Blue Ridge Ricochet

by Paula Graves

  The dead bolt slid back into the door with a soft click, and he gave the door a push open.

  He eased into the kitchen and looked around, squinting as bright daylight assaulted his eyes. Around him, the cabin was quiet and still.

  He looked around the house to make sure he was still alone, then checked out the front door to assure himself Nicki and the Jeep were still gone. Then he went into the bedroom to find the phone.

  But it was gone, no longer sitting on the bedside table where it had been the night before.

  He checked the floor on either side of the table and even crouched to check under the bed. No phone.

  A room-to-room search of the cabin revealed no sign of the missing phone. Nor did he find a computer or any sort of modem or router with which to access the internet if he wanted to reach the authorities that way instead.

  He sank into one of the kitchen chairs and willed his wobbly legs to stop shaking. He clearly wasn’t going to be able to call in the cavalry, so he was going to have to get the hell out of this cabin on his own somehow.

  But first, he needed something to eat. Some of his unsteadiness might be from sheer hunger. He pushed himself to his feet and crossed to the refrigerator, bracing himself to find it as empty as the bedside table had been. But the refrigerator was well stocked, and he grabbed a couple of eggs from the carton for his breakfast.

  She had plenty of cookware in her cabinets, too. Made sense, he supposed—she’d said she worked as a diner cook, hadn’t she? As he heated a pat of butter in one of the pans on the stove, he grabbed a couple of slices of bread from the bread box and stuck them in the toaster.

  The smell of toasting bread and frying eggs made him almost light-headed with hunger, but once he’d wolfed down his breakfast, he felt considerably better.

  But did he feel well enough to walk out of these woods to seek help?

  He left the pans for Nicki to wash—the least she could do, considering she’d locked him in her cellar—and took another look around the house, this time for some sign of who Nicki really was and what had compelled her to lock him up rather than let him call the authorities for help.

  She’d admitted to knowing who he was. Which meant she had to know that he’d disappeared somewhere between Washington, DC, and wherever he was now. That foul play was suspected.

  Or was it? Did people think he’d disappeared on his own? He’d been on the phone with a man named Cade Landry when those BRI thugs had run him off the road and dragged him out of his banged-up car. But Landry had been a fugitive. For all Dallas knew, he still was. He might not have had the opportunity to tell anyone what he’d heard over the phone.

  So what, exactly, did Nicki think she knew about him?

  There were no personal items anywhere around the cabin, he realized after another search of the place. She probably had her driver’s license and other ID with her, since she’d taken the Jeep into town, but most people had other personal records scattered around the house, didn’t they?

  Back at his apartment in Georgetown, he had a whole four-drawer filing cabinet full of tax information, personal records, vehicle papers and more. He even had a box in his closet filled with things he’d kept from his high school and college days.

  As far as he could tell from his search, Nicki had nothing like that stashed anywhere around the cabin.

  He sat on the bed and looked around the small bedroom. Simple gray curtains on the window. Plain pine dresser that matched the bedside table. The bed was little more than a mattress and box set on a metal frame. No headboard or footboard. Plain gray sheets and pillowcases, plus a couple of matching waffle-weave blankets that acted as the bedspread.

  A large woven rag rug stretched over the hardwood floor next to the bed, the hodgepodge of blues, grays, black and white offering only a little more color than the rest of the decor.

  Drab surroundings for a woman as vibrantly beautiful as his hostess-turned-captor.

  He pushed himself up from the bed and looked around, trying to make sense of all that had happened to him over the past twelve hours. And no matter which way he looked, it all came back to the same thing.

  Nicki.

  Who the hell was she? And what did she want from him?

  * * *

  BY NINE THIRTY, the breakfast crowd began to thin out, but Del McClintock and part of his posse lingered, nursing cups of coffee and chatting quietly in one corner of the diner. Nicki wasn’t sure he was actually waiting for her to end her shift, but Trevor kept shooting troubled looks between her and the corner whenever he popped into the kitchen to check on things.

  Nicki ignored her boss, taking advantage of the lull in customers to clean the griddle in preparation for the next crowd of hungry diners. She also tried hard not to think about the man locked in her cellar, without much luck.

  People didn’t starve to death in two hours. And if worse came to worst on the bathroom end of things, she could run to the thrift store in Abingdon to pick up some clean clothes for him.

  Everything would work out. She’d figure it out somehow.

  Trevor stuck his head in the kitchen door. “Bella’s here. Her mama’s neighbor’s takin’ good care of her, looks like, so she told Bella to come on in for the lunch and dinner crowds. That is, if you’re ready to leave.” Trevor shot another look toward the dining room, where Del and his friends were still lingering at a couple of the tables near the window.

  “Yeah, I’m ready. I know Bella wanted the hours, and I have some things to do today.” Like release a man from her locked cellar and somehow figure out a way to convince him she wasn’t some sort of psychopath.

  But what about Del McClintock? The whole point of agreeing to come in for the morning shift was Trevor’s comment about Del and some of the other guys from the BRI being there.

  And now she was going to slip out the back and not even talk to him?

  Damn you, Alexander Quinn.

  One minute. She could take one minute to go say hi to Del.

  She grabbed her purse and her coat, and headed out through the door leading to the front of the diner, ignoring Trevor’s troubled look. Several of the people with Del had left while she was cleaning up, but he was still there, along with Ray Battle and Ray’s girlfriend, Tonya. Ray sent Del a smirking look as Nicki approached.

  “Hey there, Del.” She pasted on a friendly smile. “Can’t get enough of my cooking?”

  “Never.” Del smiled back at her, his straight white teeth flashing. He was a good-looking man, tall and hard-muscled, which couldn’t be said of all the BRI members she’d met over the past couple of months. He was also better educated than most, which made her wonder why he’d hooked up with a group like the Blue Ridge Infantry.

  Then again, there were lots of people in the world blessed with good genes and good fortune who didn’t have the moral fiber to make anything of themselves despite the raw material.

  Del had been in the army, or so he claimed. Nicki had no reason to doubt him. But he had left the service as soon as he could manage, coming back home to join his father at Cortland Lumber in a town a few miles east of River’s End, working in the sawmill.

  As in, the business owned by Wayne Cortland, one of the most ruthless—and efficient—criminals to operate in southern Virginia until his death almost three years earlier.

  According to the files Alexander Quinn had given Nicki to study, Wayne Cortland had pulled together a disparate group of black hat hackers, mountain meth cookers and members of the Blue Ridge Infantry to fill his organization. The hackers were the brains, the BRI served as the muscle and the meth cookers were the source of money.

  But ever since Cortland’s murder at the hands of his own son, those three groups had been struggling to take over the remains of the organization and keep it going on their own.

  Nicki was pretty sur
e Del McClintock was part of the BRI’s attempt to take over the drug business for themselves. And at least two or three of the guys in his entourage were hackers.

  But what she hadn’t yet discovered was who had taken over as head of the Virginia branch of the BRI. Quinn believed that the unknown leader might be the key to toppling the whole organization, from the group in Virginia to the branch in Tennessee.

  What they needed was someone inside, close to the top man, who could funnel information to Quinn and, through him, to the authorities.

  Nicki planned to be that someone. And thanks to a little tidbit Del had let drop a week ago, she had an idea how to make it happen.

  “Were you serious about what you said last week?” she asked, lowering her voice so that only the people at Del’s table could hear. “About me picking up some work for you? You know, medical work?”

  Del’s eyes narrowed, and she was afraid she’d overplayed her hand. But his expression cleared. “If you think you’re up to it. It’s not exactly legal.”

  “It’s just me doing a little first aid as needed, right?” She flashed him a grin. “And if you and your friends want to show me a little gratitude with gifts of cash, who’s to say there’s anything wrong with that?”

  “Exactly.” Del’s smile was deceptively attractive, making him look genial and harmless when she knew he was anything but.

  Nicki hid a little shiver and brightened her smile. “So you’ll let me know if you need anything, right?”

  “Absolutely.” He winked at her. “Can you stick around?”

  “I wish,” she lied. “But last night I picked up a stray cat, and I’m afraid he’s making a mess on my floors as we speak.”

  “We shoot strays at our place,” Ray said with a grin.

  You would, she thought. She forced a laugh. “I guess I have a soft heart. Or a soft head. Whichever. See y’all later.” She gave a little wave and headed out the front door, keeping a smile on her face until she was certain she was safely out of sight.

  She blew out a pent-up breath and allowed herself a little tremble. She had to figure out a way to get over her revulsion, especially if Del required her to be a little more than just friendly and flirtatious in order to give her the breaks she was looking for.

  But the thought made her sick. Which was silly, really—there’d been a time in her life when a guy like Del McClintock had been her particular brand of temptation. Dangerous, shady and handsome as sin.

  Sort of like the injured man tied up in her cellar at home.

  Damn it. What had she been thinking?

  * * *

  THE SOUND OF a vehicle engine drifted into the cabin, stirring Dallas from a light doze. He pushed himself up to a sitting position on the sofa, his nerves jangling, and tried to reorient himself as the engine noise grew closer. The nap on the sofa hadn’t done much for his aches and pains, but he felt a little stronger than he had even this morning. Food and activity to work out the kinks from his weeks of captivity had gone a long way to restoring some of his earlier vigor.

  But would it be enough to give him the edge over his feisty captor?

  He glanced through the narrow gap between the curtains of the front window and spotted Nicki’s Jeep pulling into the gravel driveway outside the cabin. She pulled to a stop and cut the engine, but she didn’t get out right away.

  What was she doing?

  A minute ticked by. Then two. Dallas’s legs began to ache again from the stillness of waiting.

  When the Jeep door opened and she got out and turned toward the cabin, he pulled back from the window and took up a position against the wall by the door. When she entered, the door would hide him until it was too late to prepare herself for his ambush.

  At least, that’s what he hoped.

  Her footsteps ascended the wooden steps of the porch slowly. Deliberately. Inside Dallas’s chest, his heart took a couple of hard leaps into a higher gear. He braced himself with a deep breath, preparing his limbs for action. He was still weaker than he liked, but his size and the factor of surprise would give him an edge.

  He heard the rattle of keys in the door and pressed himself flat against the wall.

  The door swung open with a creak of the hinges, and her boots hit the landing with a thud. He heard a soft huff of air escape her lungs as she stepped into the cabin and started to close the door behind her.

  He hit her hard and fast, shoving her to the floor beneath him. Her soft cry of shock gave him the briefest moment of triumph, before his body landed flush against hers, his hips driving hers into the hard floor.

  She started to struggle, her thighs opening as she kicked her legs toward him. The movement settled his hips more firmly into the cradle between her thighs, and, for a moment, he couldn’t think. Couldn’t come up with a single rational thought. All he could do was feel. The heat of her body under his. The softness of her curves, how perfectly they seemed to mold to his own lean hardness, welcoming him as if their bodies had been fashioned by a master craftsman to fit together in seamless perfection.

  His heart rate soared, blood rushing south to where her sex cradled his. He exhaled, then sucked in another harsh breath as she stopped fighting and gazed up at him, her blue eyes dark and wide.

  His hands tightened around her wrists, holding her captive on the floor beneath him, and she still didn’t move.

  When she spoke, her voice was a husky growl.

  “Did you get anything to eat?”

  Chapter Five

  There was a roar in her ears, like a winter wind rushing through the pine boughs. Her blood pulsing in her ears, she realized, hard and fast. Maybe that’s why she thought she’d heard herself ask if he’d gotten anything to eat.

  Because surely she hadn’t just blurted such a thing to the wild-eyed man who held her pinned beneath him on the cabin floor.

  The grip of his hands on her wrists loosened. His hips shifted, pulled away from her body, as cold air rushed in to replace his heat. He rolled onto his back beside her, gazing up at the cabin ceiling.

  “Who are you?” he asked the ceiling.

  She looked up to see what had drawn his gaze, but all she saw was slightly dingy white Sheetrock. “Are you asking me or the cabin?”

  He rolled his head until his gaze met hers. “I made myself some scrambled eggs and toast.”

  So she had asked if he’d gotten anything to eat.

  “How’d you get free?”

  He hesitated a moment, as if considering what he should tell her. Finally, he sighed. “There was a nail sticking out of the wooden shelves in the cellar. I used it to rip the duct tape.”

  He was still breathing hard, she realized. Taking her down had winded him a little, which meant that, while he was clearly stronger than he had been the night before, he wasn’t exactly in fighting form.

  She pushed herself to a sitting position, trying to ignore the inconvenient—and highly inappropriate—tingling in her girl parts. She really had the worst taste in men. “That explains how you got your hands free. But how did you get out of the cellar? That’s a good lock.”

  “Even good locks can be picked,”

  “By a graphic designer?”

  He sat up and looked at her. “You really do know who I am, don’t you?”

  “Did you think I was bluffing?”

  His eyes narrowed. “No. But what I haven’t figured out yet is who you are. And why you thought locking me up was a better option than calling the cops. What are you hiding?”

  She couldn’t exactly answer that question, could she? She started to get up, bracing herself for any move on his part to stop her. But he merely sat on the floor, gazing up at her with curious brown eyes. “What am I hiding? You’re the fugitive from the FBI.”

  He tucked his legs up and started to stand, grimac
ing at the effort. She stuck her hand out to help.

  He stared at her outstretched hand. “Yes. I’m the fugitive from the FBI. Which makes me wonder why you balked at my offer to call the authorities to take me off your hands.”

  She bit her lip and withdrew her hand. “Right.”

  He pushed to a standing position, his jaw tightly set. “‘Right’ doesn’t exactly answer my question.”

  “I have my reasons for not wanting the police or anyone else sniffing around here. Can’t we just leave it at that?”

  The look he gave her made his answer superfluous. “I really don’t think so.”

  She sighed and lied. “I’m a moonshiner.”

  His sudden bark of laughter caught her off guard. “No, you’re not.”

  “How do you know I don’t have a still hidden somewhere around here?”

  “Because I searched this whole bloody cabin while I was waiting for your return, and there’s nothing remotely like a still in this place. Nor, by the way, is there a phone, even though there was one in my room last night.”

  “It’s broken.”

  He shook his head. “No, it’s not.”

  Damn it. When had she become such a bad liar? She used to be really good at spinning tales, stories nobody could ever poke holes in because she made them sound so plausible.

  Smack-dab in the middle of an undercover operation was a very bad time to lose her touch in the deception department.

  “Let’s go back to my first question,” he said. “Who are you?”

  “Nicki.”

  “Nicki what?”

  “Nicki North.”

  His brows descended a notch. “Nicki North. Okay. We’ll go with that.”

  “Someone named Dallas really has no room to question another person’s name.” She crossed to the door and locked it. “You picked the cellar lock? Really?”

  “I’m out, aren’t I?”

  “What did you use?”