She glanced at the window. Had to be late in the day, maybe close to sunset. She needed clothes.
“You have sixty seconds to get dressed.” Hunter was looking at a small electronic unit that looked almost like a black iPhone.
“Dressed with what?” She turned around, frantically searching for clothes.
“In the dresser. Borys’s clothes.”
She raced over and yanked open the top drawer. Pulling out a dark blue T-shirt, she whipped it over her head and shoved her arms through.
Borys’s voice came through the overhead intercom system. “East, west, and south quadrants breached.”
Hunter cursed low but continued working his electronic unit with the patience of someone tinkering with a crossword puzzle as he moved around the room.
She pulled out the first pair of pants she found, loose khakis with pockets down each side. She’d spent enough time around Hunter to know that when he said sixty seconds he meant he’d take her out of there in whatever form of dress or undress she was in when time ran out.
“Put on a sweater, too.” Hunter hadn’t even looked up to see what she had on.
She found a burgundy cable-knit sweater and wiggled it over her head. Whatever cream he’d put on her skin had dulled the pain of her scrapes.
A pair of boots bounced on the floor in front of her.
She grabbed wool socks from another drawer and sat back on the end of the bed, fumbling to pull the tubes over her feet.
Hunter dropped down on one knee in front of her, putting her boots on and tying them while she buttoned her pants. She rushed into the bathroom.
“Let’s go!”
She made two turns with a rubber band to pull her hair back into a ponytail so she could see when she ran. He grabbed her hand and hauled her out of the room.
She didn’t say a word, not when he was in warrior mode.
“North quadrant breached,” Borys’s voice announced. “All systems set to blow in two minutes. Go bags in position.”
Hunter ate up the distance to the stairs with long strides. She ran to keep up with him. He lifted his phone device to his mouth, still talking in an even tone. “Go. We’re right behind you.” He shoved the device into his front jeans pocket.
At the bottom of the stairs, a huge beige-and-green camo-colored backpack sat next to the open front door.
Borys was gone.
Hunter reached inside the hall closet and slapped something. When he stepped out he was wearing dark shades and stuffing a mega automatic pistol into the front waistband of his jeans. He stuck his arm back into the closet and pulled out a down jacket he handed her.
“Sunglasses in the front left pocket. Do exactly as I say. Don’t speak for any reason unless I tell you to.”
She nodded, zipping up the front of the jacket and digging out the shades while he hooked the backpack on his shoulders. Her terror or hesitation must have peeked through the strong front she was trying hard to put up.
He grabbed the front of her jacket and pulled her to him, crushing his mouth to hers. It seemed like he kissed her forever when she knew it could only have been seconds then released her. “Just listen to me and trust me. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”
She changed her mind about Hunter.
He wasn’t James Bond.
He was Superman. A badass Superman.
She nodded and squared her shoulders, ready for whatever they had to do. “I’m good.”
He took her hand, squeezed it once, and towed her down the steps across what might be the front yard if anything had been shaped and groomed. He angled toward the back of the house, heading in the area of the path she’d taken earlier but more westerly, toward the setting sun.
But he knew where the booby traps were.
A hundred feet in every direction around the cabin had been cleared, probably for the explicit purpose of seeing someone approach. She kept her head down, paying attention in the fading light, careful of where she put her feet.
Using logic, if all four quadrants had been breached, weren’t they heading toward at least one of the enemy?
He’d said to stay quiet and to trust him.
She intended to do both.
The temperature was dropping with the sun. Darkness would take over the land in another twenty minutes.
When they reached the tree line, Hunter led her down a gentle descent for about fifty feet, then he cut left, weaving through low-drooping branches with stiff pine needles.
Pain shot through her knee. She slipped once and tensed against reinjuring it.
Hunter caught her upper arm so quickly she never felt his hand move. He slowed his pace, tediously working their path one way, then back the other way.
They were heading down with every step, but in a wide zigzag.
Where were these people who were coming up the mountain? How far away were they? It was a big honkin’ mountain. Hunter must have an idea of how to get past them.
He paused, then cupped her mouth with his hand and grabbed her around the waist. Lifting her off the ground, he backed into a dark cut between two boulders taller than Hunter. The space was four feet wide and at least ten feet deep.
Not a hint of light in here. All she could see from inside this dark pit was whatever crossed the opening to the space.
Her chest constricted with the effort of breathing.
Now that he had her tucked deep in this hole, she could hear rocks moving outside.
And footsteps.
Whoever approached must not have realized they’d tripped a silent alarm system.
She hung perfectly still in his arms, frozen with fear, while he angled around, moving silently as a ghost. He deposited her and his backpack softly on the ground.
When he turned back around she was behind him and in total darkness with his wide body blocking the opening.
She would not panic. He was right here with her.
His hand came back and touched her arm. Just enough to comfort her in the middle of racing from danger.
She fell a little in love with him right then.
Footsteps crunched on ice-crusted snow.
Her heart stampeded in her chest. But she had faith in Hunter, knew he would do whatever it took to keep them safe.
The sound of someone walking faded slowly until it disappeared. Hunter didn’t move for another five minutes.
Then he hoisted the backpack on his shoulders and pulled her forward. When she stepped out of the opening she could barely see. She patted his hand to let him know she was okay.
He’d produced a monocle type of eyepiece she assumed was for night vision, which he’d need very soon. He nodded at her, his eyes taking in everything around them constantly. Hooking her hand, he took off again.
She worked up a sweat trying to make sure she followed exactly in his footsteps, more by feel than sight.
Ten minutes later the most god-awful racket came from high above them. Where the cabin was. She jerked around. That was gunfire. Automatic weapons ripping something to pieces.
Hunter’s house.
He tugged on her arm, not slowing. In fact, his pace picked up again. Did he think now that the intruders had reached an empty house they were going to head back down the mountain after her and Hunter?
She kept up with him, staying right behind, stumbling on occasion and wheezing air. He was always able to grab her before she fell. The men at his cabin were moving solo, not burdened with a woman.
One who was not in shape to do this much hiking at this pace. If it hadn’t been a downhill run, she’d have keeled over by now.
He slowed, so she tugged on his hand.
When he paused, she made the hand motion for talking, hoping he could see it with his monocle.
He drew her close to him. “What?”
“Can you hide me somewhere? You’d have a better chance of escaping then you could come get me later.” Please tell her he could hide her safe enough those guys wouldn’t find her.
He made
a disgusted sound, as if she’d insulted him. “No.”
“You can’t find a spot or you can’t escape faster alone?”
“Not leaving you anywhere. End of discussion.” He tugged her forward, muttering something under his breath for three steps, then went dead silent again. Another fifty feet downhill he made a hard turn right, pushing his way through snow piling around their boots. He stopped and flicked on a tiny LED light he shined on a pile of branches barely visible from the layer of snow coating them. He handed the light to her. “Point it there.”
She held the light where he told her.
He started tossing branches to the side, revealing the opening to a black hole. A cave? Not much of one.
Maybe he’d changed his mind about hiding her, but she hadn’t considered being alone in a dark cave.
“Stand right here and don’t move.” He moved her to a spot to the left of the cave’s entrance.
Like any good soldier, she followed his orders.
He let her keep the light and disappeared inside.
She mentally counted seconds to keep from thinking about what she’d do if someone jumped out of the weeds with a machine gun. A motor growled to life inside the cave.
The sound became high-pitched, then Hunter emerged on a motorcycle. She shined her bright light over the dark bike. It reminded her of motocross bikes, but this one looked street legal with the headlight and taillights.
His backpack was strapped onto the rear and he wore a black helmet. He handed her a gray helmet and gloves that were large but would keep her hands warm. “Ready to ride?”
She’d never wanted to ride a motorcycle. They were dangerous. But considering her other option was facing men with guns, this one immediately earned her safety rating. She pulled the helmet over her head, flipping up the face shield. Hunter looped her chinstrap and locked it, then he climbed on the bike.
He showed her where to step to hoist herself behind him, then he revved the motor and took off.
The rest of the way down was not as steep as what they’d covered on foot, but the jarring ride scared her. Still, she had to give Hunter credit for his skill in handling the bike with a full load and over rough ground.
When he turned onto a dirt road, her heart was thumping wildly and she had no idea where they were going, but she smiled in relief and leaned down to hug her arms around his waist. Her fingers bumped the metal loop dangling from his jeans. That karabiner. She hesitated to move her hands.
He covered her fingers and pulled both hands in front of him. The only thing she could see was whatever the headlight shined on.
Besides, Hunter would figure it out if anyone followed.
He slowed when the dirt road intersected with a highway, then swung left and rolled on the accelerator, tearing along the pavement. Icy wind buffeted her legs, but she could stand the ride in the down jacket and hugged against his body.
He had to be cold. No way to tell. He never complained about anything.
Two hours later, she’d figured out Hunter’s cabin was in Montana, based on road signs, but had no idea where he was heading now. Her adrenaline kick had slowed to a dribble. She sat up to let the cold air slap her in the face.
He patted her hand as if to say, “Hang in there.” She patted his side to let him know she was fine.
Another hour later, he’d taken turns in several small towns in Wyoming. Every time he passed a hotel she’d sigh.
When he flipped on his turn signal a block before a single-level motor court in Buffalo, Wyoming, advertising a vacancy, she wanted to cheer. He parked on the side of the brightly lit office that could have once been a small residence. She sent him in without her so she could stretch her spongy legs.
He returned in a couple minutes with a room key and she climbed back onto the motorcycle behind him. He drove past two cabins with assorted Harleys lined up in front of the units and turned left by the third cabin, parking at the door.
“Thank God.” She pulled off her helmet, climbed down from the bike, and stretched her legs. “What kind of bike is that?”
Hunter had his helmet and gloves off. “BMW R 1200 GS Adventure.”
“What does all that mean?” She used the key to open the door and stepped inside, where the smell of disinfectant cleaner and lemon furniture polish filled the air. The lamp on the nightstand lit up when she flipped the wall switch.
“It’s a dual sport that can go on the highway or off-road.” Hunter tossed his helmet and gloves on the first of two beds.
The pine-paneled room was old but clean, and the large space included a small kitchenette area.
“Hold the door,” he called out softly.
She held it open while he carried in his backpack and threw that on the bed, too. “Pull the curtains closed.”
“Where’s Borys?” she asked while she closed the curtains.
“Safe. We always have an exit plan.” He started unpacking clothes and dark plastic packages from his backpack.
She noticed he didn’t share any details, but she mentally shrugged off his obviously limited sense of trust. She could understand his reticence to say much in his line of work. “What about everything in your house?”
Hunter shrugged again. “Nothing there that matters. Borys activated a program that destroyed the electronics we left behind. Sounded like the intruders took care of the rest.”
Her mouth was gaping. She couldn’t believe what she heard.
He acted as though it was no big deal to lose what had to be hundreds of thousands of dollars. “Doesn’t that bother you?”
“What?”
“It sounded like they destroyed your house and probably stole anything of value. Losing all that doesn’t upset you?”
All the intensity she’d seen winding through his movements for the past few hours seeped out in one long sigh. He walked over to her, his hair smashed down and sweaty from the helmet. Dirt streaked his face and weariness lined his eyes.
He placed his palm against the side of her face. “The only thing that would have bothered me was if anything had happened to you.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
Jackson Chameleon surveyed the destruction of the home in Montana, satisfied.
“That enough or you want more, boss?” Bulked up from hard labor, Freddie was the superior of the seven men Jackson had hired for this expedition. Ragged whiskers poked out above his stained teeth. Freddie ran weapons and drugs between two Middle Eastern countries and South America and the U.S.
Four men were taken out by booby traps on the mountain Jackson had anticipated. Those four had cleared the way for Jackson and these three.
“Boss?” Freddie repeated.
Boss. An amusing term.
“That will be sufficient.” Jackson cast a quiet gaze at the next man, a North American Indian in worn jeans and a moss-gray chamois shirt who could track the path of a lizard on a bald mountain. “You’re sure no one could follow our trails?”
The tracker dipped his head in abrupt acknowledgment.
“Good.” Jackson ignored the third man, who had lowered his automatic weapon, waiting on instructions.
Freddie had cut the deal for the men and organized the assault while Jackson waited on his Fratelli superior to pull the flight records on the private jet that had transported Abigail. That led him to the helicopter that had transported her next. If not for Fratelli connections within the FAA and FBI he might have hit a dead end there.
Arresting the helicopter pilot and convincing him he was part of a murder investigation to do with the woman he’d transported hadn’t paid off.
Abigail’s rescuer had deep pockets and power.
The helicopter pilot stonewalled them.
But Jackson had a man extract past coordinates out of the helicopter’s navigation system while the pilot was being interrogated. The pilot had made multiple stops that night at equally remote locations.
Jackson had to admire Abigail’s rescuer for his ability to disappear and to keep his
identity hidden. But he’d eventually find that, too.
Entangling the pilot with the FAA had allowed Jackson the time he needed to unleash his team before the pilot could possibly send a warning to his wealthy client.
“A job well done.” Jackson applauded his three men. “Now you have a choice to make.”
Freddie frowned. The Native American tracker’s black eyes thinned to evil slits. The third guy—what was his name?—moved his finger to the trigger of his weapon.
Jackson enjoyed this part. “The offer still stands, but it gets better. I only need one of you after today. So you can all take your fifty thousand apiece or you can show me who’s the best among all of you and that person will make a half million on the next job.”
Men who lived and died by their reflexes weren’t slow to make a decision.
The third guy had his finger ready but hadn’t anticipated how fast the tracker could whip a Bowie knife around and shove it into the guy’s heart, then twist.
Number three slid to the floor, pulling away from the knife the tracker wiped on the dead guy’s shirt.
Freddie had his Glock 9mm leveled on his only competition when the tracker stood up and faced him. “Thanks, chief. That made it easy.”
“If you kill me, you won’t live to enj—” A bullet struck the tracker between his eyes.
Freddie sighed heavily. “Hate that. He was a helluva tracker.” He lowered his weapon and faced Jackson. “Guess that makes me your man.”
“I’m not surprised,” Jackson said, congratulating himself on predicting the correct outcome again. He had something special planned for Freddie. Freddie had enemies, including a really nasty one who was not happy about having his drug-running territory poached. “You’re ambitious, right?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.” Freddie holstered his weapon and dusted off his hands.
“As soon as we get down from here, I have a load of cocaine for you to move.” This plan lacked true challenge, but Jackson couldn’t waste much time in ridding himself of Freddie.
By tonight, Freddie’s enemy would have a free shipment of cocaine and Freddie would be in multiple pieces.
Silent Truth Page 24
