by CJ Lyons
The look he gave her was full of anguish, and she regretted saying anything.
This was all her fault, should have never let anything happen last night. Weak, she’d been weak. Now she had to be strong, prevent him from suffering any more pain on her behalf. She laid the handkerchief on the table, near his hand.
“Just wanted to return this before I left.” It was a fight to keep her voice steady. She cleared her throat and took a step to the door. “Thanks.”
A small sound came from him, and she stopped. He grabbed at her hand.
“Still got my rabbit’s foot?” he surprised her by asking. Vinnie nodded, pulled it from her shirt pocket, where it lay next to her heart. “Good. Keep it.”
Silence. She waited for him to say something more, then realized it was best for her to go now before he did. She slipped her hand free of his, immediately missing his warmth, and opened the door.
“Vinnie, be careful.” His voice followed her out into the winter night. “Please.”
CHAPTER 34
Billy stopped in his office doorway, surprised by the sight that greeted him. One of the four TVs, his constant companions, was tuned to the Weather Channel but the too-skinny form curled up in his desk chair paid it no heed.
Rose was sound asleep, her hands under her cheek like a child, bare feet tucked up beneath her legs. Her ebony hair glistened from a recent shower, curls tangling in a thick pillow that beckoned for a man to run his fingers through them. Billy took a step forward, then stopped, forcing himself to be content to merely observe and saturate himself in the moment.
Her face was perfectly relaxed, her body perfectly still. One of the few occasions Billy had ever glimpsed her not in constant motion.
What really tugged at his heart was the small snuffling noise she made as she breathed, he worried she might be coming down with a cold.
For the millionth time since he had first met Rose, Billy wondered what it would be like to wake beside her every day, to be able to hold her body against his, to wrap his arms around her, protect her from the rest of the world and invite her into his universe.
He realized that he was holding his breath in an effort to indelibly etch the memory into his brain. He exhaled and retreated back into the hall. He closed the door behind him, but wasn’t sure why.
Rose was not the type of leader who felt she could never allow her team to see her as human—one of the reasons why the men and women of STR felt compelled to push past what they thought they could do and achieve the impossible.
But he wanted, needed to keep that small, quiet moment private. Something for him to cherish alone, something untouched by the ugliness of the real world that Rose would return to as soon as she woke.
“Everything okay, Edge?” Hollywood asked, using Billy’s Delta nickname.
Billy turned his frustrations on the younger man. “I am trying to coordinate twenty-three simultaneous operations that encompass over thirty law enforcement agencies and some punk-ass local yokel Sheriff in Bumlick, Idaho is trying to screw it all to hell. So what do you think?”
“Sounds like you’ve got it under control. Teresa brought food over from the wedding that never happened, let’s go raid the galley.”
Hollywood flashed one of his patented smiles, and they walked toward the communal kitchen area. They grabbed a table after filling plates with pigs in the blanket, paprikash and paczki. “I wanted to talk to you about this CDC doc. I think Rose is right, there is something hinky going on.”
“You told Rose you thought she was a nutjob.” Billy waited for Hollywood to make his case.
Hollywood had a reputation as an excellent interrogator and surveillance expert during his days in the Navy. They said he could think like his quarry, put himself in the mind of his opponent in the interrogation room and have them leave thinking Hollywood was their best new buddy. After they gave up the goods.
But Hollywood’s relationships with women mirrored that of his relationships with his interrogation suspects: intense, dramatic and very short-lived.
Billy wondered if maybe this blind spot when it came to women was exactly the reason Rose had hammered at Hollywood to keep on the Celeste Rayburn case even though it seemed unconnected to The Preacher’s attacks.
“She is a nutjob—but is she the kind of nutjob we think she is?” Hollywood continued. “See, I got to thinking. What if she’s set all this up to deflect suspicion from what’s she’s really up to? I called a friend at Hopkins. She said that you use the same equipment whether you’re working on bird viruses or human ones. But now that Rayburn has gotten her bosses to drum her out of the human side of the research—the side that’s considered a security risk—she could be doing anything in that lab of hers and no one would know until it’s too late.”
Billy frowned. Could be. But it was all theory, what he dealt in was facts. “Anything to back this up?”
“I did a background on Rayburn. She’s one serious, determined lady. I mean, you read this chick’s CV and you don’t need sleeping pills. She’s never done anything out of the ordinary her entire life. Not even a parking ticket. And now there’s charges of a boyfriend no one can prove ever existed, stalkers, psycho killers, insurance fraud—”
“You think she purposely made herself look unstable so that her boss would remove her from the high security lab?”
Hollywood nodded. “I think she’s cooking up something nasty and it ain’t chicken soup.”
Billy thought about that. “All right. Keep on it—after tomorrow and we’re done with The Preacher.”
“Thanks. Any word on Chase and Lucky?”
“Not since we lost radio contact. They haven’t been able to get another helo over because of the weather.”
Billy would never tell Rose, but she made a big mistake letting KC talk her into the rescue mission. Even if they returned with Lucky, what good could come of it? He loved the woman, but she just didn’t think like a soldier, was always getting too personally involved.
Vinnie almost lost herself in the peaceful quiet of the night. KC was familiar with cross country skiing and seemed to have a natural affinity for moving silently through the wilderness. They started down the mountain, gliding over the fresh powder covering the Forest Service road.
Vinnie was glad for the illusion of privacy. The last two days spent in enforced company of others had left her nerves jangled, constantly on high alert.
She needed time to stop thinking, stop worrying about where the next danger would come from. Just to be.
Her rhythm, arms and legs moving in mindless tandem, was as soothing as the crisp air coursing through her lungs. The soft whoosh of the skis was the only sound in the moonlit forest as her pulse finally geared down from adrenalin overload into its normal, smooth cadence.
“Lucky’s a good guy.” KC’s voice broke the silence. “But he’s been through a lot lately.”
The other woman’s concern for Lucky was obvious. Vinnie understood the real question behind KC’s words: was Vinnie going to add to Lucky’s pain?
God, she hoped not, she’d been trying so hard to shield them both from pain.
Except for last night. Stupid of her to think she could take some kind of cosmic time-out, enjoy herself, lose herself in the moment without considering the consequences.
“I know,” Vinnie replied. “He told me what happened last month. What The Preacher did.”
KC stopped, her skis throwing up a small cloud of powder. Vinnie turned to her. KC took a few drinks of water, but her gaze was relentless, narrowing at Vinnie’s face.
“He told you about last month?” she asked. “All of it?”
“This afternoon.” Vinnie had held Lucky, cradled his head to her chest as he poured out the entire story. Afterward, drained by his catharsis, he’d finally succumbed to exhaustion and slept.
Vinnie had watched over him, soothing him with wordless melodies and her fingers until all worry left his face. He had been at peace, even if only for those few short h
ours. She hoped it was enough of a gift to make up for the pain she seemed unable to stop causing him.
The look on his face tonight as she left told her how wrong she’d been.
She looked at KC, waiting for the words of admonishment sure to follow. KC would protect Lucky. It was obvious that it was her nature to stand between the ones she loved and any pain.
Vinnie knew she would lash out if their positions were reversed. A lecture on responsibility, on having care with a man’s emotions, especially a man as wounded as Lucky—they were the same words Vinnie had been berating herself with ever since last night.
KC surprised her. “Have you ever felt one perfect moment where nothing could possibly be wrong with your world?”
Vinnie blinked hard, considered. Her wedding day, that instant when her father had joined her hand to Michael’s. Seeing the foxes last night, followed by the passion she and Lucky shared. A perfect sunrise over the gorge. That summer day six years ago, cherry ice melting in her mouth as a kindly stranger offered her his handkerchief—she’d been blessed with so many of those timeless moments, too many to count. “Yes.”
“Makes you think maybe someone up there has the right idea. Like things happen for a reason, the good and the bad all balance out in the long run.”
KC holstered her water bottle, pushed off on her skis. “At least that’s what my grandfather used to say. But he was a born romantic. Me, I just figure best I can do is take one day at a time. I think the important thing is to notice those moments when they happen, pay attention. Don’t let yourself wander and get lost in what’s not important.”
Vinnie started back down the trail, uncomfortable with the philosophical turn the discussion had taken. “Are you saying Lucky dying last month was a good thing?”
“No.” KC caught up, moved alongside her. “I’m saying his living was. Saved my life and Chase’s and about two hundred other people by stopping The Preacher’s bomb.”
If the pain Lucky went through turned into something good, then could something good also come from Michael’s death? If Michael hadn’t died, if Vinnie hadn’t been devoured by her grief, she would never have returned to Lost River. And wouldn’t have been on the road yesterday to stop to help a city boy lost in the woods.
Maybe Someone up there was listening after all. But it didn’t solve the problem of her and Lucky. Vinnie still had that tightrope to cross—alone.
They continued into the night until a stray light flashed in the distance. Silently, they left the trail and crept into the woods. Shedding their skis, Vinnie followed KC as she led the way forward. The frosty billows of their exhalations were the only signs of their passage.
As they grew closer to the men camped on the road ahead, Vinnie could make out the sounds of snoring, the occasional footfall crunching through the brush, and the smell of tobacco and gasoline. They dropped to their bellies, taking advantage of the cover offered by a snow laden clump of rhododendron.
KC slipped a monocular from one of the many pockets on her cargo pants and peered through it. “There’s three snowmobiles, two tents, two men on watch,” she whispered. “Probably six total.”
Vinnie took the monocular. The world coalesced into shades of green as she zoomed into the campsite fifty yards away. One man sat on a snowmobile, smoking a cigarette. Another was pacing behind him a set of night-vision binoculars strapped over his balaclava, looking in the opposite direction as he swept his machine gun from side to side. There were two tents. One of them shook and shimmied as a heavy-set man crawled backwards out of it.
“Recognize anyone?” KC asked.
“No.” The heavy-set man shook himself free of the small tent and climbed to his feet. “Yes. That’s George Henderson, I’ve caught him hunting out of season a few times.”
“They’re not military trained.” Scorn dripped from KC’s voice. “Making more noise than a bunch of girl scouts.”
“There are a lot of guns. Maybe they’re not too worried about us finding them.”
“They should be.”
KC’s tone had grown serious. Vinnie dropped the monocular. KC raised a knife. Its long, sharp edge shimmered in the dim light.
“You’re not thinking of killing them?”
“Can’t leave them behind.”
“There are six of them.”
A strange smile quirked the corner of KC’s mouth in response. As if she liked the odds against her. Vinnie gulped. Against them.
“I can’t, don’t ask me to—”
A branch snapped a few yards away followed by another. KC pulled Vinnie’s head down beside hers in the snow. A man’s huffing and the heavy drag of footsteps plowing through the snow echoed through the woods.
“Goddamn city slickers with their goddamn rules,” the man muttered. Vinnie recognized George Henderson’s voice. Snaps snapped and zippers zipped as he gave a heavy sigh. “This had better be worth it.”
Urine splashed in an irregular stream, arching through the rhododendron to melt the snow beside KC’s head. Vinnie held her breath as she stared into KC’s face. KC’s expression was one of calm deliberation as she slowly inched the knife up, ready to spring.
Vinnie grabbed her arm, shook her head no. If they killed one of the men they’d be committed to killing them all.
She’d do anything to save Lucky and Chase, would fight to save herself in self-defense, to protect KC, but sneaking up on a man relieving himself in the dark wasn’t self-defense, it was murder.
George cursed, the urine stream halted for a moment. His feet shuffled and stamped. The rhododendron rustled as if he were searching through the brush for something.
Or someone.
CHAPTER 35
Lucky did the dishes, changed the snow pack on Chase’s ankle, then took the smashed remnants of the shortwave radio into the bedroom to work on. He knew the task was hopeless from the start, but he needed to be doing something with his hands while he took his turn guarding The Preacher.
The fire’s crackling and Chase’s snoring were the only sounds in the small cabin.
“Tiny room, middle of nowhere, middle of the night,” The Preacher said. His voice was so soft that at first Lucky thought it was in his mind, his words mirrored Lucky’s thoughts that closely. “Remind you of anything?”
Lucky gave up on the radio and threw another log on the fire. He didn’t answer aloud, but the events of last month began to replay themselves in his mind.
“Your main concern then was your partner, Sergeant Westin,” The Preacher continued. “Protecting him with your silence. I was surprised at how you endured. Too bad you had no idea that your partner was too busy cavorting with Agent Zdzeiba to be worried about you.”
Lucky opened his mouth to protest but quickly shut it again. He was not going to get drawn into The Preacher’s mind games.
“You died once for the man,” The Preacher continued with his venomous siren’s song. “Are you ready to die again for him? I can guarantee your safety—and Mrs. Ryan’s as well. Think it over, Agent Cavanaugh.”
Lucky hated that The Preacher was still alive to even mention Vinnie’s name, however casually. He drew out the handkerchief Vinnie had returned before she left. She meant it as a farewell, tying off loose ends.
Lucky scrutinized the piece of white linen. Vinnie’s face had touched this, she held it in her hands, had for some unknown reason kept it all these years.
A slow smile spread over his face. Cause and effect. They had met then for a reason. She had married and lost Michael for a reason too. Without those years, Vinnie would not be the woman he’d fallen in love with, the woman who had saved his life and his soul.
The Preacher was still prattling, describing exactly what he and his men would do to Vinnie when they caught her, but Lucky blocked him out easily.
His mind was focused on Vinnie—how she looked last night when they first met, when he turned the gun on her and she had hesitated, gazing into his eyes, weighing her chances—at least that was what Lucky
had thought then.
Now he realized she hadn’t been calculating the odds of surviving if she ran. She had looked at him as if she knew him.
She could have run but she hadn’t, decided to help him instead. That decision might cost her her life, but she’d made it freely, despite the gun Lucky had held in his hand. That was the woman he’d fallen for.
He swiped away the tears that gathered in his eyes. Tears of joy—he felt giddy, light headed, wanted to jump and shout. In that single moment last night, Vinnie had chosen him.
Lucky’s heart pounded with ecstasy more powerful than anything he’d felt when they made love last night.
Even if Vinnie didn’t know it yet, at least not in that thick-skulled, pigheaded brain of hers, she had chosen him.
That knowledge alone was more powerful than any of the bombs Lucky had ever built.
He turned back from the fire and saw The Preacher looking at him over his shoulder. “What do you say, Agent Cavanaugh? Last chance to accept my offer.”
“I say go to hell, you crazy sonofabitch,” Lucky said cheerfully, finding himself unable to stop grinning. “We’re going to stop you, and you can’t do a damn thing about it.”
He returned to his chair, settled himself, legs stretched out by the fire, contentment and warmth easing into his bones, erasing all his pain.
“And, if you ever say Mrs. Ryan’s or Special Agent Zdzieba’s name again, it will be my pleasure to stuff a dirty sock down your throat. So,” he crossed his ankles in front of him, “why don’t you tell me about those railroad cars filled with chlorine that your people hijacked from Savannah? I thought those were kind of interesting.”
Vinnie tugged on KC’s arm just as the other woman was about to lunge forward. “Wait,” she mouthed.
“Damn prostrate,” George muttered. Urine splashed through the bushes once more.
KC’s glare was almost as lethal as the knife she held. Vinnie thought for a moment that she might break free and kill George anyway. Then the stream of urine faltered and stopped, following by the sounds of George re-arranging his clothing and shuffling away.
