The Last Resort

by Janice Kay Johnson - His Best Friend's Baby

  “What is it you intend?” she asked, voice clear and strong. She hadn’t yet so much as glanced at Spencer or Metz, who stood to one side like soldiers at attention on the parade ground. Pretending they weren’t there at all?

  “For you?” Higgs asked.

  “I mean, your plans. Once you move.”

  If there was irony in her voice, Higgs either didn’t acknowledge it or didn’t hear it at all.

  He launched with enthusiasm into what Spencer hoped would be a short version of his rabid passion.

  “What made this country great has been lost since we started paying too much attention to the elites, who believe in opening the floodgates to immigration—and it doesn’t matter to them if plenty of those immigrants are the scum of society, criminals who sneaked into the US. What happened to the days when people whose ancestors built this great country decided what direction it would go? Now we have people running for office with such thick accents you can hardly understand them! People that don’t look American.”

  Leah blinked a few times, parted her lips...and then firmly closed them. Definitely not dumb. Then she spoke after all. “That doesn’t explain what you plan to do to get attention.”

  He smiled at her as if she was an acolyte crawling before him. Not that he’d accept her into the fold, her being a member of the weaker sex and all.

  “You don’t need to worry about the details. Just know it’s going to be big. We’re going to shake this whole, misguided country and raise an army while we’re at it.” More prosaically, he added, “You can see why we need to keep our plans quiet until we’re ready to launch our op. I’m asking for your cooperation. I don’t think I’m being unreasonable. After all, this isn’t the worst place to spend the rest of the summer.” His sweeping gesture was presumably meant to take in the vast forests, mountains, lakes and wildflowers. “Got to be one of the most beautiful places in the world.”

  “I don’t suppose you’re going to let me go hiking or fishing like I did when I was a kid up here.”

  “Once you’ve settled in, why not?” Higgs said expansively. “I think you might learn something while you’re here, come around to my way of thinking.” He paused, a few lines forming on his brow. A thought had clearly struck him. “What do you do for a living, young lady?”

  Please, God, don’t let her be an attorney or an activist working with migrant workers or... Spencer sweated, running through the multitude of dangerous possibilities.

  “I’m a veterinary technician.”

  When Higgs looked blank, she elaborated, “I treat injured or sick animals under the direction of a veterinarian. I assist him in surgery, give vaccinations, talk to pet owners.”

  His eyes narrowed. “So you have some medical knowledge.”

  “I know quite a bit about health issues affecting dogs and cats, and even horses. Not people.”

  “Never stitched up a wound?”

  She hesitated.

  “You might be able to help us. In the meantime—” the colonel pushed back from the table, the bench scraping on the worn wood floor “—I’ll have one of these fellows carry your suitcase upstairs for you, and wait while you use the bathroom.” He nodded at Spencer.

  Was he to guard her overnight? If so, could he let her club him over the head and flee into the night? He’d have to make it look good.

  For the first time since she’d come downstairs, Leah looked at him. Her dignity might be intact, but the raw fear in her eyes told him she knew what she faced. He hated knowing she was afraid of him.

  Earlier, her eyes had been so dilated he hadn’t been sure of the color. Had he ever seen eyes of such a clear green? And, damn—the courage she’d shown hit him like a two-by-four. With her fine bones and the redhead’s skin that wouldn’t stand up to any serious exposure to the sun, not to mention the purple bruising on her puffy cheekbone and beneath her eye, Leah Keaton couldn’t hide her vulnerability. It moved and enraged him at the same time.

  She was a complication he couldn’t afford, but knew he couldn’t shrug off, either. Spencer couldn’t pretend to understand men like Arne Larson and Ed Higgs who didn’t feel even a fraction of the same powerful wave of protectiveness that he did at the sight of her, damaged but using her head and holding herself straight and tall.

  He picked up her suitcase and nodded toward the staircase. She rose stiffly and stalked ahead of him as if he was less than nothing to her. He admired her stubborn spirit, but knew it would backfire big time if she tried it on some of the other men. He still couldn’t risk offering her a word of advice.

  If he had to step forward to save her, it would be only as a last resort.

  * * *

  EVERY NERVE IN Leah’s body prickled as she climbed the stairs ahead of Wyatt. She’d felt his gaze resting on her throughout dinner and also while the apparent leader spoke to her afterward, yet his thoughts had remained hidden. It was all she’d been able to do not to shudder when some of the men looked at her. This one almost scared her more because he didn’t seem to have a single giveaway. All she knew was that he might be the sexiest man she’d ever seen—and that he had the coldest eyes. Her skin crawled at the idea that he was sizing up her body from his current vantage point. Or was he wishing he didn’t have to waste time on the woman who’d stumbled on their training grounds and in doing so became a potentially dangerous problem? One he might be assigned to solve?

  At the top of the stairs, she hesitated, hoping he’d forget how well she knew the resort.

  He said only, “Isn’t your room at the end of the hall?”

  Her room. Sure.

  “We can put the suitcase down and you can get out your toothbrush and toothpaste.”

  Without looking at him again, she continued down the short hall and went back into the very rustic room that had been designated her cell.

  He followed, setting down the small suitcase on the bed, unzipping it and then stepping back. Of course, the contents were in a mess. Thanks to him.

  Resisting the urge to hide the bra that lay on top, she poked through the tangle of clothing, feeling for her toiletry bag and evaluating what was missing. Unfortunately, the closest thing to a weapon she’d packed was her fingernail clippers. Useless, but if they were still in the toiletry bag, she’d pocket them.

  “Your name is Wyatt?” Appalled, she couldn’t believe she’d blurted that out.

  His hesitation lasted long enough to suggest he was deciding whether even that much information would be dangerous in her hands. “Spencer Wyatt.” His voice was deep, expressionless and tinged with a hint of the South.

  Finding the toiletry bag, she asked, “Are you supposed to go into the bathroom with me?”

  Something passed through his icy eyes so fast, she couldn’t identify it. “I’ll wait in the hall.”

  He let her pass him leaving the room, clearly assuming she knew where the bathroom was. She took pleasure in closing that door in his face.

  Honestly, there was enough space in here, he could have come in, too. There were two wood-framed toilet stalls, two shower stalls and two sinks. This bathroom had served for all six guest rooms. It was lucky they’d rarely if ever all been in use at the same time.

  The fingernail clippers were there. She hurriedly stuck them in her jeans pocket, brushed her teeth, then used the toilet. Not exactly eager to face him again, Leah thought about dawdling, but couldn’t see what that would gain her. Presumably, once he’d escorted her to the bedroom, she’d be left alone anyway. So she walked back out to find Spencer Wyatt lounging against the wall across from the bathroom door.

  He looked her over, his icy eyes noting the bag still in her hand, and jerked his head toward the bedroom.

  Head high, she obeyed the wordless command, walked into her room and shut the door. Her fingers hovered over the lock, which could probably be picked, and she made the decision not to turn it.
Why annoy them?

  They’d be annoyed enough in the morning when they discovered she wasn’t where they’d left her.

  Chapter Three

  Lying on the bed in the dark, Leah waited for hours, even though eventually she had to struggle not to fall asleep. Twice she heard men’s voices outside her room. The first time Spencer Wyatt’s was one of them, the other unfamiliar. She tensed when one of the two walked away. Which man remained? Whoever he was, he didn’t even look in.

  Sometime later a muffled sound of voices had her hurrying to the door and pressing her ear to the crack in hopes of hearing what they were saying.

  “...saving her for himself,” growled one man.

  The second man said something about orders.

  She jumped when a thump came, followed by a scraping sound. Had they brought a chair upstairs so they could guard her comfortably? This had to be a change of shift, she decided.

  Damn, she’d counted on one man being stuck on guard all night. He’d get sleepy, nod off, sure he’d wake up if her door opened. But if he stayed alert...

  Or, oh, God, was the new guard the one complaining that someone was saving her for themselves? Who was he talking about? The gray-haired leader? Or Spencer Wyatt? What if grumbled defiance led to this latest guard deciding he could walk right into her room, and who was awake to stop him?

  Rigid, she wished she’d locked the door after all. At least that would have slowed him down.

  Receding footsteps were followed by silence out in the hall.

  She needed to get out of here. In one way it might be smarter to pretend to be docile for a few days, until they lowered their guard. But the blatant sexual appraisal from so many of the men scared her more than any thought of being killed. Would she really be safe from rape if she played dumb and stayed?

  Leah didn’t believe it. At the very least, she could hide temporarily. She wished desperately that she knew what time it was. In her fear, she might have exaggerated the passing of time, until only a couple of hours felt like half the night. She had to go with her instincts.

  After slipping out of bed, she put on her athletic shoes and tied the laces while straining to hear the slightest sound. Then she used most of the clothes in her suitcase to create a mound beneath the covers that might fool someone who glanced in to be sure she was really there. Finally, she tiptoed to the closet.

  Earlier, she’d pulled the folding doors open. If Wyatt checked on her, she reasoned, he’d assume she was exploring, looking hopelessly for some out. Now, once inside the closet, she gently pulled first one door and then the other closed behind her. Kneeling on the floor facing the right side of the closet, she felt for the crack that betrayed the presence of a removable panel.

  Uncle Edward had showed her and her brother the spaces between closets upstairs. She’d have been sunk if they’d locked her in either of the first bedrooms at the top of the stairs. But rooms two and three on each side of the hall had closets with removable panels that connected one closet to another. He guessed the builder had intended the few feet to be storage. Guests staying all summer could stow a suitcase away, for example. By the time Uncle Edward bought the resort, though, either the spaces—the passages—had been forgotten, or nobody had thought to tell him about them.

  Apparently, all of the interior walls were what he called board and batten, which in the old lodge meant horizontal boards had been nailed up in rows. In the rooms and hall, they’d been covered by either plaster or wallpaper. Nobody had bothered in the closets. If you looked closely, you could see into cracks between the old boards, which might have shrunk over time. The whole subject had come up because her brother Jerry had cackled at the idea of spying on guests in the next room.

  After issuing a stern warning against trying any such thing, Uncle Edward had smiled down at his great-niece and great-nephew. “Took me a few years here to notice the outline.” He’d looked at the dark, dusty opening with satisfaction. “If we were down South, I’d think these were built to hide runaway slaves. ’Course, this place wasn’t built until just over a hundred years ago, long after abolition.”

  He’d had to explain what abolition was for Jerry’s sake. Leah remembered from school.

  Now she held her breath, lifted the panel away and leaned it where she’d be able to reach it once she was inside. There hadn’t been so much as a creak. If the next bedroom was occupied...she’d have to retreat.

  Hesitating, she wished she’d brought a flashlight, instead of intending to rely on her phone. Although, that, too, would have been confiscated. Well, the spooky dark wasn’t nearly as frightening as the men holding her captive. And yes, as she started to crawl through the opening and cobwebs brushed her face, she shuddered but kept moving. She could do this. She could deal with a few spiders.

  Awkwardly turning around, she closed her fingers around the crude panel and tried to pull it into place. A quiet clunk had her freezing in place, but it wasn’t followed by anyone swinging open the bedroom door and turning on the overhead light.

  Dizzy, probably because her pulse raced, Leah used the short file from her fingernail clippers to pull the panel back toward her until it slotted into place—at least, as well as she could. Sliding her fingers over the edges, she thought it was snug. Her next challenge was to open the panel on the other side while preventing it from falling to the floor. That would make enough noise to bring the guard to investigate.

  She scooted forward until her head brushed the rough wood that was the back of the panel leading into the next room.

  Somehow, this wasn’t nearly as fun as it had been when, as children, she and Jerry used these passages to perplex their parents.

  She lifted her hand, feeling for the crack at the top...and something crawled over her hand. Suppressing a shriek she shook off the bug—a spider?—and made herself start again. Finally, she applied a little pressure, then more—and when the panel gave way, she grabbed the top of it.

  And then she froze. She reminded herself that one of the men might be sleeping in this room. Surely, the group was using at least some of these upstairs guest rooms.

  Breathing as slowly and steadily as she could, she told herself she’d made the assumption about empty rooms for a good reason. She hadn’t seen anyone go up or come down the staircase, unless it was with her. When the leader had dismissed the group, nobody had headed for the stairs.

  Which was reassuring, but hardly conclusive since it had still been early evening when she was escorted to bed.

  Would she have heard someone come upstairs, a door opening and closing? Surely, her guard and another man would have exchanged a few words.

  Her pulse continued to race and her teeth wanted to chatter. Could she have chosen worse timing for a panic attack? She took a deep breath. She wouldn’t hesitate now.

  Gradually, a surface level of calm and resolve suppressed the fear.

  If she was quiet enough, she could grope around the closet and find out if someone was using it. She could peek into the room without waking a sleeper. If there was one, well, then she’d have a decision to make.

  She eased the panel out and leaned it against the back of the closet. Creeping forward, she patted her way along, cursing the complete darkness. She waved her hands over her head, not feeling any hanging clothes.

  Would men like this bother hanging up a shirt, or would they just stuff clean laundry into a duffel bag? No shoes, either. But feeling confident the closet was empty didn’t mean the room wasn’t occupied. Somehow, she suspected these guys hadn’t packed big wardrobes for their training session.

  If someone really was sleeping in this room, he’d probably set his handgun aside. If she was quiet enough, she could take it. She might actually have a chance then.

  If, if, if.

  * * *

  AFTER METZ TOOK his place outside Leah Keaton’s door, Spencer had made a point of hanging around down
stairs for a while. Higgs wanted to talk through the problem she presented. He rambled, Spencer mostly keeping his mouth shut.

  “Would have been better if you’d been able to let her go in the first place,” he couldn’t resist saying.

  The colonel grunted. “That idiot Osenbrock.”

  Knowing the variety of weapons of mass destruction the group had acquired, Spencer’s blood still ran cold. Spencer refrained from saying the whole damn bunch were idiots, including and especially Air Force Colonel Edward Higgs, retired. Spencer could almost wish to be present to see Higgs’s face when he learned that he had a snake in his cozy hideaway.

  Yeah, not really, Spencer thought, even as he nodded and made supportive noises.

  Eventually, he’d had no choice but to announce he was heading for bed. He’d rinsed out his cup and set it on the dish drainer, gone out the front door after a last good-night and headed straight for his cabin. He had no doubt there were eyes on him. At least three of this crowd resented him bitterly. So far, they hadn’t risked laying it on the table and thereby earning Higgs’s displeasure. Sooner or later, someone would find a good enough excuse to throw down the gauntlet. The longer he could put that challenge off, the more likely he’d get out of here alive.

  Although the likelihood of that had plummeted with the arrival of a gutsy woman who didn’t deserve to become a victim.

  Grimacing, he clumped up on the small front porch of the cabin he’d claimed, unobtrusively drew his weapon and went in for the usual search before he could relax at all.

  And before he slipped out again, this time staying unseen, to maintain a long-distance watch over Leah.

  * * *

  THE ROOM PROVED to be vacant, and likely had been for a decade or more. A broken bed frame left the mattress tipping. A front on one of the dresser drawers had split in half.