There was a long silence, then the chin on her head disappeared. Warm breath feathered in her ear seconds later, and she shivered in delight.
“By Jove, it took losing everything I had ever known and traversing spacetime itself, to find you. But what I have discovered is breathtaking.” A soft kiss was pressed behind that same ear. Skye turned her head into Holmes’, expressing her appreciation, and he nuzzled.
By this time it was full dark, the stars appearing overhead, and the pair sat invisible in the darkness.
“We…w-we should go in. It’s getting chilly.”
“Is it? I’d not noticed,” Holmes’ lips murmured from somewhere beneath her blonde hair. “Perhaps I simply need to be more energetic in my attentions; then you would feel warmer.”
“I was actually thinking we could be ‘energetic’ inside, take our time, and do it right. But maybe you’d rather have dinner instead.” Skye giggled.
“Is it dinnertime?”
“It is.”
“Yes, I suppose it is, at that. Perhaps later,” Holmes decided, as a guard exited the bunkhouse. “But I do think retiring indoors might be a good thing, after all.”
He stood, holding out his hand to help his giggling lady to her feet. Her laughter was infectious, and by the time they passed through the back door, both were chuckling.
* * *
Holmes lay in bed, his shadowed face staring at the dim ceiling in thought. One arm was curled behind his head; the other gathered Skye close. Her head rested on his shoulder, and she snuggled into his side.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked.
“You.”
“Me? What about me?”
Holmes turned to look into her eyes.
“Skye…you have never truly wept for your parents, have you? You as much as admitted it, that day in your office when you told me what happened to them.”
“No, not…not really.”
He watched as pain flashed deep in the sky-blue eyes. Her eyelids fluttered in response, and she drew a long, shaky breath. Holmes withdrew the hand behind his head and cupped her cheek with it.
“If you require it, draw upon my strength, for I will support you, but let it out, Skye. Before it destroys you.”
Her blue eyes warmed, and she gave him a tender, yet rueful, smile.
* * *
“You don’t understand, Sherlock. I can’t. I don’t dare.”
“Why not?”
“Because if I do, all the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put Skye back together again,” she explained, a frisson of anxiety running through her. “There’s always been too much riding on it, too much weight on my shoulders—first the tesseract project, and now this investigation and…and they’re out to get me. I can’t risk it. Didn’t it ever occur to you to wonder why I understand your concern over emotional distractions? Why, though it hurt, I never got angry at you for it?”
“Yes. You have been…so very patient…”
“It’s because I have my own emotional distractions to fight. I…if I let go, I’ll come apart at the seams, and…and I honestly don’t know if I’d be able to pick up the pieces. Ever,” she added. A shiver of dread racked her body.
“So you wall it off, and refuse to deal with it at all. That is unhealthy, Skye.”
* * *
As soon as he said the words, the direct parallel between her coping technique and his own rose up to stare at him, accusing.
“I know,” she added miserably. “But until I can figure out how to let it out and not go crazy, what choice do I have?”
Holmes didn’t have an answer for that.
* * *
They were sound asleep, curled around each other, when the racket arose outside, punctuated by two sharp gunshots somewhere in the front yard. Grey eyes and blue snapped open, staring into each other in the moonlight. Holmes’ revolver was in his hand before Skye could blink, and he rolled out of bed into a crouch facing the door, gun up and cocked. With his other hand he reached for his dressing gown, draped over the bedpost.
“My dear Skye,” he murmured calmly over his shoulder, “do you have your Glock in hand?”
“You betcha,” Skye growled, sitting up and hefting the weapon.
“Then do you stand guard while I don my dressing gown.”
Skye watched door and windows while Holmes flung on his dressing gown and belted it securely. Outside, the sound of a fierce dog barking added to the commotion. Still facing the door, Holmes directed an order at Skye.
“Get off the bed and put on some clothing, dearest; I’ll not risk the villains taking advantage of you in that state of undress. Then get down here.” Adrenaline-fueled, he shoved the substantial nightstand several feet from the bed and pointed to the alcove thus created. “Stay there until I return, and keep your weapon at the ready.”
Skye tumbled out of bed, scrabbling her way into her discarded blue jeans and t-shirt while Holmes stood watch.
“Hurry, my dear,” he murmured, restraining his impatience with an obvious effort.
“I’m hurrying as fast as I can!”
* * *
As soon as she was decent, Holmes vanished through the bedroom door, and Skye crouched in the shelter he’d made. There was more shouting outside, more dogs barking; then, much closer, the faint sound of metal rasping on metal, and the quiet grate of a window opening.
Skye eased her head up, peering over the bed toward the windows. Her eyes widened as she saw the silhouette of a head in one of them. He saw her at the same time, and cocked his head in savage amusement. Skye’s lips twisted in disgust. Idiot, she thought.
“Well, well, this’ll be easier than I thought. Bogey in my sights. Target acquired.” The intruder raised a pistol. “Let’s go, you, nice and quiet.”
“Guess again, Junior Bird Man,” Skye snarled, bringing her Glock over the edge of the bed.
* * *
Holmes stormed out the front door, revolver at the ready, into organized chaos. Immediately he dropped and rolled into one of the large arborvitae beside the door to obscure his outline. Four of their five guards were nearby, one handling a guard dog, the others behind various forms of cover.
“Report!” he barked to the nearest recognized shadow, then caught himself. Great Heavens. ‘Commander Holmes’ has worked on the base for far too long.
“Trespasser with a gun,” Ryker’s voice hissed. “We caught him off guard and he drew down.”
“Anyone hurt?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Where is the intruder now?”
“Ran toward that clump of aspen in the far corner,” Ryker’s gun pointed to the aspen grove in the northwest corner of Skye’s property. “Halliwell headed down the road. He’s gonna circle around the rise and come up behind him. When he gives the signal, Wang will release the dog, and we’ll try to flush the perp into the open.” Ryker gave Holmes a sharp glance. “You didn’t leave Dr. Chadwick alone, did you?”
“No. She had Glock with her.”
“She’s some kinda lady.” Ryker chuckled.
“She is,” Holmes grinned. “I—”
The jarring boom cut off all further conversation. It was immediately followed by the sound of shattering glass and a high-pitched scream.
All from INSIDE the house.
Holmes and Ryker lunged for the front door.
* * *
Holmes slammed a path across the house with a cool determination belying the horrified dread within, battering through doors as he made his way to the master bedroom. Ryker was a step behind, followed by one of his men. The unit leader had only paused long enough to bark an order to the remaining men to guard the house entrances and get a vehicle ready, in case they were needed for emergency transport of wounded. As he approached the bedroom door, Holmes brought up his revolver, then darted through the opening at an angle, gun at the ready. Ryker came right behind, flanking the other side of the door. The guard remained in the hallway.
&nb
sp; * * *
Skye crouched on the near side of the bed, Glock in a two-handed grip aimed at the broken window across the room, arms braced on the mattress. She risked a swift glance over her shoulder.
“Sherlock! I knew those had to be your footsteps. He jimmied the window. He was going to kidnap me. I think I got him, but I didn’t want to get too close to the window, in case he was faking.”
Ryker turned to his subordinate, issuing an order via a finger flip. The guard, Stevens by name, nodded, turned, and sprinted back down the hall, intent on exiting and circumnavigating the house. Holmes ran to Skye and dropped to his knees at her side, while Ryker maintained his weapon trained on the broken window.
“Skye, are you hurt?” an anxious Holmes queried, shoving his revolver into the pocket of his dressing gown and taking her shoulders, which were trembling.
“No, I’m fine,” she panted. “Got a serious adrenaline buzz on, though.”
Holmes’ hands roved her body despite her reassurances, seeking injury. He found none, and sat back on his heels in relief. The grey eyes blazed molten silver.
* * *
“It was a diversion,” he growled, cold fury raging. “A simple diversion, while his compatriot went for the real target. And we fell for it.”
“He got away,” Stevens called through the window. “But ‘The Boss’ was right. She did get him, and how. There’s a pretty good smear of blood down the wall.”
“Forensics!” Skye called back. “Don’t mess up the evidence!”
“All over it. Uh, well, not all over it, rather. Mr. Holmes, you might wanna take a look, too.”
“Just a moment,” Holmes replied. He glanced at Ryker. Ryker stared back.
“You know what we need to do,” Holmes answered the unspoken thought.
“Yes.”
“My resources are limited, as yet.”
“Mine aren’t,” Ryker retorted. “Give me a few minutes to arrange it.”
“We will need a few minutes to prepare, anyway.” Holmes turned to The Woman as Ryker left the room. “My dear Skye, get out two small suitcases, if you would,” he ordered, padding over to the window to examine it.
“Sherlock, be careful. There’s broken glass all over, and you’re barefoot.”
“I shall be fine,” he replied, studying the evidence on the window’s sill and frame. “Stevens, are there marks from a ladder out there?” he called, while Skye rooted in the back of the closet and pulled out two carry-on suitcases, one soft-sided, the other Holmes’ military duffel.
“Yes, sir,” Stevens noted. “Stands to reason; the window’s too high off the ground otherwise. He kicked it over when he got shot, and evidently fell out the window, which is how the window broke. The ladder’s lying here by the wall. It’s the one The Boss was using to trim the shrubs day before yesterday.”
“Footprints?”
“Yes, sir, in the shrub beds. Briscom’s gone to get cameras and casting material. And I got blood samples for the lab.”
“Any indication the kidnapper hesitated, was uncertain which window to approach?”
“No, sir. Looks like he walked right to it.”
“Very well. All right,” Holmes murmured, withdrawing from the window. “The kidnappers—two, apparently—have had us under surveillance for some time; possibly the hikers on the hillsides to the north. They know the layout, and they know you left the stepladder out, Skye.”
“Damn. I’m…I’m sorry, Sherlock.” Skye glanced up at him, concerned. The disturbed, anxious expression on her face caused him to focus on her for a minute.
“Relax, my dear. It was merely opportunistic usage. None of us thought to put the ladder away, the more so as the shrubs were not finished. This is, after all, a functioning ranch, not a bolthole. Don’t worry yourself over such a trifle. Everything is well in hand. Leave the bags; I shall help you pack in a moment. I already know precisely what I want.”
“Okay,” Skye murmured, sitting down on the bed and watching.
“So they create a diversion,” Holmes continued his scenario, “one blatantly trespassing by the road, brandishing a weapon, while the other slips in from the side, managing to evade the patrol. He moves for the house, takes the ladder he already knows will be there, and unhesitatingly places it beneath our bedroom window.”
“So far, so good.”
“He climbs to the window, forces it, and is partway into the room when you confronted…” Holmes turned and stared at the window, trying to recall the sounds: The loud boom, the glass shattering, the scream he now knew had come from the would-be kidnapper. Holmes fought off the overwhelming relief that thought brought him, threatening to divert his reasoning in the process, and added, “Skye, your pistol is a nine-millimeter, is it not?”
“Yeah, Sherlock. One of the standard police calibers.”
“Too small.” Holmes shook his head.
“For what?”
“The boom.” Holmes spun and moved to the wall beside the door, commencing an intense search. “The sound of the shot was much too loud for your gun to have produced. There,” he said, pointing to an area about six feet above the floor.
A small round hole pierced the sheet rock.
“He got off a shot,” Skye realized, eyes wide.
“At the precise instant you did. That is why the concussion was so loud. You are most fortunate, dearest.” Holmes glanced from the window to the wall. “He was quick, this one.”
* * *
“He was young,” Skye shrugged, and Holmes spun toward her, eyes blazing with excitement.
“You saw him?”
“Not only saw him. I can tell you where to start looking for him.”
“Then tell me.” Holmes stalked over to the bed and dropped down to sit beside her. “Details, please.”
“He made the mistake of tilting his head. That let the moonlight fall on his face and gave me a clear look at him. He was tow-headed and clean-shaven, with a military crew cut. There was a small white scar above the left corner of his upper lip. He was lean and tanned, around eighteen or twenty. He used fighter pilot terms, like ‘bogey’ and ‘target acquired.’ And to top it, he’d forgotten to take off his Air Force Academy class ring. Get me the class photos from the last couple years of Academy students, and I’ll identify the guy for you.” Skye was confident, detailing the incident and reaching her conclusion.
Holmes stared at her with sparkling, delighted eyes.
“My dearest Skye, you are a gem, a positive gem,” he said, hugging her impulsively before standing. “Now we must hurry. Although I hate to admit to it, our home is no longer safe. We must disappear, and quickly.” He went to the closet, extracting an eclectic selection of Skye’s clothes, tumbling them into one of the bags. “Get your toiletries, my dear. Bring as much of your makeup as you can fit for any disguises we may need.”
Skye stared at him for a moment. Then she tiptoed around the glass on the floor to peep out the window. Stevens was near the far northwest corner of the house, studying the footprints in the dust. Satisfied they would not be overheard, she turned back to Holmes.
“Sherlock, how are we going to disappear? I don’t have anyplace to go—not that wouldn’t put friends in danger—and you don’t have any hiding places…uhm, boltholes…established yet, do you?”
“No, I do not, but Ryker is arranging matters.”
“Sherlock, we know Schriever has been infiltrated, Cheyenne Mountain and Peterson are almost certainly tied in, and now it looks like the Academy is involved, too. You said yourself this guy,” she pointed to the broken window, “had inside information, had been watching the house. How do we know one or more of our bodyguards aren’t involved?”
* * *
Holmes stopped packing, looking up at her.
“We do not, but it is highly unlikely.”
“Why?”
“Because our guards are not from any base in Colorado, nor even from the United States. They are MI-5.”
“British
counter-intelligence?! Her Majesty’s Secret Service?”
“Yes,” Holmes agreed, turning to the closet and selecting clothing for himself. “When we realised our quarry was after you, and likely had multiple inside contacts, Morris made a call to his most-trusted confidante in the Pentagon. That contact, in turn, pulled in some…friends. Given proof of my involvement, it presented no difficulty. The unit was put on alert and flown over from England within hours of the discussion with the general. Morris kept them secreted off-base at an undisclosed location until needed.”
“Sherlock…do they know who you really are?” Skye gaped.
“Yes, madam, we do,” Ryker’s voice, suddenly possessed of a cultured English cadence, responded from the door. The pair in the bedroom looked up to see the MI5 officer standing in the opening. Holmes nodded a greeting, then grabbed several handfuls of undergarments from the dresser for himself and Skye, stuffing them unceremoniously into the bags. “We were given a full and proper briefing on the matter before departing Northolt, and again by Brigadier General Morris upon arrival in Colorado Springs. May I add, we are honoured to assist a true hero of the kingdom…and his lady.” Ryker bowed.
“So you have a vested interest in protecting us.” Skye shook her head in wonder.
Ryker’s eyes twinkled, and he resumed the twang of a Western ranch hand, laying it on thick.
“Yes’m, we do. Ever’ danged one of us has read Mr. Holmes’ adventures, and now ‘at we’ve met ‘im in th’ flesh, we ain’t about t’ let nothin’ happen to ‘im. Or ta you.”
* * *
Skye giggled despite herself, but the two men could hear the note of strain in the sound. Holmes gently smacked her shoulder with a familiar hand, diverting her attention to urge action.
“Go. Get the makeup together, my dear. We must hurry.”
The Case of the Displaced Detective Page 52
