by Kim Baldwin
Well, he could be patient too. She had to come out in the open eventually to search for him. When she did, he’d be ready.
*
Kat crouched uncomfortably behind the counter for several long minutes, senses on high alert. Every now and then she would venture another glance away from the bedroom and bathroom doors to the monitors to make sure Jake hadn’t moved.
Ordinarily, in a situation such as this, she would simply wait out her adversary. She’d find a way to use their often rash offensive attack against them somehow. But she had to think of Jake. She hadn’t had time to really assess her injuries, but she knew Jake had to be in pretty bad shape to have collapsed in the snow. And who knew what Frank might be up to.
She needed to push this to a confrontation, but she had to do it in a way that would put her in a more advantageous position than she was in now. After a moment, the solution came to her. She crept backward toward the open door to the tunnel, her eyes pinned to the bedroom and bathroom doors, expecting the intruder to show himself if she made any noise whatsoever. You’re a smart one, aren’t you?
She made it through the door and pulled it closed again. Pocketing the gun, she grabbed a light jacket off the wall and threw it over the security camera to put it out of commission. Then she hurried to Jake.
“You okay?”
“Don’t worry about me,” Jake said.
“Can’t help it,” Kat responded. “Hang in there. I think I know a way to take care of this.”
She retrieved her flashlight. “It’s going to get very dark in here. Don’t be afraid.”
Jake nodded.
Kat punched in the security code and went through the steel door, not bothering to shut it behind her. She glanced at Frank as she entered the generator room. He was still facing the wall. She said nothing but went directly to the generator and shut it down, plunging the bunker into absolute darkness. She switched on the flashlight and returned to the tunnel, shutting the heavy door behind her and venturing a quick last look at Jake.
Kat went to the door to the living room, turned off the flashlight, and began to strip. She peeled off the white coveralls and the thermal underwear that covered her legs. When her naked flesh was exposed, she finally noticed how cold it had gotten in the tunnel. She turned on the flashlight and flashed it upward to see the hatch still standing open. She scaled the ladder rungs to pull it closed and lock it. Descending back into the tunnel, she set the flashlight on the ground at her feet. She peeled off her thermal top, then her socks.
*
Jake hurt everywhere. The fall had done further damage to her broken arm, and her knee was so swollen and painful she tried very hard not to move at all. That part wasn’t too difficult at the moment. She was frozen in place, watching Kat.
After a few moments in darkness, the only sounds the rustling of clothes, the flashlight had come back on and Jake had seen Kat climb the exit tunnel, clad only in black silk panties and a top that looked like the long underwear her brother wore.
My brother? Jake gasped. A sudden image of a fair-haired young man flashed into her mind, along with a scattering of information. It was sort of like channel surfing and landing on a TV movie in progress, staying tuned only long enough to get a little of the story.
I have a brother. Harding. Everyone calls him Hardy but me. I call him Hardy-har-har sometimes because he makes me laugh. He wears flannel shirts and ratty long underwear when he goes fishing. That was about all she could remember at the moment. But a lot more seemed right at the edge of her consciousness.
Her surprise and relief at the recollection was interrupted when her attention was drawn by a sound. Kat, setting down the flashlight. Jake watched with fascination as Kat removed her top and peeled off her socks. She was left standing in the chill air dressed only in black silk briefs and a matching bra. Jake was mesmerized. The woman was magnificent. The light from below illuminated Kat in a way that definitely seemed erotic to Jake, despite the absurdity of that at the moment. But she had no time to really appreciate the sight.
She watched as Kat leaned down to retrieve a gun from her coveralls and stepped to the door to the living room. The flashlight clicked off. The tunnel was pitch-black again.
*
Kat paused at the door, her eyes closed. There was no ambient light whatsoever in the bunker, so her night-vision goggles were useless. She was fully reliant now on her other keen senses and home turf advantage.
Ready or not, here I come, Kat’s inner voice chanted. As much as she had grown weary of a life of violent confrontations, she was exhilarated over the battle that lay beyond the door. She would protect Jake at all cost. Every nerve ending sang in anticipation, her remaining senses hypersensitive to every stimulus. No one had ever violated the sanctity of her safe house. She’d make them very sorry they did.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Otter chewed his fingernails when he was nervous. He had gnawed his left thumb nearly raw waiting for Hunter, wondering where she had gone. What’s she up to?
The bunker went dark.
Shit. He waited for his eyes to adjust. They didn’t. He couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. Shit, shit, SHIT. He had his flashlight in his hand before he realized he couldn’t use it. It would make him an instant target.
But he didn’t put it away. The feel of it comforted him. As he listened for any sound from outside the pantry door, he tried to imagine Hunter’s next move. He knew she had extraordinary eyesight, but he didn’t believe anyone could see in this darkness. That meant she was either operating completely blind or, more likely, she had some sort of newfangled equipment to help her see in the pitch-black. She’d always been big on the latest high-tech gizmos and gadgets.
He cursed her under his breath as he considered his options. The pantry now felt more like a snare than a sanctuary. Although on second thought, maybe there’s something in here I can use. He fumbled for the doorknob and pulled the door shut as quietly as he could. He turned on the flashlight and scanned the shelves along the walls. Using the flashlight was an enormous risk. But he couldn’t just wait for Hunter to find him.
His thin lips curled into a wry grin. He snatched a few items from the shelves and cut the light. After laying his trap, he opened the door a few inches to where it had been previously. Otter held his breath and waited, listening at the crack. It won’t be long now.
*
Kat snuck back into the living room, pausing to ease the door closed behind her. She breathed deeply, sniffing the air. Listening. She crept noiselessly to the wall to her immediate right and then slowly forward to the corner with the desk. She traced the wall with her left hand and held the gun in her right. Her fingers skimmed across the security monitors as she came upon them and turned the corner. She paused and listened again for another minute. Though she sensed no one within several feet of her, Kat’s instinct told her to proceed slowly.
She continued her silent trek along the wall toward the bedroom door. She slowed when she approached the space where she knew her cello case would be and stepped around it. She paused and listened at the threshold of the bedroom, then stepped inside and navigated the perimeter of that room, stopping periodically to focus her senses on her immediate surroundings. She moved around the bed, finding the chair and table with remembered ease. She’d blindly traveled the route from bed to bathroom often in the middle of the night, so that leg of her journey was familiar.
She examined the bathroom in the same methodical way, following the wall, making periodic stops with her senses scanning for the intruder. Then she was out in the living room again, moving along the wall with the bookcases. She paused to listen outside the weapons room. There still had been no sound in the bunker. If the intruder hadn’t changed locations when the lights went out, then he had to be in the pantry.
Kat left the wall and crossed the center of the living room, giving the pantry door a wide berth. She found the kitchen counter with her outstretched left hand and used it as her tactile gu
idepost, drawing her along past the sink and the stove to the refrigerator, which stood just outside the pantry door.
She and Otter were now just a few feet apart. Kat stood with her back pressed against the fridge, her senses expanding into the space around her, probing silently. She held her gun at the ready, fingertip caressing the trigger.
Kat’s sixth sense had already told her the intruder was very near, but it was her keen sense of smell that gave her the first solid evidence of the man who had invaded her sanctuary. When she detected a slightly sour aroma only inches away, she knew she had him. Even the pros perspired.
She knew he was waiting on the other side of the door.
She crept three feet to her right and threw herself forward, hitting the door with her right shoulder with unbelievable force. She felt the impact of the door slamming against the intruder’s body just before she lost her footing and went down hard. Her Glock flew from her hand.
*
When the door slammed into him, Otter was propelled backward—hard, into the wall of shelves behind him. He got the wind knocked out of him but good, and he lost his gun and flashlight. The shelves collapsed, spilling their contents on and around him. The commotion was deafening. A heavy jar glanced off his head.
He lay on the cement floor where he landed, struggling to breathe. His need for air overtook everything else.
His hand went to his forehead where the jar had impacted. The skin was unbroken, but a lump had already started to form. His movement shifted the shelving piled on top of him. The noise was loud in his ears, and he suddenly felt extremely vulnerable. He froze and listened intently. He could hear Hunter’s labored breathing several feet away.
Otter took a second to regroup. He seemed to be in one piece, but Hunter sounded injured. This could be his only chance to overpower her.
Otter threw off the boards and cans and groped around on the floor, searching for his gun and his flashlight. He found nothing but packets of grains, cans of vegetables, boxes of pasta. He paused after several seconds of searching to listen. He could no longer hear her heavy gasps for breath or anything else. He didn’t know where she was.
Silence.
Shit.
*
Kat was already trying to analyze what it was the intruder had put on the floor even as her legs went out from under her. Some sort of dried beans or peas, maybe, she thought, her arms pinwheeling as she careened sideways. Her rib cage slammed into the sharp corner of a shelf. She landed on her back and doubled up against the sharp pain in her side. It was hard to breathe. Each expansion of her lungs brought new pain.
She knew that the intruder had obviously gone down as well, but the resulting cacophony had died. All was quiet now except for Kat’s raspy gulps for air.
Another flurry of sounds erupted from the corner where the man had fallen. Cans clattered against each other. One rolled across the floor in her direction. He was searching for something, probably a gun. Protect Jake, her instincts whispered. Kat would deal with the pain later. Now she had to survive.
She rose to a crouch. She reached around her with both hands, feeling for a weapon, as she fought to quiet her breathing.
She scuttled crablike several feet to the left without making a sound, picking up several cans along the way. She cradled them in her left arm while her right swept outward in search of her gun. The intruder had gone quiet.
Kat hefted a can in her right hand and waited, holding her breath, extending her hearing until she heard a faint sound. A whisper—maybe the intruder’s clothes or his breathing. It didn’t really matter. She lobbed the can as hard as she could directly at the noise.
She was rewarded by a satisfying thunk that was immediately followed by a muttered curse. Then all was silent again. She lobbed a second can at the same spot. Another thunk. Then shuffling noises as her target attempted to evade further attack. Kat smiled. She fired another can at the retreating sounds, eliciting another thwack of impact and another curse, this one louder than the first.
She heard him grappling around for something to throw back at her, so she was flat on the floor at least a second or two before the first can came her way. It sailed far above her and three feet to her right. More followed, thrown in a random pattern of rage. Kat was glad for the clatter. It masked her own search for her Glock. She crawled a couple of feet more to her left until she was against a wall. She ransacked the lower shelves for more ammunition.
Her hands found more cans and jars. She focused on her adversary’s noisy effort to return fire. She rocketed a steady stream of cans and bottles at the spot. Most hit their target.
The man tried hard to be quiet under her assault, but he apparently couldn’t help the occasional grunt of pain when something hit a particularly vulnerable spot.
Kat adjusted her aim accordingly.
She began creeping closer to his position. She inched her way along the wall, grabbing items off the shelves, keeping up her incessant barrage. Once in a while she would hear something sail by her ear and crash against the wall behind her, but the intruder was now spending more time protecting himself than trying to retaliate.
*
Otter was in trouble, and he knew it. Several of the damn cans had hit him pretty squarely in the head. One opened up a gash above his eye. And the last one had hit him hard in his lower abdomen as he’d been trying to retreat, shuffling backward on his rear end. Just a few inches lower, he gulped as he crouched in the corner, trying to shield both his face and groin from further assault. He knew she was closing in. But she wasn’t hitting him with every single throw, so he knew Hunter was operating blind too. There might still be a chance he’d come out of this.
He knew he had to make a move. In desperation, Otter fell to his hands and knees, searching wildly around him, heedless of the noise. The floor here was sticky. He smelled maple syrup and the stench of dead fish. He felt something cold and metallic in the pool of syrupy goo. His hand closed around his .38.
Even as another can hit him in the shoulder, Otter smiled. He pointed the gun in Hunter’s direction. He cocked it and pulled the trigger.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Kat was in her windup to pitch another can at him when she heard the gun cock. She dove forward. The bullet whizzed by just above her. Right where her left eye had been a second earlier.
Before Otter could pull the trigger a second time, she was upon him. She threw herself at him headfirst and sent him sailing into the corner. His head cracked against something, and he saw stars for a moment. Kat recovered more quickly. Her left hand found the gun in his right hand and she wrenched it from him. Her right hand found his neck and tightened around it, pinning him against the wall.
“Who are you?” Kat demanded. She pressed her thumb hard into the pulse point at the top of Otter’s jaw, below his ear. Her other hand rammed the gun convincingly into his rib cage. He winced.
“Just an old friend, Hunter. Came by to look you up,” Otter choked.
“Big mistake, little man,” Kat said. She tightened her hold on his neck until he could no longer breathe at all. He struggled, wrapping his arms around her, flailing against her despite the gun. But she held him fast and took his blows until his efforts stopped and he grew still.
She released her grip and Otter slumped to the floor. She shifted the gun to her right hand and reached out with her left, finding his head and skimming over it until she found just the spot she wanted. She marked the spot with her left hand while she brought the gun down with her right. He’d be out for a long while now. And have one hell of a headache when he did come to.
Kat got up and felt her way to the door. Her body was still energized with adrenaline, but the fatigue she’d been fighting for hours was reasserting itself. She still had much to do before she could relax.
She returned to the tunnel and felt around for her clothes. She wiped her sticky hands on the garments, found her flashlight, and flicked it on. She found Jake and crouched down beside her. “Everything is
okay now,” Kat said. “I’m going to turn the lights back on, I’ll be right back.” She touched Jake’s cheek before she found her way to the steel door.
Once through it, she shone the light toward Frank. She caught him scrambling to return to his corner. While she was gone, he had moved to the end of the chain, a few feet farther into the room. And he had managed to unravel a little of the duct tape around his hands, but the chains still had him securely bound. He froze when the light hit him.
Kat said nothing as she proceeded to the generator. As soon as the flashlight was off him, Frank continued his mad scramble back to the corner. He was there by the time she flipped the switch, illuminating the room again.
He ventured a look at her, afraid of her reaction to his efforts to break free. His eyes went wide as he took in the sight of her, but he dared not open his mouth.
She glared at him with a fierce, feral energy that made him wish he’d never heard of Garner.
Whatever had just happened—and from the sight of her it had been something he’d like to have witnessed—it certainly hadn’t helped her mood that she’d caught him trying to get away. He shrank into the corner and dropped his eyes. He heard her leave, slamming the steel door behind her. Frank inhaled greedily. He hadn’t been aware he’d been holding his breath.
*
Kat returned to the tunnel, consciously trying to calm herself and dissipate some of the savage energy that gripped her. She didn’t want to be Hunter when she dealt with Jake. She wanted to be Kat again. Once through the door, she tried to smile reassuringly as she looked down at her friend. She was surprised to find Jake staring up at her with wide eyes. Oh my God, does she remember?
*
