A Necessary Deception

by Lucy Farago

  “They’re kind of weird in their secrecy. But they helped you, so I wasn’t prepared to argue with them. Thought I’d leave that up to you.”

  He would’ve told her the Russians weren’t the negotiating type but figured it could wait a few minutes. “You okay?” He reach out and put a hand over her thigh. Except for some bruising under her eyes, she looked okay, thankfully unharmed.

  “Better than you. You scared the shit out of me. If their doctor hadn’t kept telling me you would live, I was seriously considering what I was going to wear to your funeral.”

  “Doctor?” They’d brought in a doctor for him? Why heal him if they intended to kill him?

  “I think more shaman than doctor. How do you feel?”

  His body shivered involuntarily. “Cold.”

  She nodded. “Your fever was through the roof. So, I guess cold is good. This cabin has a potbellied stove, but it’s in there.” She pointed over her shoulder with a thumb.

  The door opened a second time. An elderly woman, no taller than four feet and nearly as wide, walked to the other side of the bed, heading straight for him with such an intensity that if he’d have been standing, he’d have jumped back. And with good reason. Before he could react, she flung the bedcovers back, leaving him exposed.

  “What the hell?” He covered his cock with his hands. A lot of good that did. She said something in a language he didn’t understand and wrapped him on the knuckles. Luckily, he did see that coming and was able to stiffen his fingers or he could add blue balls to his injuries. Of course it was fucking cold, and while another man might not appreciate shrinkage, at the moment he sure as hell did. “Taylor.” He felt foolish begging for help, but as his muscles were the consistency of jelly, he saw no alternative. “Help.”

  “I’d like to, big boy, but she’s kind of bossy.”

  “Come on,” he pleaded to the old woman, who continued to ignore his protests. “I’m naked here.”

  She turned his head this way and that, pinched his eyebrow to see into his eyes, as if he’d said nothing, and put the back of her hand on his forehead.

  “How do you think you got naked?” Taylor said, not even bothering to hide her amusement.

  “You didn’t take them off?” He watched as the woman examined the bandages on his knee, her salt-and-pepper-covered head just a tad too close to his balls.

  “Nuh-uh. She bathed you too.”

  “And you let her?” After all they’d been through, he was disappointed she’d hadn’t defended his honor a little better.

  “Go ahead. Tell her to stop.” Taylor pointed to the pudgy woman. “I dare you.”

  With a satisfied nod, his Florence Nightingale from hell thankfully tossed the blanket over him. Then she turned to Taylor, like he wasn’t in the room, and mimed someone eating. After Taylor nodded, hurricane granny left.

  “What the hell was that?”

  “Who, you mean. That was the shaman. I can’t pronounce her indigenous name, but she’s called Lonnie. Once you get to know her, you’ll realize she’s very sweet. Her English isn’t good, but we’ve been able to overcome that. She’s bringing you something to eat and wants me to make sure you eat it.”

  “I got the food part, but how do you—”

  “I haven’t been allowed to wander around. Like you said, uptight about their privacy. She’s pretty much the only person I’ve had contact with. Necessity dictated we learn to communicate.”

  And on that note, “Where are we?”

  “I’m not sure exactly. Their winter camp. They’d already loaded the trucks and were on the move when we showed up. I convinced them to take us with them.”

  “How did you manage that?” And their winter camp was a closely guarded secret. Even he hadn’t been able to find it. These people were like ghosts. Figuring they were too close to the bunker, he’d wanted to keep an eye on Santa and her helpers. He’d spent an entire afternoon hacking into satellites, scanning everything within a hundred-mile radius of their last-known location. He’d come up empty.

  “I gave them something they wanted.” She straightened and fussed over his blanket.

  “Yeah? Like what?” From the size of the explosions, she’d used up the C-4. Had she traded her gun? The Russians had taken his.

  “The snowmobile. They were practically salivating when they saw it. I explained it wasn’t ours and that the former owners might come looking for it. I didn’t want the Russians going after them. But they didn’t seem bothered by it.”

  “How many of them are there?” Necessity had dictated they find these people, but that didn’t mean they didn’t pose a threat.

  “Again, I’m not sure. I’ve been keeping to myself, waiting for you to wake up. There were only four left at the camp, stranded by the sudden snowstorm. The rest were already here when we arrived. You didn’t tell me they were indigenous. Not many speak English.”

  He suspected that was bullshit. But whatever secrets they were guarding, as long as they weren’t a threat to him or Taylor, they could keep them. “Did they take anything from you?” He wasn’t sure if anyone could hear him, so he leaned on the cautious side.

  “You mean my gun? Yeah, they have it. But they promised to return it when we leave.”

  “Generous of them.” He guessed he should have expected that. “I hope it won’t be a problem, but it’s not like we’ll be here long.” He was surprised the team hadn’t found them already.

  “There’s something you should know,” she said, looking like he wasn’t going to like it.

  The door opened again and in walked Lonnie. Steam billowed off a brown ceramic bowl she carried on a wooden tray. Setting it down on the bedside table, she pointed to it and shot him a warning glare. He got the message: Eat it or else. He gave her a small salute, hoping she understood. She nodded and left.

  “Scary.” He wouldn’t want to piss her off. Maybe Ryan could offer her a job on the team. One more hard-ass couldn’t hurt.

  “Sometimes,” Taylor agreed. “She reminds me of Bubbe D, cantankerous but all mushy inside.”

  He’d have to take her word for it.

  She peeked at the bowl, inhaling as she did. “Mmm. It’s a clear soup of some kind. Mushroom, I think. I guess she doesn’t want anything heavy in your stomach. How shall we do this?”

  She searched the small room and then, as if remembering something, stuck her head under the bed. He heard her drag something out.

  “They keep spares under the bed,” she said, withdrawing a pillow. “You think you can sit up?”

  “I’m not an invalid.” But when he tried to move, he realized he pretty much was. “Damn, that must have been some fever. Surprisingly, my ribs don’t hurt as much as they did.” Breathing had become tolerable.

  “That’s…that’s great.” But her tone suggested she was omitting something.

  She helped him lift his shoulders and put the extra pillow behind his back.

  “What?” He remembered she’d been about to tell him something before Lonnie had barged in for the second time.

  She took in a quick breath and blurted out, “You’ve been unconscious for a week.”

  If he hadn’t been lying down, the blood draining from his body would’ve landed him on his ass. “You’re kidding, right? This is you being funny? A week?” A week wasn’t good.

  “Nearly,” she said, her face apologetic. “She tried this herbal stuff on your leg and it helped, but not enough. After a few days, she put you on a drip and you started to feel better. I’m guessing she gave you antibiotics. She took you off it yesterday afternoon. Your leg was pretty bad, and from what I understood, you were dehydrated. Good news is, she doesn’t think the ribs are broken. But you’re black and blue under there.” She pointed to his rib cage.

  If the shaman had access to an antibiotic drip, why had she waited to administer it? Why try holisti
c medicine first? Were they hoping he’d just die from his injuries? Had they figured out a way to barter with the Russians and thought him better alive than dead? “Taylor, have you noticed anything peculiar?”

  “This whole place is peculiar.” She picked up the hot bowl of soup and set it on her lap, then ladled the broth and brought the spoon to his lips. “It’s like nothing I’ve seen before. They’re like busy little ants. Always moving, doing something. What, I don’t know.”

  It was nice, her wanting to feed him, but unless that was a can of whipped cream in her hand and she was naked, he was having none of it. “I can feed myself,” he said, grinning as he imagined licking sweet cream off her nipples.

  “Humor me. As if my life hadn’t sucked before, this week wasn’t any easier. I didn’t enjoy watching you in that bed.”

  “Should I be offended?”

  She thrust the soup at him. “Eat. Or I’ll tell Lonnie I think your fever has returned, and you’re not going to like how she’s been taking your temperature.”

  His jaw grew slack. “You have a sick sense of humor.” At least he hoped she did.

  She drew close, until they were nose-to-nose, the spoon between their mouths. “Don’t you wish.” Her eyebrow shot up in warning.

  He opened his mouth and accepted his fate.

  They sat in silence, her feeding him, him trying to figure out why they hadn’t been picked up yet. Surely they’d have been found long before he’d have needed Lonnie to administer antibiotics. Was his team fucking with him?

  The broth, as it turned out, wasn’t half bad. He wasn’t a fan of mushrooms, but it was tasty.

  Taylor, the funny girl she was, wiped his mouth with the napkin from the tray, then patted his hands. “Good boy.”

  Surprisingly, he enjoyed humoring her. It was nice, having someone take care of him. But now he needed to figure out what the fuck was going on. “Taylor, do you still have the compass?”

  “I used the tools to barter for this cabin or we’d have had to bunk with some of the men. I assume the compass is still in the bag. I didn’t want to pull it out and let them know I had it. I didn’t think it was a good idea for them to learn about the bunker.”

  “Good.” Given that the Russians knew about it, the location would be useless. But he doubted these paranoid people would appreciate knowing there were bunkers scattered throughout the mountains. Who they thought were the bad guys remained to be seen.

  “I’ll go get it.” Taking the empty bowl and tray with her, she left to return a short time later with the knapsack in her hand. She held it up for him to see, and what he saw he didn’t like.

  “Monty?” She pointed to the bullet hole. “I was wearing this thing.”

  Shit. “Then it’s a good thing it wears the hole and not you,” he said, trying for a less freak-out-Taylor approach. “Would you mind bringing that to me?” He held out a hand.

  She sat on the bed and might have been passing him plutonium by the look on her face.

  Monty knew the moment his hand curled around the cool metal…the cool, razor sharp, splintered metal, that they were in trouble. And the mere thought of Taylor having come this close… He couldn’t even think it. The idea of her being in this bed—or worse—made the soup he’d just eaten sour and rise to back of his throat. So, better the compass than her. But they were still in trouble. He withdrew his one contact with his team and showed it to her.

  She looked down at his hand. “Does it still work?” she asked, too calmly for her to be getting it.

  “Taylor—”

  “The bullet hit it?” Color drained from her face. “It was in the top inside pocket of the bag.”

  And from how she’d worn it, it had been right behind her heart.

  She swallowed, her eyes widening in horror. “Holy shit.” Her gaze darted between the knapsack and the destroyed compass. She planted both feet on the floor and braced her elbows on her knees. “I hate this.”

  “I don’t like it any more than you do.” Maybe even less. They could’ve killed her, and all because she’d come back for him. And unless he found a way to communicate with the outside world, their odds of being found were slim to none. “Taylor, will they let you use a phone? Without the compass, my team can’t find us.”

  “It doesn’t work?” She peered sideways at it.

  He opened it, turned it right and then left, watched as the needle pointed north. “The actual compass works. It doesn’t rely on technology. The rest is toast.”

  “Oh.” She straightened. “Isn’t that lovely? Just when I thought it couldn’t get worse.” She shook her head. “I was so worried about you, I forgot about the tracker in that thing. There’s no electricity, Monty. No wires of any kind. And if they have a satellite phone or any other phones, they haven’t shown me. And before you get any ideas, the trucks that brought us here are gone. Snowmobile too. Something about maintenance.”

  “They must have a way to communicate.”

  “All I’ve seen are a few dog teams and sleds. They look to be hunkering down for winter. We could’ve gone with the trucks, but Lonnie didn’t think it was a good idea to move you. She insisted you needed to be treated right away.”

  “Why didn’t you go without me?”

  “Do you really think I would do that? I’m sorry I didn’t think to check the compass.”

  “It’s my fault.” If only he hadn’t gotten sick.

  “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you say something so stupid. It would most definitely put you in the dickhead category. Because only a dickhead would be arrogant enough to think any of this was his fault.”

  “You lost me. How would this make me arrogant?”

  “You know, you man, me woman. Big tough guy couldn’t hold it together long enough to save the frail woman.”

  “I wasn’t thinking that.”

  “So how is this your fault?” With a look, she dared him to contradict her theory.

  “I…well…” Damn, when she put it that way… He had thought he could deal with his burn later, after they were rescued, because he needed to get Taylor to a safe place. And he had thought it his responsibility. “I’ve never thought of you as frail.”

  She quirked an eyebrow. “Not even in the caves? When I lost it?”

  He reached out and took her hand, wanting—no, needing—to touch her so badly that when he did, nothing else mattered. He didn’t need anyone. He tried not to let it freak him out. It could be worse. He could be falling in love with her. Now, that would be totally fucked up. They were bonding, but it was friendship, a deep friendship. Two people on a wild adventure to stay alive. This bond was inevitable. “I have never, ever considered you frail. You have bigger balls than I do.” She’d used C-4, for God’s sake.

  “Maybe,” she smiled, “but Lonnie says God was in good spirits when he made you.”

  He groaned. “Please tell me she was referring to my sparkling eyes.”

  She wiggled her eyebrows. “Your eyes were closed, big boy.”

  He stared at the ceiling and let out another long groan.

  Chapter 21

  Taylor had been right. The only visible power source Monty was able to locate without actually searching the place were a couple of generators. And if they had phones, they weren’t sharing. Nearest he could tell, they were deep in bush, well hidden from outsiders. Taylor hadn’t a clue the direction they’d headed in, but after about ten hours of driving, they’d stopped and were met by two men with dog teams.

  “Are you sure no one here knows about the explosions?” he asked Taylor over his second cup of coffee. It was day two and Lonnie had cleared him to eat real food. They’d chosen to head to the central cabin, the one used for gatherings and meals, and were now seated opposite each other at a long table.

  Standing by the kitchen pass were two men, sipping coffee and shooting the shit. M
onty tipped his cup to them. One looked away, pretending he hadn’t seen him, the other nodded. That seemed to be the case with everyone here. Half would deem to acknowledge their presence, the other half avoided eye contact. So far, he’d counted eighteen people—ten men, eight women—mostly in their forties but at least two in their early twenties and another closer to Lonnie’s age. Her husband, perhaps?

  “If they do, no one asked me about it. Wouldn’t we have been too far for them to see?”

  “Maybe. It would depend on the wind, the smoke.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t tell you where we are.”

  He’d been surprised she’d managed to stay awake as long as she had. It wasn’t until they’d transferred them over to the sled that she’d fallen asleep. “You did good. We need to figure out who among them is the leader. He might be willing to give us a phone if he has one.”

  “He? There are as many women here as men, and everyone seems to do their share of the work.” She cut a piece of her pancake with a fork and offered it to him.

  “No, thanks. I like my Cheerios.”

  “Suit yourself,” she said, biting into the pancake. “These are good.”

  “So is the coffee. Served in bottomless cups…if the two men watching us are any indication.” In the thirty minutes since Taylor and he had sat down, Monty had yet to see them ask for refills. “Considering how often they don’t spy on us over their mugs, I figure each would’ve drunk a pot by now.”

  Yesterday, they’d been paid a visit by a man, whose English, he told them, was better than most as he’d been sent away to school some twenty years ago. Introducing himself as Howie, he claimed they had no leader but rather a council. That was common among the tribes, but someone had to have a final say or nothing would get done.

  “Howie didn’t bother hiding the fact that they dislike strangers,” Taylor said, pouring syrup on her pancakes. “Those two are proving his point.”

  “Yeah, his message was received, loud and clear.” Howie had said strangers were disruptive, and no one appreciated their meddling into affairs that were none of their business.