The Last Resort

by Janice Kay Johnson - His Best Friend's Baby

  The possibility was real, but there was nothing he could do that he wasn’t already. He fought to stay in the moment while fighting a blinding headache, chills and a tendency to find himself in other times and places.

  A kid, hiding in the woods near his house after his father had used his belt on him. Rage and fear and shame filled him. Sunlight in his eyes, and he was baking in the heat of a street between mud-colored buildings in a village in Afghanistan, feeling eyes on him from every direction. Skin crawling.

  Turning his head to see Leah anchored him, so he kept doing it. She needed him. He couldn’t let her down.

  “I think I see someone,” she whispered.

  He stared hard in the direction she was looking. Yeah, that desert camo didn’t quite work in the green northwest forest.

  He nudged Leah, and they very, very quietly retreated, then turned east to parallel the highway, heading toward Mount Baker. Should have known they couldn’t pop out right here. Had Higgs sent out his minions to drive up and down the highway, too? Should they hunker down and wait out the day, not try to flag anyone down until morning?

  Might be safer...but Spencer bet that by morning, Higgs and the others would have decamped. He would very much like to round them up here and now. Brooding, he thought, yeah, but what were the odds of getting a team here in time?

  Even if the sheriff’s department had a SWAT unit, could they stand up to the kind of weaponry Higgs’s group had? An image formed in his head of the flare of rocket fire followed by a helicopter exploding.

  He grimaced.

  And, damn, as disreputable as he and Leah looked, how long would it take for police to be able to verify that he was who he said he was, and take action?

  What if his head was in Afghanistan or Iraq when they reached a police station? Hard to take a crazy man seriously.

  They trudged on, Leah in the lead again.

  Her head turned. “I hear a car.”

  Pulled from the worries that had circled around and around, he listened, too. That was definitely a car, not an SUV or pickup. Which would have been good news if they’d been close enough to the highway to stick out a thumb. Also, if they could convince some backpacker on his way back down to civilization to hide them on backseat and floorboards so they weren’t seen as they passed the resort road.

  He realized he’d said that out loud when Leah said, “What if we cross the highway and follow it until we’re past the resort road?”

  It was lucky one of them had a working brain.

  * * *

  HER IDEA HAD sounded practical, but preparing to run across the empty highway, she was almost as scared as she’d been with a grizzly charging after her and bullets flying, too.

  She and Spencer would be completely exposed for the length of time it took to slide into a ditch, climb up onto pavement, race across the highway and get across another ditch and into the woods on the far side. SUVs and pickup trucks with powerful engines could approach fast. Yes, but they could be heard from a distance, she reminded herself, even out of sight around a curve.

  She stole an anxious look at Spencer. “Ready?”

  “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “You say go.”

  “Okay.” She took a few steadying breaths, tensed and said, “Go!”

  Side by side, they slid on loamy soil into the ditch, used their hands to scrabble their way up to the road and ran.

  Not until they plunged on the other side through dangling ropes of lichen and the stiff lower branches of evergreen trees did she take another breath. They stumbled to a stop, momentarily out of sight from the highway, and Spencer grinned at her.

  Her heart gave a squeeze. That smile was delighted and sexy at the same time, and it didn’t matter how awful he looked otherwise. When he held out his arms, she tumbled into them, wrapping her own around his lean torso.

  She might have stayed longer if he didn’t radiate worrisome heat.

  “We’re not safe yet,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

  “No, but we’re one step closer.”

  Stupidly teary-eyed, she was smiling, too. Swiping her cheeks on his grungy T-shirt, she made herself lower her arms and back away.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m starved. I vote we get going.”

  The jubilant grin had become an astonishingly tender smile. “I’ll second that.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Two hours later they passed the turn-off to the resort without seeing a single vehicle or any camouflage-clad, armed men hiding in wait. They’d heard a fair amount of passing traffic, but chose not to attempt to stop anyone yet.

  Their pace grew slower and slower. The trees weren’t as large here, resulting in dense undergrowth. Leah’s body had become more and more reluctant. Her legs didn’t want to take the next step. She quit diverting to avoid getting slapped by branches. Stumbling, she’d barely catch herself before she did another face-plant. She had never in her life been so tired—and she didn’t have a raging fever. She kept checking on him, sometimes slyly so he wouldn’t notice. Despite a sheen of sweat on his face and glazed eyes, he plodded on.

  Neither of them spoke. What was there to say?

  Spencer glanced at his watch. She went on without bothering to ask what time it was. Occasional glimpses of the sun showed it still high enough to give them a few hours before nightfall. If she was wrong...they’d stop. Curl up together and sleep.

  “Hey.”

  Hearing his rough voice, Leah didn’t make her foot move forward for that next step.

  “Let’s get in sight of the road. It’s time to flag someone down.”

  “Oh.” How long had it been since she’d seen him check the time? She had no idea. “Okay.” She turned right. Just the idea that they might catch a ride and not have to walk anymore inspired a small burst of energy.

  It only took a few minutes—five?—to find themselves a spot to crouch barely off the highway, but probably not visible to passing motorists.

  The first one they saw coming was traveling east toward Mount Baker. A red Dodge Caravan, it had a rack piled with luggage and kids in the backseat.

  They let several more go.

  “I’d be happiest with a sheriff’s deputy or forest service,” Spencer said.

  Of course, they had to identify those quick enough to give them time to burst out onto the road, waving their arms and probably jumping up and down.

  Vehicles passed. She began to wonder if Spencer was too sick to make a quick decision. Maybe she should make one.

  But suddenly he said, “That’s it,” and launched himself forward.

  She stumbled behind, finally seeing what he had. It was a white 4X4 with a rack of lights on the roof. Spencer waved and so she did, too. A turn signal came on, and a siren gave a brief squawk. The vehicle rolled to a stop only a few feet from them. From here Leah could see green trim and the sheriff’s department logo.

  Spencer didn’t wait for the deputy to get out. He jogged along the shoulder to the passenger side. So a passing motorist might miss seeing them, she realized.

  The deputy climbed out and circled the front bumper. Probably in his thirties, he looked alarmingly like the men they were fleeing: fit, clothed in a khaki uniform and armed. In fact, his hand rested lightly on the butt of his gun.

  That changed in an instant when he saw the gun holstered at Spencer’s waist. In barely an instant, the deputy pulled his gun and took up a stiff-armed stance, the barrel pointing at Spencer, who immediately lifted his hands above his head. “Set that gun on the pavement,” the deputy snapped. “Do it now.”

  Moving very slowly, Spencer complied. With his foot, he nudged the handgun over the pavement toward the cop. The deputy never took his eyes from Spencer when he moved forward and used his foot to push the gun behind the tire of his SUV.

  “You’re not a hunter.”

 
“No,” Spencer said. “I’m not carrying identification, so I can’t prove this, but I’m FBI Special Agent Alex Barr. I was undercover with a violent militia group training at an old lodge near here. Ms. Leah Keaton—” he nodded at her “—recently inherited the lodge from her great-uncle. She decided to check on the condition of the buildings, and surprised the men who’d taken it over. They took her captive.”

  The guy watched them suspiciously. “You took her and ran?”

  “Eventually. One of them found a photo of me online leaving a Chicago courthouse. We were lucky because Leah overheard two men talking about it. We didn’t dare even take the time to grab supplies or my phone, just ran. I urgently need to call my team leader. These guys have some serious weapons, including a couple of rocket launchers.”

  “What?”

  Leah spoke up. “I saw one of them. That’s when they decided they couldn’t let me leave.”

  “Some of their weapons are US military, stolen by a like-minded active-duty army officer. The leader of this group is a retired air force lieutenant-colonel. We need the FBI to handle this, not local police.”

  The deputy studied him for a long time. “No way I can verify this story.”

  “I don’t see how.”

  Leah said, “The resort was called Mount Baker Cabins and Lodge. My uncle’s name was Edward Preston. If you’re local, you might know about him. He died last fall. I’m his great-niece. I’m...a veterinary technician.”

  The deputy eyed her. “We drove up to check on Mr. Preston now and again. Annoyed him, but we kept doing it.”

  “That sounds like him,” she admitted. “Mom tried to get him to move to somewhere less isolated, but he refused.”

  Looking marginally less aggressive, the deputy said, “Special Agent Barr, will you agree to be handcuffed before I give you and Ms. Keaton a lift?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s wounded,” she interjected desperately. “He has a knife wound in his thigh, and another between his ribs. I think the ribs are broken, and his wrist, too. He’s fighting an infection.”

  The deputy’s eyebrows rose and his gaze snagged on Spencer’s wrapped wrist before moving to the blood soaking the upper arm of Leah’s sweatshirt. “You appear to be hurt, too.”

  “Yes, I was shot, but it’s just a graze. Spencer’s wounds—I mean, Alex’s wounds—are infected. He’s running a high temperature. It’s a miracle he made it this far. Please don’t—”

  “I’ll be okay,” Spencer said gently. “We need to get off this road.”

  He had to explain why she’d called him by two different names, and why it would be a bad thing if they were spotted by any of the men fleeing the lodge.

  The deputy cast uneasy glances up and down the highway, patted them both down and made them sit in the back—in the cage, she thought was the right terminology—but didn’t insist on the handcuffs. He took Spencer’s gun with him when he got behind the wheel, and did an immediate U-turn to head west toward Bellingham and, presumably sheriff’s department headquarters. Then he got on his radio.

  * * *

  LESS THAN TWO hours later Alex had set the ball to rolling. In his own imagery, he’d tapped a domino, which would knock down the next and the next, until the last fell.

  He was rarely in on the grand finale, although his reasons this time were different. In the past, when he’d completed an undercover investigation, it was just as well not to show up days later as his alter ego, Special Agent Barr.

  This wasn’t the first time he’d had to jump ship, so to speak, but he’d never before had to help someone else make the swim to shore. It was the first time he’d been injured badly enough, he had to be hospitalized.

  That partly explained his frustration. He did not like being stuck flat on his back in a hospital bed where he was allowed no voice in how the cleanup was run. He was pretty irked at Ron Abram, who’d delegated much of the response to someone at the Seattle office. Since Alex didn’t have his phone, the only update offered to him came via the clunky phone on the bedside stand, and that was from Abram, not the agents who’d joined with the local police to raid the compound—yeah, that was what they’d called it—only to find it deserted. According to Abram, they were packing his and Leah’s stuff and bringing it down, as well as having someone bring her car once they figured out how to get it moving.

  Alex couldn’t help thinking that Jason Shedd could have fixed the car in less time than it had probably taken him to disable it.

  The Tahoe Alex had borrowed for this operation from the Seattle office had started, once they reconnected the battery. No surprise it had been disabled. He doubted they intended to return it to him. He guessed he’d have to find his own way to the airport.

  Truthfully, he still felt like crap, although the pain meds had helped. He wouldn’t be released until morning, at the very soonest. He was on some kind of super-powerful antibiotic being given by IV, along with the fluids the doctor thought he needed. They wanted to see how he responded to the antibiotics before they cut him loose.

  What had him antsy was Leah’s absence. He wanted to rip the needle out and go looking for her. They’d been taken to different cubicles in the ER and he hadn’t seen her since. There wasn’t any chance she’d been admitted, too, was there? He couldn’t believe she’d leave without finding him. Anyway, she’d need to wait for her purse and phone, even if she was willing to abandon her car for now.

  He’d tuned the TV to CNN, but had trouble caring about the latest congressman embroiled in a sexual scandal or tension in some godforsaken part of the world. With a little luck Higgs and company would be rounded up, weaponry confiscated and their entire scheme would become little more than a note on a list of terrorist operations thwarted. No breathless reports on CNN or any other news outlet.

  Recognizing the quick, light footsteps in the hall, he turned his head. Since hospital security had been asked to vet any visitors to his room, he wasn’t surprised to hear a man’s voice and then a woman’s. A second later Leah pushed aside the curtain. Her hair was shiny clean and dry, shimmering under the fluorescent lights, and she wore scrubs.

  “Spencer?” She sounded tentative, as if unsure he’d welcome her. Then she wrinkled her nose. “Alex.”

  “I’d really like to shed having multiple personalities,” he told her.

  She chuckled and visibly relaxed, coming to his side. When he held out his hand, she laid hers in it.

  “Will you sit down?” he asked, tugging gently. The minute she’d perched on the edge of the bed, he said, “You saw a doctor. What did he say?”

  She reported that, like him, she was being treated for potential Giardia lamblia, the microorganism commonly found in otherwise crystal-clear waters in the Cascade Mountains. A dressing covered the bullet graze on her arm, and she was also on an antibiotic for that. Otherwise, she’d been able to shower, a nurse had produced the scrubs for her and she’d been given a chit to pay for a meal in the cafeteria.

  “I couldn’t eat nearly as much as I wanted,” she concluded ruefully.

  With a smile lighting her face, she was different. Her eyes sparkled, her mouth was soft, her head high and carriage erect but also relaxed. Seeing her now was a reminder that he didn’t know what she’d be like when she wasn’t abused and shocked. She could have a silly sense of humor; she might be a party girl; she could habitually flit from one interest to another. Maybe she’d already dropped her determination to go to vet school and come up with another way she could spend any money earned from her great-uncle’s legacy to her.

  No, not that, he thought. That was unfair. He’d seen her unflagging determination. Her courage. Her strength and intellect.

  Her smile had died, and she was searching his eyes gravely. “What about you? What did the doctor say?”

  Was that the caring expression of a woman at least halfway in love with a man? Or caring only
because the two of them had gone through a lot together?

  “Nothing unexpected,” he told her. “It was the gash on my thigh that was infected. Strangely enough, this one—” he started to move his free hand to touch his side before remembering that it was now casted “—appeared clean. One rib is broken, one cracked. My ulna is fractured close to the wrist.” Rueful, he lifted the casted arm. “They expect a complete healing, but I may need physical therapy once this is off.”

  “I don’t know how you kept going. You saved my life, over and over.”

  He shook his head. “You saved mine. Over and over.”

  She didn’t seem convinced, and said, “Oh, you mean when I heard Higgs and Fuller talking.”

  “And when you treated my injures,” he reminded her.

  “Which you got because you were protecting me.”

  “You also knew enough to find berries to eat, to keep that bear from seeing us as dinner, and you led us to safety when I was too feverish to know which way we were going.”

  “I don’t think any of those measure up to a knife to the—”

  He smiled crookedly. “We’ll call it even.”

  Leah laughed. “Not even close.”

  “Did anyone corner you with more questions?” he asked.

  “Oh, yeah. A pair of FBI agents. Apparently, the doctor wouldn’t let them go at you, so I got grilled instead.”

  He was the one to laugh this time. “Grilled?”

  Her severe expression melted into a smile. “Okay, asked questions. Only...they wouldn’t tell me anything. Do you know what’s happening?”

  The reminder renewed his irritation. “Not as much as I’d like. As we speculated, Higgs and his crew absconded with all the weapons, down to the last bullet.” He told her the rest of what he’d learned, and she appeared relieved to know she’d get her possessions back soon.

  “I was worrying about my car,” she admitted. “I hated to have to call my insurance agent and say, ‘Well, see, these domestic terrorists got mad at me, so they blew it up with a rocket launcher.’”