When Danger Calls (Blackthorne, Inc.)

by Terry Odell

Frankie, wrapped in a blanket, stood huddled behind a stand of trees. He shone the light over her. She was standing. Not lying battered and bleeding like in the picture that had played over and over in his head. She took a tentative step forward, hands shielding her eyes.

  Damn, in the dark, he must look like some sort of a monster. He lowered the beam. "It's me. Ryan."

  Slowly, altogether too slowly, she stepped forward. "It's really you? You're alive?"

  This was not the two lovers racing into each other's arms he'd imagined. He waited.

  When she stopped five feet away, holding Molly to her side, his gut twisted. In that instant, he'd seen a flash of relief in her eyes, but he'd caught a flicker of unease, quickly hidden, replaced by absolute neutrality. He'd been an idiot to assume she loved him. After what had gone down, she probably never wanted to see him again. One night of sex, even terrific sex, didn't make it easy to love someone who'd nearly gotten you and your kid killed.

  Fighting his need to embrace her, he swallowed the tide of emotions that surged through him. "Of course I'm alive. I told you I'd be back."

  "Your cabin? Dalton?"

  "Later. Let's go." He peeked around her where Molly clung to Frankie's legs. "Hey, Angel. Have you ever been in a helicopter?"

  "Helicopter? What are you talking about?" Frankie said. "I don't see a landing pad."

  He pointed skyward. "That's as low as she gets." He reached into his bag and removed two more glow sticks. "You know how these work?" he asked Molly.

  She nodded.

  "Good girl. You can be my assistant. Crack them, shake them, and let's go for a ride."

  "Do you mean to tell me you're taking my daughter up…there?" Frankie pointed in the direction of the helo's sounds.

  "We're all going. Fastest way out, and we need to get moving." He scooped Molly up and trotted toward the clearing, sliding into hostage rescue mode. Move quickly, reassure them they're all right, don't let them argue.

  He demonstrated the harness, helped Frankie into it, securing the buckles and straps and wondering if their contact electrified her as much as it did him. If so, she had Dalton beat out for the best poker face on the team. Molly, wide-eyed, took direction without hesitation.

  Before he fastened them together, he knelt down and buried his face in Wolf's ruff. After giving the dog an energetic scratch behind the ears and a hearty pat to his chest, he straightened. "Home, boy. Good job." Wolf sat. Ryan knew he'd go home once they took off.

  "Do heights bother you?" he asked Frankie.

  She looked at the helo overhead. "I guess I'm going to find out."

  "Okay, Molly," he said. "Got your braves ready?"

  She patted her tummy.

  "You're going to be the peanut butter in the sandwich. But first, make a circle with the glow sticks. That will tell Fozzie we're almost ready to go. Then I want you to hold on to me like this." He took her hands and wrapped her arms around his waist.

  She did, and he retightened all the buckles. Better with Molly as a buffer between him and Frankie. They were safe. He told himself that's all that mattered.

  He spiraled his hand above his head, giving Fozzie the go. Then he embraced Frankie, holding her tight, and wondered if it was for the last time as the earth dropped away beneath them.

  Avoiding Frankie's eyes on the ascent, he focused on Molly. Instead of fear, a grin spread across her face. Although the helo's rotors drowned out any other sounds, he swore she was giggling.

  Once they'd reached the helo, Ryan braced his legs below the open door. Without a wasted movement, Hotshot and Manny hoisted Frankie and Molly inside. While Grinch assisted Ryan with getting in and closing the door, Fozzie whisked them away toward the nearest airport.

  With practiced ease, Hotshot had Frankie and Molly out of their harnesses and belted into their seats. Seconds later, he'd outfitted them with headsets. Ryan watched him demonstrate how to listen and talk. Dammit, he didn't need to hold Frankie's hand to do it.

  Molly twisted until she spied Ryan standing behind Manny. "Can we do that again?"

  His insides loosened at the child's innocent grin. He stepped to her side and sat in the seat across from her. "Not today."

  "But someday, okay?"

  Frankie glared at him. Did she think he'd make promises he couldn't keep? She leaned forward, her face inches from Molly's. "Ryan and his friends have important jobs to do. They're probably not going to come back for a long, long time."

  That answered his question. He levered himself out of his seat to find a private spot in the back of the helo.

  "Ryan, wait."

  He spun around at the sound of her voice.

  Her eyes implored him to come closer. He was back in half a heartbeat. "Yes?"

  "The disc. In your computer. The files. I think I figured out where the information is hidden."

  He heard a collective intake of breath through his headset. He could feel everyone's eyes on them. "What did you find?"

  "It's in the pictures. At least I think it is. I looked at a few of them, and there's something wrong."

  "What do you mean, wrong?" She gazed above his head, and he sensed Hotshot behind him.

  She didn't return her eyes to his as she went on. "I was enlarging some of them to entertain Molly while we waited. Some of the pixels didn't match."

  "What does that mean?"

  "I don't know exactly. I wanted to check it out in Photoshop. But now that it's all over, I suppose your people have much fancier technology."

  Ryan stopped himself before he touched her thigh, afraid she'd recoil at his touch. "All the CDs were destroyed in the fire."

  For an instant, her eyes sparkled. "But I took it with me. I thought it was important."

  Manny stepped in. "Way to go. You want a job with Blackthorne?"

  Frankie reached inside her parka. She pulled out fragments of a CD and a jagged rock. "Oh, dear." Her face crumpled. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

  Chapter 29

  Frankie dropped the shards of the CD into Ryan's outstretched hand. "Do you think you can recover the data?"

  He examined the gouged pieces. "I doubt it, but I'll send it to the techies."

  "I am so sorry. It must have snapped when you buckled the harness. I forgot I'd picked up that rock. I thought I might use it in case someone—"

  "Hey, stop it. We might not have the file, but neither do the bad guys. You did great."

  She studied the faces hovering around her. The one who'd helped them into the helicopter. Hotshot, he'd called himself. His blue eyes didn't seem angry. Neither did Manny's brown ones. Both men gave her reassuring smiles.

  She spoke to them, avoiding Ryan's eyes. "But I ruined your mission. You were supposed to get the information, right?"

  "Let it go, Frankie," Manny said. "Harper's right. Our mission was to make sure the tangos didn't get the intel, and we did that. If you hadn't taken the disc, it would have been destroyed in the fire, so either way, it's gone."

  "Tangos?" she asked.

  "Terrorists," Hotshot said. "Tango's the call sign for the letter T."

  She nodded. Still, her one chance to create a bright side from tonight's mess was nothing more than bits and pieces of plastic. Shaking off the whirling confusion of emotions plowing through her, she put a hand on Molly's shoulder. In the end, Molly's safety was all that mattered. There might be a big, bad world outside, but hers was in Broken Bow with her family.

  Oh, God, her family. Mom. Bob. Brenda and the money. And Angus Harper's land access. Out of the fire, into the frying pan. Someone's voice barked in her headset, and the men scattered to seats. Molly looked up, startled.

  "It's okay," Ryan said. "We're getting ready to land."

  "Like on the ground?" Frankie said. "No ropes?"

  "No ropes. Missoula airport. Dalton will be waiting."

  Missoula. She had no transportation, no money. "How will we get home?"

  Ryan's expression was flat. "You'll spend tonight in a hotel. And we'll watch your h
ouse, to be safe."

  "But—"

  "No buts, Frankie. Until we make sure everything is under control, you're going to have to do as we say."

  Too exhausted to argue, too confused to deal with it, she nodded her assent. A night in a hotel would give her time to think. With a dull thud, they landed.

  "Oh, my," she said when she peered out the open door. A black limo waited on the tarmac, the passenger doors open. Like dominoes, the crew exited the helicopter. Hotshot turned and stretched his arms toward her. His hands at her waist, hers on his shoulders, he swept her to the ground like a ballroom dancer. Molly dove into Manny's waiting arms.

  With a hand at her back, Hotshot guided her, and Manny carried Molly. They were whisked into the limo.

  "Wow," Molly said. "This is so cool."

  Dalton leaned over from the driver's seat. "Everyone set?"

  The helicopter crew joined her in back. Ryan went directly to the front seat without a word. Seatbelts clicked into place, and with barely a whisper, the limo glided away.

  "Wait here," Dalton said when they arrived at the Holiday Inn.

  Frankie assumed it meant her, because with the exception of Hotshot and Manny, who sat across from her, everyone else left the vehicle. The trunk popped open, and two of the men slung duffel bags over their shoulders, as if they'd done this dozens of times before. Which they probably had. Not in Missoula, but all over the planet. And probably not delivered by limo to one of the nicest hotels in town.

  Molly scrambled from one side of the car to the other, trying to peek out the windows.

  "Come here, kiddo," Hotshot said. "How old are you?" He pulled Molly next to him.

  When she realized the men were putting their bodies between Molly and the window, her breath hitched. Maybe Ryan's earlier, "Everything's okay" hadn't been a hundred per cent accurate.

  "Isn't a limo kind of conspicuous?" she asked.

  "Not if you're a big Hollywood film mogul come to scout locations," Manny said. "Dalton's feeding them a line about this being a hush-hush deal. If the staff respects our privacy, maybe we'll bring the big stars here, yada, yada, yada. He's first rate with the charm. And anyone looking for us would expect more conventional transportation."

  Frankie marveled at the complexity of this world, and how easily these men seemed to slip from one persona to another. Stop. She was a small town school teacher with aspirations to be a photographer. She'd had her big adventure, nearly lost her daughter, and it had scared the daylights out of her. The exhilaration—that was an emotion she'd deal with another time, when she could think again.

  Moments later, Dalton appeared. He pulled a suitcase from the trunk. "All set." They slid out of the limo and were inside the lobby before she realized that she and Molly were flanked by four men. Big, strong—and, okay, handsome—bodyguards. Bodyguards who herded them into the elevator.

  Dalton handed her two small paper bags with the Holiday Inn logo. Warm, and emitting an aroma that had her mouth watering. Chocolate chip cookies. She handed one to Molly, who ripped the bag open and devoured the treat inside. Glancing up at her entourage, Frankie saw smiles—and cookie crumbs—on their faces.

  "Okay, little lady," Dalton said when they reached what she assumed was her room. He unlocked the door and ushered them inside, immediately crossing to the window and drawing the drapes. He set the suitcase he'd been carrying onto one of the two double beds.

  "Here's your key. We've got the rooms on either side, and the one across the hall. If you want anything to eat, call room service. Feel free to hit the mini bar. If you need company, call one of us." He recited the room numbers and watched her write them on the pad by the phone. "Please don't leave the room."

  She hadn't noticed who'd gone into which room, but she supposed it didn't matter. What had he meant by company? "I'm fine. We're fine. Thanks."

  "There's clothes and stuff in the suitcase. Hope they fit."

  Somehow, she knew whatever was in there would fit perfectly. She shook her head. Dalton turned to leave. At the door, he stopped. "I meant it, Frankie. Things can get scary after it's all over. If you or the little one need to talk about it, any one of us will listen. We've all been there."

  She mustered a smile. "I think we're both too tired for that. But thanks for the offer."

  "Then good night. Sleep well." He pulled the door open.

  "Dalton, wait."

  Closing the door behind him, he winged his eyebrows.

  "Ryan. Where is he?" she asked.

  "On his way to your place."

  "If you talk to him, would you tell him thanks for everything?"

  "I'll tell him."

  "I think…you know, he has…feelings for me. Please tell him I'm not ready to deal with that yet. I have to sort things out." Did she ever. Thinking about him and what had happened today made her feel like firecrackers were exploding in her belly.

  He pressed his lips together before he spoke. "That's between the two of you. Not my place to get involved."

  Frankie's face grew hot. "You're right. I didn't mean—"

  "You're beat. Get some sleep." He slipped out the door, but before he let it close, he poked his head back in. "Throw the latch."

  She heard the click as the automatic lock caught. On legs that wobbled like Jell-O, she crossed the room and did as Dalton asked. Her eyes burned, and she blinked back the tears before turning around. "Okay, Molly. Let's get ready for bed."

  An hour later, Frankie lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, concentrating on Molly's steady breathing. The room heater hummed. Traffic noises whooshed from the street four stories below. Normal, everyday sounds.

  She pulled back the covers and padded to the other bed. Tucked against her daughter's warm body, she inhaled the scent of herbal soap and shampoo and waited for sleep. Nothing, she knew, would ever be normal again. From beyond the wall, she heard a phone ring once. A deep, male voice answered, but the words were unintelligible.

  *****

  Ryan stepped from behind an oak tree in Frankie's yard. "What are you doing here?" He zipped his parka and shoved his hands into the pockets. "I called Grinch."

  Dalton lowered himself to the ground next to Ryan. "And Grinch called me. Which, if you remember the way things work, is because I give the orders on this op, not you."

  Ryan paced. "This op. As long as you're here, how about you fill me in on what the hell this op is."

  "Long story."

  "Well, unless another batch of tangos comes calling, we've got about six hours until sunrise. That enough time?" Ryan didn't disguise the anger in his tone. Anger was all that held him together. Dalton, damn him, would know that. At least it was dark, and he didn't have to deal with Dalton's penetrating stare.

  Which was why he'd called Grinch, not Dalton. Dalt always knew every fucking thing whirling through his head. All he'd wanted was backup—so they could cover front and back of the house. Someone to help him stay awake. Definitely not someone playing shrink.

  "Sit down." Dalton's drawl had changed to a growl. "Don't need the neighbors calling the cops."

  Ryan sank to the lawn on the other side of the oak tree. He plucked blades of grass and threw them into the night. "You rigged my car, didn't you, you bastard? You almost killed my father. And then you drugged me so you could search my cabin. Oh, and let's not forget setting me up for that little punching bag job with those two thugs."

  There was a long silence. "God's truth, I only tweaked the steering. I had no clue your daddy would drive away, or what happened for him to crash like that. I figured you'd take the car to the shop, and I could search your place."

  "You could have asked, you know."

  Another silence. Longer this time. "Blackie said no. You'd walked out. I couldn't believe you'd turn, but then, you thought I had, didn't you?"

  This time it was Ryan who was silent. He uprooted a clump of grass and crushed it in his fist.

  Dalton went on, his voice a low monotone. The kind that wouldn't carry beyond Ry
an's ears. "The Alvarez assignment. It was supposed to be mine. Only I got stuck on another mission, so Blackie sent you."

  "With no clue about what I was really after." His gut clenched at how vulnerable he'd been. "He didn't trust me enough to tell me?"

  "Bad call, I agree. He said it was 'need to know.' He figured if you thought you were on a cakewalk, you couldn't give anything away. But he should have had backup closer. He didn't want to alert anyone that the mission was more than it appeared to be."

  "So, tell me. When did Blackthorne start trusting me again?"

  "I think he always did. It threw him when you quit like that, though. You didn't think it was strange when you got into Blackthorne's computer system so easily?"

  "Shit." So much for his so-called clever way around Blackthorne security. They'd left the door wide open for him. God, his head had been totally fucked up, or he'd have noticed. He let the dirt dribble between his fingers. "What about the Forcadas?"

  Dalton whistled softly through his teeth. "Someone intercepted our intel. Got through our encryption codes."

  "Not an internal leak?"

  "Nope. A damn good hacker. It's been firewalled."

  So there were no connections between the two cases. His dumb luck to be in the wrong place twice.

  Headlights cruised by, and they waited in silence. Above, an owl hooted. From down the street, a dog barked. The car didn't come back. The wind picked up.

  "It's getting cold," Dalton said. "What do you say we move inside?"

  Ryan didn't bother to ask if he had a key. He trailed Dalton to the back porch, up the steps, and stood behind him while Dalt worked the lock. The door swung open.

  "After you," Dalton said.

  "That was quick, even for you."

  "Yeah, well it helps that nobody bothered to lock the door."

  Smiling despite himself, Ryan moved across the porch, through the kitchen, and into the now-empty bedroom that had once been Brenda's. He drew the curtains. In this room, shrouded by trees, they'd be away from any insomniac neighbor's eyes. He felt his way to the bed and sank onto the soft mattress. The frame squeaked when he lowered himself to his back. Hands clasped behind his head, he heard the scrape of a chair across the floor, then a quiet creak as Dalton settled himself facing the door. Without having to see it, he knew Dalton would have his pistol on his lap.