Irresistible Deceptions

by Mackenzie Crowne

  His confidence in the speedy execution of this job might be shot to hell, along with his patience, but his instincts had been proven true. The General’s daughter was finally home. Satisfaction tempered his frustration at the delay.

  She cast a wary glance around before ushering the boy and dog inside. Rhy lowered the glasses from his tired eyes and ran a calloused palm around the back of his neck.

  The woman was as cautious and cagey as they came. No wonder she’d disappeared so completely. He shouldn’t be surprised. According to her file, she’d had five years to perfect her survival skills, which included evasion. She’d learned the skill well.

  He’d expected her to try something when she slipped into the ladies’ room in Norfolk and wasn’t disappointed. Her new disguise was so effective he almost missed her when she emerged several minutes later. If not for her fine ass, hugged faithfully by a pair of time-faded jeans, snagging his attention as she passed by, he would have lost her. As it was, he allowed himself only a moment to enjoy the view before returning his focus to the ladies’ room door. Several seconds passed before his mind registered the fluid quality of the redhead’s gait, the same quality tipping him off that the old lady at the cemetery wasn’t what she appeared.

  Oh, she was good, all right. The woman was a damned female Houdini. He never would’ve been able to stay with her when she got off the plane in Phoenix if he hadn’t already had help in place. Fortunately he’d had a vehicle waiting, but even with the additional eyes on her, she’d almost slipped away in the confusion of the baggage claim area. The General’s daughter knew how to make good use of a crowd.

  Which explained her success at dodging the authorities. She was smart and extremely cunning, and when not hidden behind one of her various disguises, she appeared too soft and innocent to be the kind of woman with something to hide. Yet the documents in his office drawer exposed her for what she was: a greedy, gold-digging thief.

  The pattern of lights inside the cabin told its own story. The first floor went dark as she prepared to turn in for the night. The upstairs lights blinked out a half hour later. Rhy waited in the cold dark for several hours before checking his watch. Midnight. Showtime.

  Disconnecting the dome light on the off chance she’d spotted him and was watching for movement, he tucked the small plastic-wrapped packet his Phoenix contact had left in the waiting truck into the utility pack at his waist. He slid across the bench seat and opened the passenger door. Frigid air hit him, stinging the exposed skin of his face and neck. Wisps of heated breath escaped his mouth and nose. His boots crunched on the heavy snow as he rounded the back of the truck to squat beside the rear driver’s side tire.

  Tugging the glove from one hand, he removed the valve stem cap and pressed down with the tip of the key. The hiss of escaping air was loud in the silence of the night but wouldn’t carry far. Several minutes passed before he was satisfied with the tire’s appearance. He couldn’t chance the truck’s discovery on the side of the rural road by local law enforcement without a legitimate reason for being there. A flat tire would do the trick. The can of tire repair and sealant behind the seat would take care of refilling the tire later.

  Although the cabin sat in an area of dense pines, a good thirty yards of snow-covered clearing surrounded the structure. Smart. Nothing to conceal a would-be burglar’s attempt to enter. The lack of a security system puzzled him. For a woman as cautious as the General’s daughter, forgoing such a basic precaution made little sense, but he wasn’t about to complain. The sooner he got in and completed his task, the sooner his debt would be paid.

  The lock on the kitchen door was new in comparison to the age of the cabin, not that the simple mechanism would stop anyone intent on getting in. It didn’t stop him. The door clicked open in less than fifteen seconds. Without a sound, he slid inside.

  Head cocked, listening, Rhy scanned the kitchen. A quiet grunt vibrated in his throat as he spotted the dog bowls in the corner. He pulled the packet from his belt, tore away the plastic wrapping, and grimaced at the sound of clicking nails from upstairs. Double stepping across the room, he dropped several small chunks of drugged meat into one of the bowls, spinning around the doorway into a small den as the sound grew closer.

  Shit. He pressed his back to the wall and palmed the four-inch blade he slid from his belt.

  Take the bait, dog. I don’t want to have to hurt you.

  He waited, his ear trained on the quiet ping of the dog’s tag against the metal bowl as the dog followed his silent directive. An inward sigh of relief lifted his chest and he made a mental note to send his Phoenix contact a bottle of that expensive scotch he liked. The man’s attention to detail and planning for any contingency meant the dog would live to see another day.

  Fifteen seconds later, all went quiet. Rhy dipped his head until his gaze cleared the wall at his back. The scruffy mutt lay stretched out on his side. The gentle rise and fall of his chest assured Rhy the quick-acting serum had done its job without inflicting any lasting harm. He slipped the blade back into its sheath.

  Relieved, he moved through the first floor and climbed the steps, listening for any sound warning that his presence had been discovered. The house remained silent. He paused in the hallway between the two upstairs bedrooms. His breathing even, he glanced into the boy’s room. Odd, Everson hadn’t mentioned the kid. Not that his presence mattered to the task at hand. Rhy turned his attention to the room where the woman slept. Her still figure huddled beneath a faded quilt.

  For several long moments he waited and watched, ears attuned to any increase in her breathing. The General’s daughter was skilled enough to evade trained hunters, but this was her haven. She felt safe here. Her breathing remained even and slow in her slumber.

  In the muted moonlight streaming through the window, his shadow crawled along the hardwood floor as he crossed the room on silent feet. Slipping his fingers into his pocket, he retrieved Everson’s calling card and placed it on the nightstand inches from her head. Come the morning, Nicole Guimond Everson would learn her past had caught up with her.

  A sharp smile twisted Rhy’s lips as he left the cabin as silently as he’d entered. With the exception of a phone call, notifying Everson the deed was done, his debt to the prick was paid in full.

  Nicky’s eyes fluttered open and squinted at the early-morning sunlight beaming through the window. Cocking her head, she listened. Silence met her ears. A wide yawn clicked her jaw. The last few days had been exhausting, both physically and mentally. For Alex, too, apparently, since he rarely slept in past dawn. A day spent lounging was what they needed.

  She’d need to find the perfect thank-you gift for Peggy, of course. Some flowers maybe, or a big box of chocolates. She smiled sleepily. The part-time waitress was a world-class chocoholic.

  As her only real friend in Flagstaff, Peggy’s offer to watch Alex and Charlie while Nicky went to her father’s funeral had been a Godsend. The thought of leaving her little boy behind left her breathless with anxiety, but the idea of exposing him to anything associated with “before” was unthinkable. She’d reluctantly accepted Peggy’s offer, but considering Alex’s comments when she picked Charlie and him up last night and how anxious she’d been the entire trip, she was never letting him out of her sight again.

  Her heavy sigh pierced the quiet. Time to make a decision. Alex was growing up. Four already. He’d start school next year. Once he did, she didn’t want to have to move him again unless she had no choice.

  Nicky glanced around her small bedroom. The cabin tended toward drafty when the winter winds blew, and most of the appliances downstairs in the kitchen were held together with chewing gum and prayers. Still, the tiny house in the woods, six miles outside of Flagstaff, was the closest thing to a home they’d had in a long time. She liked the area. Large enough to provide all the benefits of a city, the northern Arizona community had a small-town feel. It wasn’t Washington. In fact, Flagstaff was about as different from DC as one could get. The mou
ntain town was also the last place Jonathan would think to search for her.

  Both she and Alex were happy here. Okay, so a four-year-old wasn’t very discriminating, but he’d made friends, a concept she’d been reluctant to introduce him to until recently. Now that she had, how could she make him leave his friends behind if they were forced to run once again?

  They’d been here almost a year, longer than anywhere else. The longer they remained, the easier Nicky’s new life and identity had been to affect. The ever-increasing moments when she let down her guard, even if only for a short time, had been a temptation she couldn’t resist. On several occasions she’d gone for close to a day without remembering to be afraid.

  She’d begun to feel safe again. Not any longer.

  Would the media attention surrounding her father’s death cause Jonathan to resume his search? Did he even care anymore? Her father had believed so. For Alex’s sake, she couldn’t afford to take the chance the General had been wrong.

  Maybe she should give Grace and Devin Maxwell a call. The nature photographer and her horse-breeder husband had become her friends during the nine months she and Alex lived in Prescott, Arizona, several years ago. Although the couple hadn’t pressed her for details, they’d been aware she was on the run from something. Devin had some powerful connections, and he’d offered his help at the time, but she’d been reluctant to involve them in her personal problems. Her father’s death changed things.

  There were those in Washington who would help if Nicky asked, but she couldn’t go to them. She didn’t dare make contact with anyone connected to her father. Devin would be able to check on her ex-husband’s activities without sending up any red flags. If Jonathan was taking steps to find her, then she’d make the tough decision of whether or not to pull up stakes and slip away.

  She stretched her arms above her head and rose from the bed. Instantly, her toes curled on the chilly floor. After tiptoeing to the door, she yanked her fluffy robe from the hook on the back and stepped into her slippers.

  A quick glance into Alex’s room and Nicky grinned at his habit of pulling the blanket over his head. Her sleeping child resembled a small, fleece lump. She covered another yawn with the fingers of one hand and descended the stairs.

  Upon entering the kitchen, she shuffled toward the counter and her ancient percolator. Her steps faltered, and her brow wrinkled in a frown. There, next to his bowls, lay her son’s dog. His eyes were closed, and his chest rose and fell in quick pants.

  “Charlie?” She changed direction, crossing the distance to squat beside him, and ruffled her fingers through his fur. He whimpered, but didn’t move. “Charlie.” She shook him. His eyes opened briefly before closing once again. She stared at the subtle rise and fall of his chest. “What the hell?”

  Running her fingers over the dog’s head, she peeled open an eyelid. His pupils were fully dilated. Damn it. He must have eaten another pinecone, which meant yet another vet visit. How did one convince a dog his favorite natural chew toys were actually toxic poisons?

  Poison. She yanked back her hand as a chill tap-danced up her spine. He’d been fine last night when she’d tucked Alex in. How the hell could the dog have gotten hold of a pinecone when he hadn’t been out since? Fear clogged her windpipe.

  Jonathan.

  Nicky leaped to her feet and broke into a run. Bursting into the hallway, she bolted for the stairs, taking them two at a time. Oh, God. Why hadn’t she peeled the covers back to check on Alex? If she had, would she have found her precious little boy or a lump of blankets made to look like him?

  Her panting breath drowned out the thud of her slippered feet. A buzz began in her ears as the blood rushed to her head. “Alex!” She tripped, going down hard. Her hip and right elbow connected solidly with the edge of a step. A sharp pain shot up her arm. She scrambled to her feet, clearing the remaining steps in a leap. Falling against the doorjamb of his bedroom, her frantic gaze shot to the bed.

  “Alex!”

  Her knees threatened to buckle when the tiny mound beneath the covers moved. With feet made of lead, she lunged forward, dropping to her knees beside the mattress as the covers slid back and her son’s tiny face appeared.

  “Hi, Mom.” He yawned and scrubbed a fist into one eye.

  Nicky’s eyes slid shut, and she fought against the nausea bubbling in her belly. Opening her eyes, she forced a smile. “Hi, baby.”

  Alex’s nose scrunched in a frown. “What’s the matter?”

  Relief coursed through her veins, turning her muscles to mush. Though she’d always done her best to shield him from the truth behind their nomadic lifestyle, her little boy was far too perceptive for a four-year-old. A slightly hysterical laugh gurgled in her throat.

  Paranoid. Too many years on the run had left her paranoid. Nothing was wrong. Alex was here. As for Charlie…he was sick, nothing more. The damned dog ate everything. Obviously he’d found something outside that disagreed with him, again.

  She brushed her fingers through the silky strands of Alex’s bangs. “Charlie isn’t feeling well.”

  Alex sat up, concern darkening his blue eyes. “Does he have to go to the doctor?”

  She nodded. “I think so.” The adrenaline crash made her hands shake, and she pressed them to the mattress and pushed to her feet. She crossed to his dresser, gathered clothes for him to wear, and returned to the bed as he slipped his legs over the side. She handed him jeans and a sweatshirt. “Get dressed, baby. We’ll drop Charlie off and get some breakfast while we’re waiting for the doctor to fix him up.”

  While Alex peeled off his pajama top, she crossed the hall to her bedroom on wobbly legs. Throwing off her robe, she dressed warmly for the trip to town. Their day of lounging had been shot to hell, but while they were out, she might as well do some grocery shopping after finding Peggy’s gift.

  Nicky dropped to the bed to pull on her boots and blinked when a bright sparkle from her nightstand snagged her gaze. The boot slid from her hand with a heavy thud as returning terror slashed at her with razor-sharp talons. She struggled to draw breath as her vision shrank to include only the shining, gold band she’d pulled from her left ring finger more than five years ago.

  She curled her hands into fists and pressed them to her temples, clamping her teeth shut against the scream roaring its way up her throat from her soul. She slid from the bed and dropped to her knees. Her fingers clawed at the wastebasket beside the bed. Bending at the waist, her body bucked and heaved as she vomited until her muscles spasmed against dry heaves. Cold sweat beaded her face and dampened her hair.

  Jonathan had found them. She’d made the unforgivable mistake of going to her father’s funeral, and he’d been waiting and watching. From the time he was conceived, she’d kept Alex safe from the monster who’d fathered him. Now they would both pay the price.

  She shook her head violently and straightened to sit back on her heels. Dragging at her mouth with the back of her hand, she glared at the ring she’d worn so long ago.

  Not while she had a breath left in her body.

  She jerked to her feet, and racing about the room, she shoved essentials into her duffel while calling out to Alex. The cabin was no longer safe. Why Jonathan had left the ring to let her know he’d found her instead of hanging around and taking his revenge she didn’t know, nor did she care. Everything had changed. If they were going to survive, they’d need to go where no one could find them. To do that, she needed help.

  Chapter Three

  As usual on a Saturday afternoon, the offices of Global Shield were quiet. Rhy passed through the empty customer waiting room to his office. Exhausted but happy to have the Everson job behind him, he shrugged out of his heavy winter coat, and his tired eyes fell on the manila envelope on his desk. Bypassing the coffeemaker that Wanda, his efficient office manager, would have prepared before she left last evening, he stepped to the desk. The time stamp on the top right corner of the envelope indicated it had arrived at seven eighteen p.m.

&
nbsp; Rhy frowned as he crossed to the coffeepot and pressed the brew button. No matter how many times he’d told Wanda he didn’t want her staying past six, the stubborn grandmother of two didn’t listen. The heady scent of freshly brewed coffee flared his nostrils, and he sighed in anticipation. Half a minute later, he removed the full mug, returned to sit at his desk, and slid the single sheet of paper from beneath the envelope to read Wanda’s neat script.

  Rhy, this envelope arrived from your friend at the DOJ. He says it’s important. Tim is due back in country tomorrow. He’s taking a few days at his family’s home in Maine, but he emailed his report. It’s in your in-box. Also, your mother called. Twice. Call her back. Wanda.

  A wry grin tugged at Rhy’s lips at the bossy demand. No wonder his mother and Wanda got along so well. They were cut from the same cloth.

  He broke the seal on the envelope and dumped the contents on the desk. The small disk wasn’t labeled, but as he read the note from his DOJ contact, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

  “Oh, fuck!” A violent fist of dread slammed him dead center in the chest. As he waited for his laptop to boot, he pressed the redial button on his cell phone. “Pick up, you prick. Pick up.” A single ring sounded before a message claimed the number was no longer in service. With a vicious curse, Rhy jammed his thumb to the screen and tossed the phone aside.

  He stared at the disk, and the heavy bristle on his chin and cheeks crackled beneath the palm he ran down his face. Cold sweat gathered at the base of his spine, and the chair creaked as he sat forward. Removing the disk from its case, he slid it into the tray. A click of the mouse and a dozen files filled the screen. Dread grew to anger as he sifted through them. One after another, they documented Jonathan Everson’s illegal activities: extortion, money laundering, illegal arms.

  Anger flared to rage when Rhy clicked on the file named Somalia. As he skimmed the words on the screen, hatred and grief converged and threatened to choke him like strangling fingers. If what the file contained was true, Everson may as well have put the bullet through Brian’s head himself. Rhy fell back in his chair. He shoved a hand through his hair as self-disgust joined the mix of emotions tearing at his gut. Everson was responsible for his brother’s death, and he’d played Rhy like a chump.