by Lyn Stone
“She’s a good-lookin’ gal. Seems smart, too,” Grayson said as he adjusted the shower for Will. “All this affirmative action stuff sometimes don’t work out so good in actual practice, though. She any good on the job?”
“She’s the best,” Will assured him. “Absolutely qualified in every aspect.”
“Other respects, too, I betcha,” Grayson commented with a suggestive chuckle.
Anger shot through Will at the inference. “You’re treading dangerous ground, Doc.”
“Settle down, son. I’m too old to give you a run for your money. All I’m saying is that she looks hot as a two-dollar pistol and you are one lucky devil.”
Will strove for patience. Grayson was obviously old school and didn’t understand the equal roles women played in the world today. What cave had he been living in?
“Amberson’s an excellent friend, a member of my team, and we work together. Believe me, Grayson, that’s the full extent of my luck.”
The old guy snorted, sounding amused. “Then I’d be guessing that’s your own fault, considering the way she’s been looking at you.”
Now that sounded exactly like something Matt would have said. Before Will could digest that and come up with a retort, he sensed he was alone. The shower was on, ready.
Will shucked off his shorts, pulled back the shower curtain that ringed the oversize tub and got in. He fiddled with the tap until he had the water running cold.
Just what he needed, the old man’s imagination fueling his own.
There had been some very strong vibes in the gym room, however. And she had been watching him. Her gaze had felt like a laser on his skin.
Definitely his imagination was getting out of hand here.
Will turned and faced the jets of water, shivering as the icy needles chilled him all the way down his front. He ducked under the spray and soaked his head, too, while he was at it. Maybe that would lessen the brain swelling.
As soon as Will joined Holly back in the kitchen, Mercier phoned, mainly to see whether they had settled in properly, but also to inform them that no further progress had been made on locating the missing weapons or discovering the identity of Odin.
Will kept his part of the conversation short and to the point, assuring Jack that he was feeling much stronger and had completed his earlier debriefing by Holly to the best of his ability.
“I’ve kept in touch with your parents,” Jack told him.
“Thanks. They appreciate that, I’m sure.” Will was unable to keep his tone from sounding dry.
“Your father insisted before they left. He is the attaché, Will. He needed to return to Italy when he did. If you want to talk to him, it’s okay to call him at the embassy. The lines at both ends are secure. If you’d like to speak with your mother, we can always set up—”
“Not necessary. Tell them I’m fine.”
“Are you?” Jack insisted, his voice edged with concern.
“I will be.”
“How’s the vision?”
“Could be better.” Will didn’t want to discuss that. He didn’t even want to think about it. “Sorry to leave you shorthanded like this. Thank Solange for her care in the chopper, okay? And say hi to the others for me. Look, I’ll turn you over to Holly now.”
She took the phone when he held it out, and began speaking to Mercier. Will only half listened.
He’d been in grave danger of getting too emotional, thinking about all that Jack, his wife and the guys had done while he was out like a light.
He had missed so much while unconscious. Lost so many days. Lost so much else. It seemed to be hitting him in increments, some larger and sharper than others. All unexpected, like pieces of shrapnel from an explosion that had changed his life irrevocably.
How could he deal with this? How could he stand it? He had to fight the urge to panic about his eyes almost every minute he was awake. And he couldn’t even imagine a world without his brother in it.
“Y’know, some fresh air would help you, I bet,” Holly was saying, her voice brisk as a cool breeze. She had finished the call, he realized, and was talking to him. “C’mon. Let’s go veg on the back porch while Grayson cooks us some supper.”
Will shook off his mood as best he could, focusing on how much he hated this god-awful passivity. He was used to taking action, making decisions for himself.
He straightened his shoulders as he stood up. “That sounds a little too Green Acres for me, but okay, if you insist.”
“Shut up or I’ll feed you to the pigs.” She grabbed his hand and tugged him along. “I’m starting to really get off on this farm stuff. Did you know there are actually four cows out there in the back? Do cows bite?”
Grayson’s laughter followed them out. Will couldn’t contain his own grin. Holly was a true master when it came to distraction, and it seemed she’d go to any extreme in doing that, deliberate or not.
Holly was glad she’d encouraged Will to join her out on the porch. She needed to wind down a bit and so did he. Obviously the physical workout had helped. His color had returned to normal except for lingering shadows beneath his eyes.
He had showered after exercising, changed into clean, light gray sweats, and combed his hair. He looked good enough to devour, but she definitely wouldn’t think about that.
They sat together on an old fifties-style metal glider that had seen better years. For a while they simply rocked, enjoying the quiet and the bracing nippiness in the air.
She thought about how best to get him to share a few more of those feelings he seemed determined to seal off. They had made a good start, but it looked as if she might have to start all over loosening him up every time they sat down together to talk seriously.
“You’re going to have to trust me, Will, and I know you have trust issues.”
“What?” he asked, appearing dumbfounded by what she’d said. “I trust you implicitly, Holly. Always have. Why in the world would you think I don’t? There’s no one I know that I’d rather have watching my back.”
She laughed and gave him a playful poke in the ribs. “You silver-tongued devil, you always say the correct thing, don’t you?”
He caught her hand and held it, as if he thought she might get up and go away. “Tell me what you meant.”
“Trust is a rare commodity,” she said, placing her free hand over his. “I have problems with it myself.” She sighed. “But I’m not talking about on the job. We’re all well trained, dedicated and so forth. We know we can depend on one another in tight situations. But it’s personal, not professional, trust that’s the problem here.”
“You’re a good friend, the best. Of course I trust you,” he protested, sounding hurt.
“Well, that’s great to hear because you need to open up some more, Will.”
“We did talk,” he protested. “I spilled my guts about Matt. What more do you want?” He folded his arms tightly across his chest, a classic defense posture against her verbal prodding.
“This is not about me. Talk about your parents and get that resentment out of the way. It’s eating you, isn’t it, that they popped in for Matt’s funeral, then left you there comatose, in that hospital bed, and went their merry way. You’re mad as hell about it.”
It was his turn to laugh, but the sound was acrid. “Sounds as if you are, too. They were never there for us, Holly. I hardly know the people. They sure as heck don’t know me. We only happen to be related.”
“Will, they did call while you were out of it, every single day. And your dad did have to get back. He has an important job, you know.”
“Oh yeah, Mr. Embassy Dilettante. Entertaining people. How critical is that?” Will threw up a hand in a gesture of frustration and let it fall by his side.
“Sometimes very crucial, and you know it.” Holly took his fist in her hand to establish a physical link.
He made a deprecating sound with his lips. “So they spared a few days between parties. Now they have Jack calling them to report on me, to salv
e their parental conscience. Got to do the right thing and check on the kids.” He shook his head sadly. “Rather, the one kid they have left.”
“Some people aren’t blessed with nurturing instincts. That’s a fact.”
“So I should quit secretly bellyaching and get over it, huh?” he said with a wry grimace. “Okay, all done now. They are who they are and I hate it. It used to hurt and it still does. See there, I’ve trusted you with my deepest, darkest embarrassment.”
“You were lucky to have Matt,” she reminded him.
“Not so lucky now,” he replied with a shrug. “I haven’t had the chance to fully miss him yet, and I understand that. No doubt it will get worse before it gets better.”
He squinted into the distance, as if gazing out over the hills she knew he couldn’t see. His voice was quiet, his hand restless in hers.
“It’s like he’s around, as if I can still sense what he’s thinking from time to time. Reminds me of amputees and how they say there’s a phantom feeling in the missing limb. Like that,” he explained. He might have been reasoning it out for himself instead of her.
After a minute or two, he shook it off and turned, his vacant gaze landing over her shoulder somewhere. “Now, how about reciprocating? Throw a little trust in my direction. What was your life like?”
“Oh, baby, you don’t even want to go there. I grew up on the south side of Chicago. Mean streets.”
“Made you tough, huh?” He relaxed, his elbow resting on the rust-flecked arm of the glider, his head propped on his hand. “But your mom was great, right? I liked that thing where she used to draw happy faces on your food. Great story.”
His smile was so charming, Holly wanted to fall right into it and kiss him on the mouth. Instead, she focused on the memory he had stirred. “Ketchup sandwiches. Syrup on the French toast. Yeah, Mama could always make me laugh, even when things were at their worst.”
“She was your greatest fan,” he said, nodding. “That’s how it should be.”
So he remembered all those little anecdotes she had related about her mom.
“Yep, and she was the inspiration for all my high-flying plans. I was determined not to sacrifice my chances to get both of us out of that hellhole by flipping out over some local homey and a few minutes pleasure with him in an alley. Kept to myself,” she said. “Studied hard.”
Will raised their joined hands and smacked a kiss on her knuckles. “You certainly succeeded. It couldn’t have been easy in that environment.”
She got up and tugged on his hand. “Enough about that. Let’s go see if supper’s ready. I cede to your powers of interrogation, sir. You sure turned that conversation around backward. I was trying to help you.”
He stood and drew her into a hug, his arms surrounding her, his chin resting on top of her head. They swayed together, almost a dance. “You did,” he said. “You always do.”
Simply that. No embellishment. No profuse thanks. That was more like the Will she knew. But he seemed easier with himself now, more in tune. And she felt…warm, even though there was a definite chill in the night air.
By the time they reached the kitchen, Will was clamoring for a steak, arguing with Doc about running him out of the exercise room that afternoon when he had barely gotten started on a workout.
His concerted effort to recover instantly didn’t surprise her. She wouldn’t have expected any less of him.
He seemed to have accepted Matt’s death and was dealing with it, she thought.
As for the problem with his eyes, he must have convinced himself that would go away, that he could will it to happen. She hoped to God he was right.
Holly ladled up three bowls of the hearty beef stew Grayson had prepared. “Great setup you’ve got here,” she said, complimenting him.
As custodian of the safe house, he had provided just about everything a person secreted away in protective custody could need.
Grayson said the security system was top-notch. There was a huge freezer that held enough food to feed an army, and the beds he had chosen were so comfy. Doc deserved praise.
The exterior belied the conveniences hidden within. Anyone approaching the place would see a dilapidated old Victorian in need of paint, and property that sorely needed landscaping. The house had been built out in the middle of nowhere.
A fifteen-year-old sedan with missing tires sat up on blocks in the yard. A scruffy glider with torn cushions, much like the one on the back porch, and a webbed lawn chair graced the front. Not a very welcoming homestead until you got past the entrance hall.
Holly smiled at the older man. “I understand we’re the first to enjoy your hospitality.”
“Yep, and it’s good to have somebody else around. Gets lonesome,” Grayson replied. “I hope you folks don’t mind the lack of cable on the TV.”
“Don’t think I’ll miss it that much,” Will said with a deadpan expression.
Holly shared a look with Grayson as she placed Will’s spoon in his hand and nudged it so that he touched the bowl in front of him. “Here you go. Stew this time.”
His lips tightened a little, but otherwise, he accepted the necessary help without comment and silently began to eat.
There was tension as the meal progressed, but it wasn’t unbearable.
Grayson was no conversationalist, and Will certainly wasn’t talkative. Holly refused to sit there and blather on by herself.
Several times she noticed Will go very still, as if he were concentrating hard on something other than his food. She wondered if he was trying to zero in on what she or Grayson were thinking. That’s exactly what she would be doing if she were him. Testing her powers.
It would be great if he could discover the limits of this new ability and put it to good use. If he did, he might not feel quite so lost, not being able to see.
Will really hated being so dependent. As willing as she was to do everything she could for him, she could understand how he felt about it.
Holly figured he would become more accepting as he got used to needing help. He had his pride, but most of the time he was more pragmatic than bullheaded.
Suddenly he went tense, straightened and put down the spoon. “He’s here, Holly. The shooter’s here.”
Almost simultaneously, a buzzer sounded on the perimeter security panel.
Chapter 5
Grayson got up and quickly shut it off. “Prob’ly just a deer tripping the electronic fence. Happened before. But I’ll go check—”
“No!” Will exclaimed, pushing to his feet. “It’s him. Odin. Holly?”
She was already out of her chair. “You call in the troops, Doc. Give me the car keys first. I’m getting Will out of here now.”
Grayson looked at both of them as if they were nuts. But he tossed her a key ring, then turned to the small screen that sat on the kitchen counter. “The breach is to the north,” he said as he grabbed his rifle off its rack. “Moon’s bright, but if anyone is coming in from there, I think you can make it to the shed without being seen. The door’s constructed of balsa for a quick exit. Just drive straight on through it.”
“You watch yourself, Doc,” she warned him.
“I will. There’s a full tank. I’ll cover you if I see any movement to shoot at.”
Holly grabbed her purse, put the strap over her head so that the bag lay across her body like a leather knapsack. She took Will’s hand and placed it on the band. “Here, hang on to this strap and stay a little behind me, okay?”
She whispered every few seconds, warning him of the steps, and when they reached the yard, of the changes in terrain so he wouldn’t stumble.
All the while, Holly held her firearm ready, scanned the moonlit landscape, alert for anything that moved.
When gunshots erupted from inside the house, she picked up speed, got Will into the shed and helped him into the passenger side of the sedan. Doc was providing the promised cover.
“Seat belt. Can you get it?”
“Got it.” Will’s voice
sounded strained and tight with frustration.
“Hold my weapon.” She nudged his hand with the Glock and he palmed it. It took her only seconds to get around to the driver’s side.
“Here we go!” She cranked the engine and peeled out through the breakaway door. Accelerator to the floorboard, she sped down the weed-choked driveway to the main road.
Holly dredged up all her lessons in high-speed driving. Minutes later, they were well down the road, headed for the interstate, a distance of about fifteen miles.
“Uh-oh,” she muttered when she saw lights behind them. They had gone about five miles. Ten more ahead before reaching civilization. “Company.”
She leaned forward as if that would make the sedan pick up speed, though she knew it was already giving the maximum effort. “Houston, we have a problem.”
“What’s he driving?” Will demanded.
“It looks like a truck or a big SUV.” She glanced in the mirror again. “Damn, it’s an all-terrain, whatever it is. He’s cutting across that field I curved around. Trying to head us off.”
“Got anything besides the Glock with you?”
“My backup .22 in my purse. Don’t get any ideas,” she warned. “I don’t want you shooting me. You just hold on to the Glock and keep the safety on until I need it.” She sucked in a deep breath, hoping more oxygen to the brain would give her some ideas.
The vehicle after them was close, too close. It looked as if it might intersect their path before they reached the bridge ahead.
It bounced onto the main road a hundred feet shy of the narrow crossing, plowed straight into the sedan and shoved it toward the railing of the bridge. Metal screeched. She smelled rubber. Gas? Oh, God!
Holly battled for control. She slammed the brake pedal to the floor, spun the steering wheel, then stomped on the accelerator, attempting a one-eighty. No go.
The larger vehicle shoved them head-on toward the concrete barrier. There was nothing she could do.
“We’re going in! Hold on, Will!” she screamed, still fighting with the wheel.
