The Last Resort

by Janice Kay Johnson - His Best Friend's Baby

  “Later I’ll have Del and Shawn or somebody else move you to the bedroom. I know the futon must be horribly uncomfortable. But if we were going to ruin one or the other with blood, I decided it should be the futon.”

  He absolutely agreed. After last night, he’d developed fond feelings for that bed.

  “Could somebody take you to an ER?”

  She meant, would it be allowed. “No,” he said. Steeled himself and added, “Okay.”

  That earned him a wrinkled nose. “You’re a long way from okay. But I suppose you must have been injured during your years in the military.”

  Another slight inclination of his head, although even that set off fireworks. He had to close his eyes momentarily.

  Yes, he’d been hospitalized several times. Strange to think that he might have come closer to dying today than he had from bullet wounds or shrapnel from an IED. If that knife blade had plunged deeper, or struck higher or lower, it could easily have been curtains for him, given that the best medical care available was from a veterinary technician with access only to a basic first-aid kit. He’d been damned lucky, and he wouldn’t waste that luck.

  He really was done with undercover gigs. No hostage rescue for him, either. He’d transfer as soon as he could—once he’d taken down Colonel Higgs and his hatefully misguided army.

  And Leah. If she wanted him, he’d do what he had to do to have her in his life, too. He could transfer to the Seattle office, or the office closest to wherever she would be attending grad school.

  All good plans. Unfortunately, right this minute a soon-to-be-needed trip to the bathroom reared ahead like Kilimanjaro. Only positive was, he knew he was thinking more clearly.

  These injuries would buy him a day or two off from a role that he hadn’t been able to set down in months. That said, would Leah still be expected to cook and clean rather than care for him? That would leave her vulnerable...although he thought Higgs had been pissed off enough about Joe’s behavior to lay down the law where she was concerned.

  Maybe.

  Spencer grunted. What he needed was to get back on his feet as quickly as possible. For starters, he wouldn’t have a chance to pocket the key to start the Jeep unless he rejoined activities, even if only as a spectator.

  A good place to start was with that short journey to the bathroom. The hell he was going to piss in a jar and make Leah dump it out.

  Despite the explosion of pain, he started to shift his body toward the edge of the futon amid her cries of, “What are you doing? Stop!”

  Chapter Twelve

  The stubborn man insisted she lay a sheet over the dirty, blood-stained futon mattress and bring him some pillows so he could spend the day out there. Leah would have argued more vehemently, except he was right that he could get up and down more easily from the futon than the sagging mattress in the bedroom that fought every attempt to escape it. She’d had to stick her head outside and ask the first person she saw—someone named Jack, she thought—to bring bedding and towels from the lodge. Actually, she said meekly, “Spencer wants some bedding for the futon, and, um, our towels are all bloody. I’m afraid to leave him yet. Do you think...?”

  The guy complied.

  Spencer refused to let her fetch help for him to go to the bathroom. Pain aged his face a decade or more as he pushed himself to his feet, leaning heavily on her. Two hours ago she’d never have considered that he could shuffle even this short distance on his own.

  Needless to say, despite the fact that he was swaying in front of the toilet, he evicted her until he was done and flushed.

  Around midday she did leave him alone long enough to walk to the lodge for food. She slipped in the back door, where all the women surrounded her and, whispering, demanded to know what had happened. Leah gave them the CliffsNotes version, then filled a bag with a few dishes, a saucepan and some silverware as well as sandwich makings, cans of soup and desserts. She didn’t see a single one of the men as she hurried back to the cabin.

  During her absence Spencer had gotten to a sitting position again on the edge of the futon. Stress on his face eased the minute he saw her.

  “What took you so long?” he asked. With his lips grotesquely swollen, words were hard to make out, but Leah found she got the gist.

  “I wasn’t gone very long.” She set down the two bags on the short stretch of counter next to the tiny sink. “Jennifer and everyone wanted to know about the fight. They were all ordered to stay in the kitchen and missed the whole thing.”

  “You get an update on Joe?” A note in his voice she didn’t recognize had her turning to look at him.

  “No. They served breakfast like usual, and when Lisa asked if she should take a plate up to Joe, Higgs snapped at her. Said he isn’t in any shape to eat.”

  “He wouldn’t be,” Spencer agreed slowly.

  Was he wondering if he had killed Joe? Or disturbed by the possibility of his death, however it came about? Yes, she decided, that was it. She wondered if, instead of becoming numb and inured to tragedy after all the death he’d seen, Spencer still had the capacity to grieve. There’d been nothing about Joe Osenbrock she could sympathize with, and yet... Who knew what his childhood had been like? What had made him so violently inclined and insecure enough to need so desperately to win?

  And if Spencer’s suspicion turned out to be true, she really hated the idea that one of those men she’d gotten to know was willing to steal upstairs in the lodge—perhaps to the very room where she’d been held captive—to break Joe’s neck or slit his throat or... Leah didn’t even want to think.

  It bothered her even more to picture one of the men who’d protected her or helped Spencer today as the one willing to commit cold-blooded murder. Del? Shawn or Garrett? Chilled, Leah thought, surely not Dirk Ritchie. And yet...all of them intended to commit mass murder in the near future. Why balk at killing a single man?

  “Will you eat something? I thought you might be able to drink soup from a cup.”

  “Not hungry.”

  She turned in alarm. What if the knife had reached his intestines or...maybe his liver or kidney? The pain relievers could have masked the effect that was only now catching up with him.

  She evaluated him, deciding that his color was much better than it had been when they first carried him to the cabin. His eyes—well, eye—looked clear. If she made him open his mouth so she could look at his gums the way she would an injured dog’s, would they be a healthy color or worrisomely pale?

  “Will you try?”

  He grunted and very carefully rested against the extra pillows Jack had included in the pile he brought from the lodge earlier. Spencer lifted each leg individually, using his good hand to guide it into place so he could stretch out. Only then did he say, “Yah.”

  She warmed cream of tomato, thinking it would go down easily and that milk would be good for him. When she took him a mugful and sat beside him to help prop him up, he did slowly drink it all.

  Relieved, she had a bowlful herself.

  She checked his watch, sitting on the old coffee table that had been pushed aside. “It’s almost time for another painkiller. You won’t try to be a tough guy and do without, will you?”

  On a face that had suffered that much damage, it was hard to be sure, but she thought his expression was sardonic.

  “No. Not tough.”

  When she gave him the pill half an hour later, he swallowed it, and after a period of staring broodingly up at the wood-paneled ceiling, dozed off. Leah tried to read but couldn’t concentrate. Fictional adventures—or the very real ones during World War II—couldn’t keep her attention when her current situation was so perilous.

  Spencer was fighting his infirmities with a willpower that awed her. If the damage had been limited to the punches and bruising, however massive, she thought he’d be up and around in only another day or two. As it was, he’d lost a
lot of blood, and she couldn’t help fearing what harm that knife blade thrust between ribs might have done.

  Had Spencer been ready for them to attempt an escape? He’d obviously learned a lot of what he’d been sent to find out. Now...how could they get away?

  Was it possible for someone to get to any of the car keys?

  Helen was the only one of the women Leah could imagine being willing to try to help her, but she wouldn’t betray Dirk by helping Leah steal his truck, even if that was possible.

  She and Spencer couldn’t possibly set out on foot. Certainly not for days.

  Her worries went round and round, but even when he was awake, she didn’t vocalize them. Didn’t need to. He was surely running the same scenarios and coming up with the same dead ends.

  We should be okay for a few days, she told herself, but didn’t quite believe her own assurance.

  * * *

  SPENCER HAD A hell of a time sleeping. No position was comfortable. Once Leah dropped off, she couldn’t prevent herself from rolling into his aching body, or her arm would flop across his torso, and it was all he could do to stifle a bellow. Her head on his shoulder awakened sharp pain.

  He didn’t think he’d ever been battered from head to...not toe, calves before.

  Come morning Spencer woke feeling as if he’d just regained consciousness after being run over by a semi-truck with lots of huge tires. He tried not to move a muscle. Even breathing hurt. When he assessed his body, he found several places that felt like burning coals against the more generalized pain. Wrist, left cheekbone, the site of the stab wound, a searing strip down his thigh and his rib cage on the left.

  All those could be managed, he convinced himself, and he knew from other times he’d taken a beating that the day after was the worst. Then the body would start healing itself.

  Okay. One more day before he seriously considered an escape plan.

  Leah stirred beside him and he had to grit his teeth. “Are you awake?” she whispered.

  “Yah.” His mouth was still swollen, making it difficult to shape words. But he got out the two that were most important. “Pain pills.”

  “What?”

  He had to repeat himself before she said, “Oh, no! I should have woken you up earlier to take those. I’ll get them right now.”

  She had to separate herself from him, the mattress rocking as she clambered out of bed. Teeth clenched, he held back the groans.

  She hurried back. Sitting up enough to swallow the pills was agonizing. He needed the bathroom, but his bladder had to wait.

  He caught glimpses as she got dressed, but as much as he normally enjoyed being tantalized by the fleeting sight of her curves, he didn’t dare lift or even roll his head.

  Wait.

  It was a full half hour before the rigidity in his body eased enough, he was able to get up, shuffle to the bathroom and then lie down on the futon. As uncomfortable as the thing was, he needed to be out here where he could keep an eye on Leah and any possible entrances. He was able to half sit against the pile of pillows, so if something happened he could easily reach for his handgun.

  Leah poached eggs for him and poured him a glass of orange juice. He was swallowing it when there was a polite knock on the door.

  He called, “Who is it?” before Leah could reach the door.

  “Del.”

  Spencer nodded at her and she let Del and Dirk in.

  Del’s gaze flicked to the gun then back to Spencer. “I’d say you look better, except...”

  Spencer might have grimaced if that wouldn’t have hurt. “Colorful?” he got out.

  “Pretty as a rainbow,” the other man confirmed. “You on your feet yet?”

  “Sure.” Spencer gave what was probably a death’s head grin. “Hurt like hell today, though.”

  “Yeah, ain’t that the way.”

  Dirk looked at Leah. “Anything you need?”

  She succeeded in looking shy and even submissive. “I think we’re okay. I went over to the lodge yesterday for some food and dishes. You know.”

  “Helen said you’d been by.”

  Spencer couldn’t help asking. “Joe?”

  Del answered, voice expressionless. “Died during the night.”

  Leah pressed her fingers to her lips to stifle a gasp. Both men glanced at her before returning their gazes to him. Dirk wasn’t hiding his perturbation as well as Del was. He didn’t like knowing Higgs had ordered—or even committed—the murder.

  “Whatever I said about killing him, I didn’t mean him to die,” Spencer managed to get out.

  Del obviously made out what he’d said because he nodded. “Figured. Ah...the colonel says he’ll stop by later.”

  “Good. It’ll be tomorrow before I can walk as far as the lodge.” And, damn, he wished that wasn’t true.

  Leah saw the two men out, closed the door and waited through the thud of them descending the few steps before she turned around, distress on her face. “You were right.”

  “About Joe?” He was careful to sound...indifferent. “He wasn’t in good shape when they hauled him away yesterday.”

  “Neither were you,” she said tartly.

  He let himself smile, although it couldn’t look good. “I had the services of the only medic on site.”

  She opened her mouth, no doubt to remind him that she’d volunteered to look at Joe, too, but was again smart enough to let that remain unsaid.

  “You were restless last night. Why don’t you try to get some sleep?” she suggested.

  He might do that. She’d wake him up soon enough when Higgs came calling. “You’ll be here?”

  “Won’t go anywhere.” She sketched a cross over her heart.

  That made his misshapen mouth twitch.

  He drifted in and out of sleep for much of the afternoon, helped along by the pain meds. Leah made sure he ate a little for lunch, and did wake him up midafternoon when Higgs came knocking.

  He didn’t have a lot to say, probably thanks to Leah’s presence. “Shame about Joe,” he remarked, his tone holding not a smidgen of regret.

  Spencer met his eyes. “Sure is.”

  “We picked out a place to bury him. Can’t let authorities get involved.”

  No shit. Couldn’t let the body stay in the lodge long enough to start decomposing, either, Spencer reflected.

  He stiffened when Higgs looked at Leah. “We’re missing you in the kitchen. I suppose Spencer needs you today, but he should be on the mend by tomorrow. I’m hoping you’ll make that cake again.”

  Her eyes glittered with dislike. Her acting had some limitations, it appeared. But she said, “I’ll be glad to make it again.”

  Spencer spoke up. “I liked it, too.”

  To Higgs, she said, “Did Jennifer talk to you about picking huckleberries? We could make some great cobblers and pies with them, and stretch supplies, too.”

  He looked surprised. “No. I noticed some ripe berries. Wasn’t sure whether they were edible.”

  “They’re delicious. The mainstay for birds and bears and probably some other animals.”

  “I’ll set it up,” he said, glanced at Spencer and added, “Hope there’s a big improvement by tomorrow.”

  Was that an order? Irritated, Spencer didn’t show how he felt. “You and me both. I’m not built to sit on the sidelines.”

  A monster cloaked in an average body and mild manner, Colonel Higgs left. Spencer ground his teeth a few times to keep from verbally venting his anger.

  Leah didn’t like it, but he started doing some stretches and getting up to walk for a few minutes every half hour or so. They could not afford for him to stay down.

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING they took the short walk to the lodge slowly. Leah stayed close to him, but Spencer didn’t reach for her. His face was so blank, she kn
ew he was intent on hiding how much pain he was still in. Somehow, he walked evenly, betraying no need to favor one side or the other. He had allowed her to rewrap his wrist, and of course his face was at its worst: still swollen and vividly colored. The black eye was barely slitted, his mouth distorted.

  Something like halfway, he said out of the blue, “Know how to hot-wire a car?”

  “Hot-wire...?” She sounded startled. “Unfortunately, no. To tell you the truth, I’m completely ignorant where cars are concerned. Beyond how to start and drive them, of course.”

  He grunted.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “The Jeep.” He’d mentioned it. “Want to get my hands on the key, but if I can’t...” He frowned. “I can hot-wire it myself. Old vehicles like that are easy. Plus, the Jeep is back behind the lodge. We’d have a chance of getting a real head-start. I was thinking just in case.”

  Just in case he was dead or captive and she had to run by herself. Sick to her stomach, she said, “The Jeep is out if I’m on my own.”

  He nodded, almost matter-of-factly. “We’ll make sure it doesn’t come to that.”

  Oh, good. She was completely reassured. She didn’t have a chance to comment, though, because Arne Larson emerged from his cabin and fell into step with them.

  “Good fight,” he said admiringly.

  So much for what had appeared to be a friendship with Joe. This was a guy who wouldn’t have felt at all squeamish watching one gladiator troop mop up the other in the Colosseum. Spencer put on a front of being unemotional about what he’d had to do in the army and now, with the FBI, but she didn’t believe in it. He still had a human reaction to events and people. He must; she couldn’t be falling for him if he didn’t. He wouldn’t be so ready to sacrifice himself for her.

  As for Arne...she’d swear she saw a trace of envy and dislike in his eyes.

  Spencer didn’t comment, probably saving his energy for mounting the lodge steps.

  HE FELT ON edge all day, starting with finding out that Leah had been sent with two of the other women—Shelley and Lisa—to pick huckleberries.