The Last Resort

by Janice Kay Johnson - His Best Friend's Baby

  But she shook her head. “I refuse to believe there aren’t good politicians.”

  Having met some decent men and women who had run for office because they believed in service, he conceded her point. “What are you saying?”

  “I think you’re an undercover federal agent.”

  He should laugh. Jeer, tell her to take the rose-colored glasses off. He should slap her, which would fit with the role he played.

  Instead, he growled, “I told you how dangerous it is to suggest that.”

  “We’re all by ourselves.”

  She’d made mistakes today. Carried herself with too much pride, looked people in the eye when she shouldn’t. Would she be more careful, or less, if she knew the truth?

  “If I tell you why I’m here, you have to become an Oscar-worthy actress,” he said harshly. “I can’t afford for you to get mouthy with anyone, or say something to me when we can be overheard. Do you understand?”

  Her expression altered. “Yes. That little episode today with Joe was a good reminder that not only am I in danger every minute, but you are, too.”

  “I would be either way.” He shrugged. “Me demanding an exclusive on you came on top of what some of the men see as Higgs’s favoritism. I wasn’t popular anyway. Now it’s fair to say jealousy and dislike have become hate.”

  “Isn’t hate their reason for existence?” Leah pointed out.

  “For the men.” Whether the women took the same world view, he had no idea. And it wasn’t all of the men. He wished he could figure out how to get Dirk out of the hole he’d dug, but nothing had come to him. There were a couple of others he’d wondered about, but it wasn’t his job to separate the deadly fanatics from the ones who were willing to go along. As Leah put it, to blow up innocents.

  She didn’t say anything else, just waited.

  While undercover, Spencer had never, not once, told anyone his true identity or purpose. He’d also never let himself get tangled up with a nice woman who depended on him for her very survival, and who was handling a terrifying experience with dignity and determination.

  He sighed, half turning away from her. “You’re right. I’m FBI. I’ve been under with this group for five months now, although we only moved up here for intensive training four weeks ago. Higgs has been on our radar for a long time. Even before he retired, he’d expressed some really marginal ideas. In fact, his obvious contempt for his boss at the time, a two-star general who happened to be black, led to a behind-the-scenes push to early retirement. Unfortunately, it appears that enraged him, helping motivate him to turn militant.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that she hadn’t done much but blink during this recitation. She’d seen right through him, all right, which made him question how convincing his act was.

  “I have plenty of evidence to bring down everyone here. We can’t let them get to the point of launching their attack. But there’s more I need to know. Like when that main event is scheduled for, and what the target is.”

  “Does that matter if, well, you prevent it from ever happening?”

  “Yeah. What if there’s another cell training for the same attack? I’ve seen no indication Higgs is working with anyone else, but we don’t have phone service up here. A few times he’s made a trip down to Bellingham. Nobody knows what he does while they’re shopping for supplies. He could be meeting someone. If he’s emailing, it could be from a computer at the library.” Frustration added extra grit to his voice. “He has added new posts to a couple of extremist sites, but they’re so cryptic we suspect they might really be messages.” He gave his head a shake. “We need to keep walking.”

  “Oh!” She cast a nervous glance back toward the lodge. “Yes, of course.”

  Circling the lake, he walked fast enough she had to ask him to slow down. He kept talking, telling her his larger goals: making sure they knew who was backing the group, and who was supplying the arms. Moneyed, powerful men were his real target.

  “That really is a...a rocket launcher?”

  His jaw tightened. “US Military issue. We have two of ’em.”

  Leah breathed what was probably really a prayer. He agreed with the sentiment wholeheartedly.

  Well before they neared the tree line, he said, “I shouldn’t have told you this much, but I don’t see that it matters. Just remember, even the smallest hint of any of it is a death sentence for me.”

  She wasn’t looking at him. “And me.”

  “Unless you get the idea you can bargain with Higgs.”

  Her shoulders stiffened and her chin came up. “I wouldn’t!”

  “No.” He let his tone soften. “I don’t think you would.”

  She sniffed indignantly.

  The color of the sky was deepening, the purple tint making it harder for the eye to see outlines.

  “This is the end of our discussion,” he told her. “I can’t be a hundred percent sure the cabin isn’t bugged. From here on out, your job is to avoid notice as much as you can.”

  “What if...if I was able to get a look at Colonel Higgs’s room when I’m cleaning?”

  “Don’t even think about it,” he said flatly. “You are not a federal agent. You’re a vet tech.”

  “My life depends on you learning what you have to so we can leave, you know. I’m not going to sit and wait if I can help.”

  “If you found names or numbers, you wouldn’t recognize their meaning. I would. I repeat. The answer is no.”

  Her chin went back up but she didn’t argue again. Spencer wasn’t entirely reassured. This was why he shouldn’t have told her so much. That said, people talked within earshot of the women as if they were pieces of furniture, much as servants might have been treated in a big house in eighteenth-century England. They could get lucky—but he didn’t mention that possibility, because she was too gutsy for her own good. If she got caught where she shouldn’t be, trying to eavesdrop—she was dead.

  They were dead, since he couldn’t stand back and let her die, whatever his priorities ought to be.

  As they approached the line of cabins, she whispered, “Is Spencer your real name? Or Wyatt?”

  Damn her insatiable curiosity.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he snapped.

  A faint squeak came to his ears. In response to his irritation, Leah’s step hitched and she hunched a little, probably not realizing that she was looking cowed. As little as he liked having that effect on her, her timing was impeccable. That little creep Arne Larson had just stepped out on the porch of his cabin, the one at the end.

  “Got her trained, I see,” Arne remarked.

  Spencer gave her an indifferent glance. “She’s smarter than Osenbrock. She knows what’s good for her.”

  Arne laughed, acid in the sound. “Yeah, I heard you told Joe what’s what. He didn’t like it, you know.”

  Spencer shrugged. “He’s not thinking about what counts. I watched you shooting today and saw a big improvement.”

  Arne might not like him, but he preened. Spencer’s sniper creds inspired some awe among this bunch.

  Then he and Leah were past Arne’s cabin and the one beyond it, finally reaching his. She trailed him up the porch steps like the obedient little woman she wasn’t. She stayed right inside next to the door, too, while he did his usual walk-through with his Sig Sauer in his hand.

  * * *

  THE SHOWER AFFORDED only a tepid stream of water, but it was adequate for Leah to wash her hair. The shampoo dripping down her face stung, though, and had her mumbling, “Ow, ow, ow.”

  Somebody had absconded with her hair dryer before Spencer grabbed her suitcase. He had even reclaimed her purse, minus everything important.

  “I have your wallet,” he told her, not offering to return it. “Phone and keys are in our great leader’s possession.”

  She’d heard him use that phra
se before, equally laden with sarcasm. Never in anyone else’s hearing, of course.

  She couldn’t wrap her mind around everything he’d told her. He’d confirmed her suspicion and more, but...could he have lied to ensure her cooperation? Of course he could have—but she didn’t believe he had. The very fact that he’d gone out on such a limb in the first place for her sake was a strong argument for his honesty and, yes, possession of what some people would call the old-fashioned quality of honor. Personally, Leah was big on honor right now. Where would she be without it?

  She towel-dried her hair as well as she could, brushed it and left the bathroom.

  Spencer looked up from where he lounged on what she’d realized was a futon in the living area. Every time she saw him, she was hit afresh with awareness of how sexy he was. Partly it was a matter of bone structure and the contrast between icy, pale eyes and deeply tanned skin, but that wasn’t all. He had a brooding quality that got to her. And he’d tried to protect her.

  He hadn’t even taken off his boots, and his gun lay within easy reach. He was prepared for anything at a moment’s notice. The tension really wore on her, but he seemed to take it for granted.

  “What are you reading?” She nodded at the book.

  “Huh?” He seemed to turn his eyes from her. “Oh. It’s Calvin Coolidge’s autobiography.”

  “Really? Is he that interesting?”

  “You might say he’s become relevant again.” If there was dryness in his tone, Leah doubted anyone else would have noticed it. “Coolidge endorsed a law in 1924 that cut immigration by half, with national origin quotas. He considered southern and eastern Europeans to be genetically inferior. The law led to something like forty years of reduced immigration. Higgs thought I’d like to read this. I’m not sure he paid any attention to Coolidge’s other policies.”

  “Is it interesting?”

  “His prose isn’t riveting.” With a grimace, Spencer stuck a torn strip of paper between pages as a bookmark. “You ready for bed?”

  “I guess.”

  He ushered her into the bedroom, then returned to the main room to make his rounds of the windows and check locks. For what good they’d do, she couldn’t help thinking. There were new, shiny dead bolts on the front and back doors, but two of the windows had cracked panes, and the frames would splinter under one blow. Of course, that would alert him instantly, and she’d already seen how fast he could move.

  When he returned, she still stood beside the bed.

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “You aren’t going to put handcuffs on me again, are you?”

  “That depends. Can I trust you not to try anything?”

  Somebody could be listening, she reminded herself. “I won’t.” She went for very, very humble. “I know you’ll take care of me.”

  He cracked a smile that made her mouth go dry, so drastically did it alter his face. Not soften it, exactly, but a hint of warmth along with wicked sensuality shifted her perception of him. Sexy when somber, angry or expressionless, he might be irresistible if he just kept smiling at her.

  Of course he didn’t. Dear Lord, he wouldn’t dare get in the habit! Imagine what the others would think if they saw him.

  His eyes burned into hers. Had he read her mind? Well, thinking he was sexy, and okay, feeling a yearning ache deep inside didn’t mean she was having sex with him.

  She managed a glare that resulted in the corners of his mouth curving again, but once she climbed into bed, he did turn off the light before he stripped and slid in beside her.

  Even his whisper held a little grit coming out of the darkness. “I’d complain about the mattress, but I like knowing what’ll happen the minute you fall asleep.”

  The trouble was, so did she.

  Chapter Seven

  Leah had zero chance to get anywhere near her great-uncle’s apartment, appropriated by Colonel Higgs. Jennifer Fuller had the privilege of cleaning it, although only when he was there. Otherwise, another of those shiny new dead bolts kept the nosy out.

  However tempting an opportunity would be, Leah wouldn’t have seized it. Spencer was right; she’d have no idea what she should be looking for. Anyway, she had no desire to find herself in another spot like she had when Joe Osenbrock cornered her. If Spencer hadn’t shown up, she wanted to think she could have fought back effectively or that Dirk would have intervened, but she wasn’t stupid enough to buy into comforting lies. Joe was muscular, mean and lacking in a conscience. Dirk had an athletic body, but his muscles didn’t bulge quite as much, and he struck her as a little quieter and less aggressive than most of the others. Even if he’d tried to step in to protect her—albeit for Spencer’s sake, not hers—he’d have had the shit beaten out of him. Then Joe would have been mad.

  Today, in between breakfast and lunch, Leah volunteered hastily for cleaning jobs that would keep her in the main spaces and working with at least one of the other women. There were four of them here, instead of five; TJ said Shelley wasn’t feeling well.

  Lifting benches around the table while Lisa Dempsey swept under them, Leah tried to start a conversation. If she made friends, she might learn something, right? Well, it wouldn’t be with Lisa, who completely ignored her, responding only when Leah said something relevant, like, “I see something under there you missed.”

  She never looked Leah in the eye, either, which was a good reminder to her that she was supposed to imitate the other women, not befriend them.

  Jennifer cracked briefly when Leah said, “That lasagna you made was amazing. You must have worked in a restaurant.”

  “Thank you,” she said grudgingly. “I learned from my mother, that’s all.”

  “Oh, well, I hope you have a daughter who’ll learn from you.”

  Jennifer turned her back and walked away.

  A few minutes later Helen whispered, “You shouldn’t’ve said that to her. She’s had miscarriages. I think—”

  A footstep presaging the appearance of Del Schmidt silenced her.

  Chagrined, Leah scraped frost out of the old chest freezer. Could Jennifer’s body just not hold on to a fetus? One of the veterinarians Leah worked with had had two miscarriages. She and her husband had been devastated.

  In this case, though, Leah couldn’t help wondering whether abuse from her husband had ended each pregnancy. Maybe that was unjust, but she didn’t like the way Tim talked to his wife, or how he’d shoved her hard up against a wall when he thought she was giving him some lip. It was all Leah could do to pretend she hadn’t seen what happened.

  Spencer was one of the last to show up for lunch, shredded beef tacos and Spanish rice today. He glanced at Leah when she was the last to sidle up to the table and take a seat, but he was immediately distracted by something the man beside him was saying. Shawn somebody. Or was that Brian...Thompson? Townsend? These guys looked an awful lot alike, all Caucasian although tanned, hair shaved or cut very short, big muscles, tattoos on their arms or peeking above their collars. Arne Larson’s looked a lot like one arm of a Nazi swastika, which she thought was more than a little ironic, given how the Scandinavian countries had resisted the Nazi invasion. Obviously, he identified with the invaders and maybe even their genocide.

  Leah had a sickening thought. What if her mother had married a black or Latino man? Things would have been different if she, a woman with dark skin, had driven up to announce that she owned the resort. Would Spencer have had any chance at all to save her?

  No. How could he have? Higgs wouldn’t have bothered giving her his impassioned speech about inciting a civil war to restore this great country to the true Americans, because she wouldn’t have been one in his eyes.

  Her appetite scant, she picked at her food and kept her head down by inclination as well as orders, not even looking toward Spencer.

  Toward the end of the meal, though, she heard Tim Fuller say into a lull, “We�
��re running low on food. Jennifer made a list.”

  Higgs mulled that over for a minute before saying, “Wyatt, you take Lisa tomorrow.” He scanned the men around the table. “Schmidt, you go, too.”

  Leah didn’t dare look at Spencer to see if he’d betrayed any emotion at all. She hoped she’d succeeded in hiding how she felt, but she was quite sure she wouldn’t be able to take another bite, not when she couldn’t swallow it. Fear squeezed her throat as if a powerful hand had closed around it.

  * * *

  HIGGS TURNED A cold stare on Spencer, who had stopped in front of him with crossed arms. The two men were on their way toward the obstacle course built their first week up here, taking in part of the meadow and forest. “I don’t want to hear it.”

  Spencer said what he was thinking anyway. “You didn’t like me taking Leah out of your control.”

  Frosting over, the colonel said, “Nobody here is out of my control. Did you forget that?”

  He had, misjudging how Ed Higgs would see him stepping in to remove Leah from the chessboard. Damn, Spencer thought incredulously, he was going to have to take her and run, tonight while they still had a chance.

  “Are you planning to have her yourself?” he asked.

  Higgs’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t rape women.”

  “You just encourage your followers to do it.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  Jaw jutting out, Spencer couldn’t back down. “I think that’s what you’re threatening. Take me out of the picture, show me how I rate.”

  “I’ve developed a lot of respect for you. I thought I could trust you. Since you set eyes on her, I’m having to wonder.”

  What was it he’d said to Leah? You have to become an Oscar-worthy actor. That was it.

  He scoffed, “You seriously think I’d let a sexy piece of tail divert me from our plans? I took her because I don’t like doing without, and I figured I was entitled. If you want her—” I’ll have to kill you. Nope, shrug as if she’s nothing to you.