“What?” she said.
“Nothing.” Dane released her chin and stepped away, indicating the pile of gear and weapons at their feet. “Might as well bring them, too. Let’s go.”
Go? “What about the bodies?”
He shook his head. “It’s a crime scene. We don’t touch anything.”
Right. He would see it that way. “You killed them.” She certainly didn’t have the skill to plant a bullet between their eyes. These were his kills.
“Self-defense.”
“And you can prove that?”
MacLain indicated she was being difficult with a throwaway glance. “You’re my witness. Forensics and my reputation will support the rest.”
“You’re assuming what we leave is what the cops will find. There’s no one here to secure the crime scene. Anyone could show up and make it look however they want it to look.”
He was crouched, surveilling the field, his tone low. “You want to stick around?”
“No, but the driver might. Or Alice’s killer could be in the woods, hanging back, awaiting orders. We need to get out in front of this. Control the situation,” she said. “You’re going to want a life after Whitman Enterprises is dead.”
“We’re not getting rid of the bodies.” He shook his head. “No.” And that was final. He was such a cop. “It’s against the law.” He helped her gather up the guns and gear and then, still crouched, ran tree to tree, navigating through the woods past the trip wires.
When he walked past the cabin, she groaned, knowing she didn’t have the energy to walk off the mountain but also knowing she didn’t have a choice. Afraid to lose sight of him, she hurried with little enthusiasm. The narrow maintenance road that quickly came within view was a surprise. So was MacLain tugging a camouflage tarp off a pickup truck. Wheels. She sighed with a relief that made her knees go weak. She could have kissed him. Would have, if she had the guts. Which she didn’t.
“Get in and sit down before you fall down. You’re exhausted.” MacLain climbed behind the wheel.
She didn’t have to be asked twice. MacLain was putting the truck into gear as she buckled up. The weapons and ammunition were at her feet.
“Why didn’t you say you had a truck?” It would have been good information to have. Comforting information. She found herself a bit peeved at her hero. Covered in mud, soaked through to the skin, freezing again, she was feeling sorry for herself. The bullet graze at her waist was a constant burning pain, and it was taking more and more of her willpower to ignore.
“Of course I had a truck.” He peeled out, careening down the private dirt road. “How do you think I got here?”
“This road is not on any map.” And that fact had probably saved their lives. Whitman’s goons hadn’t known, either. She clutched her seat as he hit every rut and depression at top speed. Her one consolation was no one was on the road with them. So far, they weren’t followed. So far. She’d thought she was dead back there. Not maybe. Definitely. MacLain, too. His head was bleeding from a gunshot crease near his temple. It wasn’t clotting. “Where’d you get that? Half inch more and you’d be dead,” she said.
He gingerly touched his temple. “You should see the other guy.” Blood trickled down his cheek to the side of his lips. He wiped it off with the back of his wrist, revealing a shaking hand. At first she thought his shaking was the result of so much violence, but the light from the dashboard illuminated his eyes. He was freebasing adrenaline with no outlet in sight. “You kept your shit together for the most part. Good for you,” he said.
“I was scared plenty.”
He nodded. “They were scary good. Otherwise I’d have gotten at least one of them alive. Now all I have are questions.” He turned the truck’s heater on full blast. “You’re shivering. You okay?”
“No. Six men are dead. Good men, bad men, that’s still upsetting.”
“You’re in shock.”
“Pissed, too. My DNA is all over that cabin.” She was shaking, too.
“Can’t alter a crime scene.” He reached over her, opening the glove compartment. Two full clips were inside. He put them in his pocket before closing the compartment.
“If you’re such a by-the-books kind of guy, why aren’t you calling this in?”
MacLain hesitated. “Because I need to make sure Harper and Elizabeth are safe first. I cut a break that they came here for me.”
“This doesn’t feel like a break.”
“Better that it happened away from my family.”
She loved how much he loved his family. It gave her butterflies. “So, what’s the minimum sentence for fleeing a crime scene?”
“Is that what we’re doing? Fleeing?” He grinned, then grew serious. “My cabin is in the middle of nowhere. I’d be surprised if anyone heard the gunshots over that storm, so I don’t see someone reporting it before I do. Local law enforcement will want me to stay at the scene, to explain. What exactly am I supposed to tell them? I think Whitman sent men to kill me? They’d keep me overnight, and I have to get to Elizabeth and Harper now. I’ll deal with the fallout later.” He shoved his day pack onto her lap. “There’s a phone in there. I need you to dial Harper. She’s in the contacts.” He released the spent magazine from his Glock and handed the gun to her. “Do you know how to put a clip in?”
She took the gun and fished one from his pocket. Slamming it in place, she pulled back the slide and chambered a round. “Just because I don’t like guns doesn’t mean I don’t know how to handle them.” She held it by the slide, offering him the grip, muzzle facing down.
He took it and sheathed it in his holster. “Those guns at your feet have their fingerprints all over them. They might link the gunmen to Whitman’s organization—”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
“It will prove they were trying to kill us.”
“We need to dispose of the bodies.”
“Lady, do you have any idea how bad that sounds?” He was chuckling, but his expression showed pure wariness. “‘We need to dispose of the bodies.’ Who talks like that?”
He was starting to find out, and it made her sad. Marnie didn’t know what she’d expected when she finally met MacLain, but she’d hoped it would be a reasonably normal encounter. She should have known better. Marnie didn’t do normal. “Those bodies can be used against you. Put you in jail for good. It’s just Whitman’s style.”
He nodded, as if humoring her. “Well, there are lines I’m not willing to cross.”
Marnie couldn’t say the same. “There are people worried about me. Can I use your phone to text them I’m all right?” She didn’t wait for his agreement, texting Caleb Smith, a man who knew her better than she knew herself. He’d give her hell when he discovered how tonight played out, but now she needed his help. Merry Maids at the cop’s cabin! Six p.m. When she was done texting, she deleted it to avoid a fight with MacLain. “Thanks.” She dialed his sister and then held the phone out to him.
He pressed it to his ear. “It’s me.” He glanced at Marnie. “No. Take Elizabeth to the safe house. From now on, use the new burner phone I gave you.” He disconnected the line and slammed the phone against the steering wheel, opened his window and threw it outside.
Safe house. In all of her searches on MacLain, she’d never found a digital or paper trail to any safe house. It sounded promising. She could tuck him away there and get on with her plan B. The MacLains had been through enough. She’d take it from here.
MacLain held out his hand. “Tissue.”
The box was at her feet. She did him one better. She pressed a handful to his wound. A millimeter more and he’d have been unconscious and they’d both be dead. The gunmen were wearing Kevlar. No way could she have made the shots MacLain did. “You need stitches.”
“Just bandage it. There’s a first aid kit in the glove compartment.”
Marnie found it. “Pull over.” Her hands were still shaking, and the prospect of touching him was making her freak out.
&nb
sp; “I’m not stopping until I’m with my family.”
He did it again. Family talk. I’m not stopping until I’m with my family. She was totally charmed. What Marnie wouldn’t give to live in that kind of world. She took out the first aid kit from the glove compartment and felt every one of her twenty-five years weigh on her.
He wasn’t going to like it when she told him to drop her off at the nearest town, and truth be told, she wished she could have more time with him, but it was for the best. For him, for her, though she knew he’d try to stop her. Now that MacLain was tipped off and able to protect himself and his family, she had a job to do, a company to dismantle. Sighing and mooning over him was best left for later, when Whitman Enterprises was dead and the people she’d helped to endanger were saved.
Chapter Four
Dane glanced at Marnie, trying to figure her out. She’d come to save him. No one had ever tried to save Dane before. It felt weird, and a bit delusional. The woman didn’t know enough to put a coat on in sleeting rain, or stay out of a rising creek, and her effectiveness on the battlefield was laughable. Still, it was a nice thought. Her warning about Whitman’s people coming had helped, hell, it’d saved his ass—if she hadn’t led them to him in the first place. Then there was the whole notion of her having evidence that he needed, about Tuttle, about the real murderer who took his wife’s life. If she was telling the truth, he could leapfrog miles of sifting through evidence and solve Alice’s murder sooner rather than later.
It wouldn’t bring his wife back, but he could move on. Elizabeth, Harper, all of them could move on. Even the possibility she was telling the truth made missing his plane to the Caymans less of a blow. He needed her not to be full of shit.
When she dabbed at his wound, he flinched, automatically catching her wrist, struggling to read her expression while not running them off the road. The tissue crumpled in her fist, and he felt her shake. She was a strange combination of defiance and fear. He wished she didn’t have such amazing eyes. It was distracting. “Who are you?”
Marnie licked her lips, refusing to meet his gaze. “I track for Whitman Enterprises. In their fraud investigation department.” She tugged her hand from his grip and pressed the tissue to his wound again.
He knew it had to be done, but every time she touched him, it hurt, and he was distracted as it was. “They’re one of the biggest producers of cybersecurity tech and software in the country, some might argue the world. Who would have the balls to cheat Whitman Enterprises?”
“People are stupid. Sometimes companies go belly up and the owners don’t have the money to pay. They try to hide, or hide whatever money they have left. I track everything.”
“Do they set their private hit squad on every offender, or am I just special?”
“You’re special, all right. Before tonight, I didn’t know WE had a hit squad. Looking into my boss’s server opened my eyes wide.” Marnie bit her lip. “You saw what no one else was willing to see. What I wasn’t willing to see. No one polices the security companies. Governments are the only ones legally able, but they rely on Whitman Enterprises and their ilk to develop their tech.”
“One big reach around,” he said. “On paper they’re squeaky-clean.”
“You weren’t fooled.”
“I saw the email the company sent Washington, saw his body after he committed suicide. It’s where my investigation started. No one but me wanted to make the connection. Not my lieutenant in homicide, not my partner, no one. I need Tuttle’s bank account records to force the MPD to reopen Alice’s case, to prove he was paid off to take the fall for her murder. That’s my priority. It’s past time my family got closure.” She listened patiently, but she didn’t seem surprised in the least. Instead of reassuring him, it triggered his distrust. Why wasn’t she surprised?
“It is in everyone’s best interest to turn a blind eye to WE.” She shrugged, as if it were normal to tolerate this level of illegal activity. “We’re talking about thousands of marks being extorted over decades. With the kind of money and power on the line, they’ll stop at nothing to hide this information.”
He glanced at her, a little confused. “You didn’t turn a blind eye.”
“I was just blind. I still haven’t processed how royally I was fooled. I’ll get there.” Marnie gave herself a little shake. “You never gave up on your investigation, and now you know you’re right. That must feel good. Everyone else was wrong.”
MacLain had wanted to give up plenty of times, and the last time he’d felt good was so long ago he didn’t remember. “I have a daughter. Giving up isn’t an option. She needs to know people can’t kidnap her and kill her mother, then get away with it. Every decision I’ve made since this level of hell descended on my family has been for her, and no, it gives me no joy to be right.” His grip on the steering wheel tightened reflexively. “So.” He glanced at her. “You’re a tracker for a company that makes its money by keeping other companies’ secrets.”
She nodded. “Two months ago your file came across my desk.”
He saw her blush and didn’t understand. “What was different about me?” He was so close, he could see every move of every muscle on her face. Her skin was flawless.
She blushed even more. “You weren’t a bad guy.”
“How do you know?” Sometimes even he wasn’t sure.
“I hacked into your sister’s phone. Monitored her Skype account.”
His video conversations. “When?”
“The day you became my problem.”
“Two months, then. I Skype with Elizabeth every day I’m away from her.” This woman was part of the machine that had destroyed his life. Fair or not, he found himself ascribing to her the same evil motivations he reserved for all things Whitman. He shouldn’t trust her, and yet he wanted to.
His headlights cut through the black night, showing nothing but dirt road, trees, and more trees lining its edges. They had another five miles until they hit Kancamagus Highway and then another five until they reached I-93 south. They were easily an hour and a half out. Until he was with his family, his stomach would ache and his focus would take a hit. By the light of the dashboard, he saw Marnie make a big show of looking nonchalant. The drive would give him time to decide whether he should trust her…enough to bring her to his family.
She pressed a fresh tissue to his temple. “It was my job. I was supposed to know everything there was to know about you. Pass pertinent information up the chain of command.”
“The Skype calls. I don’t get it. How did listening in to private moments between a father and daughter give you actionable intel?” He tried to remember what the conversations had been about. Usually it was Harper telling Dane about Elizabeth’s day, because Elizabeth hadn’t spoken a word since she and Alice were kidnapped a year and a half ago. Since her mother was murdered.
“I had to be thorough.” She opened the kit, grabbed a bottle of antibacterial gel to clean her hands, and wiped the worst of the dirt off with tissues. She assessed his wound, grabbed a butterfly bandage, and stripped off its protective sheath. “You were my first good guy. I was curious. And then I was charmed. It broke up my day.”
“You’re a Peeping Tom.” He could tell his assessment mortified her, and was glad. She should be embarrassed. He was. What kind of woman had to eavesdrop on him, his sister, and a silent teen to break up her day? Most people would pay to avoid those awkward moments. “You got more than you bargained for, too, I bet. My family is falling apart.” The trees overhead thinned, revealing the star-filled sky and the moonlit road. They were still alone, not being followed.
“It’s not your fault,” she said. “Elizabeth not talking. Alice dead. Losing your job. None of this is your fault.”
None? Sometimes it felt like his fault. It was embarrassing to know his struggles as a father were logged daily by a stranger, made note of by the people responsible for hurting his family. “It’s not just me she doesn’t speak to. She doesn’t speak to anyone.” Even as he
said it, he hated himself for making excuses.
“Could be worse. She could be trying to hurt herself. Instead, she chooses to hurt you.” He was driving faster on the dirt road than he should, so they were being bumped around the truck’s cabin.
“Elizabeth isn’t hurting me.” He refused to believe it, because then it would mean Elizabeth’s silence was an indictment, that she blamed Dane for what happened. That would kill him.
Marnie winced as she swiped an alcohol swab across his wound, as if she, too, felt the sting. It wasn’t comfortable, but the wound hurt no more than getting his ranger skull and crossbones tattoo. He wondered how such a sympathetic soul could work for an evil conglomerate, and supposed a sympathetic soul couldn’t. That’s why she was on the run with him now, a bullet wound stinging her side.
“Watching your patience with Elizabeth was remarkable,” Marnie said. “Popcorn-worthy, even.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re a good dad. Just saying.”
He bristled. Was she kidding? “You’re saying my family trauma is entertaining.”
“Don’t be that way. I’m complimenting you. Everyone else I’ve ever tracked for the company was horrible. You, not so much.” She put the bandage on, tugging at his skin. “After a while, it’s easy to believe everyone is horrible.”
“What does Whitman Enterprises do with your intel?”
“Not too long ago, I would have said no idea.”
One look at her told him she was no fool, but she was saying she’d been fooled. “But today?”
“Extortion, favors, sometimes it’s just a matter of putting targets on the payroll to help them in the future. I don’t know the extent of their dealings. I only got a glimpse into the secret files, but it was enough to know the company is evil.”
Alice’s murderer. Was that guy on the payroll? “What about wet work?”
She was squirming, uncomfortable with his line of questioning. “If you’re asking me if those men at the cabin worked for Whitman, I’d have to say probably, unless you have enemies I’m not aware of, which you don’t. I was thorough in my investigation on you.”
Betrayed by a Kiss Page 4
