When Danger Calls (Blackthorne, Inc.)

by Terry Odell

  An unwarranted precaution, he told himself. Everything indicated it was over. Tonight was a formality. In the morning, Frankie and Molly would return home. Anyone who could ID her was dead.

  He put a mental lid on that thought. "You think the new smallpox virus is out there?"

  "Everything's out there. If not today, then tomorrow, or a week from Tuesday. Maybe a year. All we did was slow things down."

  Which, Ryan knew as well as he knew the sun would rise, was all they ever did. "Do you think we have it tucked away in some laboratory? The CDC, or some secret medical research complex?"

  "I don't know. But for what it's worth, I think if we do have it, tonight we showed the muckity-mucks that we need to make sure we can cure it. Pronto. Hell, we don't have enough vaccine for the normal, everyday smallpox."

  He closed his eyes. "Ever wonder about man's inhumanity and all that? You think it'll stop someday?"

  Dalton snorted. "Yeah, right. But we'd be out of a job if that ever happened."

  Job. Another thought he relegated to his mental strongbox. "What about Smith and Jones? How did you hook up with them?"

  Dalton shifted in his chair. "Word on the street was you had Alvarez's files. Everyone wanted them. Smith and Jones, as you called them, were first to arrive. Since I was already here, I convinced them they couldn't do it without me, what with me having the inside track on my former partner's defection and all. They didn't believe me, so I had to convince them."

  "I can accept you handing me over. But Frankie and Molly?" The thoughts he'd locked away hammered at the lid of his strongbox.

  "Hey, I told you, I didn't let anyone hurt the kid. And if your brain wasn't so scrambled, you'd have noticed things. Like Frankie wasn't tied up, for starters. I did what I could to leave you a trail. I snuck a little surprise into Jones' food to slow them down. Short of handing you a map and a key, I fixed it so you'd get out and find us."

  "So I should be thanking you, I suppose."

  "It wasn't pretty, but it's done. Why don't you crash for a couple of hours? I'll be in the other room."

  "No." The word spewed out too fast. "I mean, you haven't told me about the Phantom. You seemed to be where he was a lot of the time."

  Dalton responded with another prolonged silence.

  "Shit, man. Your nose is out of joint because I checked up? I didn't know what the hell was going on, and all of a sudden the man I thought was my friend seems to have his own agenda. I called Debbie about the car parts, you know."

  "Dammit. I got called out before I could give her the line to feed you."

  "The Phantom. Tell me."

  "Not a lot to tell. Idea was I could infiltrate, find out how he was getting his information. Nobody could get a handle on him, so Blackie switched tactics. I was laying the foundation for cover as a new competitor."

  "You ID him?"

  "No. Half the time the intel was off, and I wasn't where I needed to be when I needed to be there. He's still out there, somewhere."

  "As long as we're having this heart-to-heart, I've got one more question."

  "Shoot."

  "How come you're the only person who calls Horace Blackthorne Blackie?"

  Dalton's laugh echoed in the small room. "He's my momma's cousin. I've known him since I was a kid."

  "No shit."

  "I'd prefer nobody know. Can't have them think I'm getting special favors."

  "Your secret's safe."

  The crickets outside and the ticking of the Grandfather clock in the living room created a soothing background rhythm. For a moment, Ryan relaxed. Maybe he could catch a quick nap. But relaxation after a mission was always short-lived. Memories encroached, and the adrenaline pumped anew. His eyes snapped open.

  "How's Frankie holding up?" he asked. "And Molly?" Did Frankie ask about me? Did she seem to care? Even notice I'd left?

  "They seemed fine."

  "Come on, Dalt. Fine? After what they went through? I can believe she never wants to see me again. She's an elementary school teacher, for Christ's sake. She doesn't fall for guys who kill people."

  "She's got guts. I think she knows we had to do what we did. And the kid was so excited about the helo and the limo, she's probably forgotten everything else."

  "When you see them, tell Frankie I'm glad they're all right, okay? Tell her I'm sorry things turned out the way they did." Tell her I love her.

  Dalton stood. His shadow towered over the bed. "Two things I don't do, pardner. One is poach. The other is play go-between for a man and a woman. You want to tell her anything, do it yourself."

  The shadow moved away, and he heard the door open. Before it closed, Dalton spoke again. "You want my opinion? You've been doing a lot of running away lately. It doesn't solve your problems, just lets 'em fester. You've gotta decide what you're gonna do."

  The door closed. Ryan stared at the ceiling, sorting his thoughts, knowing sleep would not come.

  Eventually, faint fingers of light slipped through the curtains. He rubbed his eyes and stumbled out to the living room. Dalton looked up at his approach.

  "Thanks for everything," Ryan said. "I've got to go."

  Outside, he paced around the Blackthorne SUV. Remembering Frankie. How she paced when she needed to think. Pushing the thought from his head, he opened the driver's door and sat sideways in the seat. He punched his father's number into his cell phone. Pop answered on the first ring.

  "Hey, Pop. It's me. I'm fine."

  After a pause, his father spoke. "Glad to hear that. Bit of a ruckus last night. You comin' home?"

  "Not right now, Pop. I've got things to take care of."

  "Your lady friend okay? The little one?"

  "They're all right. They'll be home in Broken Bow later today."

  Pop cleared his throat. Twice. "Don't do nothing stupid, son. Someone special comes along, you've got to grab her and hang on. Your mama was that kind of a woman. I nearly didn't go after her, afraid she wouldn't hook up with a poor rancher. We didn't have enough time together, but there's never been anyone else like her."

  Ryan realized he was pacing again. "I'm not sure this is the same, Pop, but thanks. Frankie doesn't want…" His voice caught. "I'll try to get back. But first, I have some unfinished business in San Francisco." He almost ended the call, then brought it back to his ear. "I love you, Pop."

  "Take care, son."

  He stared at the phone for a long time before he drove away.

  *****

  The teller's eyebrows lifted and his pinched nostrils flared before he motioned Ryan to the end of the counter. Ryan knew he looked like shit. He'd driven straight through, and hadn't bothered to change his shirt, much less shower, when he'd stopped at his San Francisco apartment for the emergency ID he kept stashed in a floor safe.

  Now, at the bank, the two of them performed the rituals necessary to enter the sanctum of the safe deposit boxes, and finally, the man removed the small steel box. He handed it to Ryan, unlocked yet another door and stepped aside.

  "You can press this button when you're through, Mr. Randall. I, or someone on staff will return."

  "Thank you," Ryan said. Once the door clicked shut, he sat at the small table and released the catch on the box. A faint aroma of tobacco wafted up. He sat there for a long time, staring at Alvarez's flash drive. Although he'd thought about little else for the past two days, he hadn't been sure what he was going to do until he saw it. Ryan picked up the drive, running his fingers over its smooth surface. He closed the box and buzzed for the teller.

  Chapter 30

  "Hold still, Molly." Frankie straightened the pink ribbon on Molly's French braid.

  "But they're starting the Taco Bell cannon song. That's my turn."

  "Pachelbel," Frankie corrected. "Canon in D. You remember what to do?"

  Molly rolled her eyes. "Step-together-step. Sprinkle flowers one way," she chanted in a sing-song. "Step-together-step. Sprinkle them the other way."

  "Good. And remember—"

&nb
sp; "Don't throw them, let them float. I know."

  Frankie kissed her daughter on the forehead. "You're the best." She stood in the church entryway and watched Molly shower pink and white rose petals along the white runner. She smoothed her dress. "Ready, Mom?"

  Frankie adjusted the corsage on her mother's cast and crooked her elbow. The music shifted to Wagner's familiar strains. "Let's go."

  Arm in arm, she and her mother walked down the aisle. At the front pew, Frankie stopped, kissed her mother on the cheek and took her seat on the sleek wood. Any doubts about Mom's judgment fled at the look of pure love in Bob's eyes as he clasped her hand.

  Later, at the house, after the reception guests had left, Meg Winthrop stayed to help clean up. She handed Frankie a glass of champagne. "I don't see how you put this together in a week. Did someone give you thirty-hour days while the rest of us are stuck with the usual twenty-four?"

  Frankie set the glass aside and squeezed her neighbor's hand. She didn't want to think of the days ahead now that the hectic planning was a thing of the past. Keeping busy had been her salvation. "It wasn't a big deal, and I know Mom wanted it, even though she denied it. Why put it off? Like she and Bob said, at their age, they don't buy green bananas. Almost everyone in town pitched in."

  "Now that the wedding is over, are you going to tell me what happened before? All the juicy details? Molly keeps talking about a helicopter ride and a big limousine. And some big, strong men."

  "Another time, okay? I'm beat."

  Meg looked disappointed as she flipped the latch on the dishwasher and pressed the start button. "I'm going to hold you to that."

  "Fair enough." When the time came, she was sure she'd conjure up a nicely sanitized version of what happened. She'd watched the news, scoured the papers, but hadn't seen anything about terrorists in the Montana mountains. Or heard from Ryan. Which was what she wanted. She'd had her adventure, and it was plenty. It was time to get back to the reality of being a schoolteacher in Broken Bow, Montana.

  After Meg left, Frankie wandered out to the front yard, bagging stray plastic champagne glasses and discarded paper plates that hadn't made it to the trash. She lingered a moment at the oak tree in the front yard, re-tying the yellow ribbon she and Molly had tied in memory of Mr. Snuggles. Frankie was pleased at the way Molly had accepted the loss after Ryan's cabin had been destroyed, and the memorial seemed to be all her daughter needed.

  On the way to the trash can, she straightened the "For Sale" sign in the yard. With Mom and Bob moving to Santa Rosa, the house was too big for her and Molly. And too expensive to maintain.

  She smiled. Selling the house meant Mom didn't need to sell the mountain property, and Angus Harper could keep his trail ride business. That left Brenda. Mom's elephant pin had turned up in an Arizona pawn shop, and the police were confident they'd find Brenda.

  Once she knew she'd get her pin back, Mom had hardly been upset about the missing savings.

  "It's only money. In the grand scheme of things, that's not high on my list," she'd said. "Most of my assets are invested, so all she got was my 'just in case' cash account."

  Nevertheless, Frankie hoped they'd recover Mom's cash. She sighed. If she'd confronted Mom sooner, she'd have known there wasn't any real financial crisis, and she wouldn't have taken the job at Three Elks. Which meant she'd never have met Ryan. Of course, he'd nearly got her and Molly killed, but they were fine, so despite everything that happened, she was glad he'd been part of her life, even for that short while. She went inside, a mere shade away from content.

  She and Molly were sharing a dinner of leftover finger sandwiches in front of the television when the doorbell rang.

  "I'll get it." Molly jumped up.

  "Wait for me." Getting up from the couch was an effort, and only then did she realize how exhausted she was. She checked the clock. Seven-thirty? It felt like midnight.

  "Who is it?" Molly called from halfway across the living room. She gave Frankie her "I know the rules" smirk. She darted to the door and had one hand on the knob before Frankie stopped her with a hand to the shoulder. She stepped in front of Molly.

  Frankie checked the peephole. Her heart leapfrogged to her throat. She licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry, and pulled the door open.

  "It's Mister Ryan!" Molly squealed. She wriggled past him onto the porch and searched the skies. "Did you come in a helicopter?"

  "No, Angel. A regular car."

  His whiskey-colored eyes showed almost as much misery as they had the first night she'd seen him at the Three Elks. "Come in." She stepped back and motioned him inside. "How have you been?"

  "Fine," he said. "Busy. You?"

  "Busy, too." Awkwardness hung in the air between them like layers of fogged film. "Come inside, Molly. You can finish watching the movie. Ryan and I are going to have some grown-up talking time."

  "Wait," Ryan said. "I'll be right back." He jogged to the street. A car door opened, then closed, and he jogged back with a blue-and-white polka-dotted shopping bag in one hand.

  "Did he bring Gramma a wedding present?" Molly asked. "Can we open it for her?"

  "I don't know, Peanut. Let's wait and see." All week, as she'd been busy throwing a wedding together, she'd thought about how she'd respond if she ever saw Ryan again. Cool and aloof, she'd decided. Friends, for sure. They'd been through hell and back together. But nothing more. Maybe brother-sister. Then why were her breasts aching? She folded her arms across her chest to hide the nipples straining against her bra. Forget what she was feeling lower. Like she needed fresh underwear.

  Ryan trotted up the steps. He stopped at the doorway and raked his fingers through his hair. He'd cut it much shorter, and it stood up, as if he'd been fingering it a lot recently. Freshly shaven, too, and she smelled his aftershave, mixed with his own Ryan scent.

  His gaze held hers for an instant before fixing on some distant place over her head. "I hope you don't mind, but I brought you each something." Before Frankie could respond, he reached into the bag and pulled out a box and handed it to Molly. She tugged on the ribbon.

  "Molly. What do you say?" Frankie asked.

  "Thank you," she said without looking up.

  "That's better. But let's go indoors." She moved aside, and Ryan stepped into the room, still not making eye contact.

  Molly ripped the paper off the box. "Mommy, look. It's a little Wolf!" She held up a small stuffed German shepherd.

  Ryan cleared his throat. "I know it's not Mr. Snuggles. I hope it's all right." He lowered his voice. "It's not one of those bribe things. Honest."

  "Look at her. Of course it's all right." She made a production of checking out the toy for Molly's sake, then gave it back to her. "Why don't you take little Wolf to the den and watch the movie together?"

  Molly barreled into Ryan and hugged him around the legs. "Thank you." She skipped out of the room. The raw emotion that crossed Ryan's face sent a lump to Frankie's throat. This was not a good thing. She'd played this tape in her head for days. The world needed people like Ryan. People who would put their lives on the line. Molly needed someone she could count on to be there. Ryan couldn't be both.

  "Sit down," she said. "We should talk."

  *****

  We should talk.

  Those words chilled Ryan more than seeing the For Sale sign in Frankie's yard. More than marching into an ambush. "Yeah."

  "Would you like some coffee?"

  Grateful for the time it would buy him, he nodded. Frankie retreated to the kitchen. After half a minute that lasted half a year, he picked up the bag and followed.

  He stood in the kitchen doorway as he had a lifetime ago. Instead of jeans, this time she wore a silky pink dress that clung to her curves. No shoes, but the shimmer on her legs made him ache to run his fingers down the sleek nylon.

  Her hair was done in another French braid, not hanging loose around her shoulders. He imagined releasing it, knowing how soft it would feel beneath his fingers.

  She wore a
different perfume tonight. It had hit him as soon as she'd opened the door. But underneath the exotic scent, she still smelled like Frankie, which had almost undone him on the porch.

  She pressed a button on the coffee maker and turned around. Her eyes, blue as he remembered, flew open and a hand clapped against her chest. "You scared me."

  "I wanted to give you this." He set the bag on the table and extracted the package.

  "You didn't need to bring me anything."

  "I think I did. Open it."

  Eyeing him with curiosity, she took the box. "It's heavy. Is it a book?"

  "Open it already."

  He watched her slender fingers untie the bow, then carefully pry the tape at the ends of the package. She removed the paper. Her mouth dropped open and the paper fluttered onto the floor. "If this is for real, you shouldn't have. I can't accept this, Ryan. It's much too expensive."

  "It's for real, and I know what I can afford. If you can't think of it as a gift, then think of it as a replacement for what I broke."

  She sank into a chair, turning the Nikon box round and round on the table in front of her. "You didn't break mine. I left it behind."

  "To save something more important."

  "Which I broke."

  "Stop it, Frankie. You're a damn fine photographer, and you deserve a decent camera."

  She burst out laughing, and he looked around the room, expecting to see Molly. When there was no sign of her, or anything else the least bit amusing, he yanked a chair away from the table and sat across from her. "What's so funny?"

  "Nothing. I was going to say you owed me a quarter, but after last week—never mind."

  She scooted her chair back. "Coffee's almost ready. Black, right?"

  He nodded. The need to move welled up in him like a hot air balloon. Slowly, the room beyond Frankie registered. Platters in the draining rack. Three big plastic trash bags by the door, one revealing bits of silver and white wrapping paper and a number of bows. Which explained Frankie's attire. Real observant. In the field, he'd be dead by now.