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Operation Midnight
Justine Davis


Experience the thrill of life on the edge and set your adrenalin pumping! These gripping stories see heroic characters fight for survival and find love in the face of danger.Being spirited away by armed men in a black helicopter is the last thing Hayley ever expects. And why is she so attracted to their dark-haired leader? She’s determined to escape. Unfortunately, Quinn and his intense, searching gaze is always three steps ahead – and much, much too close…










“We could die here. I need to know who you are, why you are—”

Quinn’s mouth came down on hers, cutting Hayley off. Then, as if every nerve in her body had been jolted into awareness, heat flooded her. For an instant it seemed as if he were as stunned as she at the sudden conflagration. But then he moved, encircling her with his arms, pressing her against him as he deepened the kiss.

Hayley’s every nerve was sizzling. She couldn’t feel her knees anymore, and her arms felt heavy, weak. But it didn’t matter, none of it mattered, not as long as Quinn was there, holding her, she wouldn’t fall, he wouldn’t let her. All that mattered was his mouth, coaxing, probing, tasting.

It was going through her in pulses now, that surging, delicious heat, like nothing she’d ever known. Some tiny part of her brain tried to insist it was because it had been so long, but Hayley knew it wasn’t that, knew it had never been like this in her life because she’d never kissed a man like Quinn before …


Dear Reader,

Ever have a dog that was too smart for its own good? One that could open doors, cupboards, or con that last treat—or bit of your own dinner—out of you? One that could make you laugh at the drop of a hat, or comfort you when no one and nothing else could? Wait, that pretty much describes all dogs in one way or another, doesn’t it?

But let me tell you about Cutter. He’s a composite, I suppose, not just of my own dogs over the years, but others I’ve met. From the one who could pick just my horse out of the herd, to the one helping his mom to weed by carrying the offending plants to the wheelbarrow, to the one who delighted in rides on an office chair, to the one who knew with her first glimpse of my ill husband who she was here to rescue (that is the real meaning of “rescue dog,” you know).

It’s not really that big a stretch from there to a dog who is not just very, very smart, perceptive, and brave, but—well, I’ll just have to let you see for yourself. I hope you enjoy this first story, about two people who didn’t know how much they needed each other. Who didn’t even know each other, yet. Humans are so slow sometimes, that a dog just has to take charge …

Happy reading!

Justine




About the Author


JUSTINE DAVIS lives on Puget Sound in Washington. Her interests outside of writing are sailing, doing needlework, horseback riding and driving her restored 1967 Corvette roadster—top down, of course.

Justine says that, years ago, during her career in law enforcement, a young man she worked with encouraged her to try for a promotion to a position that was at the time occupied only by men. “I succeeded, became wrapped up in my new job, and that man moved away, never, I thought, to be heard from again. Ten years later, he appeared out of the woods of Washington State, saying he’d never forgotten me and would I please marry him. With that history, how could I write anything but romance?”




Operation Midnight

Justine Davis















www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For Nikki, the first, when I was too young to understand.

For Whisper, who taught me so much, and deserved better than I and life gave her at the end.

For Murphy, because without him there might not have been a Decoy (and now his sister Bailey, too).

And for Chase, who proves that boys can be sweet, too.

To all the sweet, funny, smart, wonderful dogs I’ve known. But most of all for The Decoy Dawg who, against all odds and predictions, at this moment has seen another summer. I love you my sweet girl. I won’t give up until you do. And when you do, I’ll try to let go with the grace you’ve taught me.




Chapter One


“Cutter!”

Hayley Cole shouted once more, then decided to save her breath for running. It wasn’t that the dog was ignoring her. Sometimes he just got so intent on something, the rest of the world ceased to exist.

Serves you right, she told herself, for spoiling him. Treating him like a human just because half the time he acts like one.

That he’d shown up on her doorstep when she most needed him, that she now couldn’t imagine life without the uncannily clever Cutter didn’t help at the moment, as she was traipsing after him through midnight-dark trees. If she hadn’t known these woods from childhood she might be nervous, but it was the wrong time of year for bears, and she wasn’t afraid of much else. But a sassy dog could get into trouble; just last night she’d heard coyotes. And a cornered raccoon could be nasty. While she had faith in the clever dog’s ability to come out on top, she didn’t want him hurt in the process.

At least out here, if you heard a sound in the night, your worry wasn’t who, but what. Well, maybe except for that blessed helicopter that had buzzed the house a while ago, setting Cutter into the frenzy that started this whole chase. They weren’t uncommon in the Pacific Northwest, what with the navy and coast guard coming and going. Normally they didn’t ruffle the dog, but this smaller one had been frighteningly low and had set him off like a rocket.

She dodged around the big cedar tree on the north side of the trail that could barely be found in full daylight. She should have grabbed her heavy, hooded parka with the flashlight in the pocket, but while fall was in the air it was still merely cool at night, not cold. Besides, she hadn’t realized this was going to be a lengthy expedition.

She was on her neighbor’s property now, and she doubted the reclusive older man would welcome either her or her four-legged mischief maker, so she forged onward.

“Like some stupid character in a bad horror movie,” she muttered under her breath, rethinking sharing the last of the beef stew she’d made with the carrot-loving dog.

She rounded a large maple and nearly tripped over Cutter, who had stopped dead.

“Whoa,” she said, recovering. “What—?”

The dog’s tail gave an acknowledging wag, but his attention never wavered. He was staring through the trees at something. A little wary—it was too early for bears, wasn’t it?—she moved up beside the dog to look. For a moment it didn’t register, it seemed so unlikely.

In the darkness it was almost indistinguishable, in fact would be invisible if not for the faint light from the house. That light slipped over polished, gleaming black, so that the shape she saw was a series of faint reflections, curved and straight, rather than the object itself.

But she still knew what it was, instantly.

The helicopter that had rattled her windows fifteen minutes ago was sitting in her reclusive neighbor’s yard.

Something about the thing sitting there, glimmering faintly in the dark, unsettled her. The fact that it had no apparent markings unsettled her even more. Weren’t they like planes? Didn’t they have to have numbers on them?

Maybe it’s a prototype, her logical mind said. Hasn’t been registered yet. Lots of aircraft industry up here in the Pacific Northwest. Maybe her neighbor was a designer or something. She had no idea what he really did, nor did any of the others in this semirural, forested little community. Being mostly kind, they didn’t call him antisocial, at least not yet. The speculation ranged from eccentric hoarder to grief-stricken widower, depending on the mind-set of the speculator. Hayley, who herself valued her privacy and the quiet of this wooded setting, preferred to simply leave him alone if that’s what he chose.

Being right next door, she’d seen him more often than anyone, which meant exactly twice. And both times he’d retreated immediately inside, as if he feared she might actually approach him.

But now she was wondering if a little more curiosity might have been wise. Scenarios from mad scientist to terrorists foreign and domestic raced through her mind. Her mother would have laughed at the very idea of such things in quiet little Redwood Cove, but her mother had been unaware of many dark things in the world in the last years of her life. Not by choice, but because she was focused on the battle to extend that life as long as possible, a battle Hayley had fought beside her for three years, until it was lost eight months ago.

She heard a sliding door opening, and in the next instant a bright light on the side of the house came on. Instinctively she jerked back, even though the apparently motion-sensing floodlight didn’t reach this far. Cutter, on the other hand, took a half step forward as two men stepped out onto the deck. His nose lifted, twitching rapidly as he drew in the scents the faint breeze wafted his way.

The light threw the helicopter back into the realm of, if not ordinary, at least no longer sinister—at least it did until she realized she could now see that indeed, there wasn’t a single marking to identify the craft.

The light also made the silver in her neighbor’s neatly trimmed beard gleam. The second man, much younger, with a buzz cut and a leather jacket, was a total stranger. He seemed to be helping the older man as they went down the steps, gripping his arm in support.

Her breath caught as, coming down the steps into the yard where the helicopter waited, the leather jacket parted and she saw a holstered handgun on his hip.

She grabbed Cutter’s collar; all her silly notions about men in black and their black helicopters suddenly didn’t seem so silly anymore. Were they the good guys, if any still existed, and was her neighbor being arrested? Was the reason for his reclusiveness something worse than she’d ever imagined?

She shivered, wishing more than ever for her parka. And then another thought followed rapidly: What if he was the good guy? What if these men in the black helicopter were the bad guys, and her neighbor was being snatched by them? That it could be some twisted combination of both also occurred to her; these days it was harder than ever to tell bad guys from good.

The two men got into the helicopter, the younger one again helping the older, with every evidence of solicitousness. Moments later, the helicopter came alive, engine humming, running lights blinking on.

Her mind was racing. Two men, one of them armed, get on the helicopter, and it starts up. So obviously, unless her neighbor was the pilot, which seemed unlikely, the other man was. Which had to mean her neighbor was going willingly, didn’t it? Otherwise, wouldn’t he run while the other man was occupied with … well, whatever you did to fire up a helicopter? Unless he couldn’t. Perhaps he wasn’t well enough? Or was simply too frightened to try to escape?

Or … could there have been a third man, waiting aboard the craft all this time?

Cutter made an odd, uncharacteristic, whining sort of sound just as a movement on the deck caught her eye. And she realized there was at least a third man, because he was coming out of the house now. Tall, lean, with hair as dark as the sky. He had a large duffel bag slung over his left shoulder. He started down the deck steps, and two things happened simultaneously. The sound of the engine got louder. And Cutter let out a sudden, sharp bark.

Before she could react, the dog had twisted free of her loose grip on his collar. And to her dismay he bolted, straight toward the third man. Tail up, head down, he raced out of the trees and across the open yard. Cutter was never vicious, but the man he was charging didn’t know that, and she took off after him.

So much for a silent retreat, she thought as the man, obviously having heard the dog’s bark, dropped the duffel bag to the ground.

“Cutter!”

The dog ignored her, intent on his target. But he was running happily, joyously, as he did when he greeted her if she’d been away and left him home. Some part of her mind wondered if perhaps he knew the man. She’d never seen him before; now that he’d turned in their direction she knew she wasn’t likely to forget a guy who looked like this one.

She had a split second to wonder if the mystery of Cutter’s appearance in her life, at the time when she’d needed the distraction most, was about to be solved.

The man turned to face the dog’s onslaught.

And pulled a gun. Aimed it at Cutter.

“No!”

Panic lifted her shout to a scream. He didn’t shoot. It should have been reassuring. Except that he instantly turned his attention—and his weapon—on her. She kept going. He hadn’t shot Cutter, and he had to be a lot more threatening than she was.

Then again, maybe not, she thought, her pace slowing as the dog reached his goal. And while she’d never expected him to launch into an attack, she certainly hadn’t expected what he did next; the dog sat politely at the man’s feet, then looked over a furry shoulder at her with an expression of utter delight. His tongue lolled happily, his ears were up and alert and he looked just as he did when he found the exact toy he’d been searching for.

He looked, for all the world, as if he were saying, “Look, I found him!”

The man lowered the lethal-looking black handgun but did not, she noticed, put it away.

She grabbed Cutter’s collar, firmly this time.

“I’m sorry. He got away from me, but he’s harmless, really. He doesn’t usually … I mean, he’s usually a bit slow to warm up to strangers. He doesn’t generally charge up to them …”

She was babbling, she realized, and made herself stop.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “We didn’t mean to trespass.” She glanced at the waiting helicopter, gave an embarrassed smile, hoping her neighbor could read her expression since he doubtless couldn’t hear her inside and over the noise of the engine.

“Damn.”

Her gaze shot back to the man who had just muttered the curse. The light was behind him, silhouetting his rangy frame, making him seem even taller, looming over her. Her gut told her the quicker she got them out of here, the better. She tugged on Cutter’s collar, but the dog was reluctant and reacted with uncharacteristic resistance.

Everything the darn dog had done since that helicopter had buzzed the house had been uncharacteristic, she thought, tugging again.

The door of the helicopter opened. The first armed man she’d seen leaned out.

“Time, Quinn,” he shouted over the noise of the engine and the growing wind of the main rotor.

“I know.”

Hayley heard the exchange and registered that the man her suddenly recalcitrant dog seemed so attracted to was apparently named Quinn, but she was mainly focused on getting them both out of here. Normally she was able, barely, to lift Cutter if she had to. But dragging him when he was actively resisting was something else.

She turned, intending to walk away, hoping the dog would just follow; normally he always did, not liking her too far away from him. Not that he was behaving normally just now, but—

She gasped as the man called Quinn suddenly appeared in front of her, blocking her path. She hadn’t even heard him move. And in that instant the entire scenario went from ominous and unsettling to threatening. Because clearly this man was not going to let her just walk away.

“I’m sorry,” the man said.

Then he grabbed her, so swiftly she had no time to react. He ran his hands over her, so obviously searching that any thought that it was some personal assault never really formed.

She elbowed him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

It was a rhetorical question, and it got the answer it probably deserved: nothing. She tried to pull away again but he held her in place with ease, warning her without a word that he was much stronger than she.

And then he lifted her off the ground. She fought, clawing, kicking, landing at least one solid blow. She barely had time to scream before she was physically tossed aboard the helicopter. She twisted, trying to get out before the man called Quinn got aboard. Cutter, she noticed through her panic, did nothing but whine in obvious concern. Somehow she’d always assumed the dog would defend her, would attack, bite—

She was pushed down into a seat. She scrambled to get to her feet, but Quinn leaned over and grabbed Cutter, tossing the fifty-pound dog into her lap as if he weighed no more than the duffel bag that followed. And then he was aboard himself, and the door slammed shut behind him with grim finality.

She sat in the seat he’d shoved her into, her heart hammering, her hands shaking as she clung to Cutter, fighting to wrap her mind around one simple fact.

They were being kidnapped.




Chapter Two


“You were no help at all,” Hayley muttered to the dog overwhelming her lap. Yet despite her surprise at that—a tiny emotion next to the fear that was growing every second—she clung to the furry bundle. The dog didn’t seemed bothered at all by what was happening, just as he hadn’t protested by even a yelp when this total stranger had grabbed him, never mind her.

She, on the other hand, was terrified. If she hadn’t had the dog to hang on to, to focus on, she was sure she’d be shrieking. And then the rotors began to turn, and she did let out a little gasp.

“Thanks for the help, Teague,” Quinn snapped at the other armed man. Even though he was practically yelling to be heard over the engine and growing rotor noise, the sarcasm came through.

The other man laughed. And grinned, a boyish, crooked grin she would have found charming under other circumstances. Now it just added to her growing fears.

“The day you can’t handle a woman and a dog is the day I quit this gig,” the man called Teague shouted back.

“I let you fly, so get us out of here.”

Teague’s grin flashed again, but then he was all business, turning his attention completely to controls that, Hayley noted, seemed to take not only his hands and eyes, but feet, as well. Flying a helicopter was apparently a complicated affair.

“Belt up,” Quinn instructed her.

Hayley didn’t react, still watching the pilot as she tried to analyze the easy, friendly banter between the two men. Did that bode well, or worse? She didn’t know, and—

“Let go of the damn dog and put your seat belt on.” He was yelling again now as the sound of the engine and rotors increased again.

There was too much dog to just let go of and get her hands on the belt she could see at her sides. And then the man realized that, grabbed Cutter and again lifted him as easily as if the animal didn’t weigh almost half what she did. To her annoyance, the dog didn’t even growl at the usually unwanted liberty taken by a stranger. But she kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want to anger the man while he had the dog in his arms.

He seemed to realize that. “You want him back, do it.”

She reached for the belt ends, then glanced back at her traitorous dog. Just in time to see him swipe a pink tongue over the set jaw of their captor.

“Talk about fraternizing with the enemy,” she muttered as she fastened the harness-style belt, figuring she was safe enough saying it aloud, it was so noisy in here.

The only saving grace was the expression on Quinn’s face; utterly startled. She wasn’t sure how she knew it was not an expression he wore often, but she did. He plopped the dog back into her lap.

“Must you?”

The barely audible question came out of the darkness beside her, and Hayley realized it had come from her neighbor, the first time she’d ever heard him speak. His voice was a bit raspy, probably, she thought wryly, from disuse. And she thought it might hold a bit of an accent, although it was hard to tell from two words called out over the noise of a helicopter.

“Sorry, Vicente,” Quinn said, sparking another spurt of annoyance in her; if anybody should get an apology, it should be her, shouldn’t it?

Teague yelled something Hayley couldn’t hear well enough to understand, but Quinn must have, because he turned his head to answer. Then he reached out and picked something up from the empty front seat. If she had any guts, now would have been a chance, while he was turned away. She could lunge for the door, get away. Problem was, she didn’t think she could undo the belt, hang on to Cutter and get the door open fast enough. She—

Quinn turned back, and the moment was lost. To her surprise, he jammed himself onto the floor at her feet, although he was tall enough to make it a tight fit. It took her a moment to realize he was staying to keep an eye on them, rather than strapping himself into the vacant seat beside the pilot. That must have been, she thought, what that exchange she hadn’t heard was about. And what he’d picked up was some kind of headset, perhaps something that enabled him to talk to the pilot, or at least muffled the noise that made normal conversation impossible.

And then she felt the undeniable shift as they went airborne into the midnight sky, and it was too late to do anything but try not to shiver under the force of the sheer terror that was rocketing around inside her. Why on earth had he done this? She’d done nothing, had been more than willing to vanish back into the woods and let them go. All she’d wanted was her dog….

She clung to her furry companion, his thick, soft coat warming her hands. If there were lights inside this thing they weren’t on, but she didn’t need them to visualize the dog’s striking coloring, the near-black face, head and shoulders, fading to a rich, reddish brown from there back. The vet said he looked like a purebred Belgian breed, but since—despite being the smartest dog anyone she knew had ever seen—he hadn’t shown up with papers, she didn’t know for sure.

And as comforting as the dog’s presence was—even if he did seem inordinately fond of their kidnapper—she regretted it now. The dog was indeed clever, sometimes to the point of seeming unnaturally so. More than once since the day he’d appeared and proceeded to fill the void in her life, she had wondered if he was really just a dog. He seemed to sense, to understand, to know things that no ordinary dog did or could. And because of that, he would be safer on the ground, able to survive on his own. At least for a while.

She didn’t want to think about the possibility that it might be longer than a while. Much longer. That it might be forever, if these men had lethal intent.

She hugged the dog so tightly that he squirmed a little. What had her bundle of energy and fur gotten them into? The dog didn’t seem at all bothered by the fact that he was airborne. He seemed to be treating it as if it were merely a more exciting version of the car rides he so loved.

She ducked her head, pressing her cheek to Cutter’s fur. In the process she stole a glance sideways, to where her neighbor was seated, carefully strapped in. She still couldn’t see much of him, just the gleam of the silver-gray beard, and a faint reflection from his eyes. He’d said nothing else through this, in fact after his query had seemed to shrink back against the side of the noisy craft, as if he were wishing he could vanish as he had on the two occasions she’d come across him outside his house. She wondered what he was thinking about her sudden intrusion into his affairs, inadvertent though it was.

But at least he’d made a token protest. She supposed that counted for something.

Vicente. She’d never known his name. And from the way he’d asked the question, hesitantly, it seemed clear he wasn’t in charge of this operation, whatever it was. Was he rich, was that what this was all about? A kidnapping for ransom? But if so, why was he so cooperative? Not that guns didn’t engender cooperation, but he’d seemed awfully willing.

Besides, why would somebody who could afford an aircraft like this one need money so badly they’d commit a crime like kidnapping? Unless of course that was how they afforded it.

Maybe they were drug dealers, she thought, barely resisting the urge to look around and see if there were drugs piled in the small space behind her. Did helicopters have separate cargo spaces? She had no idea. She pushed the media-inspired image of wrapped white packages of cocaine out of her mind.

There were other possibilities, of course. Terrorists, for instance. They didn’t look it, but what did she know? Maybe Vicente was some sort of master bomb maker, maybe they—

The helicopter seemed to lean sharply, cutting off her careening thoughts. Just as well, she told herself, you were getting silly.

At least, she hoped she was getting silly. But what simple explanation could there be for being scooped up in the middle of the night by strange men, along with her possibly stranger neighbor?

She lifted her head, realized Quinn was staring at her from his spot on the floor. She had no idea what he might be hearing in that headset, but there was no doubt about what he was looking at. As with Vicente, all she could see was the reflection of what dim lights there were in his eyes, and a different sort of gleam on the dark, thick hair.

Since talking and asking the myriad of questions she had was impossible, her mind was free to race to turn over every rock looking for possibilities. This was not necessarily a good thing, she realized. She’d never thought of herself as particularly imaginative, but the things that tumbled through her mind now could be called nothing less. In the light of day, anyway.

Quinn seemed focused on her, as if he wasn’t worried about Vicente at all. And if that were true, that confirmed her neighbor was part of this, in some way. It made her shiver anew to think what the man might have been up to just a couple of hundred yards away from her home. That he might have had very good reason to stay hidden.

Cutter returned the scrutiny, keeping his eyes on the man on the floor, occasionally stretching out toward him with his nose, apparently still in love at first scent. It really was strange, the way the dog had reacted to this man. Under other, normal circumstances, she might be inclined to trust the dog’s judgment; more than once he’d been wary of someone she’d later learned was worthy of the distrust. And if he liked someone … well, at the moment the jury was out on that.

And it finally occurred to her to wonder why the man had brought the dog along. He’d only hesitated a fraction of a second before picking him up and putting him in the helicopter after her. Had he assessed that quickly that she’d do what she had to to protect the animal? Including cooperate with him?

The more she thought about that, the more it frightened her. That he had realized, that quickly, that Cutter could be the key to her cooperation told her more than she wanted to know. Clearly whoever and whatever he was, he would use any tool that presented itself.

She stared back at the man, her mind providing an image of what she couldn’t see in the darkness, filling in details she’d glimpsed in the deck light. The strong jaw, the stern mouth, the dark brows with the slightly satanic arch—

Okay, that’s enough of that, she ordered herself, and looked away. At least his image would be clear enough to tell someone what he looked like, she thought.

Someone? Like the police?

Her breath jammed up in her throat, unable to get past the sudden tightness as the obvious belatedly hit her. She’d seen them. All of them. But why hadn’t they just killed her on the spot, then? Had they been in too much of a hurry to get away? Or had they just not decided her fate yet?

More likely, she thought grimly, they had a place where they disposed of bodies, and it was easier to wait until they got there.

And all her imaginings suddenly didn’t measure up to the horror of the reality, and even the darkness couldn’t make it any worse.

They flew on and on, until her half-crazed mind would have sworn it had been days if it weren’t for the fact that they were still and ever in darkness.

And underlying it all was the grimmest imagining of all, that she might never see the light of day again.




Chapter Three


“Coming up on the airport in about ten.”

Teague Johnson’s voice came through loud and clear over the headset, with none of the crackle or hiss the old headsets had been prone to. Worth the price, Quinn Foxworth thought as he lifted the flap on his watch that kept the dial’s glow from being seen. 0315 hours. Not bad, well within the parameters they’d set despite the … complications.

“Fuel?” he asked.

Normally it wouldn’t be an issue, they planned carefully, but they were carrying an extra passenger. And a half, he added with a grimace. That dog….

“It made a difference,” Teague answered. “It’ll be close, but we’ll make it.”

“Copy.”

He went back to his study of their unplanned-for passenger, while that half-passenger continued to study him. The dog’s dark eyes never left him, and he didn’t have to be able to see in the dark to know it, although his night vision was remarkably good.

He knew little about the workings of the canine brain. And had no idea why the dog seemed so … taken with him. It would be amusing if it wasn’t so puzzling.

His owner, on the other hand, wasn’t taken with him at all, Quinn noted wryly. Too bad. She wasn’t bad-looking. At least, from what he’d seen. And felt, during his cursory pat down and when he’d put a hand on a curved, tight backside to shove her aboard. It had startled him, that sudden shock of interest; there’d been little time for women in his life for … a very long time.

And there was no time now, he told himself. They’d be on the ground soon, and vulnerable for the few minutes it would take to refuel. And it had better be only a few minutes; they’d paid enough extra to guarantee it. They could have avoided this by using a plane, with longer range, but in this semirural area it would have meant transporting Vicente by ground to an airstrip, and then from an airstrip to the location on the other end. And that would have made them even more vulnerable.

The unexpected intrusion of woman and dog hadn’t delayed them much, since he hadn’t wasted any time dithering about what to do. But it was costing them more fuel; even though she looked to weigh maybe one-twenty at most, the dog added another forty-five or fifty pounds—five of that fur, he thought—and together that was the equivalent of another passenger about Vicente’s size. On an aircraft this small it mattered, not so much in space as in fuel efficiency. But their timetable, and getting Vicente out of there, had been the most important thing.

And secrecy. The man was a valuable commodity, and they couldn’t risk leaving behind somebody who could tell anyone anything.

He felt the shift in angle of the chopper, knew they were approaching the small airfield where they would refuel. He saw the woman’s head come up a moment later, as she apparently realized it, too. Her gaze shifted to the port window, then, obviously able to see nothing but night sky, shifted forward, as if she were trying to read the controls for a clue.

Could she? Did she know something about helicopters, or aircraft gauges? She didn’t seem to be affected by the flight, no sign of air sickness or dizziness when they had made any quick changes. Unlike Vicente, who had required a serious dose of motion sickness medication to tolerate the flight. Quinn had been glad to give it to him; drowsiness was a side effect, and that was fine with him.

He’d thought about making the woman take some, too, under the guise of not wanting her to throw up in his helicopter. But there hadn’t been time, and getting it down her would have been too much hassle. Besides, he wanted a chance to assess her under controlled circumstances. And there weren’t many more controlled circumstances than strapped into a helicopter seat at ten thousand feet and a hundred and thirty-five knots.

So far, she hadn’t been trouble, but he wasn’t about to turn his back on a woman who rushed a man with a drawn weapon. And even when her face had been hidden as she clung to that damned dog, he couldn’t escape the feeling that she was thinking like mad, and that didn’t bode well for keeping things simple.

As they dropped lower she became more alert. He smothered a sigh; as if he could hear her thoughts, he knew she was trying to figure out a way to escape. He reached out and slid down the built-in shade on the porthole she’d been looking out; the more ignorant they could keep her of the surroundings, the better.

He flicked a glance at Vicente, who seemed to be sound asleep, propped in his corner. He was a tough old bird, he’d give him that. He’d barely turned a hair when they’d shown up in the middle of the night and taken over. But given his history, that wasn’t surprising.

But this young bird, this wary, watchful female of the species, he didn’t know. So he had to assume the worst.

“It’s all yours when we touch down,” he said into the headset.

“Problem?”

“The old man’s asleep. Our uninvited guest is plotting.”

“What’d she say?”

“Nothing. And how do you know I didn’t mean the dog?”

He heard the short laugh. “The dog clearly thinks you’re some kind of dog-god. The woman, not so much.”

“Figures,” Quinn muttered.

Another laugh, and as if in punctuation they dropped rather sharply.

“Got the signal light,” Teague said.

Moments later he set the craft down with the gentlest of thumps, barely perceptible, nearly as soft as he himself could have managed. He’d have to let the guy fly more often, Quinn thought.

The noise lessened as the rotors slowed. The fuel truck was already there and waiting, as planned, a good sign. He would have preferred to keep her running, but the crew here wasn’t trained for a hot refuel so they had to shut down. They didn’t want the kind of attention flouting the local rules would bring. The anonymity of the small field was worth it, they’d decided.

Teague waited until the rotors had stopped, then opened his door and stepped down to the tarmac. There was a floodlight on the side of the hangar they were closest to, and it brightened the interior of the helicopter. Quinn glanced at Vicente, making sure he was truly sleeping; he hadn’t seemed to stir at all, even when they’d landed. The old man better not be getting sick on them. But his eyes were closed and Quinn could hear, in the new silence, the soft sound of snoring. Maybe the guy just was particularly susceptible to those meds, he thought.

The quiet seemed deafening, nothing but the brief exchange between Teague and the fueler and the sounds of the process audible in this dead time between night and morning. He’d read somewhere that more people in hospitals died at 3:00 a.m. than any other time, that it just seemed to be the time people gave up.

Not sure why that had occurred to him just now, he wondered if he could just leave the headphones on and stave off whatever she had in mind. But the moment it was quiet enough to be heard, she dove in.

“I need a bathroom.”

Ah. So there it was, her first approach, he thought. Short, to the point, grounded in reality, and hard to deny. But deny he would; they couldn’t risk it. For what it told him about her, he filed it away in his mind in the section he’d labeled “uninvited guest.”

“Hold it,” he said, brusquely, taking the headphones off. He stood up, even though he had to hunch over; he needed to stretch his legs after the hours of being cramped on the floor.

“I can’t.”

He nodded toward the dog. “If he can, you can.”

She drew back slightly. When she spoke, her tone was that of teacher on the edge of her patience to an unwilling-to-learn child. “He’s a dog, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Definitely got a mouth on her, Quinn thought.

“I noticed,” he said drily. And now that he could see her better, could see that his earlier impression had fallen short of the reality, he silently added, and I noticed you certainly are not.

He felt another inner jolt, a flash of heat and interest, more intense than the first time, fired further by thoughts of that mouth. He clamped down on it harder, angry at himself; he never let anything interfere on a job. It was why jobs kept coming.

“Then you should know he can hold it longer. How do you think they wait all night inside a house?”

“I never thought about it,” he said, although now that she’d said it, it sparked his curiosity. “Why can they?”

She seemed startled by the question. But she answered reasonably. “My guess is it’s because when they were wild, they had to, to hide from predators. Now will you please find me a bathroom?”

“Hold it,” he repeated.

“I’m a human, not a wild animal,” she snapped.

“You think humans weren’t wild once?”

“Some,” she said pointedly, “still are.”

He ignored the jab. “So hold it,” he said a third time, trusting his instincts and her body language that this was just a ruse to get out of the helicopter and onto the ground, where she likely figured she could make a run for it. Not a bad plan, and just about the only one possible given her circumstances.

“Humans haven’t needed that talent since we hit the top of the food chain,” she said.

Oh, yeah, a mouth. And a quick wit. If he wasn’t otherwise occupied, he’d like to find out just what else went on in that mind of hers.

And he interrupted his own thoughts before they could slide back to that mouth.

Teague was back then, announcing they were all fueled up. As he started to climb back into the pilot’s seat, the woman turned her plea on him. The younger man looked startled, then disconcerted, and Quinn had to admire the way she switched to the younger, possibly more vulnerable target.

“Bathroom?” Teague echoed. He flicked a glance at Quinn.

“She can wait.”

“How would you know?” There was the faintest change in her voice. Her snappishness had an undertone now, just a slight flicker. But he recognized it; he’d heard it too often not to.

Fear.

Now that he thought about it, it was somewhat amazing that it hadn’t been there before. Something he should remember, he told himself. She doesn’t scare easy, or she hides it very well.

“You’ll wait.”

“Want a mess in your pretty helicopter if we’re in the air when I can’t?”

“Then I’ll push you out.” She drew back, eyes widening. He pressed the point. “Or maybe the dog.”

She gasped, as if that thought horrified her even more. And there’s my lever, he thought, as her reaction confirmed what he had suspected from the moment he’d seen her racing across that stretch of open yard after the animal. She’d risk herself, but not the dog. She’d protect him, no matter what.

He pounded the point home.

“He won’t save as much gas as you would, but maybe some.”

She stared at him, saying nothing, but he could almost hear her mind racing, trying to analyze and assess if he really meant what he’d just said.

“Get us out of here, Teague,” he said, and reached for the headphones. He put them on before they were really necessary, and pretended not to hear her call him an epithet he’d last heard from the lips of his ex-wife. Except she’d said it sadly, ruefully, whereas there was nothing but venom in this woman’s low, husky voice.

Still fighting, he thought, but not stupidly. She didn’t try anything she was doomed to lose, like getting past him, or striking at him.

He filed the knowledge away in his head as he settled into his cramped spot on the floor, shifting once to avoid pressure on the spot on his left leg where she had kicked him. She’d fought hard. He was lucky she hadn’t gotten his knee—or worse—with that blow, or he’d be gimping around for two or three days. As it was, he was going to be feeling it for at least that long.

And if looks could kill, he’d already be dead.




Chapter Four


This wasn’t the first time Hayley wished she had a better sense of direction. Without the little compass reading in her car’s rearview mirror, she’d never know which way she was going, unless she was headed into a rising or setting sun.

She wasn’t sure a good sense on the ground would translate to a good one in the air, however. And while she was sure this beast must have a compass, it was situated where she couldn’t see it from back here, so she had no idea which way they were headed. They’d changed direction more than once, and she was completely lost now.

Her sense of time passing was pretty good, though, and she guessed they’d been airborne this second time over a couple of hours. Almost as long as the first leg, which she had pegged at around three hours. So they were better than five hours away from Vicente’s front yard, and her own little house among the trees. A long time in cramped quarters; even Quinn had shifted so he could stretch out his long legs on the floor of the craft.

I hope your butt’s numb by now, she thought uncharitably. Even if it is a very nice one.

She quashed the traitorous thought; not every bad guy was a troll, after all. The world would be in much better shape if they were, of course, but life was never that simple. If they were the good guys, surely they would have pulled out a badge and shown it to her by now, to ensure her cooperation?

She tried to puzzle out at least how far they’d come, but she had no idea how fast they were flying, and without that crucial factor of the equation, what she did know was useless.

The only thing she knew for sure was that her dog was about at the end of his considerable patience. He’d begun to squirm again about a half hour after they’d taken off the second time, clearly wanting down off her lap. Since it was awkward, overheating and by this time generally uncomfortable to hold the animal, who seemed to get heavier with every passing moment, she’d looked for a space to let him down. But there was little, not with Quinn on the floor in front of her.

It occurred to her she should just dump the adoring Cutter in the man’s lap. That perhaps she should have done that while they were on the ground, then maybe she could have gotten to the door while he disentangled himself.

But that had never really been an option. The man still had a gun, and he’d already threatened to pitch the dog overboard. That had been when they’d still been on the ground, but she wouldn’t put it past the steely-eyed man to do it when they were airborne.

Cutter squirmed again. He gave it extra effort this time, and it worked; his hind end slipped off her knees and she couldn’t stop him. He gave a final twist and she had to let go or risk hurting him. And in the next moment, he was exactly where she’d thought of pitching him; in Quinn’s lap.

Her heart leaped into her throat. Her common sense told her the man wasn’t likely to shoot inside his own helicopter, but she was scared and this was her beloved pet, and logic wasn’t her strongest point just now.

“Please, he’s just a dog,” she said urgently, leaning forward as far as she could belted into her seat, hoping he would hear her over the noise of the flight.

He said something, but so quietly she knew it was meant for the pilot. She held her breath, praying it wasn’t an order to open the door so he could toss the animal to his death.

They kept flying. Quinn lifted the fifty-pound dog easily off his lap. And then, to her amazement, he bent his knees and turned slightly, wedging himself into what had to be a much less comfortable position, and put the dog down on the floor beside him.

He’d moved to make room for Cutter.

Hayley closed her eyes, nearly shaking with relief. She didn’t know what to think, now. It was such a simple thing, but yet so telling.

Maybe.

Maybe he just didn’t want to risk opening the door and tossing the dog out. Or the mess of shooting him. She fought to hang on to the cynical view, knowing it was both the more likely, and safer for her to believe, for Cutter’s sake and her own.

Gradually she became aware that she could see a little better. She cautiously looked around, wondering if Quinn would try to stop her from doing even that. From where she was, thanks to the shade he’d pulled down, she could only look forward. It seemed the sky looked lighter along the horizon there, but without the rest of the sky to compare it with, it was hard to be sure. Quinn, down on the floor with Cutter, who was apparently happy now, was still in darkness. But the fact that she could now see Vicente’s face where he’d been in stark shadow before told her her guess about time was accurate. Dawn was breaking.

She saw Quinn’s head move as he put a hand to the headphones as if listening. She guessed he spoke then to the pilot, or perhaps answered something the pilot had said.

If they’d been headed east there was geography to deal with, and that little problem of the Cascade Mountains. Could a helicopter even go high enough to get over them? Or would it have to fly along the same passes and routes used by men on the ground? She had no idea.

You really don’t know much useful, do you? she thought sourly.

But who would have ever thought she’d need to know how high or fast a scary black helicopter could fly? Just the phrase black helicopter was so laden with images and ideas from books and film that it made clear thinking almost impossible.

Vicente moved slightly, shifted position. For a moment she wished she’d been able to sleep as well as he seemed to have; her weariness just made rational thought even harder. But sleeping under the circumstances, especially with the lethal Quinn—for she had no doubt he could be just that—barely a foot away, was beyond her, even tired as she was. Fear-induced adrenaline was still coursing through her system, and she was jittery with it.

Vicente moved again, then opened his eyes. With the added light, she was able to see him go from sleepiness to awareness to full wakefulness, and he sat up sharply. And when he looked her way, a parade of expressions crossed his face, first surprise, then recognition as he remembered, and then, somewhat mollifying, regret.

It was at that moment she realized they were dropping in altitude. Another refueling stop? Well, this time asking for the bathroom wasn’t going to be a ruse, it was going to be a necessity. And if he didn’t believe her this time—

The sharp pivot of the helicopter interrupted her thought. They were definitely landing. This time she recognized the feeling. And as the direction they were facing changed, she saw indeed the first light of dawn on the horizon.

They touched down even more lightly than last time, so lightly she wasn’t sure they were actually down until Teague began to flip off switches and the sound of the rotors changed as they began to slow.

And then, as she got her first glimpse of their surroundings in the still-gray light of dawn, she wondered if they were here to refuel at all. Because this certainly was no airfield, not even a small, rural one. And there was no sign of a fuel truck.

What there was, was a big, old, ramshackle barn several yards away across an expanse of dirt dotted with low, scraggly-looking brush. A bit beyond that was what appeared to be an old, falling-down windmill. And coming toward them from the barn was a man, dressed in khaki tan pants and a matching shirt that made him hard to see against the tan of the landscape in the faint light. Hayley thought he might be limping, just slightly, but she couldn’t be sure. What she was sure of was the rifle he held. Not a classic, elegant one with a polished wood stock, but an all-black, aggressive thing that looked as if it was out of some alien-invasion movie.

Quinn pulled off the headset, and this time instead of putting it in the empty front seat, hung it on a hook overhead. Did that mean they were here? Wherever “here” was? Was this their destination?

Quinn pulled himself to his feet, dodging the now-alert-and-on-his-paws Cutter. He looked at Vicente, who was now sitting upright, fully awake.

“We’ll have you inside shortly, sir,” Quinn said.

Sir?

Respect, she noted. While she obviously didn’t even rate an acknowledgment, now that they were … wherever they were.

“I really need that bathroom now,” she said.

Quinn glanced at her. Seemed to study her for a moment. She didn’t know what he saw that was different, but he apparently believed her this time.

“It’ll only be a few minutes.” Then his glance shifted to the dog. “He can get out now, though.”

Hayley didn’t quite know how to take that; was it thoughtfulness for the dog, or did Quinn want control of him, so that he could control her?

If that’s his thinking, he’s in for a surprise, Hayley thought. About the first part, anyway; she didn’t think anybody really controlled Cutter.

Quinn got out of the chopper, and she saw him bend and stretch his legs as if they were cramped. They must be, cramming a body she guessed was at least six feet tall into that small space on the floor couldn’t have been easy. Not that she felt sorry for him.

But he had made room for Cutter, despite the cramped quarters. And the dog seemed no less enamored of him this morning than he had been from the moment he’d encountered this dark stranger.

But to his credit, he did hesitate when Quinn held the door open for him. He looked back over his shoulder, his dark eyes fastened on her in a silent appeal for permission. She selfishly wanted to tell him no, wanted him to stay with her, but she knew the sometimes-hyperactive dog was probably about to jump out of his fur after being trapped in this small space for so long. Not to mention he probably needed his much more convenient sort of a bathroom as much as she needed one.

“Go ahead,” she told him, and with a small, happy woof, he leaped from the helicopter to the ground. He looked up at Quinn expectantly. Quinn seemed puzzled, and made a broad gesture toward the open space they were in, as if to tell the dog it was all his now. It was strange how much smaller Cutter looked standing next to the tall man; to her he seemed like a big dog, next to Quinn, more average.

Cutter briefly checked out the surprised newcomer, but despite the aggressive weapon, and unlike with Quinn, after a moment he seemed to find nothing of particular interest there and quickly moved on at a brisk trot, checking out his new surroundings.

The new man was speaking to Quinn and Teague, in the manner of someone giving a report. Teague was listening carefully, but it was clear the report was directed at Quinn. To Hayley, everything sounded a bit muffled; her ears must be humming a little after the hours of noise, and she could make out only an occasional word; she heard the newcomer say “perimeter” and “secure,” but not much else.

“I am very sorry.”

Her head snapped around as her fellow passenger spoke into the fresh silence. He did have a slight accent, Hispanic, she thought, and he was looking at her with that same expression she had seen earlier, tinged with more than a little regret.

That she had gotten sucked into this? she wondered.

Or that she wasn’t going to get out of it?

At the moment, the latter seemed more likely. And by the time Quinn turned back and gestured her out, she was oddly reluctant; the stealthy black helicopter seemed suddenly safer than whatever she was going to be stepping into out there.




Chapter Five


“We’re up and running,” Liam Burnett said briskly as he joined sniper Rafer Crawford in reporting in.

Quinn nodded as he stretched gratefully; he’d expected nothing less. His crew was well trained and could think for themselves. They’d have everything ready to roll.

Then Liam spotted their extra half-passenger roaming about, and Quinn could see his detail-oriented mind kick in. And then he noticed the woman still aboard, and that mind revved up even further. Quinn followed the progression of his thoughts as they went from the logistics of an extra person and an animal, to the realization that person was a woman, to the recognition that she was a rather attractive one. Liam always had had the worst poker face of them all. Came with youth, Quinn supposed.

“So,” Rafer said, with a sideways glance of his own at the woman still in the chopper, “how’d she happen?”

“Unavoidable,” Quinn said with a grimace, and gestured with a thumb toward the dog, who was ranging out toward the barn, investigating the grounds with a thoroughness he had to admire. The animal would probably know who and what had been through here for the past six months before he was through.

“The dog’s fault?” Rafer sounded even more puzzled.

“It’s a long story,” Quinn said as he watched Teague open the far door of the helicopter and help Vicente out. The older man moved stiffly, almost gingerly. Rafer quickly went to help; he had some experience with moving through pain.

“We have any painkillers in stock?” Quinn asked Liam. “Seems the old man’s got arthritis pretty bad.”

“Standard first-aid kit issue, plus Rafer’s stash of ibuprofen.”

“May have to raid that,” Quinn said. “Hope he’s not having a bad week.”

“Seems okay,” Liam said.

Since Liam and Rafer worked together a lot, he should know, Quinn thought. As much as anyone did, anyway; Rafer did a good job of hiding any pain the old injury gave him. If it wasn’t for the slight limp, no one who hadn’t seen the impressive scar would know there was anything wrong. And he refused to let it slow him down; it had been a long, painful process, but he’d pushed so hard and learned to compensate so well he was as efficient as any of them at anything short of long-distance running.

“Sometime today?”

The words came from inside the helicopter. She was sounding a bit snappish, Quinn thought, smothering a wry quirk of his mouth.

“If you’re lucky,” he retorted, not even looking at her.

“What’s her name?” Liam asked, lowering his voice.

“No idea.”

Liam stared at him for a moment, then shook his head ruefully. “Only you could spend all this time with a woman who looks like that and not even find out her name.”

“If you’re so interested, you watch her,” Quinn said drily. “You might find her more trouble than she’s worth.”

“I don’t know,” Liam said, giving her a sideways look, “she looks like she’d be worth a lot.”

“I’ll get her inside while you secure and refuel the chopper, then she’s all yours,” Quinn said. He reached over and yanked open the door. “Keep her under control.”

From the corner of his eye he saw the woman stiffen, drawing up straight. She’d reacted to his last words much as he’d expected, and he felt a tug of relief as he handed responsibility for her over to the young and earnest Liam. If she was the girl-next-door type her loyalty to the dog suggested, they’d be perfect for each other.

“What about the dog?” Liam asked, keeping his eyes on the woman as she emerged from the helicopter.

“Our other uninvited guest? I’ll round him up,” Quinn said. “He seems to like me.”

“No accounting for taste,” the woman muttered, and he saw Liam smother a grin.

“No, there surely isn’t,” Liam said, no trace of the grin on his face sounding in his faint Texas drawl.

Quinn watched as she stepped down to the ground. It was past dawn now, and he could see what he’d missed before. She was a little taller than he’d first thought, maybe five-five. The curves were definite but not exaggerated. And the hair he’d thought was simply brown in fact was a combination of brown and gold and red that made the chill morning air seem warmer.

I think you’ve been cooped up too long, he told himself, smothering another grimace.

“She says she needs a bathroom,” he said, quickly reducing things back to the basics. He thought he saw her cheeks flush slightly as he announced her needs to all present, but as he’d guessed, it truly was a necessity this time, because she didn’t protest.

But then she turned and got her first look at where they were. And her thoughts were clear on her face; he had the feeling that, maybe for the first time in her life she really, truly knew what the phrase “the middle of nowhere” meant.

They were on a slight rise, but as far as the eye could see around them was nothing but empty, nearly flat land, unrelieved by anything but dried-up grasses, scrubby plants and an occasional tree. It wasn’t desert, at least not the kind the word summoned up in his mind—sand and wind and dunes—but it was very, very far from the green paradise they had left last night.

He could almost see her hopes of escape plummet; not that he would have let her get away anyway, but she wouldn’t be the woman he was beginning to think she was if she hadn’t at least been thinking about it. But he saw the realization of the odds that she would make it to any kind of help or even civilization dawn in her eyes as she looked out over the remote emptiness.

“Be careful what you wish for,” she said softly, in an almost despairing whisper.

It didn’t take a genius to guess what she meant; all those hours when she’d probably been wishing the interminable helicopter flight would end, and now that it had she wanted nothing more than to get back on the thing and get out of here. Because that seemed the only way to leave this utterly isolated place.

Good, Quinn thought. As long as she realized that, hopefully she wouldn’t try anything stupid.

And then she turned around, and saw the cabin.

She really did have an expressive face, Quinn thought. Playing poker with her would be like taking money from a baby, even more than Liam. Not that he really blamed her. The cabin looked as if it was about to fall in on itself. All but a strategically placed couple of windows were boarded over, and the roof sagged and looked as if it would leak like a sieve, if it ever rained in this place. There were loose pieces of siding here and there, and things at odd angles and heavily weathered. The only solid-looking piece of it was the river-rock chimney, standing as a testament to the skill of the long-ago stonemason. The place looked as if it had been abandoned for years.

It looked exactly as it was supposed to look.

“Quinn?”

He turned to look at Liam. “The dog. Are we going to need a run into—”

The words broke off as Quinn gave a warning flick of a glance at the woman. Admittedly the nearest little town, tiny though it was, was not one she’d likely heard of, but he didn’t want to give her any ideas.

“Don’t worry about feeding the damned dog.”

The woman went still. “He has to eat,” she said.

Quinn didn’t even look at her.

“I’ll get everybody inside, and out of sight,” he told Liam. “You get with Teague and secure the bird.”

Liam nodded.

“He has to eat,” she said again.

He turned then. “Shouldn’t you be worried about how and whether we’re going to feed you?”

She never hesitated. “He comes first.”

He blinked. “He’s a dog.”

“I’m responsible for him. He trusts me to take care of him. It’s part of the deal.”

He thought she might be getting a bit esoteric about it, but he couldn’t deny he admired her sense of responsibility. And thankfully, Charlie believed in overkill when it came to stocking up for an indefinite stay.

“He can eat what we eat, for now.”

She seemed to relax a little at that, letting out a breath of relief. And she still didn’t ask if that we included her. He watched the dog for a moment as he sniffed around the barn. And then, as if aware of Quinn’s gaze, the dog turned, head up, looking toward them. And unbidden, started toward them at a tail-up trot. He really was a distinctive-looking dog, with alert, upright ears and a dark head and thick ruff that gradually shaded back into a lighter, reddish-brown coat over his body. He looked intense, like the herding dogs he’d seen in Scotland on the many pilgrimages he’d made.

“His name’s Cutter?” he asked, almost absently as he watched the animal cross the yard between the ramshackle barn and the even more ramshackle cabin.

“Yes,” she said. “And mine is Hayley, not that you bothered to ask.”

No, he hadn’t asked. Hadn’t wanted to know. Had been much happier when she’d just been “the woman,” an unexpected annoyance that had to be dealt with.

“Don’t tell me,” he said. “Tell Liam. He thinks you’re a welcome addition to the scenery.”

Like you don’t? a traitorous little voice in his head spoke up.

But she didn’t seem bothered by the implied aspersion. Instead she looked around at the barren landscape before saying with a grimace, “Middle of nowhere, careful what you wish for, and now damning with faint praise. My life’s suddenly full of clichés.”

Quinn nearly gaped at her for a moment as her first words echoed his exact thoughts of earlier. Any other normal woman he could think of would be in hysterics by now. Or at least too frightened to think straight, let alone come back at him with wit. He was beginning to think she was going to be more than just a fuel-eating inconvenience.

He’d better tell Liam to keep a really close eye on her.




Chapter Six


Hayley stopped dead in the cabin doorway, startled. No, beyond startled, she was stunned. After the outside, she’d been expecting thick dust, holes in the walls, broken furniture if any and traces of wildlife.

Instead, she was confronted by a spotless and amazingly whole and modern interior. Most of the main floor was one big room, the upper level an open loft that looked down into the main room. There was new-looking furniture that was surprisingly nice. A sofa in a soft green and tan, and four armchairs in a matching green, seemed to echo the colors outside. Yet where they were drab out there, inside they seemed soothing. There were loose pillows on the sofa for lounging, and a knitted green throw for cozying up in front of a fire in the big stone fireplace. Decidedly—and unexpectedly—homey. Except for the large, utilitarian metal locker that sat between the door and one of the few unblocked windows.

There were even coordinating area rugs on the floor, which was wood burnished to a high sheen, although it was slightly uneven and looked distressed enough to be the original. It fit, she thought. With the big, square coffee table, it was a comfortable and inviting setting. Which shocked her to no end.

“I thought you wanted a bathroom.”

Quinn’s voice came from right behind her, sounding clearly impatient.

“Judging from the outside, I didn’t expect one inside,” she snapped.

To her surprise, his mouth quirked at one corner, as if he were about to smile. If so, he efficiently and almost instantly killed the urge.

She stepped inside, looking around even more intently. There was a big table with eight chairs, in the same style as the coffee table, over near a half wall that formed what appeared to be the kitchen. There was a compact stove, a small refrigerator, and even a microwave sat on the counter, so clearly they had power. Which, come to think of it, was puzzling as well, since she hadn’t seen any power lines. Not surprising; if they told her they were literally a thousand miles from nowhere, she’d believe it. A generator? She hadn’t seen that, either, or heard it. They weren’t uncommon where she lived, she had one herself, and she’d never heard a truly quiet one.

Maybe they’re environmental fanatics and there are solar panels hidden somewhere, or maybe that windmill wasn’t really broken and had been converted to power production instead of pumping water, she thought, not finding the idea particularly comforting. Zealots of any kind made her nervous.

She nearly laughed at herself. Nervous? How about terrified? Spirited off in the middle of the night by one of those black helicopters that had become a cultural myth….

Something else registered as she studied the kitchen area. Instead of cupboards there were open shelves, and they were clearly well stocked with easily stored food, some canned, some freeze-dried, some packaged. So well stocked, her stomach sank; just how long did they plan on keeping them here?

“In there,” Quinn said, pointing toward one end of the room where a narrow hall led off to the right.

The need was rapidly approaching urgent, so she followed his gesture. For a moment she wondered if he was going to follow, to watch, and she frowned inwardly. But, in one of those constant trade-offs of life, dignity lost out to bodily imperative.

To her relief, he let her shut the door. Probably, she thought as she flipped on the light and glanced around, because there was no window in the small bathroom. The sink, with a narrow cabinet, was in the far corner, with the toilet—thankfully—opposite. There was no tub, and the stall shower was tight quarters; she couldn’t imagine a man the size of Quinn using it easily.

Oh, good, she thought caustically, let’s start thinking about the man in the shower, naked and wet.

Although she had to admit, it would be a good way to keep her mind off the fact that he’d kidnapped her and dragged her off to a place that looked, on the outside at least, as if it could belong to some crazed, manifesto-writing bomber or something. Probably about the only thing that could keep her mind off it; for all he’d done, she couldn’t deny Quinn—was that his first or last name?—was a fine-looking man.

“The laws of the universe really should include one requiring bad guys to look like trolls,” she muttered as she finished making use of the facility.

Then she turned on the water, quickly washed her hands and dried them on the hand towel politely waiting on a wall hanger. With the outgo problem resolved, she took a quick drink, her dry mouth and throat welcoming the soothing wetness. Then she left the water running while she investigated the cabinet and the small medicine chest.

She found nothing but more towels, and unopened packages of soap, toothpaste, toothbrushes and safety razors. She pocketed one of those, even as she told herself they were called safety razors because you couldn’t do any major damage with them. It just made her feel better, and she left it at that.

And then, for the first time, she looked in the mirror over the sink. Bleary, tired eyes stared back at her. And as if they’d been a signal her brain had until now been too revved up to hear, a wave of weariness swept her.

She shouldn’t be so tired, she told herself. She’d often pulled all-nighters with her mother in those last, grim days. She’d learned then to nap in small increments when she could, getting just enough sleep to keep going. And that had gone on for months, so one sleepless night, even a stressful one, shouldn’t make her feel like this.

Maybe being kidnapped is a different kind of stress, she thought, then nearly laughed aloud at herself, trying to be reasonable and logical when her entire world had gone insane.

“The water supply isn’t endless.”

The sharp words came from outside, and with a start she quickly shut the water off. When she opened the door, Quinn was leaning against the doorjamb, left thumb hooked in the front pocket of his jeans, his right hand loose at his side. Keeping the gun hand free? she wondered, scenes from a dozen movies coming to mind. Did he really think she was going to attack him or something?

It was all she could do not to reach into her jacket pocket and finger the razor she’d snagged.

“Find anything?”

The question was pointed, in the tone of a man who knew perfectly well there was nothing to find, and was just letting her know he knew she’d looked.

“I’m sure you already know the answer to that. What do you think I’m going to do, sharpen a toothbrush?”

“No, although it’s been done. You might want to use one, though.”

She instinctively drew back; was he saying her breath needed it?

He’s just trying to keep you off balance, she told herself. And succeeding, she amended sourly.

“How kind of you to offer,” she said sweetly. “Should I waste the water?”

His mouth quirked again, but he only shrugged. “Just don’t be profligate. You’re already an extra person. Unless you want the dog to go thirsty.”

“He’s going to need water,” she protested instantly. “In case you hadn’t noticed, he’s got a pretty heavy coat.”

“Not my problem.”

“Yes, it is. He didn’t ask to be dragged off to the middle of this desert, wherever it is.”

“Then you can give him your share.”

She would, of course, if it came to that. “I didn’t ask for this, either,” she reminded him.

For the first time she saw a trace of weariness around his eyes. Blue eyes, she saw now, in the growing morning light. Very blue.

“I know,” he said, that barest hint of weariness echoing in his voice. “But there was no choice.”

Was he softening, just slightly? She was torn between wanting to demand answers and a gut-level instinct that she might be better off not knowing the answers.

“I am very sorry, miss.”

The quiet words came from her left, and snapped her head around. It was her neighbor, looking at her with troubled dark eyes.

“It is my fault,” he began, formally, still apologetically. “I—”

“Enough, Vicente,” Quinn cut him off sharply. “Don’t talk to her.”

Hayley smothered a gasp, as if he’d slapped her. So much for any softening, she thought angrily. Vicente sighed, and retreated to the living room. Then Quinn turned on her.

“You, get upstairs. And stay there. Don’t leave except for the bathroom.”

She had to fight the urge to scamper up the narrow stairs like a skittish cat. It took every bit of nerve she had to meet his gaze.

“He was just trying to apologize.”

“And he did. Go.”

“Cutter—”

“We’ll round him up later, if he hasn’t taken off.”

Her mouth quirked this time, at the very idea of the loyal animal deserting her. Even if he was fascinated by their captor.

“Never had a dog, have you?” she asked.

His brow furrowed, as if thinking her words a complete non sequitur. Then, slowly, a distant sort of look crept over his face.

“Not in a very long time,” he said, not even looking at her. And Hayley couldn’t help wondering what inward image he was seeing.

It lasted only a couple of seconds. Then the cool, commanding Quinn was back. And even she could tell he was out of patience, such as it was.

“You going, or do I have to drag you?”

“Going,” she muttered.

Liam was coming in as they came out of the hallway.

“All set,” he said. “You guys came in on fumes.”

“Extra weight,” Quinn said.

Hayley kept her expression even this time; he’d gotten to her with the toothbrush comment, and she wasn’t going to let it happen again.

“Not much,” Liam said, eying her with male appreciation that was a marked contrast to Quinn’s sharp impatience.

“She goes up in the loft. And don’t forget the dog,” Quinn said with a grimace.

“Who could be very handy,” Liam said, shifting his gaze to Quinn. “Warned Rafer off a rattlesnake out there.”

Rattlesnake. Wonderful, Hayley thought. Her home was blessedly free of the venomous types, so this was a new one. She had no problem with a nice garter snake, or the helpful kings, but—

“Don’t like snakes?” Quinn asked.

Did the man never miss anything? “I’m talking to you, aren’t I?” she snapped.

Liam let out a whoop of laughter. Quinn gave him a sour look.

“She’s definitely all yours,” he muttered, and walked away.




Chapter Seven


Quinn wasn’t one to believe in omens or premonitions, but as he stood in the doorway of the cabin, he was starting to have a bad feeling about this. Usually one or two, or even more, little things would go wrong on a job. Didn’t mean a thing. And this job had gone like clockwork—until they were leaving the target’s location.

Then, from the moment that damned dog had blasted out of the woods at him, things had gone to hell.

The dog. Where was he, anyway?

On the thought, the animal trotted around the far end of the barn where, if there were more delays and this turned into a long stay, the helicopter would be stored. With the ease of long discipline he managed not to think of the ramifications of a long stay with a recalcitrant, smart-mouthed woman, one he just knew wasn’t going to settle into any easy waiting routine.

The dog’s head and tail came up, and he started toward Quinn at a gallop. Quinn shook his head in puzzlement. Why would a dog he didn’t even know act like this? He’d never even seen such a dog, with that distinctive coloring. He was a very square, lean animal who moved with a swift grace that Quinn could appreciate.

Teague had apparently been following the dog, and as he came around the barn he gave Quinn the hand signal that meant hold. Quinn had put the order out for silent ops, until they knew they hadn’t been seen or followed. And thankfully, he thought as he watched the dog slow to a trot, then came to a halt in front of him, the dog didn’t seem to be a barker.

Quinn waited, guessing from the signal Teague had something to report. Almost absently, he reached down and scratched the dog’s ears. The blissful sigh the animal let out made one corner of his mouth twitch, and it was all he could do to keep from smiling. He didn’t get it, this sudden and inexplicable reaction from a strange dog, but he had to admit it was … enjoyable. Flattering. Something.

Teague slowed to a trot, then a halt, much as the dog had. The man’s right arm moved, then stopped, an oddly jerky motion. Teague was the newest member of the squad, and Quinn guessed the movement, if completed, would have been a salute. It would be a while before he got over the automatic response.

“Go,” he said with a nod.

“Yes, sir. Perimeter’s clear. But he—” he gestured at the dog “—found some big animal tracks in the gully on the north side.”

“Animal tracks?”

“Just a couple. I might have missed them, they were up under the lip, only reason they weren’t erased by the wind, I guess.”

So, as Liam had said, the dog could end up being useful. Quinn’s brow furrowed as he remembered some of the K-9 teams he’d worked with in the past, and he filed away the idea of adding one to the crew.

“Any idea what?” he asked.

“They were blurred, but paws. Big ones. Don’t have wolves out here, do they, sir?”

“More likely a mountain lion.”

The man blinked. Although well trained and fearless, Quinn knew Teague was a born-and-bred city boy. He knew what he needed to know for survival in the wild, but it wasn’t second nature to him as it was with many on the various crews.

He’d come to them through their website, where his long, thoughtful, articulate posts had first drawn the attention of Tyler Hewitt, the webmaster, who sent them to Charlie, who in turn had started sending them to Quinn. Unlike many, Teague had survived the incredibly long and difficult vetting process without faltering, and the first time Quinn had met the young former marine in person, he’d known he’d be a good fit.

That had been just before the flood, the deluge of dissatisfaction that had swept the Corps and the other branches. They could, if they wanted, pick and choose now, from a multitude of skilled, experienced warriors who had had enough, had finally realized just what was happening. Quinn didn’t want any of them.

He and Charlie had picked a date, somewhat arbitrarily, but a date that became the marker; aware before that and they still had a shot. Not, and … not. He wanted men like Teague, who had been smart enough, aware enough, and had the brainpower to see the patterns and read the proverbial handwriting on the wall. And see it early, not just when it became so obvious that the lowliest grunt couldn’t miss it.

And no one above a certain rank, he’d added. Once you got that high, there was no way you couldn’t see what was happening unless you purposely ignored it. It cut them off from a lot of experience, but to Quinn the other was more important.

“Tracks seemed old,” Teague was saying. “And he—” again he gestured at the dog “—was very interested but not … frantic.”

He ended the sentence hesitantly, as if he wasn’t sure the word conveyed what he meant, but Quinn got the image immediately. He nodded in approval.

“Then you’re likely right. They’re old. But tell the others, we’ll keep an eye out just in case.”

“And I’m guessing the dog will let us know if it comes back,” Teague said.

Quinn looked down at the patient animal at his feet. “Probably,” he agreed, “but we can’t rely on it. He’s not trained and we don’t know him well enough.”

“You know, it was funny, out there. It almost seemed like …”

Teague trailed off, looking a bit awkward.

“Like what?” Quinn asked, reminding the man with his quiet tone that in this world, his opinion was welcomed, and sometimes even acted upon.

“Like he was trained. I mean, I’ve only worked with K-9s a couple of times, but it was like that, the way he seemed to know why we were out there, the way he tracked, searched almost in a grid.”

Quinn’s gaze shifted back to the dog, who sat patiently still, looking up at him with a steady gaze. As if waiting for further orders. Was it possible? Did the animal have some training? He looked too young to be a retired police or military dog, and moved too well to have been retired due to injury. Was he a washout of a program, for some other reason? Or was he just darn smart?

The thoughts about the dog brought him back to thinking about the dog’s owner. And that brought on the need to move, to do something, anything.

“Good work,” he said briskly. “We’re in two-man teams. Four hours on. You and Rafer take first watch. Work out who does what between you, but I want that perimeter checked every quarter hour. Liam and I will relieve you at—” he glanced at his watch, the big chronograph that told him more than he needed on this mission “—eleven hundred hours.”

“Yes, sir!” Again Teague barely stopped the salute. Quinn gave him a wry smile.

“It takes a while,” he told him.

“It’s not just that.” Teague hesitated, then plunged ahead. “It’s being able to salute a boss who deserves it.”

And that, Quinn thought sourly, was what happened when you assigned a young, honest, decent, smart kid to work for brass who thought only of their next political move and made every decision based on how it might move their personal agenda forward. If Teague had been in a combat unit, he would have lasted a lot longer.

And he wouldn’t be here, which would be their loss, Quinn thought.

“Thank you.” He acknowledged the tribute with more than a little sadness. “Now get to it.”

The young former marine turned on his heel smartly and headed out to connect with Rafer, who had just emerged from the barn where he’d been checking on the big power generator. He saw Quinn, gave him the “Okay” signal; Rafer was the mechanical guy on the team, and if he said the generator was okay, they were set for as long as the fuel lasted. The big underground tank held enough to keep them going for a month, if they were a little careful. If this turned out to go longer than that, then refueling would become an issue.

If this turns out to go longer than that, insanity is going to become an issue, Quinn thought. They really were out in the middle of a lot of nowhere.

Middle of nowhere, careful what you wish for, and now damning with faint praise. My life’s suddenly full of clichés.

The woman’s words—he refused to think of her by name, it would be better if she remained just the woman, the glitch, the impediment, the nuisance—rang in his head. Oh, yes, she definitely had a mouth on her. And the wit and spirit to use it.

And both were things he’d be better off not thinking about.




Chapter Eight


Hayley drew back from the banister that topped the three-foot-high wall running along the edge of the loft. Her anger had ebbed slightly now, allowing her to think. Her father had once told her that anger fogged the brain, and she’d never had a clearer demonstration than just now.

It was absurd, after all, to have anger be the thing her brain seized on when Quinn had told her neighbor not to speak to her, as if she were some sort of pariah. Absurd indeed. But anger, her father had added, was still better than despair. At least it was more useful, if channeled properly.

She sat in the single chair in the long but narrow space, realizing she needed clear thinking now more than she ever had in her life. While her mother was ill, she’d gotten used to having to fight through the cloud of exhaustion for every decision, for the steps of every action, had been aware she had to be extra careful simply because of it, careful not to make a mistake she would normally never make if she weren’t so tired.

She was tired after the harrowing night without sleep, but that was nothing compared with months on end of sleeping less than four hours at a time. She could do one sleepless night standing on her head, she told herself. So it was time to start thinking hard about the situation and a way out of it, now that she was alone and could concentrate.

Liam had left her there with polite but firm instructions to stay put, that someone would always be downstairs watching. And for all his joking and smiling, Hayley sensed the man meant what he said; there was a steel core beneath the young, affable exterior.

She doubted Quinn would have any other kind of man working for him.

And Quinn was obviously and indisputably the boss. She’d heard enough when he’d been in the doorway, giving orders with precision and decisiveness. Clearly all of the men followed his lead without question or hesitation. He was definitely the leader, and one who commanded respect.

Among other things, she thought. This would all be simpler if he wasn’t so damned … impressive. A shiver rippled through her, a reaction she’d not had to any man in a very long time. That she was having it now was nothing short of infuriating.




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