by Paula Graves
Others, like Purgatory, Tennessee, had never caught the imagination of the tourists.
It was a shame, Darcy thought, because there was a lot to recommend the little town in the middle of nowhere.
“Was that Quinn on the phone?”
The sound of McKenna’s faint voice sent a little thrill of awareness rushing up his spine to spread like tingles through his brain. He turned and saw, with dismay, that she was as pale as a winter sky and barely upright, leaning against the door frame.
He crossed quickly to her side and wrapped his arm around her waist, taking care to avoid the site of her wounds. “What are you doing out of bed?”
“He told you, didn’t he?” Her breath warmed his neck and stirred the hair behind his ear, sending a different sort of tingle coursing through him. He ignored the bad timing of his libido and helped her back to the bedroom.
“If you mean he told me you’re wanted by the FBI, then yes. He did.”
She slumped back against the pillows, looking defeated. “You told him I’m here. Didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question.
He tucked the covers up around her. “I didn’t. I should have, God knows. But I don’t think he wanted to know.”
Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“If Quinn wanted to know if you were here, he’d have stopped by to see for himself. Instead, he wanted to get me some information I needed, in case you were here.”
“That’s ridiculously convoluted,” she muttered.
“That’s Quinn.” He smoothed the blanket beside her. “He believes you’re being railroaded. And he wants me to do anything possible to protect you.”
She levered herself upward to a half-sitting position, grimacing. “What do you believe?”
“I believe you’re in trouble.”
Her eyes narrowed, and he saw his halfhearted answer had struck a blow. She looked away and finished sitting up. “I can go.” She plucked at the hem of the borrowed shirt. “Can I keep the tee? My sweater is a loss.”
He closed his hands over her arms, holding her in place when she started to edge toward the other side of the bed. “Don’t be stupid.”
“Don’t be insulting.” She shook off his hands.
“I don’t think you’ve hooked up with a domestic terror group.”
“Wow, thanks for that vote of confidence.”
“But I know how little you care for the rules if you think they’ll stop you from getting the outcome you want.” He kept his tone gentle, though there was an edge of bitterness he couldn’t quite keep out of his voice.
“And I know how piously you worship them,” she shot back.
“We had to follow the evacuation protocols.”
“And Cameron died!” Her voice rose to a point before dropping to a hoarse half whisper. “He died because we left him behind.”
He pushed down a surge of guilt and kept his voice as even as he dared. “I know that. I never, ever forget that.”
“We could’ve—” Her voice broke, and he knew she was thinking the same thing he was. If they’d stayed to save Cameron from the fire, they’d have died, too. That part of the embassy had collapsed seconds after they cleared the area. Lingering one minute more would have been certain death for all three of them.
“No, we couldn’t. And I know you’ll never forgive me for pulling you out of there. I can live with that.” He put one finger under her chin and tipped her face up, willing her to look at him.
Her eyes drifted closed, refusing to comply.
He dropped his hand away. “I know that whatever you’ve done, whatever you’re doing now, is something you believe is right. Whatever rules you’ve broken, whatever orders you’ve defied, you’ve done it with good intentions. That’s what I believe.”
Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked at him, fire in her expression. She spoke slowly and carefully, her accent disappearing with her precise pronunciation. “I broke the rules, Darcy, because someone in the FBI was aware I was getting close to discovering their link to the Blue Ridge Infantry and their hodgepodge of associates. Those people have gone beyond meth dealing and planting pipe bombs. They are up to something huge. Mass-casualty huge. And someone in the FBI is facilitating their plans.”
“And you don’t know who?”
“Six people in the FBI knew I was trying to infiltrate the Blue Ridge Infantry. One of them set me up. I just don’t know which one.”
She looked even paler than before, he realized, except for the bruise-like purple shadows beneath her haunted eyes. He hated what he was about to say but he had no choice. Quinn’s call had been a clear signal.
“I know you’re tired. Clearly you need rest.”
“I’m okay—”
“No, you’re not.” He reached over to the nightstand and picked up the thermos. He checked to make sure the seal was tight before he put it in the wicker basket on the floor at his feet. “But this can’t be helped.”
“What are you doing?”
“Packing,” he said as he reached for the water bottle and checked the top, as well. “We have to leave this cabin now. Before the people out there looking for you realize you came here.”
Chapter Three
“How are you holding up?”
Darcy’s low voice rumbled like thunder through her pain-hazed mind, stirring her from a jumble of disjointed dreams. All she could remember of those fractured images was the loamy smell of decaying leaves on the forest floor beneath her nose as she hid from a horde of faceless shadows chasing her through the woods.
She twisted her head to look at him. “How do you think?”
“You look like bloody hell.”
“You’re so free with the compliments, Darcy. People will talk.” She realized they weren’t moving. Looking up, she saw they were in a line of cars waiting for a stoplight to change colors. “Where are we?”
“Just south of Bitterwood.”
“Where’s that?”
“Just south of Purgatory.”
“And where’s that?”
“Somewhere north of hell.” Darcy’s lips quirked at the corners. “I think you’d be safe to take some acetaminophen now if you think it’ll help with the pain. Your ibuprofen dose was nearly two hours ago.”
She shook her head. “No more pain relievers. They’re making me feel loopy and that’s worse than the pain.”
He pressed the back of his hand to her cheek, catching her off guard. She slanted a questioning look toward him and he dropped his hand away. “Over-the-counter pain relievers shouldn’t be making you feel loopy. You’re a little warm for my liking.”
She shifted in her seat, sucking in a quick gasp at the ache in her injured side. “You think I have a fever?”
“Maybe. I don’t have time to get the first-aid kit out.” Ahead, the light had turned green and they started moving again. “We’ll be there soon and I’ll take your temperature and see where we are.”
“Where is ‘there’?” She fought to keep her eyes open, weary of the nightmares that chased her through her dreams when she drifted off.
“It’s a cabin. Belongs to someone I work with.”
“Quinn?”
“No. Someone else. He’s out of town for a week. Took his sister and his fiancée to the beach to celebrate. His cabin is empty for the next few days, and it’s deep in the woods, far enough from here that no one should bother us.”
Even through the haze of pain, mention of a trip to the beach caught her attention. “Are you talking about Hunter Bragg?”
He angled a sharp look toward her. “You know Bragg?”
“I know his fiancée. She’s my cousin. I talked to her a couple of weeks ago, before everything in my undercover op started going belly-up.” She quirked one corner of her mouth. �
��Pear-shaped, I think you Brits call it.”
“Not a Brit,” he murmured, but his lips curved upward. It was an old joke between them, one she hadn’t been certain he’d remember after all this time.
He was technically as American as she was. He just sounded like his British-born mother after spending his formative years in England.
“Did you tell Hunter what’s going on?” she asked after his smile faded.
“Of course not.”
“So we’re breaking in and staking out squatters’ rights for a few days while he’s away?”
“Yes.”
“That sounds a whole lot like breaking the rules, Darcy.”
“I like to live life on the edge.” His dry tone made her laugh, which she instantly regretted.
“Ow,” she moaned, shifting to find a more comfortable position.
“We’re close,” he promised her, and sure enough, within a few minutes he had turned the Land Rover off the main highway onto a one-lane road that twisted and turned deep into the woods.
The one lane ended abruptly in the middle of nowhere, and for a second, McKenna thought they’d taken a wrong turn. But at the last second, Darcy steered the Land Rover onto a narrow dirt road the woods seemed to swallow whole.
The road twisted and climbed until they appeared to be a long way from anything approaching civilization. Then the dirt road disappeared, and Darcy stopped the Land Rover and turned off the engine.
McKenna gazed into the dense thicket of trees in front of them, her heart sinking. “Where’s the cabin?”
“Through those trees.”
She felt sick at the thought of trudging through the woods again so soon. “Don’t suppose we could just stay here? Bunk down in the back?”
“I promise, it’s not far.” He unbuckled his seat belt and got out of the SUV, walked around the front and opened the passenger door. His dark eyes met hers steadily. “You can do this.”
Gritting her teeth, she unbuckled her own seat belt and eased her legs toward the open door, trying to ignore the burning ache in her side. “If anyone ever says ‘It’s just a flesh wound’ to me again, I swear I’m going to belt them right in the mouth.”
He held out his hands. She took them and let him help her to the ground. Her legs felt like noodles, but she willed herself to stay upright, not wanting to show any weakness in front of Darcy. If she couldn’t convince him she was on the mend, he would ignore her wishes and follow his own instincts to call in help.
And if he did that, they both might end up dead.
* * *
MCKENNA HAD GONE from pasty white to a sickly gray color by the time the evergreen trees gave way with shocking suddenness to a narrow clearing that housed a small, rustic-looking cabin. Darcy slid his arm around her shoulders and felt her tremble under his touch.
“Thank God,” she murmured, leaning her head briefly against his shoulder before she started to move again.
“It’s hardly the Waldorf,” he warned as he helped her up the three steps to the cabin porch and settled her in one of the two cane-bottom rockers that sat to the right of the door.
“Whatever.”
He wasn’t sure she’d be so blasé about the cabin’s primitive comforts. The owner, Hunter Bragg, didn’t live there full-time, but it was apparently a favorite getaway for him and his new fiancée, if office scuttlebutt was anything to go by.
There was no easily discovered spare key to be had, Darcy was certain. The Gates trained their agents not to be careless.
But the agency also taught their agents to be skilled and resourceful. Darcy pulled a lock-pick kit from his backpack and made quick work of the dead bolt on the front door.
“That is so illegal,” McKenna murmured, sounding impressed.
He shot her a quick smile. “I am not the man you knew in Kaziristan.”
“I’m beginning to see that.” She pushed herself up from the rocker, wobbling a little when she gained her feet.
He caught her elbow in his firm grasp and led her into the dark cabin.
The power was running, though all the lights and appliances had been turned off, leaving the cabin’s interior shadowed in the early-morning gloom. Darcy flicked the light switch on, and the overhead lamps revealed a small, cold front room furnished with an old but sturdy-looking sofa, what looked like an old Army footlocker doubling as a coffee table, and a couple of mismatched armchairs that sat across from the sofa to create a shabby but cozy conversation area.
“Are you cold?” he asked, nodding toward the fireplace.
She followed his gaze, one eyebrow arching as she saw that, instead of logs, the width of the hearth was filled with a large electric space heater. “Well. That’s different.”
“Apparently the point of this backwoods haven is maximum seclusion and secrecy. I suppose smoke rising from the chimney would negate that effect.” He took her arm and eased her over to the sofa. “Sit. I’ll retrieve the rest of the supplies from the Land Rover.”
By the time he returned with the two large duffel bags he and McKenna had stuffed full of supplies they might need, McKenna had curled up into a miserable-looking knot on the sofa.
“You look ill,” he commented as he set the duffels on the floor.
“You’re such a sweet talker, Darcy. I bet all the ladies love you.”
He ignored her soft gibe and crossed to her side, placing the back of his hand against her cheek. She was definitely warmer than she’d been in the car. And she’d been quite warm then.
“I need to take a look at your wounds.”
She managed a grimace of a smile. “Is that a proposition?”
“It’s a statement of fact. You appear to be feverish. If your wounds are infected, we need to alter our plan.”
“We had a plan?” she asked through gritted teeth as she plucked the hem of his T-shirt away from her side.
Blood had oozed through the gauze bandage, he saw, though not a lot. He eased the bandage away from her torn skin and took in the two holes in her flesh. The skin around them was reddened and warm to the touch. “I’m afraid infection may be setting in.”
“Clean it again,” she said. “Just give me a bullet to bite first.”
“You need antibiotics. We need to get you to a physician.”
“Can’t do that,” she said with a firm shake of her head. “Any other ideas?”
One, but he didn’t particularly like it. “I could break into the free clinic in Bitterwood and steal some antibiotics.”
She stared at him in stunned silence for a moment. “You are definitely not the man I knew in Kaziristan.”
He wasn’t. He hadn’t been for a long time.
“Is there an option between those two extremes?” she asked when he said nothing else.
He nodded. “I can call on someone I trust for help.”
* * *
“HE HASN’T MADE contact again, has he?”
Alexander Quinn looked up from his laptop computer and found Olivia Sharp standing in the doorway of his office, her shoulder leaning against the door frame. Her bare, shapely legs seemed to rise for miles before disappearing beneath the charcoal pencil skirt of her lightweight summer suit. She was a tall woman who didn’t need to wear heels to be imposing, but today’s footwear sported four-inch heels and open toes that displayed the impertinent bright green of her toenail polish.
“He has not,” he answered her question. “Have you anything new to report?”
She shook her head as she entered the office and closed the door. “Anson Daughtry has taken advantage of his administrative leave to drive down to Atlanta for something called The Mixed Magic Tour. Five alt-punk bands on one stage, lots of alcohol and girls with rainbow-colored hair.” She shrugged. “Are you sure he’s thirty-two?”
Quinn tamped down a smile. “Almost thirty-three.”
“Either he’s not concerned about the internal investigation or he’s trying very hard to appear unconcerned.” Olivia shot Quinn a shrewd look. “I’m leaning toward the latter.”
Quinn concurred. “What about the agent you assigned to him?”
“He can hardly follow him to Atlanta. Daughtry would spot him.” Olivia sat in the chair across from Quinn’s desk and crossed one long leg over the other. “I take it Darcy hasn’t sent out a distress signal to the other agent?”
“Not yet.”
“How did he sound when you talked to him earlier?”
“Worried. And wary.”
She nodded. “To be expected.”
“You haven’t told me which man you most suspect of being the mole.”
“I consider everyone a suspect at the moment.” She arched one honey-brown eyebrow. “Even you.”
He smiled at that. “Anything new on the FBI angle?”
“I’m not exactly the bureau’s favorite former denizen.”
“Still, you worked for the FBI for almost eight years. Surely there’s a contact left you can exploit.”
Her brow furrowed, and he realized he’d touched a nerve. “I’ve put out some feelers.”
He frowned at her wary tone. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“I’ve told you everything I know pertinent to this case.”
“The next time you bother to come to my office to talk, I expect you to be the one supplying information. Clear?”
Her full lips thinned with annoyance. “Yes, sir.” She rose like a waterbird taking flight, all long legs and soaring, restless spirit. She stalked to the door in three long strides, then turned at the last moment to look at him.
“I’m going to find out who’s leaking information from this agency, Quinn. No matter who it is. How’s that for a little useful information?” Before he could respond, she was out the door, letting it shut with a loud snap behind her.
