restless, glancing back at the camper every few minutes and whining softly. “What’s up, Merlin? Something wrong with Annabelle? I checked the hitch and the tires, and everything’s fine. We’ll just put everything back in order when we camp for the night.”
Merlin was only slightly appeased, and continued to look back at the trailer with an expectant expression on his face. As Evangeline took another slug of her DC, she turned on Grace, her GPS, programmed with the soothing voice of a British woman. For a while she’d called her Mary Poppins, but Mary Poppins was too grumpy and she ended up being Grace. Evangeline turned off onto a secondary road, and it took her almost two hours to find the campground in Bear’s Claw, Montana.
“Remote” wasn’t the word for it. It was as if she were on another well-forested planet. The sign was old, covered with moss, the cabin at the entrance was deserted, and she had the depressing feeling there’d be no plumbing or electricity.
It didn’t matter. There was plenty of room to park, and a clear, fresh stream ran across the back of the clearing. She needed to set up, get something to eat, open up the trailer, and check the damage. She backed up carefully, jerked when she misjudged and bumped the back end of the camper into a sapling. Merlin was whining again, almost desperately, and she figured he had to pee. She put the truck in park and opened the door.
Normally Merlin was the most gentlemanly of animals, and waited for her to precede him. This time he leapt across her before she could get out of the truck, landing on the ground and heading straight for the trailer’s side door. He didn’t bark, didn’t whine, but instead began scratching at the door.
“What’s wrong with you, baby?” she said, climbing down and slamming the truck door. “Something spook you? That border patrol shithead won’t bother you anymore. We’re here to stay—nothing for you to worry about.”
Merlin didn’t look particularly worried—just determined, scratching at the door and whining softly, then looking back at her.
Evangeline shook her head. The sun was setting, but she’d manage to park in a position where it shone directly in her eyes. “Gimme a minute,” she grumbled, and unfurled the canopy. It was always the first thing she did when she settled for the night, for the week, for the month. It made things feel more home-like.
“Are you hungry? Is that what the fuss is about?” she demanded. “All right, I’ll get your dinner. Just wait.” She put her foot on the metal step and turned the handle of her beloved Airstream, pulling it open. Given the state of the campground, it was a good bet there wasn’t even any power, and her batteries would only last so long. She should have bought that generator. She climbed up into the trailer, then stopped, turning back to look at Merlin.
To her astonishment he seemed to have lost interest. The moment she opened the door, he took off on his customary patrol of the area. “You crazy dog,” she said with fond exasperation, standing in the open door. “What’s gotten into you?”
But he’d abandoned her, and she turned around, about to head into the back of the trailer, when everything froze: her heart, her blood, her very being.
She wasn’t alone.
Chapter Six
The interior of the camper was shrouded in shadows. There was a table at the far end, one that turned into a bed, with the kitchen and bathroom in between, and her own bed was directly behind her.
A man was sitting at her table, the early-evening sun coming in behind him, turning him into a silhouette. She could see his general outline. She could also see the gun that lay on the table in front of him.
She’d already closed the door, or she would have simply thrown herself out of it and run. As it was, she started to edge toward it, very slowly.
“Don’t do that.” The voice that came out of the darkness was laid-back, casual, making the order even more chilling. “Why don’t you take a seat on the bed and we’ll talk.”
She stopped moving. “I don’t want to talk,” she said. She should have been terrified, but she’d given up being afraid five years ago—she’d given up letting anything or anyone intimidate her after that debacle. “Whoever you are, I want you to leave. How did you even get in here?”
He leaned back against the banquette, his hand playing with the gun, and she got a better look at him. His blond hair was cut short, and he had several days of stubble that was either due to necessity or a fashion statement. For some reason she thought it was the former. He wore rough clothes—a denim shirt and jeans—and there was a certain implacability to his face that made Evangeline’s stomach twist. She wasn’t going to let him scare her, she thought firmly.
“How do you think I got in?” The man’s voice held no particular inflection or accent, making it even more unnerving. “When you were being harassed at the border. I needed a safe way to get out of Canada and your camper was the perfect vehicle.”
“Good. Now leave.”
He laughed, and the sound made her stomach twist more. Was it fear this time? Or something else?
“Afraid I can’t do that. I have things I have to do, and you’re the only game in town.”
She kept her back straight, her hands at her sides but curled into fists. “Are you an escaped prisoner?” she demanded flatly. With his clothes and his cool, expressionless face he could have walked off a work farm of some sort.
“Not exactly.”
That wasn’t much of an answer, but since he hadn’t threatened her yet, except to play with that gun, she felt her courage harden. “What do I have to do to get you to leave?”
She didn’t miss his slow grin. “What are you offering?”
She didn’t react to his deliberate taunt. “My dog will tear your throat out when he gets back.”
“I don’t think so. Otherwise he wouldn’t have left.”
“Is someone else with you? He might have gone after something in the woods.”
“So many questions,” he said lightly. “No, I’m alone. Why don’t you come closer?”
“I’m good,” she said, not moving from the spot in front of the doorway. She still hadn’t given up the idea of throwing herself at the door. If she managed it just right, she could hit the handle and the door would fly open, sending her tumbling to the ground. She could scramble to her feet fast enough, but he had a gun.
“Don’t even think about it,” he said, obviously reading her mind. “You wouldn’t even reach the door. Now come here before I have to come and get you.”
That idea sounded even worse. Maybe if she sat at the table and pretended to trust him she could talk him into leaving. The stranger was wrong about Merlin—he’d get the gun away, he’d get the man on the ground and hold him. She just had to
placate him for the next few minutes while Merlin did his nightly reconnaissance.
“All right,” she said, moving forward.
“And get me another beer while you’re at it.”
Her outrage grew. “You’ve been drinking my beer?”
“And eating your granola shit and anything else I could find. I’m afraid I haven’t been able to get to any food in the last couple of days, and I’m starving.”
She moved through the central galley, opened the tiny refrigerator, and pulled out a beer.
“Get one for yourself,” he added.
“I don’t want . . .”
“I don’t give a flying fuck what you want. I told you to get yourself a beer.”
She recognized the real menace beneath the casual voice, and she wasn’t going to make the mistake in thinking he wasn’t a very dangerous man. She grabbed the second bottle, shoved the door shut, and somehow managed to stalk the few feet she had to travel to get to the table. He looked up at her, still in the shadows. “Sit.”
She considered balking, but he was holding the gun, and Merlin would be back soon. She sat, staring into the face of the intruder, getting her first good look at him.
He looked like a soldier. Or maybe a mercenary—there was something lethal about him, though she had no idea how she knew that. In her entire life she’d known assholes and saints, and assholes outweighed the saints by a ton, but this man was something else entirely.
His face was angular, but she wasn’t going to stop and think whether he was handsome or not. It made no difference if he was model gorgeous or a monster. He was a threat, and she needed to get rid of him.
His jaw was strong beneath the scruffiness, but it was his eyes that drew her. They were a bright, absolutely compelling green-blue, like the color of Caribbean waters. They were deep and mesmerizing.
And oddly familiar. The wrong color, but she knew those damned lying eyes, even if she hadn’t seen them for five years.
She leaned forward, seemingly casual, and before he realized what she was doing, she grabbed the gun from the table, turning and pointing it directly at his heart.
