by Rebecca York
To cover his stunned reaction to his own state of mind, he got up from the table and began poking in the carry bags on the counter.
“We both had a rough day. Maybe we should eat and try to get some rest.”
“Yes, right. “I’m sorry I don’t have the main part of the meal. But I’ve got twice-baked potatoes.”
“I haven’t had those in years,” he answered, trying to focus on the food and not his roiling emotions.
“And two cold dishes. Ham and broccoli salad and a green Jell-O mold with apples and pecans.”
“My lucky Christmas Eve. I was going to be lucky to get a can of tuna fish.”
She nodded, then walked to one of the windows and pulled the blackout shade aside, revealing the still-swirling snow.
As she let the shade fall back into place, she asked, “Could we walk to a place where you can get phone reception?”
“Maybe, but it could be a long walk through the snow, and I’m not going to take the chance of leaving you alone. We can hope that when I don’t check in, some of my Decorah buddies will come looking for me.”
She tipped her head to the side, considering the implications of what he’d said. “Isn’t this cabin safe?”
“I thought it was. But after you tripped over that stick, I’m reevaluating the situation.”
“Sometimes a stick is just a stick.”
“Sometimes it’s part of an alarm system. Let me show you something in case we need to make a quick getaway.” He got up, walked across the room and moved the bed aside. Below it was a place where she saw a rectangle outlined in the floorboards. It was a trapdoor, which he pulled up with a metal ring. The door exposed a narrow passageway below the floor. Leaning against the interior was a ladder going down.
“This leads to a tunnel that comes out twenty yards from the cabin, in a clump of brambles. If we’re under attack, we might have to get out that way.”
She stared down into the secret passage, then back at him. “You went to the trouble of digging a passageway under the floor?”
“No. It was already here when Decorah rented the property. We just cleaned it out and shored it up with timbers. We think it was a stop on the Underground Railroad.”
“You mean where people helped slaves escape before the Civil War?”
“Yeah.” He pushed the bed back into place. “We should eat, and you should get some sleep.”
“What about you?”
“I have to stand guard.”
“I can do that.”
He looked doubtful.
“All I have to do is wake you up if there’s trouble.”
“Let me think about it.”
She took the rest of the food out of the bags and put it on the counter. The Jell-O mold and ham salad were supposed to be served cold, but the potatoes were a problem. He decided to wrap a couple of them in aluminum foil, and put them in a skillet on the hot plate—and turn them frequently so they wouldn’t burn.
He gave her that job while he got out the plastic cutlery and paper plates he’d been using, then set out the cold dishes.
“How are the potatoes coming?” he asked.
She pulled the foil aside. “They’re a little warm. I think they need another ten minutes.”
“Okay,” he answered, thinking this was a pretty strange domestic scene. Frank Decorah had apologized for keeping him on assignment on Christmas, but he’d been afraid to give up watching the road. Now here he was with Samantha. That would be a dream come true if he weren’t still worried about her.
Chapter 6
Jax shifted in his chair. Don’t get too excited, he warned himself. You may be all wound up with her, but she still thinks you’re a voyeuristic creep.
When the potatoes were heated, she brought them to the table. His first bite was beyond his expectations.
“This is amazing.”
“I make them for family get-togethers.”
“The guy who marries you is going to be very lucky.”
The observation had simply popped out, and it hung in the air between them. He quickly took a bite of the ham salad. It was also outstanding. He kept from gushing over it, but he couldn’t help thinking again that she was quite a cook.
“You know a lot about me,” she said as they ate, and he was afraid the conversation was going south again. Instead she said, “What about you?”
Relief flooded through him that she’d made an effort at a normal “get to know you” approach. Still he said, “Not much to tell.”
“Of course there is. Do you have a good relationship with your parents?”
“I did. They were killed in a car crash a couple of years ago.”
She reached across the table and pressed her hand to his. For a moment he felt the warmth of her touch before she pulled away. “Oh, I’m so sorry. And here I was . . .”
“It’s okay. It was a bad shock, but I learned to cope with it.”
“Do you have brothers and sisters?”
“I’ve got a sister, but she and I have a rocky relationship. She doesn’t like my profession.”
“Why not?”
“She says I’m putting myself at risk, and she doesn’t want to lose me, too. I guess she copes with that by distancing herself.”
“That’s awful.”
He shrugged. “I’m not going to quit. I fit in better at Decorah than I ever have anywhere else.” Like too many other things he’d said, the admission just slipped out.
“Why?”
He laughed. “Because in some ways, we’re a group of oddballs—and we take care of each other.”
“Did you always know stuff about other people?”
“Not until I was a teenager. Well, I did have a few previous flashes of insight. Like I kept worrying that my uncle was going to have a heart attack. Then I was shocked when it happened.”
“Uh huh.” After another bite of the salad, she asked, “How did you end up at Decorah?”
“I was in army intelligence. The service was a little too disciplined for me. I was looking around for a better fit and went to a recruiting fair. Frank Decorah was there. He seemed to know before I did that I’d be an asset to his organization. He gave me training that helped me develop my talent.”
She nodded. “And all of you would go the extra mile for Frank Decorah—which is how you ended up here on Christmas Eve.”
“And I was worried about you.”
“Why?”
“I told you—I was pretty sure you were going to end up on the road today.”
“Right,” she said, and they each returned to their meals.
He didn’t say he’d been worried about her ever since he’d started getting to know her.
When they finished, they started cleaning up. He put the paper plates into a covered trash can and the plastic forks into the sink. She packed the rest of the food.
When she finished, he said, “I’m going outside to check the area.” He crossed to a closed cabinet, opened it, and brought out another Sig. “Keep this with you while I’m gone.”
“It’s loaded?”
“Yes. But don’t shoot me when I come back.” He laughed. “I guess we should have a signal. I’ll give you three knocks before I open the door. Okay?”
“Yes.”
He also got out a pair of night vision goggles so he wouldn’t need a flashlight on his inspection tour.
He watched Sam pick up the weapon, check the magazine, then turn to the side and hold it in a two-handed grip. She hadn’t been kidding about knowing how to handle a gun.
There was no need to put on his coat before going out because neither one of them had removed their outerwear. He pulled up his hood and stepped into the dark and cold.
The snow had piled up several more inches since they’d come inside, and he could barely see their footsteps leading up to the door—or to the outhouse. He stood listening to the wind howling and watching the snow swirling, wishing the night were quiet so that he could hear better. Holding his weapon
at the ready for trouble, he walked around the cabin through the blizzard, working his way in a wider circle, looking for signs of an intruder. Although he saw none, he couldn’t stop the hairs on the back of his neck from prickling. He was thinking that trouble was coming, although he had no concrete evidence of anything malevolent.
He cursed under his breath, hating that he’d had to bring Sam here, but it had been his only option. And too bad he could only see danger ahead for other people—not himself. But someone was with him—Sam. He’d been dropping in on her for weeks, and if he admitted his feelings, she had become the center of his attention. If he focused on her now the way he’d been doing, could he still find out if she was in jeopardy. Well, why not? At the very least, it was worth a try.
He was so deep in thought that when he approached the door, he almost forgot he was supposed to knock. He started to turn the handle, then quickly raised his hand to wrap his knuckles against the barrier.
“It’s me,” he called out as he took off the goggles. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” she answered, her voice steady.
As he came in, she was lowering the weapon she was holding. “You scared me,” she said, although she looked like she’d been capable of blowing away anyone who came through the door.
“Sorry. I was thinking,” he said as he closed and locked the barrier.
“Did you see anything you didn’t expect out there?”
“No.” He stamped snow off his boots. “And I was hoping that maybe you can stand guard for a few hours while I lie down.”
“Or course.”
“Do you want to make a trip to . . . the . . . bathroom first?” he asked.
“Probably a good idea.”
He was still uneasy when they went out, but he kept guard while she was doing her business and she did the same for him. When they returned to the cabin, he brought the night vision goggles and his weapon with him and set them on the floor beside the bed.
“You’re sure you’ll be okay?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He lay down, vividly aware of her gaze on him. “I’m going to look like I’m sleeping,” he said. “But I won’t be.”
“Okay.”
He fixed the pillow behind his head, trying to get comfortable. He wanted to tell her not to stare at him, but then he might have to explain why it might make a difference.
It was a strange experience, lying in the same room with Sam and at the same time trying to ignore her physical presence while he focused on her the way he had been over the past month.
At first, he was totally unable to do it, and he thought he might have to give up. But because a terrible urgency was beating at him, he kept trying to do what felt like the impossible.
From where he lay, he imagined he could hear Sam breathing on the other side of the small room, and he tried to shut that distraction out of his mind while he focused on the sound of the wind. Gradually, the gale became his focus, and that turned his inner senses to the exterior of the cabin.
And all at once he was into the brain wave state that let him zero in on a person who might be in trouble. It was a weird sensation because in his mind he saw her sitting with the gun in her hand and at the same time he was aware of evil close in on her from outside the cabin. At first it was simply a vague sense of dread, and then the scene in his mind sharpened, and he saw a man moving stealthily through the falling snow.
Chapter 7
Jax sat up in the bed so quickly that he saw the gun in Sam’s hand flash toward him. Then she lowered the weapon, and he knew she’d been reacting to his sudden movement.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” he said.
“Why?”
“He’s coming.” As he spoke, he pulled the bed aside and threw open the trapdoor in the floor.
She blinked at him as though she couldn’t process what he was doing. “How . . . how does he know where we are?”
“That stick was part of an alarm system.”
He snatched up the weapon and the goggles he’d left on the floor. “Come on. Quick,” he said, crossing the room and urging her toward the yawning opening.
“Down the ladder,” he said. “Hurry.”
She was still moving stiffly. “What’s going on?”
“Patton is coming.”
That got her moving faster. She set the safety on the semi and tucked it into her pocket before climbing down into the tunnel, slowly at first and then more quickly.
When she had left enough room for him on the rungs, he also pocketed his weapon and stepped onto the ladder, closing the trapdoor above him before joining her on the dirt floor below.
“Down the tunnel,” he urged. Again she did as he asked, but neither of them got very far before a deafening explosion shook the walls around them. Sam stumbled, fell, and hit the dirt floor. Jax came down on top of her, shielding her body with his own as dirt and debris fell from the ceiling of the tunnel.
The ground continued to tremble with aftershocks as Jax kept his position. He heard a roaring above them and felt heat radiating down from the cabin. When he saw flames licking at the boards above them, he stood. “Come on. We have to get farther away from the cabin.”
She looked up, gasping as she saw a burning board fall into the space behind them. He helped her stand, and she clung to him as they hurried down the passageway. Smoke billowed behind them, and the heat increased.
When they reached a wooden door, he stopped and put his ear against the barrier. Hearing nothing but the wind, he opened the door a few inches. That was all it would move. Something was blocking the exit.
Through the crack, both of them took grateful drafts of the cold night air.
“What happened?” Sam gasped.
“He firebombed the cabin,” Jax answered, speaking in a low voice.
She turned to face him. “And you knew it was going to happen.” she whispered.
“Yeah. But only a few minutes before.”
“How?”
He coughed, as much from his own discomfort as from the smoke. “When I went out to check the area, I felt . . . something. I knew trouble was coming. But the only way I could—see it—was to focus on you, the way I’ve been doing.”
“So you told me you wanted to lie down?”
“Yeah. Because I knew that you’d think I was whacked out if I tried to explain.”
She looked at him with a kind of awe. “You’re right. I didn’t quite believe it before—all that stuff you were telling me.”
He shrugged.
”I’m sorry,” she said in a low voice.
He heard himself ask, “You’ve stopped thinking I’m a nut or a peeping Tom?”
“Don’t put it that way.”
“What way would you put it?”
She coughed from the smoke wafting around them. “That you’ve made a convert to the Decorah Security way of thinking.”
He knew the balance had shifted between them, and he wished he could enjoy the moment—and a lot more moments.
“We’re not out of the woods yet,” he murmured.
“He doesn’t think we’re dead?”
Jax gave her a direct look. “I don’t know, but we’re not safe with him out there.” he made an angry sound. “In fact, a lot of women aren’t safe.”
She shuddered. “Then what are we going to do?”
Jax gave another massive push at the door and hardly widened the opening.
“Something blocking it,” he muttered, jarred by the unease he’d felt all day. Only now it was like a volcano threatening to erupt.
Trying not to look frantic, he began pulling at the door, then pushing, hoping to get some leverage. He looked back over his shoulder, then to the door again. They couldn’t go back toward the burning building. But Patton could be out there, waiting for them to make a run for it.
He had just given the door another frustrated shove when he heard a noise behind him. Whirling, he saw a white c
lad figure jump from the ruined cabin to the floor of the tunnel. In one hand was a powerful flashlight—aimed at them.
Jax knew at once what had happened. The killer had planned his moves carefully. He was wearing a fire-protective suit. And while Jax had been focused on prying open the door, Patton had come through the burning house and was attacking where they least expected.
Fear for Sam leaped inside Jax as he pushed her behind him. He got off a couple of shots, but saw the bullets were having no effect.
Patton wasn’t just wearing a fire suit, he also had on body armor.
The killer lifted his semi. He knew they were trapped, and he was taking his time, enjoying the moment.
“I found this cabin when I was scouting the area,” he called out. “I would have used it for a base of operations, but I saw somebody had taken up residence. I asked myself why. Too bad for you that you had to come back here. You would have gotten away if I hadn’t shot up your car, wouldn’t you?”
His voice was taunting, but he stopped talking and went very still when a low rumbling noise filled the tunnel. It had caught him off guard, and he looked up.
As Jax watched, the end of the tunnel that was under the floor of the cabin began to shudder. Then huge chunks of charred lumber began to rain down. He jumped forward, flung aside the weapon and the flashlight and lifted his arms across his head trying to protect himself. But the whole floor of the cabin was unstable. Jax heard a scream and watched in horrible fascination as more debris clattered down, burying the man in the white suit. When the dust settled, nothing moved, but the flashlight still shone at the edge of the mess.
Beside Jax, Sam stirred. Lifting her head, she peered into the cloud of dust choking the enclosure.
“Stay here,” Jax called out as he started forward, gun still drawn.
“No. You stay back,” Sam countered, grabbing his arm. “More of the cabin could fall.”
They held their positions, both focused on the pile of rubble. Nothing moved.
“I’ve got to make sure he’s not going anywhere,” Jax said.
“And have the rest of the tunnel fall on you? No,” Sam repeated her earlier objection, her voice urgent. “We’re getting out of here.”
