by Amelia Autin
He swallowed the lump in his throat and steeled himself for rejection, before saying, "Wish me luck?" It was the only thing he could ask of her.
She drew a deep, shuddering breath, visible even across the room. Then she let it out in a rush and her hands tightened their grip on the counter. "Good luck."
* * *
For the first half hour after Reilly left, Mandy refused to let herself think about him, about the danger he was walking into. Just as she refused to let herself speculate on whether or not he would really return this time.
At first she remained where he'd left her, staring out of the window, her ears straining to hear something other than the echoing silence that had enfolded her when the door had clicked shut behind him.
Then she gave herself a mental shake and set about putting the cabin to rights. The place was filthy, she decided. As far as she could tell, no one had really cleaned the cabin in a long time. Dust coated every surface, so thick she could write her name in it. Her name, then Reilly's. When she realized what she'd done, Mandy hurriedly brushed both names into oblivion, then dragged out what few cleaning supplies she could find and set to with a vengeance.
Eradicating months of grime was hard work, but it wasn't enough to keep her thoughts from straying to Reilly. Her mind followed him fearfully through the woods to his truck, then down the winding mountain road to the highway, and beyond. Each time she caught herself doing it, though, she forced her thoughts to something else.
As she wielded the broom around the room, careful of her tender hands, she wondered what would happen to her bookstore. Alice and Judy, her longtime friends and part-time helpers, thought she was dead most likely, as did everyone else in town. Alice worked mornings, when her twin daughters were in kindergarten, while Judy, who split the duties of caring for their ailing mother with her married sister, worked afternoons and Saturdays. Would they be able to keep the Book Nook open for business? Black Rock was really much too small to support a bookstore of its own, but Mandy's store drew customers from other small towns in the area and from the surrounding ranches. She operated on a shoestring budget, as did most small stores these days, but since she'd inherited her house from her parents debt-free, the income from the store had always covered her simple needs, and she'd been happy enough.
Until Reilly.
Reilly. Was he okay? Had they trucked him down, the mysterious and deadly They who were after him? What were those phone calls he had to make, and to whom?
Reilly again. "Don't think about him," she told herself firmly as she opened the back door and swept out the pile of dirt her broom had accumulated. Why should she worry herself sick over him, when he'd left her without a backward glance, just as he'd done before? Why should she care about him when he didn't give a damn about her? That's not true, and you know it, her conscience chided her. Don't forget he saved your life last night. Twice. That must mean something.
Last night. Was it only last night? Mandy glanced at her watch for confirmation. So much had happened in the past twelve hours that it somehow seemed much longer since she'd walked into her bedroom and found Reilly waiting for her.
Against her will she remembered Reilly's crushing embrace in the dark, the desperate hunger in his kisses, as if he'd been as starved for her as she'd been for him. The shock of his appearance when she'd believed him dead, followed by the terrifying ordeal of their narrow escape, had pushed that memory to the furthest recesses of her mind until this moment. Now she dragged it out and considered it.
Why had he even been there? That was what she should have asked him when she had the chance. It didn't make sense for a man on the run from killers to turn up in her house in the dead of night. What had he thought she could do for him? Help him? Hide him?
No, that didn't seem like the Reilly she knew.
But then, you never really knew him, did you? her bruised heart cried.
She'd always known that there was a strong inner reserve in Reilly, a part of him he'd kept to himself despite all her efforts. She'd once teased that he had No Trespassing signs posted all over him. But there'd been a time when she'd thought she was making progress in tearing down those fences he used to keep people at a distance, a time when she'd believed he loved her.
She leaned her weight against the broom and stared out into the distance. Spring in these mountains was always late in coming, but by now the trees were painted with variegated shades of green. A light breeze played through the flourishing undergrowth and tickled the leaves, setting them dancing against the vivid blue Wyoming sky. The beauty of the scene didn't really register, though; her mind was occupied with something far more important.
You do know him, she told herself, striving for a dispassionate assessment. You loved him as much as any woman ever loved a man, slept in his arms, gave him your trust. You weren't a gullible, love-starved spinster, believing a slick con man's lies. You loved him, so much so that you— She cut off the last thought, shying away from even thinking it because she knew she still wasn't able to deal with those memories.
After a couple of calming breaths, she returned to her original train of thought. Her heart was wrong this time, she decided instinctively. There had to be more to his story. There had to be.
His face haunted her. When she'd said those hurtful things to him last night, he hadn't defended himself. He'd looked at her as if she'd mortally wounded him with her accusations, but he hadn't rushed to his own defense as most men would have done.
No, she thought, he hasn't really told you anything yet. And why is that?
"He's protecting me," she whispered, answering her own question. "That's the only thing it can be. If he doesn't give a damn, why would he care what happens to me?"
Her eyes narrowed, and her normally gentle mouth firmed. She had a host of unanswered questions, and whether Reilly liked it or not, he was going to answer them when he came back.
If he came back.
* * *
Chapter 5
« ^ »
Reilly barreled down I-90 in his truck—"letting the horses run", as some of the locals colorfully called it, although he was careful not to exceed the posted speed limit. He wasn't chancing some local cop or state trooper stopping him for speeding.
He fiddled with the radio's Seek/Scan button, but other than a couple of country-and-western stations and a man reading what sounded like a farm report in French, all he found was static. He turned the radio off in disgust. He didn't understand Basque French, so that station was worthless, and as for the others, how anyone could listen to country music for more than ten minutes at a time was beyond him. All that cryin', lovin' and leavin' got old real quick.
Mandy loved it, though. Country music had been playing in the background when they met in her bookstore, some song about standing outside the fire. He hadn't really been paying attention—his first sight of Mandy had taken all of that—but later on she had insisted it was "their" song and had played it often. Reilly had been forced to admit that for a country-and-western singer, Garth what's-his-name wasn't half-bad.
He checked his rearview mirror again. Other than a few eighteen-wheelers, there'd been little or no traffic around since he'd pulled onto the interstate fifteen minutes ago. Still, he couldn't be too careful.
Satisfied no one was on his tail, Reilly turned his mind back to the job ahead of him. The first thing he needed was information. Unfortunately, the only way to get it was to let someone know he was still alive, and right now that was chancy at best. Someone had betrayed him, someone he trusted. Other than his former partner on the police force and a handful of high-ranking federal agents, no one had known what he'd set out to accomplish five years ago. Most of those men were dead now, murdered in cold blood or killed in the line of duty. Of the men who were still alive, only two knew about Mandy. And one or both of those men had betrayed him.
His thoughts were grim as he considered his limited options.
One, he could turn around, head north for the Montana bor
der, and keep driving until he hit Canada. It wouldn't solve anything, but it would buy some time. He had enough money to get by for several months, and he could always fall back on carpentry if things got desperate.
He considered and discarded that option in less than a minute. There was no way in hell he was leaving Mandy, not until he was damn sure she was safe. If he was going to Canada, she was coming with him. And the way things now stood between them, he doubted he could convince her to go anywhere with him.
A second possibility was getting in touch with Trace McKinnon, his contact in the witness-protection program, or McKinnon's highly respected superior, Nick D'Arcy. That option went the way of the first. McKinnon and D'Arcy were the only men who knew that Reilly had intended to return to Black Rock for Mandy. One or the other was a traitor, but he didn't know which one. He wasn't risking Mandy's life on guessing wrong.
His third and last choice was the least palatable personally: he could contact Sheriff Cody Walker, as Mandy had suggested last night. Reilly respected him professionally, had seen him in operation a few times in the months Reilly had lived in Black Rock. They'd even worked together toward the end. He knew nothing against Walker, and since Mandy trusted the man implicitly, Reilly didn't know why he hesitated.
Maybe it was just that he kept getting these vibes from her whenever Walker's name was mentioned. Nothing bad, exactly. Just the uneasy feeling that there was something he didn't know, something he should know. Something between the two of them, from which Reilly was excluded.
He couldn't afford to let his personal animosity toward Walker affect his decision, though. Not with Mandy's life at stake. Now that he'd had time to consider it, taking Walker into his confidence was the only logical, the only safe choice, however much he hated to admit it.
If only Josh was alive, Reilly thought, not for the first time, none of this would be necessary.
For a moment Reilly once again mourned the death of his partner. Josh Thurman had been the older brother he'd never had, the one man he'd trusted with his life, a man who'd trusted Reilly with his own. He'd lost track of the number of times he and Josh had been there for each other in tight corners. It wasn't something he'd been conscious of. It just was, and he'd taken it for granted. If Josh were alive…
But Josh had been dead for more than a year, along with his wife and infant son. Reilly's grief over their deaths had surprised him with its intensity. He hadn't realized how deep his feelings had run. Rage at the injustice of it all, an emotion he was much more familiar with, had joined grief and guilt, swiftly building to explosive proportions.
He was used to burying his emotions beneath a cool facade, though, metamorphosising them into unyielding determination. Denied the emotional outlet that attendance at Josh's funeral would have given him, he'd held his own private wake over a bottle of Irish whiskey instead. As he'd said goodbye to the man he'd loved like a brother, he'd sworn that no one else would ever die because of him.
He'd kept that promise so far, even though the price had been impossibly high: it had cost him the woman he loved.
Now Mandy's life was threatened again, and he had only himself to blame.
* * *
Curled up in a blanket in front of the fireplace, Mandy sleepily checked her watch for the umpteenth time. She sighed tiredly. It was only nine o'clock, but she'd already showered and changed back into Cody's robe in preparation for bed, where she longed to be. Last night's traumatic activities and today's strenuous workout cleaning up the cabin had worn her out, but she couldn't go to sleep yet. She was waiting for Reilly.
Suppertime had come and gone with no sign of him, and the sun had long since set in a fiery ball behind the mountains. She'd sat on the front step and watched night fall like a starry black curtain, leaving her cold inside and out. And alone. More alone than she'd felt in months.
Now it was almost bedtime, and Reilly still hadn't returned. So much for his promises.
She glanced at the gun he'd given her, resting within easy reach on the floor behind her, and wondered whether Reilly's leaving it with her meant she was on her own from here on out.
Guns didn't scare her. She respected them, but she'd grown up around men and women who used them regularly and had used them herself, so she wasn't intimidated by them. She'd kept the pistol with her all day, even when she went to the bathroom. Although Reilly had refused to explain exactly what was going on, he had made it clear that she was in danger, and she wasn't stupid enough to take chances with her life. Despite everything she'd lost, at least the fire last night had proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that she wasn't ready to give up on life just yet.
Mandy chuckled humorlessly. Funny. Not so long ago you wanted to die, would have died if you'd had your way.
Every day since then had been a constant struggle to forget. Her friends had worried about her, especially Alice and Judy. Sometimes their loving concern had made her feel smothered, but mostly she'd been grateful for their support. They'd helped just by being there. Not pushing her to talk about it, but not shying away from the subject, either.
The pain was still there, would always be there, but time had softened it a little, just as people said it would. She hadn't believed it at the time. She'd been inconsolable then, when she'd just lost Reilly and the—
No, she wouldn't think about that time in her life. She'd start crying for sure, and she'd be an emotional wreck when Reilly returned.
Reilly.
Mandy checked her watch again. Nine-fifteen. She wrapped the blanket tighter around her, inched closer to the fire, and wondered how long she could cling to the pitiful hope that Reilly was ever coming back.
* * *
Reilly crouched in the shadows behind the detached garage, which was connected to Cody Walker's house by a covered walkway. He'd debated picking the lock on the side door and waiting inside the house, as he'd done at Mandy's, but had decided against it for one very good reason. He wasn't familiar with the interior layout of Walker's house as he had been with Mandy's, and since he didn't dare turn on a light, it wasn't possible to scope it out before the sheriff came home. One of the things he'd learned the hard way as an undercover cop was always to leave himself an escape route. That way, if things didn't go down as planned, he wouldn't be trapped.
When he'd become involved with Mandy all those months ago, the first thing he'd done was check out her house from top to bottom. Not snooping, because he respected her privacy, but merely to familiarize himself with his surroundings. That's how he'd known about the hidden cellar. He hadn't been looking for it, really, but it hadn't been hard to find. The house's foundation had made him curious, and the interior measurements hadn't added up in his mind, so he'd suspected an old root cellar or something along those lines. Discovering the cave had been an unexpected bonus.
His precautions at Mandy's house so long ago had paid off last night. He wasn't about to go against his training now.
Night pressed in all around him, and Reilly checked the luminous dial on his watch, wondering where the hell Walker was. If he didn't come home soon, Reilly was going to have to leave to retrieve his truck. He'd walked here after parking several blocks away in the Black Rock Cinema's parking lot, knowing that his truck stood the best chance of going unnoticed there. Small-town residents were notoriously nosy, he'd learned. If he'd left the truck on any residential street in town, the odds were that it would have attracted undue attention, something to be avoided at all costs, since the truck and its contents wouldn't stand up to more than a cursory inspection. But the last movie would be letting out shortly, and unless he wanted to chance it, he'd have to move his truck soon.
Come on, Walker, he thought, his patience wearing thin. He flexed his hands, working out the stiffness and the slight swelling caused by the small blisters on his palms. Thank God they weren't as bad as he'd first thought. He could easily ignore the pain but he couldn't afford to have his reaction time decrease. Not when there was so much at stake. Not when Mandy's life depen
ded on him.
He wondered what she was doing right now, what she was thinking. He'd told her he should be back before dark, and it was long past that now. Was she afraid, all alone out there in the middle of nowhere? Did she think something had happened to him? Or did she think he'd deserted her?
The last one was probably on target, he thought bleakly, especially since she'd already shown him how little she believed anything he said. He had no way to contact her, though, since the cabin had no phone.
He sighed soundlessly, and shifted his position, then froze when a car chugged down the otherwise quiet street. But it went on past without stopping, and Reilly relaxed a little.
Tiredness swept through him as the adrenaline surge drained away, but he ignored it. He hadn't had a lot of sleep last night, but that wasn't anything new to him, and he refused to give in to the momentary weakness. He'd been on worse stakeouts than this, and there were too many things left to do before he could let his guard down in sleep.
Although he'd decided to wait for the enveloping cloak of darkness before contacting Walker, he hadn't been idle this afternoon. He'd visited hardware and feed stores in Sheridan and Buffalo, picking up the items he needed, but in such a way as to avoid suspicion, he hoped. Both cities were so relatively small by New York standards that New Yorkers would have scoffed at calling them cities, but they were large enough for him to escape notice, something that wouldn't have happened in Black Rock.
He'd also bought some clothes for Mandy, spreading his purchases around so that no one would particularly remember him buying them: a couple of simple cotton tops in one store, two pairs of jeans in another, undies and a bra in a third. He'd bought what he knew Mandy liked, disregarding the cost. He owed her, he'd reasoned. It was his fault that the only clothes she had left were the ones she'd been wearing at the time of the fire. It wasn't until he was picking out a warm zippered jacket in a discount store on the edge of town that he'd realized he had another motive. He didn't want Mandy wearing Cody Walker's borrowed clothes a minute longer than she had to.
