by Linda Ladd
Booker stood up as if he'd heard enough. He looked down at her, too huge and frightening to trust, but for some reason, she did. “Let me worry about them for awhile. Get some sleep while I keep watch. I'll get you out of here and somewhere safe, but like I said, after that you're on your own."
Kate nodded, still clutching Joey against her chest, as he moved across the room, his footsteps barely audible, though he wore heavy black boots. He stopped and turned back.
“There's some powdered milk in the other room if the kid gets hungry and some Bayer aspirin for your head. That'll work for the burn on your hand, too."
Kate leaned her head back against the wall as he left. She shut her eyes when Joey fussed, and she hummed his favorite lullaby as she rocked him gently in her arms. “We're going to get out of this, sweetie,” she whispered softly. “Now we've got somebody to help us.” She'd do whatever she had to do to get Joey out of danger, even trust a man like Booker.
Long after he'd left the woman cowering on the bed with her baby, Booker sat on the front porch of his cabin, wondering why the hell he was involving himself in her problems. He should have minded his own business as he'd done the first time he saw her. Now he was dead center in Kate Reed's mess, and he wasn't sure why.
Leaning back in the old cane rocker, he looked out over the river. He had exchanged his scoped deer rifle for the M-16 he kept stored in an ammunition box under the bed. It lay across his knees, his finger lightly on the trigger. He had a .45 strapped to his ankle. These men, whoever the hell they were, meant business. Though it was highly unlikely they'd find his place—it was too well hidden in the mouth of a cave—he didn't believe in taking chances.
The riot of tangled vines hid the entrance but gave him a glimpse of twilight mists settling like an ethereal coat on the surface of Current River. He'd been lucky to find the ramshackle gristmill built inside the cave, where decades ago iron miners had dug shafts deep into the mountain. The giant waterwheel was long gone, rotted away and swept downstream in raging spring floodwaters. The protected wood structure had remained relatively stable, though he suspected the cabin dated as far back as the forties. It had made him a good home far enough upriver from Van Buren to keep nosy strangers away. Until now.
Grimacing, he propped a booted foot atop his knee and dropped his head back against the chair. They were still searching for the woman. He'd heard the thut-thut-thut of rotor blades as the bird skimmed the trees not an hour ago. Yeah, she was in deep shit. Now that he was playing knight in shining armor, he was in as deep as she was. God knew he didn't need any trouble with the feds; he'd had enough when he was with the Company. He didn't know why he'd brought her here in the first place. He'd never brought anyone here, except for his old friend, Mac Sharp. He had to be out of his mind.
He shook his head angrily, but down deep in his gut he knew the truth. He'd brought her here, followed her harrowing flight through the wilds for two days running, because he couldn't forget how she'd looked when he decided to check her out the first time he saw her. She'd stared at him in utter disbelief, and hell, he must have looked at her the same way since a bloodied-up woman and a little baby had been the last thing he expected to find wandering around in his woods. But it wasn't just that. It wasn't the way she'd looked, all scratched up and filthy, sopping wet and wild-eyed, with her hair straggling down in her face and blood running down the side of her cheek. Nor was it the baby's weak, quavering wails, which was plenty enough.
Booker's fingers squeezed tightly around the arm of the chair. What had gotten to him had been the way she'd fallen to her knees in front of him, utterly defeated, the most awful look imaginable on her face. Utter helplessness. Booker knew how that felt. He felt his jaw begin to clench, tighten so hard that a sliver of pain penetrated his temples. Yeah, he knew how it felt to be hunted down like a wounded animal, thrashing and tearing mindlessly through hot, humid jungles, crawling into slimy, infested holes in the ground, exhausted physically, mentally, all hope gone.
There had been a time when he'd dropped to his knees exactly the way Kate Reed had. But Booker's captors hadn't been so merciful. He squeezed his eyes, clamped his teeth, fighting haunted memories. His throat grew thick, his breathing shallow as a day ten years past welled up in his mind, tormenting him as if it had happened yesterday.
Booker fell to his knees, somehow managing the strength to raise his arms into the air. His lungs were burning, each breath cutting his chest like slashing razor blades. He'd been running hard but he could hear the Sandinistas behind him, crashing through the thick vegetation he'd fought his way through, yelling at each other in Spanish. But it was the man who'd stepped out to block his path at whom he stared. Their gazes were locked, the Sandinista officer so full of hatred and vicious cruelty that Booker knew he was as good as dead, hoped he was dead because he knew now he could never escape, that even if he did there was no American military in Nicaragua to rescue him. He braced for the blow as his captor raised the AK-47 high, then brought the butt down hard. The crunching sound was his collarbone breaking, and the echo of his own scream rang in his ears, the last thing he heard.
“Mr. Booker?"
Booker was on the balls of his feet, weapon trained on Kate Reed before his name had left her tongue. She had the kid in her arms, and she turned slightly to protect him from Booker. She looked terrified again. He lowered his gun, forcing himself to relax his stance.
“Look, lady, don't ever do that, sneak up on me. I'm too jumpy right now.” His voice was harsh but he wasn't used to having people around, especially in the cave. He didn't like it.
“I didn't mean to startle you. I'm sorry."
She was wary, very wary, and she had reason to be. Her nerves had to be shredded down to near nothing by now. She didn't know who he was, what he'd done in the past. It was a good thing she didn't. She might prefer to take her chances with Dmitri and the bad guys.
“What do you want?” he asked tightly.
“Nothing, really. I couldn't shut my eyes, sure couldn't sleep. Too wired, I guess."
Booker realized he didn't know what to say to her. God knew how many years it'd been since he'd attempted small talk with a woman. He didn't like it then. He didn't like it now either. “Get some rest. You're gonna need it. I'm taking you out of here in a few hours."
Kate Reed nodded and glanced around. She looked better now than she had when she'd come to and found herself tied to the bed. The look of hysteria was gone. She'd put on the baggy black sweatshirt he'd left lying at the foot of the bed. It swallowed her. She was a real good-looking woman, tall and blond, lithe, slim. She was a good athlete and in very good condition, gutsy as hell, or she'd never have made it this far alone. He was uncomfortable around her, wished he'd never laid eyes on her. He'd had enough sense not to involve himself the first time he saw her, but she hadn't been in imminent danger then. He thought she'd make it out on her own. The second time, when she lay unconscious at the base of the cliff, her pursuers minutes away, had been a different story.
“Would you mind if I sat down for a minute?"
Yeah, he thought, but didn't say anything, so she took a seat on the rocker he'd just vacated, gingerly at the very edge as if she would leap up and flee if he stepped an inch in her direction. He glanced away and perched a hip on the porch rail where he could see the river. He listened for the buzz of boats, but all he heard was the rush of swift currents.
“I never thanked you."
Booker shrugged and kept his eyes focused on the river. He wished she'd go back inside and stay there until he was ready to take her out. No such luck.
“I have to. I really do. You saved my life. And Joey's. I'd be dead right now, if it weren't for you. This man, Dmitri, he doesn't look like a killer, but he is a terrible man, so ruthless..."
Booker remained silent at first, then thought that if he answered, maybe she'd leave him alone. “It's okay. Forget it."
“But you saved my life."
“I said forget it."
Quiet for a couple of beats, then she said, “Booker's your last name, right?"
Booker gave a curt nod but didn't look at her.
“What about your first name?"
“What the hell difference does it make? I'm gonna take you out of here, isn't that enough?” He was annoyed, and he sounded annoyed. He didn't like chitchat, especially chitchat about him. It was making him antsy; she was making him antsy. He had enough other things to worry about. Like keeping them all alive till morning.
The woman looked slightly startled by his sudden show of anger and avoided his gaze. She was afraid of him, her quavering voice dripping with fear. “Sorry. I didn't mean to pry."
His social graces had slipped a notch, hell, a whole staircase, since his self-imposed exile, were nonexistent, in fact. Problem was, he had no desire to rekindle them.
“John,” he admitted reluctantly, then wondered why he had. “First name's John."
“Oh, thank God, thank God, I've been looking for you, praying I'd find you somehow. I'd given up all hope, then when I calmed down some and started to think straight I realized you had to be the man Pop used to talk about."
This time she got all of Booker's attention. “You know Pop Macon?"
“He's my grandfather. He passed away a couple of months ago but he mentioned you to me sometimes, said you lived up the river, and I kept thinking that if I could only find you, you'd surely help me."
He hadn't known Pop had died, hadn't known he'd had any family either. But Kate Reed's relationship to the old man put everything in a different light. Pop Macon could have arrested him for squatting on federal land when he'd happened onto Booker a few years back, would have if he'd looked into his past, but the old man had left him in peace, no questions asked. Booker owed him big time. As much as Booker would like to wash his hands of Kate Reed, now he felt a real obligation to help her out.
“He said you were a good man. Said he never had to find you, that you always found him first."
Booker said nothing but had a feeling she was about to start prying into his business now that they had something in common. Women always asked questions, thrived on digging into a man's psyche until they stripped his soul bare. Kate Reed proved him right the next time she opened her mouth.
“What is this place? I've never seen anything quite like it before."
Booker repositioned the gun across his knee, leaning back in a more comfortable position against the rock wall, wishing she'd just shut up. He considered telling her to but decided she'd been through enough without him scaring her some more. Let her chatter, if it helped her get through the night. Her ordeal was far from over.
“This cabin's built inside the cave, isn't it? Except for the porch."
“Yeah."
Quiet again, thank God. But he knew it wouldn't last. Booker could hear the faint creak of the chair when she began to rock. He stole a sidelong glance and found her looking down at the baby. Her expression was so tender that he had no doubt she loved the kid. It seemed unlikely to him now that she'd kidnapped the boy but he couldn't know that for sure. Pop had been an honorable man, an officer of the law, but Booker didn't know his granddaughter from Adam.
Whether she snatched the baby or not, it wasn't his business. His business was to get her out of his woods so he could have some peace and quiet, and the solitude that went with it. He'd make sure nobody hunted her down like some trophy buck, then good luck, lady, just like he'd told her inside. He didn't want any woman hanging around.
“This is the first time I've felt safe since they burst into my kitchen."
Kate Reed talked too much. Booker kept his eyes trained on the mist rolling on the water as dusk deepened, his ears trained for any unusual sounds in the buzzing, chirping symphony going on in the trees. If Kate's pursuers came this way, they'd most likely motor upriver, but he didn't think they'd ever find him. After he'd tied Kate to the bed, he'd gone back to make sure he'd left no trail. Her enemies had been busy hunting her down on the other side of the river, unaware their quarry had taken up with a brand-new, well-armed best friend.
No one but Pop Macon had discovered this cave in the past five years, and Booker had sat on the porch on many a summer day when the river was alive with fishermen and teenagers floating on inner tubes and in canoes. He'd been safe here, to do as he pleased. Once he got Kate Reed and her baby to safety, everything would return to normal.
“The Joneses are afraid of you. They call you Bigfoot. Said they never set foot on your side of the river or you'd shoot them."
Booker looked at Kate. She attempted a tremulous smile. It was the first one he'd seen off her. He glanced away.
“Yeah."
She was trying to be friendly, he supposed, but that's the last thing he wanted. He probably brought it on himself by talking to her so much when she'd regained consciousness. But he'd had little choice for fear she'd go completely hysterical on him. He was surprised she hadn't, as terrified as she'd been. He had to admire her for not giving up a long time ago. Most women would've; most men would've.
“I took some powdered milk for Joey's bottle. I was afraid he wouldn't drink it but the poor little thing was starving. He's a good baby; he doesn't deserve to go through all this."
Her voice broke as if she was going to cry, and Booker watched her out of the corner of his eye. She was dabbing at her tears with the baby blanket, almost angrily, as if she'd cried enough, was mad at herself for getting choked up. Most women he'd known would have fainted dead away right off the bat, and probably gotten a quick bullet in their head like Kate's husband. Betsy wouldn't have lasted two minutes. He pushed thoughts of his ex-wife out of his mind, barely able to picture her face anymore. He hadn't thought about her in a long time. Didn't want to.
“You're gonna be all right. I told you I'd get you out of here alive, and I will."
“I don't want to make trouble for you,” she began, voice urgent, then gave a low chuckle. “Boy, that's a bit of an understatement. I'm surprised I can laugh, though, I mean, it's been pretty terrible. My emotions are just so shot I keep finding myself chattering on when I know you probably wish I'd shut up."
Booker said nothing.
“I ought to get some sleep like you said, but I just can't close my eyes. I keep seeing awful things, the worst of it, you know."
Yeah, he knew. He knew she'd still be seeing her husband shot in the head thirteen years from now, the way he was still reliving the nightmare he'd been through when the goddamn Black Ops OIC left him behind. Yeah, she'd still be seeing it, if they didn't get her first.
“I just feel safer out here on the porch with you. I was really scared of you, too, at first, like with Dmitri, but now I know that Pop knew you, that you're all right and I can trust you—"
“Look, lady, like you figured out, I'm not much of a talker. Why don't you go back inside and get some sleep? I meant it when I said you're gonna need it."
“Okay,” she said, quickly rising with the baby. “Okay, whatever you say. I didn't mean to get on your nerves or anything."
Booker didn't watch her go but he heard the screen door give a little squeak. He'd have to oil it. Even sounds like that carried over the water. He relaxed again but kept his eyes on the river. It was going to be a very long night, with his woods crawling with armed intruders out to spill blood.
Sixteen
ALTHOUGH KATE felt safer than at any time since the endless nightmare had begun, she did not sleep. At least the strange recluse knew Pop, she had that much to hang onto, and he'd saved her from Dmitri's deadly games. John Booker was sitting outside with a very big gun, keeping vigil over her and Joey. He was a formidable ally, and she was grateful he'd intervened in her behalf. She'd do nothing to rub him the wrong way.
Pressing her fingertips against her temples, she tried to relax. Her tight muscles would not cooperate. She hurt all over, and nothing alleviated the terrible drumbeat inside her head. Joey squirmed and sputtered on the cot beside her as he began
to awaken. Kate turned on her side and checked his diaper. His dark eyes latched on her face, and he smiled and babbled happily, as if they were not fugitives on the run, not in danger of their lives. Her heart clutched with love, and she scooped him up and held him against her breast, wishing she could protect him better than she had, keep all the evil in the world at bay. She nuzzled his soft cheek, then lay him down when he fussed and kicked his feet.
“I bet you're wet, aren't you, sweetie?” She was whispering, afraid to use her normal voice, afraid to make the wrong move for fear she'd be thrust into danger again. She'd been scared so long, so torn up inside, that she doubted she'd ever be the person she'd been only days ago. Joey gooed daintily in his secret talk and tried to grab her nose, and she found herself very thankful that he was with her and all right, healthy and happy.
“Okay, let's go."
John Booker had entered the room so quietly that Kate jumped a foot and would've shot him if she'd had a gun. She stared at him in dread, not sure what to expect. He looked so awful in his dirty, bloodstained clothes. Probably her blood, from when he carried her back to the cave. He was holding a camouflaged field jacket in his hand. A canvas duffel bag was slung over one shoulder; a long rifle hung by a strap on the other.
“All right.” Kate obeyed hastily, not wanting to give him any reason to change his mind about helping them.
Booker watched silently as Kate wrapped Joey in a blanket. Then he picked up the lantern and headed out. Kate followed him through a darkened room that acted as a kitchen and held one small table and chair. Through the front door she could see it wasn't yet daylight. She wondered what time it was but didn't really care. Everything seemed meaningless when trapped inside an episode of The Twilight Zone with no means of escape.
