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NASH DROVE, HIS MIND awhirl. Watch his back. What did that mean? Was Danika after him? Stranger things had happened. Despite the way his teammates scoffed when he brought up the possibility of spies and sleeper agents, they did exist, and were the sort of people who blended in. He checked the watch list regularly, although he never mentioned that to his team.
He’d examined her ruck. No weapons. He hadn’t checked to make sure her pen wasn’t a hypodermic syringe in disguise, but she’d had plenty of opportunities to jab him. Or was she waiting for further instructions? How would she get them?
Was someone after Danika? Was she bringing trouble to his doorstep?
Did it have anything to do with either, and was there an entirely different player in the mix?
Was it related to Blackthorne? Working for Blackthorne meant he’d run into his share of bad guys. One might have taken exception to being caught or put out of business. If so, which op, which bad guy, and how had they found him?
This was supposed to be a quiet getaway. He was on medical leave from Blackthorne. On his own. All he had was his Glock and one box of ammo. He’d debated coming to the cabin unarmed, but he’d been carrying a weapon since he’d joined the military, and a gun was as much a part of getting dressed as putting on his pants. He’d never thought he’d have to use it here.
Enough. Even in his recuperative state, he could handle himself against the slight woman.
Nash peered at the darkening skies. He should have checked the weather forecast while he had a cell signal. November in the Colorado mountains meant snow.
Stuck in a mountain cabin with Danika? The prospect didn’t appeal the way it would have an hour ago.
Danika had stopped asking questions and was in staring-into-space mode again. Was she planning her next move? Meditating? Or zoning out?
“We’ll drop off the perishables and look at your car next,” he said.
Without so much as a blink, she said, “Fine.”
Nash stopped at the head of the drive. No vehicles, but someone smart wouldn’t have pulled up to the front door. The dry, gravel-covered ground wouldn’t show tire tracks or footprints. He continued toward the house, checking for evidence someone had been here. They could have come, done what they needed to do, and left while he and Danika were shopping. Had T-Bone’s warning come sooner, Nash would have left tells so he’d know if someone had breached the cabin.
He turned the car around and backed it close to the porch. Making a split-second decision, he touched Danika’s knee. With the tone he’d use on someone he’d subdued on an op, he said, “Wait here. Do not leave the car.”
Her eyes widened. She blanched. She didn’t question his order, or offer a snarky response. Instead, she nodded and huddled down in her seat.
Not the action of a terrorist. Or someone with a Get Nash agenda. Not even the best actor went sheet-white on cue. The fact he’d drawn his weapon might have something to do with it. He turned off the engine and pocketed the car key.
He crept toward the cabin. No dusty footprints on the porch steps, but someone breaking in was likely to use a less obvious point of entry.
He worked his way around the structure. No visible disturbances. Windows were all closed.
Three words in a text. Watch. Your. Back.
He might be overreacting, but he’d rather be alive.
Inside was next. He approached the back door.
If someone had rigged an explosive device, anything might trigger it. Nash longed for Blackthorne’s surveillance toys and the people who knew how to use them.
You’re on your own.
A light tap of a car horn sent his heart to his throat. Sticking close to the wall, he sidled around the cabin until he saw the front drive.
He crept closer, scanning for intruders, weapon ready. Nothing. Which didn’t mean there was nobody around, only that he hadn’t spotted them.
Keeping low, he approached the vehicle. Where was Danika?
Had she been the one to honk, or had he heard a distant horn from the main road?
He gazed skyward, as if he’d see the Blackthorne helo circling above.
You’re on your own.
He duck-walked to the passenger door. Rose from his crouch enough to peer in the window. No sign of Danika. He cursed under his breath.
He rounded the car to the driver’s side, yanked the door open, and got in.
“Nash?” came a timid voice from the rear.
“Danika?”
The cover over the rear compartment slid away, and Danika’s head peeked over. Climbing onto the backseat, she said, “I thought I saw someone coming from the woods, so I hid.”
“You hit the horn?” Nash swiveled to face her.
“To get your attention. If there were bad guys in the house, they’d have left if they thought someone was out here.”
A deer bounded from the woods across the drive in front of the car. Nash pointed in that direction. “There’s your intruder.”
“Okay, so I admit I freaked out. You yelled at me to stay put—”
“Spoke firmly,” he said.
She pulled a face. “You had a gun drawn, ready to shoot someone. I think I had the right to be freaked.”
Danika’s reaction added evidence to her not being the one Nash should be afraid of. While not eliminating the possibility entirely, he’d moved it well down his list of things to be wary of.
“I haven’t checked the inside of the cabin yet. From the outside, nobody’s been here, but someone could have got in without leaving evidence I found.”
“Can’t you call the cops? Tell them you think there was an intruder, and have them come check? Or isn’t being cautious a manly thing to do?”
“I’d rather avoid explaining what you’re doing here, and I have no proof, other than a key, that I have the right to be here, either.”
“Seems they’d believe you if you were calling them. Who breaks into a place and then calls the cop to report it?”
“You’d be surprised. I’m going to risk going inside.”
She opened her door. “I’m coming with you.”
He stared at her, standing beside the car, hands fisted at her hips.
“Don’t make me regret it,” he said, as much to himself as to her. “Stay close, but behind me.”
Together, they moved to the house. If someone had booby-trapped the cabin, it should be at the front door, the logical point of entry for occupants coming home.
Nash hiked himself up the steps. Gun drawn, he took a calming breath.
If the place was rigged, where would someone hide the detonator?
Nash leaned down, raised a corner of the welcome mat.
*****
DANIKA STOOD AT THE base of the steps, watching as Nash lifted the doormat. “I thought you had a key.”
He didn’t answer, but he didn’t tell her to shut up, either. If he was one of the good guys—and she was leaning more and more in that direction—she shouldn’t bother him.
When he’d lifted the entire mat and set it down again, she put the pieces together. “You were checking for a bomb, weren’t you?”
“More like a detonator.” Nash ran his fingers across the door and along the door frame a few inches at a time, much like a blind person investigating his surroundings. Although she couldn’t feel Nash’s touch, she knew it was gentle. For a fleeting moment, she pictured him touching her that way.
The thought of him taking risks filled her with both dread and admiration. She wondered if she’d been stupid to want to come along.
If someone had booby-trapped the house, it was because they’d found her. If he was putting his life on the line, she shouldn’t be cowering in the car. “How do you know what you’re looking for?”
“I don’t. I checked the cabin when I arrived. If there’s anything different, I hope to spot it. Meanwhile, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk.”
“Sorry.” She mimed zipping her lips, although Nash’s attention was on the door. His fingers stroked the doorknob. Was he going to open it? He must think it was safe, or he wouldn’t, right?
Delicately, he inserted the key into the lock. She forced herself to breathe. He twisted the key, then scooted off to the side, one hand on the knob, the other on his gun. She wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans. If she’d had to twist the knob, her hand would’ve slipped off.
Apparently, Nash didn’t have that problem. He opened the door a few inches, then kicked it. The wood slammed against the wall of the cabin, and Nash burst inside.
Feeling abandoned and vulnerable, Danika trotted up the steps and ducked into the cabin. The living area looked the same as when they’d left.
“It’s clear,” he whispered. “Wait here while I clear the bedroom and bath.”
She did as he ordered.
It seemed to take forever before Nash returned. His gun was in its holster, which filled her with relief.
“Nobody’s here?” she asked, embarrassed when her voice shook.
“I’m going to check for surveillance equipment, but given there’s no connectivity here, I doubt anyone planted bugs. It’s possible someone’s hiding in the woods using a directional mic, but I doubt it.”
“Isn’t this where people go into the bathroom and run the shower so nobody can hear them?” she whispered. “Or do we write notes?”
“I think we’re fine. I wouldn’t go revealing any top-secret, classified information, though.”
Was he laughing at her? His expression was deadpan, but his eyes twinkled.
She narrowed her eyes. “You know, there are a lot more bad people out there than you might think. Some of them seem as innocent as your baby sister.”
Danika switched topics. “Shall we bring in the stuff we bought so we can get my car? Maybe it overheated, or flooded, or fixed itself.”
As if he’d believe her. Then again, he hadn’t believed anything else she’d told him, so he might let her lie go.
As they unloaded the food and supplies, Nash moved more and more slowly. He stored the lumber next to the porch, and then brought everything else inside while Danika put away the groceries.
“You don’t have to tell me what happened, but are you okay? Do you need any painkillers?” she asked.
“Yes, and no,” he said. “Be better if T-Bone had a storage shed.”
“T-Bone?”
“Travis. T-Bone’s his nickname.”
That explained why his contact picture on Nash’s phone was a steak.
Nash wiped his hands on the seat of his jeans. “Let’s get to your car before it snows. Plan on staying the night again.”
“Kind of a given, or else why did we buy so much food? Speaking of food, would you like lunch before we go?” She hoped he’d say yes, if for nothing more than to give him a chance to rest whatever injury was plaguing him. He seemed to have slowed even more, and his face behind the beard had grown several shades paler. “I’m getting hungry,” she added.
He limped to the window and drew the curtain aside. “Sky’s clear. Your car can wait. Lunch sounds good.”
She shooed him away. “Go sit down. Having anyone else around when I’m working makes me nervous.”
Another lie, but this one wasn’t the same kind of deception.
Danika set to making tuna salad. She toasted slices of bread—at least this poorly equipped kitchen had a toaster—and spread the tuna mixture atop each slice, covered them with a piece of cheese and stuck them in the broiler.
Two minutes later, her tuna melts were done. She plated the sandwiches and carried them to the dining table.
Nash appeared, the pain lines in his face softened, his limp not as pronounced. Danika gave herself a mental back pat for a job well done.
She avoided asking Nash what he really did. The way he’d inspected the house, checked for booby-traps—she refused to think of bombs—and seemed to know exactly what he was doing had her thinking he must be military. Was that how he’d been injured?
After lunch, more color had returned to Nash’s face.
“Guess we should be going. It would help to know what the problem was. Any warning lights come on?” he asked.
“Umm...I don’t remember.”
“Funny noises?”
“It was kind of wheezing. Clunking. With a little screech. It scared me, so I stopped. I’m not a car person.”
Nash gathered tools, as well as a jug of water. “If it was overheating, this might be all it needs.”
Deciding to stick with her dumb female, what do I know about cars approach, she tried to put a little deferential awe into her expression as she climbed into his Outback.
“Strange place to break down,” he said as they approached her car.
“Is there ever a good place to break down?” she said. “I thought this was a shortcut to the main road.”
His raised brows telegraphed his skepticism. “I think I see the problem. Don’t think I can fix it with water or jumper cables.”
“I think you’re right,” she said, staring at two slashed tires.