Killshadow Road

by Paula Graves

  Quinn closed the door behind him and sat where she indicated. “You look well.”

  “I am well,” she said firmly.

  “You’re favoring your left side,” he said with a patient smile, crossing one leg over the other. “Subtle but there. You need to work on it if you want to convince anyone you’re completely sound.”

  Alexander Quinn wasn’t a tall man, nor particularly imposing. He had the sort of chameleon face that was perfect for spy work, she supposed. He could look very different from one day to the next with very little help from makeup or prosthetics.

  Today, he looked like an ordinary, mild-mannered businessman in his midforties, his sandy hair touched with gray, his hazel eyes almost merry as he watched for her reaction.

  “What do you want?”

  “Darcy will protect you at all costs. Even from me. I assume you’re aware of that fact or you’d never have come here looking for his help.” Quinn’s voice held a faint hint of the Appalachian accent that tinted the language of most people who lived here in the Smokies. McKenna’s own drawl was far more pronounced, but she hadn’t spent most of her life trying to hide her identity the way Quinn had.

  “You’re from mountain stock,” she murmured. “From right here in eastern Tennessee. Aren’t you?”

  “I was born in Purgatory. Spent my first eighteen years here.” His drawl broadened, as thick as her own. But with his next words, the accent was completely gone. “You were undercover for the FBI. Trying to infiltrate the Blue Ridge Infantry. Or, I should say, their legion of female admirers.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “You were unsuccessful.”

  “Can you get to your point?” she asked bluntly.

  “I want to destroy the Blue Ridge Infantry. Root and branch.”

  “It sounds personal.”

  “It is” was his only response.

  The sound of a vehicle approaching the cabin distracted McKenna for a split second, but that was enough for Quinn to reach behind his back and produce a big, black Ruger. “Stay here.”

  He was at the window next to the door within a couple of seconds, peering through the narrow space between the curtain and the wall. His tense posture eased marginally. “It’s Darcy.”

  “He won’t be happy to see you here,” she warned.

  Quinn flashed her a feral grin. “I know.”

  Darcy’s footsteps sounded on the porch and stopped. Waited.

  “He knows you’re here,” McKenna murmured.

  “He knows someone besides you is here,” Quinn corrected.

  “Quinn?” Darcy’s voice came from the other side of the door.

  McKenna smiled. “He knows it’s you. This is an Alexander Quinn stunt if ever there was one.”

  “Quinn, I’m coming in. Don’t be armed.” Though muffled by the door, there was no mistaking the commanding tone of Darcy’s voice. McKenna saw that even Quinn arched an eyebrow at the sound.

  “You gonna drop that Ruger or what?” she murmured, slanting him a sharp side-eye glance.

  Quinn’s lips pressed to a thin line, but he tucked the Ruger into the holster behind his back and stepped away from the door.

  Darcy entered, his own weapon pulled. His gaze swept across McKenna, as if reassuring himself she was unharmed. Then he focused his intense gaze on Quinn.

  “What the bloody hell are you doing here?”

  “Checking on an old friend,” Quinn answered, unperturbed.

  “Friend is pushing it,” she murmured.

  Darcy looked at her. “Are you all right?”

  “What exactly did you think I was going to do to her?” Quinn asked, more amused than offended.

  Darcy finally put away his own SIG and closed the cabin door behind him. “What do you want?”

  “I’m assuming the same thing you do. To find out who blew Rigsby’s cover. Put them away and stop whatever they’re planning.”

  “Why now?” McKenna asked.

  Quinn waved toward the chair and sofa. “May I?”

  Darcy shrugged and crossed to where McKenna stood, flattening his palm against the middle of her back. He led her to the sofa and sat closer, his thigh warm against her leg. “Talk.”

  Quinn sat in the armchair again, unhurriedly crossing his legs. “This morning, an FBI agent visited me at my apartment in town. Wanting to discuss my connection to Rigsby.”

  “What connection?” Darcy asked.

  Quinn’s sharp gaze met Darcy’s. “Exactly.”

  “You mean, they’re looking deep into my background,” McKenna realized. “All the way to the beginning of my FBI career.”

  “That’s my presumption.”

  McKenna felt Darcy’s leg grow tense against hers.

  “I assume if they connect you to me,” Quinn continued, “they’ll connect you to Darcy, as well.”

  “Are you suggesting we part company?” Darcy asked.

  “Do you want to part company?”

  “No,” Darcy said firmly before McKenna could speak.

  “Then no. But be aware that you may receive a visit from Agent Boyle.”

  Beside her, Darcy went utterly still. His thigh felt like a rock against hers. But otherwise, he showed no other sign of reaction.

  Quinn looked at McKenna. “I assume you know Agent Boyle?”

  “He’s my supervisory special agent.”

  “Can he be trusted?”

  Darcy’s thigh pressed against hers for a moment, then relaxed.

  “I don’t really trust anyone at the FBI right now,” she said. “But Boyle has always seemed to be a pretty straight arrow.”

  Quinn’s scrutiny was almost uncomfortable. But his expression cleared, finally, and he rose. “I assume you’d like to be alone to discuss your options. You know how to reach me if you need my assistance.”

  “What makes you think you weren’t followed here?” Darcy asked, rising to follow Quinn to the door.

  Quinn gave him a pointed look as he opened the door and stepped out onto the porch.

  “Call if you need anything.” Quinn turned and left.

  Darcy shut the door firmly behind Quinn and pressed his forehead against it. “We have to leave here again.”

  She sighed. “I know.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry?” She crossed to where he stood, impulsively sliding her arms around his waist from behind. She rested her cheek against his shoulder blade. “I honestly don’t know what I’d have done if I hadn’t come here, Darcy. You probably saved my life.”

  He turned, pulling her into the circle of his arms, his chin resting on her head for a moment. She felt utterly safe, she realized, despite the way danger seemed to be circling them, ever closer, seeking a chance to strike.

  He let her go with a sigh. “We should pack. Quickly.”

  With a brief nod, she led the way to the bedroom to gather their things.

  * * *

  “SO, THE ANONYMOUS unit commander was Darryl Boyle.”

  Darcy slanted a quick glance at McKenna. She sat straight and alert in the Land Rover’s passenger seat, her gaze angled forward at the highway visible through the windshield. “You don’t sound surprised.”

  “I got over the surprise back at the cabin when you telegraphed something was up with Boyle,” she said drily. “You think there’s any chance Quinn didn’t notice your reaction?”

  “No,” he admitted. “Another set of eyes on Boyle won’t hurt, will it?”

  “Probably not,” she admitted before falling silent.

  They’d headed north when they left the cabin on Killshadow Road, bypassing the bigger tourist towns along the way in search of somewhere small and secluded to hide out for the next few days. Someone at the
office had once told him about a motel in the Poe Creek area that took cash and didn’t ask any questions.

  Exactly the sort of place they needed.

  They passed the highway sign announcing Poe Creek, Tennessee, was about fifteen miles ahead, before she spoke again. “Boyle has always struck me as a straight arrow. Law and order all the way. And—” She stopped short, pressing her lips to a thin line.

  “And?”

  “Well, I was about to say he’s a fanatic about domestic terror investigations. Thinks we’re ignoring the threat inside our own borders because we’re too focused on foreign terror threats.”

  “He doesn’t sound like a person likely to get in bed with the Blue Ridge Infantry.”

  “He doesn’t,” she agreed. “I find it hard to imagine he’d ever get involved with a group like the Blue Ridge Infantry. He’s dedicated his life to bringing down groups just like them.”

  “But you’re not certain about it, are you?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve learned in this business, sometimes the perp is the last person you expect.”

  The Mountain Hideaway Motor Lodge in Poe Creek, Tennessee, was about what one would expect from a small, independent motor lodge on a main highway through the Appalachian Mountains. A rectangular two-story building constructed with now-fading red bricks and a flickering neon marquee in front of the office, the motel looked suitably shabby and anonymous for their purposes.

  He parked the Land Rover in the side lot not easily visible from the street and turned to look at McKenna. “One room or two?”

  Her gaze snapped up to meet his. “I’m really not sure how to answer that question.”

  He smiled at the wariness in her eyes. “For safety’s sake. Do you feel safe in a room on your own or do you think we should band together so neither of us gets ambushed alone?”

  Her lips quirked. “When you put it like that, one. I’ve been ambushed alone quite recently. It wasn’t fun.”

  “Wait here. I’ll pay for the room and get the key.”

  As promised, the clerk at the front desk of the motel office barely looked up from his paperback book to take Darcy’s money and offer up a key. Darcy used his best American accent, in case the clerk was paying enough attention to remember later that his newest motel guest spoke with a British one, and signed in as Mr. and Mrs. Blake.

  He found McKenna standing outside the Land Rover when he got back, stretching her legs. The afternoon breeze lifted her auburn curls and swirled them around her face. It was a good thing, he thought, that she’d stayed out here. Even the absentminded clerk couldn’t have forgotten the sight of McKenna Rigsby and her glorious riot of hair.

  “You should consider a ponytail,” he told her as he unlocked the door to their first-floor room.

  She gave him a side-eye glance as she preceded him into the room, reaching out to flick on the light switch as she passed. Dim light radiated weakly from the grimy overhead bulb. “Lovely.”

  “And a baseball cap.”

  She dropped the gym bag full of borrowed clothes they’d brought back with them from Hunter Bragg’s cabin and looked at him, her head cocked to one side. “You don’t like my hair?”

  “I worship your hair,” he answered with a smile. “But I’m not sure that it’s good for the rest of the world to be quite so bedazzled by it if we’re trying to keep a low profile.”

  Her smile felt like sunshine, warming the cool afternoon. “Duly noted.”

  The motel room was clean, at first glance. He’d stayed in fleabag motels that hadn’t put forth much effort at keeping up appearances, so he supposed it was to the Mountain Hideaway Motor Lodge’s credit that he didn’t automatically want to fumigate the entire room.

  “I’ve stayed in worse,” McKenna muttered as she set the gym bag on the bed nearest the bathroom and dropped to the edge of the mattress, her back to Darcy.

  There was minimal furniture in the room—two full-size beds and a built-in dresser on the wall facing the beds. No chairs, no table, only two movable lamps by each bed, attached to the wall on a metal sconce. Darcy put down his duffel bag on the second bed and sat on the edge, as well, his gaze drawn to McKenna’s slumped posture.

  “Are you feeling well?” he asked finally when she didn’t move.

  She lifted her head and swiveled to look at him. “I have bullet holes in my side, I’m stuck in a cheap motel and I don’t know who to trust. So, no. I’m not really feeling that well at the moment.”

  “Are you hungry? I could drive to one of those hamburger places we passed and get something for dinner.”

  “Maybe a salad.”

  He gave her a skeptical look, earning a hint of a smile from her.

  “I know, veggies aren’t my style, but I don’t feel like eating anything heavy at the moment. Could go for a sweet tea, too.”

  He couldn’t stop a grimace, but at least his show of distaste earned another smile from her. “I’ll see if I can accommodate your culinary needs,” he said in his most formal, clipped tone, determined to make that smile hang around a little longer.

  “Knew I could count on you, Jeeves.”

  “Not a Brit,” he murmured, getting up to leave.

  Her grin followed him out the door.

  He returned fifteen minutes later to the sight of McKenna sitting cross-legged on his bed, her fingers flying across the keyboard of his laptop. She looked up as he entered and set the bags of drive-through food on the dresser. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” He was a little surprised she hadn’t pulled her Glock on him. “I’m not sure you should drop your guard so easily.”

  “I saw you coming,” she said with a cheeky smile. “Did you know you can tap into this fine establishment’s security cameras by way of their free Wi-Fi?” She turned the computer around to show him the screen. Up in one corner was a small box showing a grainy black-and-white image of the breezeway in front of the external motel-room doors. “It’s our own early-warning system.”

  “You know how to do that?”

  The smile she flashed him sent tremors rolling through his chest to settle low in his belly. “Didn’t the DSS teach you any computer tricks?”

  “No, and why do I get the feeling you didn’t learn that particular trick from the FBI, either?”

  “Because I didn’t,” she admitted. “Remember that anarchist guy who had the hots for me?”

  “Gecko?”

  “Komodo,” she corrected, slanting an amused look his way. “And it was Ax who had the hots for me. It was Komodo who thought he was dealing with a stupid hillbilly.”

  “Not a hillbilly?” he murmured.

  “Not even close. I got Ax to show off all his tricks, pretending I didn’t understand a thing about what he was doing. But, in fact, he was showing me how to do all kinds of things that are illegal as hell.”

  “Like tapping into a motel security camera?”

  “Passive snooping. Barely illegal and nobody’s likely to find out in a place like this.” She scooted over, making room for him on the bed.

  He sat, trying not to touch her. But the soft mattress conspired against him, dipping with his weight and sending him arm to arm with her in the middle of the bed. “Any more tricks up your sleeve?”

  When she slanted a look at him, her eyes were the deep green of the privet hedges that grew on the country estate where his mother preferred to spend most of the summers. “Lots.”

  His whole body seemed to flush hot, then cold, then hot again. This was worse than before, he thought. Back in Kaziristan, they’d kept a formal sort of distance from each other, physically, for the most part.

  But now that he’d kissed her, doing so again—and doing so much more—seemed to be all he could think about.

  He cleared his throat before he spoke. “Any more thoughts about L
andry or Boyle? You’ve worked with both of them. You’re in the best position between the two of us to know what we should do next.”

  “I honestly don’t know. Right now, I’d say that Landry seems more likely, but that may be because I don’t know him as well as Darryl Boyle. I’ve worked with Boyle almost a year now. Landry, I worked with for just a few weeks as part of a joint domestic terrorism investigation.”

  “But Ava Trent seems to concur with your assessment of Landry.”

  “What about Olivia Sharp? What did she say about Landry?”

  “She seemed very cautious when speaking about Landry. There’s something odd about her connection to him. I wish I’d had more time to delve deeper with her.”

  “How deep, exactly?”

  The hint of jealousy he heard in McKenna’s voice caught him by surprise. He let himself look at her again, bracing against the seismic effect she seemed to have on him recently.

  Her wry smile told him she was mostly joking, but the curiosity in her eyes revealed he hadn’t mistaken the slightly possessive tone of her voice.

  “No more than skin deep.”

  “So she has nice skin?”

  “Not nearly as nice as yours.”

  McKenna crinkled her nose. “I bet she’s tall.”

  “Positively Amazonian.”

  “In ridiculously good shape,” she ventured.

  “Which indicates a rather unseemly obsession with one’s appearance, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I would,” she agreed, smiling so brightly he thought he could bask in her glow for the rest of his life. “I really would.”

  “She isn’t you,” he said softly. “No one else in the world is you.”

  “That’s very cryptic.”

  He smiled. “Maybe you can get your friend Chainsaw to crack the code.”

  “Ax, Darcy. Ax.” She set the laptop aside and shifted until she was on her knees beside him, gazing down at him with those fathomless green eyes. “I want this over with, Darcy. I want to be free again.”