by Paula Graves
Unfortunately, when it came time to go to college, he’d lacked the skills to get into school on a technology scholarship. Instead, he’d gone on an art scholarship and focused on finding a job that would get him out of the backwoods for good.
That had been graphic design, first with an ad agency in the Virginia town where he’d attended college, then a few years later, working for the FBI in their public information office.
It had been the FBI and their focus on providing their employees with new educational opportunities that had returned him to his first love. He’d struck up a friendship with some agents in the cybercrime division who had talked him into a training track that might put him in a position to make a career move.
He’d never considered himself special agent material, but computers were something he understood. He hadn’t forgotten the things he’d learned as a boy, and college had allowed him to pick up new information and skills that he continued to expand and hone on his own time.
He was good with computers and even the cybercrime guys had let him in to their inner circle once they saw that what he lacked in training he made up for in raw talent and sheer desire.
But he wasn’t an agent. And now, thanks to FBI Assistant Director Philip Crandall, he never would be.
He reached the small kitchen and looked around, losing hope. If she was hiding anything—and he knew she must be, given the way she’d reacted to his desire to call the cops—she’d hidden it well. If it was some secret she’d ferreted away on her computer hard drive, he could have found it without a lot of effort. Computers, he understood.
Low-tech backwoods women, however, were clearly a mystery he didn’t have a hope of deciphering. Never had.
Meanwhile, his back was aching, his legs felt like rubber and the start of a five-alarm headache was pounding a path through his skull. Eschewing the chairs at the breakfast nook table nearby, he slumped to the floor where he stood, leaning back against the oven. As he started to let his eyelids drift shut, something in the narrow space between the refrigerator and the cabinet caught his eye.
Pushing himself to his hands and knees, he crawled across the kitchen floor and took a closer look. The space was dark, but there was just enough light slanting into the tiny aperture to reveal something tucked inside the niche.
His hand would never fit into the space, but surely there was something—
He eyed the utensil rack over the gas range and spotted a long-handled barbecue fork. Groaning, he pushed to his feet and grabbed the fork, carrying it back to the refrigerator.
It took a couple of tries to snag his elusive target, but finally the fork caught the edge of whatever lay within the niche and pulled it toward him.
It was a large manila envelope with a string tie fastening it shut. There was nothing written on either side of the envelope, but he could feel a thick stack of something enclosed inside. Papers, maybe. Documents.
Secrets.
Carrying it to the kitchen nook table, he pulled up a chair and set the envelope in front of him. “Okay, Nicki North, let’s find out what you’re hiding.”
He untwisted the string clasp and opened the envelope, dumping the contents on the table. There were notes, some handwritten, some typed. At least three dozen notes, all told.
He picked up the nearest one and started to read, almost breathless with anticipation. But as he took in the words contained in the notes, his anticipation slowly turned to deeper confusion.
What lay inside the envelope answered some of his questions, but they didn’t solve the mystery of Nicki North.
They only deepened it.
* * *
KAYLIE PICKETT’S EYES were wide with fear when she opened the cabin door to Nicki and hurried her inside. “Keith’s gonna be back in an hour. I ain’t got long.”
The hair on the back of Nicki’s neck rose but she pushed down the fear. Getting caught here with Kaylie wasn’t anywhere near the worst thing that could happen to her. She could talk her way out of it.
Kaylie was the one who’d suffer most.
Kaylie and the baby she was carrying.
“You sure I’m okay to take these?” Kaylie looked at the bottles of prenatal vitamins Nicki pulled from her purse and set on the kitchen table.
“You need to take these,” Nicki said firmly. “And you can’t be drinkin’ any ’shine or doin’ drugs—”
“I don’t do that stuff,” Kaylie said quickly, peering at the vitamin bottles with a furrow between her eyebrows. She looked up when Nicki didn’t speak. “I swear.”
“I believe you,” Nicki said, wishing she was more certain.
“I used to do a little weed, but I don’t do that no more.”
“Well, be sure you don’t do weed or meth or any of that junk. You want a healthy baby, don’t you?”
“’Course I do.”
“Just take one of these a day. And you want to eat well, too. Plenty of green vegetables, carrots, lean meats—”
“Are squirrels lean meat?” Kaylie asked with a sudden grin.
Nicki smiled back. “Depends on the squirrel.”
Kaylie laughed and gave her an impulsive hug. “Thank you for this. Keith won’t even think about gettin’ me anything like this. He thinks it’s all some government conspiracy to suck money outta his pocket.”
He would, Nicki thought. Or, at least, he used that excuse to get out of doing things he didn’t want to do. “I’d better get out of here before Keith gets home. You got somewhere to stash those where he can’t find them?”
“I do.” Kaylie walked her to the door. “Thanks again.”
“No problem. You call if you need anything.” As she started to open the door, she remembered she still hadn’t hooked her home phone up again after disconnecting it when she left for work. It was still in the floorboard of the Jeep. She’d have to put it back in case Kaylie needed to reach her. “Try not to worry, okay? As long as you eat right, take those vitamins and try to avoid too much stress, you and the baby should be fine.”
Kaylie gave a soft huff of bleak laughter. “No stress, huh? I’ll work on that.”
Nicki tightened her jacket against the cold wind rolling down the mountain, ruffling her dark hair and sending little needles of cold drizzle into her face. She didn’t think it was supposed to snow again, but she hadn’t really checked the weather since this morning, had she?
She turned on the radio, flipping stations until she found a news break. After a couple of minutes, the announcer got around to a quick weather report. Sleet in places overnight, but no more snow expected.
That was a relief, at least. She hoped to get back to the dead drop later that night to see if Agent X had picked up her message. It would be faster and easier to get there without dealing with snow.
Come on, Nicki. You know the possibility of snow isn’t what’s got your nerves on edge.
No, it wasn’t.
She had to worry about what she’d find when she got back to the cabin. Was Dallas Cole still going to be there? Was the fear of his former captors enough to make him stay put until she could get word from Alexander Quinn?
The front door of her cabin was still locked when she inserted her key in the dead bolt. Letting herself in, she stopped in the doorway and scanned the empty living room.
She locked up behind her and started into the hall, tempted to call out. But caution stopped her. If she wasn’t alone, there was a distinct likelihood that whoever else occupied the cabin might not be a friend. It was a possibility she’d had to live with every moment since taking the undercover job Quinn had offered her.
There was a light on in the kitchen. She took a bracing breath and entered the room.
Dallas sat in the kitchen nook, a cup of coffee cradled between his hands on the table in front of him. He looked up, his dark eyes serious.
A moment later, her gaze fell on the manila envelope sitting next to his elbow.
Blood rushed to her head, roaring in her ears. Her whole body went cold, then hot, then cold again, and for a moment, her knees felt as if they would buckle.
She fought the sudden weakness and forced herself to the table to take a seat in front of him, her gaze settling on the manila envelope. It was tied shut, the way she’d left it when she stuck it into the narrow space between the refrigerator and the cabinet.
She cleared her throat, feeling sick. “You’ve been busy.”
He turned the cup around slowly between his hands. “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.”
“Did you open it?” She looked up at him.
He gazed at her as if she’d said something terribly stupid. Which, she supposed, she had.
“Right.” She nibbled her bottom lip. “Look, whatever you read, it’s probably not what you think.”
The left side of his mouth curved upward a notch, a dimple forming in his cheek. “It’s not like it was encrypted.”
She sighed. “What do you think you know?”
He pushed his coffee cup away and looked at her. “You’re working with Alexander Quinn. Which means, you’re probably working for The Gates. Right?”
She didn’t answer him. She didn’t see the point.
“That’s why you know who I am, isn’t it?” he prodded.
“It’s not like your story didn’t make the news.”
“But you don’t even have a television here.”
She looked down at her hands.
He sighed. “There’s no photo of me in that envelope.”
“No.”
“But you’ve seen a photo of me.” It wasn’t a question.
“There are newspapers in town.” She knew that she wasn’t giving away much outwardly. She might be a little rusty at lying, since she’d turned over a new leaf, but she was still pretty good at a poker face.
“Okay.” He pushed the envelope toward her. “Most of what’s in here are messages from Quinn. At least, they’re signed AQ. I’m assuming that’s not short for al Qaeda.”
She just looked at him, determined not to give anything away.
“These messages aren’t encrypted. But they are cryptic. In case they fell into the wrong hands?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “This is your little theory. You tell me.”
He shook his head. “Does Quinn think I’ve gone over to the dark side? Is that what Cade Landry told him?”
“Who?”
Dallas’s lips flattened to a thin line. “Just tell me the truth, Nicki. Is that even your name?”
“Yes.”
“Nicki North?”
She didn’t answer.
“I don’t believe that’s your last name, but if you’re undercover, I don’t need to know. I just need to know what you’re up to and whether or not I can help you.”
“Help me?”
“Where did you go last night?”
She didn’t answer.
“To pick up another message from Quinn? Or to leave one?”
He was too close to the truth. Everything she’d risked, everything she’d worked to set in place, could be destroyed with a single word to the wrong person. “I can get you out of here. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
He looked at her a moment, a flicker of surprise in his dark eyes. “You’re ready to let me go now?”
“I never wanted to keep you prisoner. I just—”
“You just didn’t want anything to blow your cover.” He reached across the table and put his hand over hers. His warm, callused fingers brushed across hers, sending an unexpected shiver up her spine. “I don’t want that to happen, either. But I can help you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. You’re trying to get information on the Blue Ridge Infantry. Something about a guy high in the organization Quinn wants you to get closer to.”
She tried not to flinch, but his words surprised her. Quinn’s message about the unnamed leader of the BRI had been about as oblique as any message he’d ever sent.
So how had Dallas Cole figured out what Quinn was trying to say?
“That struck a nerve,” he murmured.
She snapped her gaze up to clash with his and jerked her hand away from his. “What do you want?”
“Just what I said.” There was an unexpected vibrancy to his sudden smile, as if someone had just turned on the electricity inside him. “I can help you, Nicki. I want in.”
Chapter Seven
“You want in?”
Progress, Dallas thought. She’d clammed up once she spotted the envelope on the table, and he’d begun to wonder if she’d remain mute forever more. But apparently his offer of help had surprised her enough to overcome her caution.
“Those people kept me locked up for three weeks. They were rough on me, trying to get information out of me that I didn’t have. And I think they’ve managed to find allies in the FBI who will be more than happy to make sure I don’t make it back to DC to tell my story. So I want in. I can help you.”
“I never said I needed help.”
“You haven’t said anything at all,” he pointed out. “The silent treatment is starting to bug me.”
“You’re crazy. You don’t know a damn thing about me. You’ve read my personal letters from a friend and somehow come up with some wild tale about me being some kind of spy.”
“Undercover operative,” he corrected.
“Whatever.”
He rose to his feet and stood over her, wondering if she’d intimidate easily. He had a feeling she wouldn’t. “So, if AQ doesn’t stand for Alexander Quinn, what does it stand for?”
“Alan Quincy,” she answered without hesitation.
She was a pretty good liar, he had to admit. Quick and bold. And definitely not intimidated. “Boyfriend?”
“Old schoolmate.”
“Really. What school?”
“Ridge County High School in Tennessee.” She looked up at him, her expression placid. “He was a senior. I was a sophomore. We were both in the film club.”
“Film club.”
“We got credits for watching movies and writing about them. Total scam, but the school never called us on it.” She flashed him a grin. “You should have read my essay on the symbolism in Mean Girls.”
He couldn’t stop a smile from crossing his lips in return. She was lying through her pretty white teeth—though he had a feeling she really had written one hell of an essay on Mean Girls—but he couldn’t stay annoyed with her.
He was right, damn it. He knew she was working for Alexander Quinn. It was the only thing that made any sense of the past two days.
If she was really up to her elbows in the Blue Ridge Infantry, she’d have turned him over to the men he’d escaped. But she hadn’t.
And clearly, she wasn’t some normal person living in the woods, because she’d taped his hands together and left him locked in her cellar so he wouldn’t leave while she was at work.
“Why did you lock me up?”
Her gaze, which had fallen to the manila folder he’d left on the table in front of her, lifted to meet his. “I told you why.”
“To protect me.”
She stared at him for a long moment. Then she put her face in her hands. “Damn it,” she murmured, her voice muffled by her palms.
He eased himself into the chair across from her again, remaining silent while she muttered beneath her breath. Finally, she looked up at him, her eyes wide and scared. Fear radiated from her, infecting his own nerves until they hummed, deep and sonorous, with dread.
He’d told her he wanted in. And he’d meant it.
/>
But the look in her eyes told him his declaration had been reckless.
“You’re right, okay?” Her voice trembled. “You’re right.”
“Can you be more specific?”
She dropped her head in her hands. “I’m undercover. I’m trying to uncover the identity of the new leader of the Blue Ridge Infantry’s Virginia branch.”
“For Alexander Quinn.”
She looked up. “For Quinn. For The Gates. For myself.”
“For yourself?”
“Look, Quinn doesn’t know this. And I don’t want him to. Do you understand? I don’t want him to know what I’m about to tell you.”
The strangled tone of her voice sent alarm rattling down his bones. “I understand.”
“Almost two years ago, I worked as a confidential informant for the Nashville Police Department.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“It’s a long story. I was in the wrong place at the right time.” She shook her head. “Pretty much the story of my life. I had gone out a few times with a guy who, as it turned out, was one of the city’s biggest fences. The cops all knew he had a shop somewhere but they hadn’t been able to catch him at it. When they saw me with him, one of the cops approached me. He threatened to make sure I went down with Blake—that was the name of the guy, Blake Ridenour. But see, I really didn’t know Blake was a criminal. I just thought he was cute and he treated me like a queen.”
“Ouch.”
“Well, when I found out who he really was, a lot of things started to make sense. Things I should have noticed before. I guess I just didn’t let myself see the warning signs.” She sighed. “Also the story of my life.”
“Did you help the cops catch him?”
“Yeah. And he never knew it was me.” There was a hint of pride in her voice. But that flicker of confidence faded quickly as she brushed her dark hair away from her face, revealing the graceful curve of her neck.
The urge to kiss a path down that long column of perfect skin hit him like a gut punch. He shoved the rush of desire deep inside him, clenching his hands together to keep from reaching out to touch her. “What does this have to do with the Blue Ridge Infantry?”
