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NASH HOISTED HIMSELF up the stairs, his suitcase clattering behind him. It wasn’t heavy, but he was still on restrictions for lifting, and he thought a sheet of paper was his limit at the moment.
Listen to your body. Don’t do too much too soon.
When he reached the entryway landing, Danika stood on tiptoe at the sink, holding a corner of the curtain, peering through the window.
She turned, eyes round. “Where were you? Someone’s coming. Do you have your gun?”
“Thought you didn’t like guns.”
“I don’t. But I like staying alive more than I don’t like guns.”
Nash abandoned his case and moved to the window. He couldn’t make out the plate, but Grinch had said he’d be driving a dark blue F-250—a dusty one—and the vehicle matched. “That must be Grinch. He’s our contact.”
“Contact? We have a contact? What are you? A spy?”
Nash tried for a laugh, but a smile was the best he could do. “A spy? No, of course not.”
His official designation on Blackthorne’s covert side was field agent.
He turned and faced her. “It’s complicated, but Travis’s company is international. He put me in touch with his people, who said they’d help us.”
Her eyes said she wasn’t completely on board with his fabrication—he didn’t blame her—but a tall man matching the image of Grinch that Blackthorne had sent ambled toward the porch. He carried a cardboard carton, a spotted dog romping at his heels.
“Are you sure he’s the right guy? Does he have a firebomb in that box? He wouldn’t walk up and leave a bomb on the porch, would he? Your car is in the garage, so maybe he thinks we’re not here, and he’s going to do the same thing the guy at the cabin did. Or is he the same guy from the cabin? Are you sure you didn’t miss a tracker? Do you think that’s an attack dog?”
Nash had to swallow a laugh. She was in panic mode, and teasing her wouldn’t help. “Slow down, Danika.” He showed her the picture on his phone. “He’s the right guy.”
She seemed to relax a fraction, but she didn’t rush to the door to welcome their visitor. Nash did.
Grinch waited on the porch until Nash motioned him inside. Commanding the dog to wait outside, Grinch stepped to the kitchen and set the box on the island, then smiled at Danika. He opened the box. “From Elizabeth, my significant other, who insists food makes everything better.” He pulled out a large plastic container. “Chicken soup.” Next came a loaf of French bread. He followed that with a foil-covered pan. “Lasagna. It’s frozen. She said you can cook it without thawing but it’ll take longer. And last, but according to Elizabeth, the most important.” He lifted a round plastic container from the carton. “Chocolate cake.”
“She made all this?” Danika stared at Nash. “I thought this was a last-minute arrangement.”
“It was,” he said.
Grinch laughed. “All homemade, all by Elizabeth, but not today. She manages a café in Deer Ridge, and these are a sampling of her wares.”
Nash put the soup and lasagna in the fridge. “Sounds like a place we’ll have to frequent. Tell her thanks.”
“Yes, thanks,” Danika added.
“I will.” The man extended a hand to her. “Mark Grinciewicz. Folks call me Grinch.”
“Danika,” she said, returning the handshake. “Is this your place?”
Grinch lifted his brows in Nash’s direction.
Nash jumped in. “No, the house belongs to the company I told you about. Grinch keeps an eye on things.”
“And delivers welcome baskets,” Grinch said. “You need anything, just holler.”
“I have a question about the water heater,” Nash said.
“Yeah, it can be finicky.” Grinch turned to Danika. “Nice meeting you, Danika. This shouldn’t take long.”
Nash followed Grinch downstairs, through the basement, into the garage. He closed the door behind them. Grinch opened the door to the utility closet, crouched, and turned a dial on the water heater. “Water temp’s turned down since nobody was here.” He stood. “I’ll bet you’d have figured that out.”
“I haven’t even tested the water. I want a sitrep.” Nash glanced toward the door. “Be quick about it. Danika’s jumpy—for good reason—and she might interrupt us.”
“Understood. It’s Rambler, right? I’ve been out of the game awhile. Lots of new blood.”
Nash ducked his chin. “I go by Nash unless I’m on an op.”
Grinch moved his gaze up and down Nash’s body. “Manny vouched for you. Understand you got banged up.”
“That’s beside the point. What do you have on Danika Payton that would explain her tires being slashed and T-Bone’s cabin being firebombed?”
“Her story about being a reporter for the Albuquerque Gazette checks out. She was fired three weeks ago, purportedly in a downsizing move. Blackthorne Intel couldn’t find anything in any of her articles going back eighteen months that intersected with any circles that might explain the attacks.”
“She said she got threatening letters,” Nash added.
“No complaints against her in the paper’s archives.”
“So they were personal attacks.” Nash explained who Danika’s mother was, stressing the secrecy. “Did Intel uncover that about her past? She claims she’s not a high value ransom target.”
“Didn’t know that, which means Intel didn’t find it, which means it’s not a high probability reason for the attacks, but I’ll run it by them,” Grinch said. “Everything points to her being an out-of-work reporter.”
Grinch closed the door to the closet and moved to a panel next to the garage door opener. “Security system. There’s a second panel behind the quilt hanging above the phone table by the front door. The system rings direct to the cops. Thirty-second delay. And to me. No delay.
“Motion sensors will light the place up like the D.C. mall on the Fourth of July if anyone crosses the property line. Anyone gets thirty feet inside the line, sirens will blare. Up to you if you want to arm the noise feature. We don’t like to freak out the neighbors for wandering wildlife, and there are a lot of deer in the vicinity.” He grinned. “Must be why they named this place Deer Ridge.”
Nash didn’t return the smile. “Understood. Cameras?”
“Four. One on each corner of the house. Angled to cover the perimeter. You can access the feeds from your phone. I’ll text you instructions.”
Grinch tapped his phone. Seconds later, Nash’s phone buzzed an incoming text. While Nash followed the link to download the app—a private Blackthorne one, Nash surmised, Grinch went on.
“Intel also checked T-Bone’s files. There’s no reason to think someone blew up his cabin trying to get back at him.”
Which confirmed Nash’s hypothesis that Danika was indeed the target.
“Any update on the fire?” Nash asked. “First responders were quick.”
“They will be for fires up here, especially after a long, dry summer. I haven’t had a chance to check with my contacts, but I’ll let you know what I find out.”
“Thanks. Seems strange to be floundering in the dark, without a team keeping me up to speed.”
“How much does Danika know about what you do?” Grinch asked.
“Nothing. Told her I was former military. I’ve been tap dancing around my current status.”
They moved upstairs. “I’ve got to get going. Have to pick up the boys from football practice,” Grinch said.
Danika rose from the couch and joined Nash at the door to thank Grinch once again. She’d changed into jeans and a dark green V-neck sweater over a lighter green turtleneck.
“My pleasure.” Grinch went outside, gave a shrill whistle, and the spotted dog bounded to his side, leaping into the truck’s cab as soon as Grinch opened the door.
“You get all your secret guy stuff squared away?” Danika asked as the truck made its way out of the drive.
“Water heater was set low.” Nash shoved the quilt above the phone table aside. “There’s a security system. If you’d like, I can arm it now. It’ll ring to the cops if anyone crosses the property line, so it might not be wise to use it when we’re going in and out. Don’t want to get a reputation for crying wolf.”
Danika watched him as he armed, then disarmed the system. “Got it. You avoided my question about what you were doing downstairs.”
*****
DANIKA STOMPED TO THE pantry and wrestled with the shrink-wrapped case of water bottles. “A person could die of thirst before getting the plastic off.”
Nash appeared with a multi-tool and made several cuts. He lifted two bottles and handed one to her. “Bet you’re wishing I could turn this into wine.”
She took the proffered bottle, cursing her hands for trembling. “You mean you can’t? Seems like you can do everything else. What about beer?”
“Outside my wheelhouse, too, I’m afraid.”
Nash’s grin warmed her. How could he make her so mad and so ... needy ... at the same time? What would he say if she asked for—or offered—a hug? The pain lines etched around his eyes said he might need a little comfort, although he seemed to be handling the people are after us thing without freaking. Was it because he knew people were after her, not him?
But he was staying. Insisting on helping her.
Danika set the water on the coffee table, then found the switch to turn on the gas fireplace. Not the same as the crackle of wood, but it made sense for a rental property.
She returned to the couch and flopped down, weariness overtaking her. Across from her, Nash sank into a wing chair, using the arms for support. A brief hiss escaped his lips.
“I saw a first aid kit in the pantry. I’ll bet it’s got painkillers,” she said.
“Have my own, thanks.”
“Having them is good, but are you taking them?”
He chuckled.
Her heart warmed a few degrees. Not a laugh, but she’d settle for baby steps.
“Yes,” he said. “What’s your next question?”
Did that mean he would answer her? She collected her thoughts, formed her questions. “You said you’d been out of the army for years. How many?” It was phrased half a step up from a yes or no answer, but if she dragged any information out of this man, she’d call it a successful interview.
“Six.”
“Unless you’ve got an independent income, you must have been working for those years. Why do you refuse to tell me what you do?” She leaned forward. “Or are you a spy, but you can’t tell me?”
A corner of Nash’s mouth twitched up. “I believe the customary response is, ‘If I did, I’d have to kill you,’ but I said it before. I’m not a spy.”
“But you do secret work. So does Grinch, right?”
“I’ve never met Grinch before today. I told you, my friend set us up.” He rubbed his jaw, a glimmer of surprise in his expression, as if he’d forgotten he no longer had the beard.
“You’re lying, either outright or by omission. Before you shaved, you’d tug your beard when you were uncomfortable, and you tried it again just now.”
His eyebrows lifted, as if he’d been unaware of his tell. He hid behind a drink of water. She kept her gaze pinned on him. As a reporter, she’d learned that if you waited, people usually talked.
“My friend Travis,” Nash said, “works for a high-end security company. I do occasional work for them. It pays well enough, so I don’t have to do the nine-to-five thing.”
High-end security explained his skill set, but the way he answered said it was a canned response—although why he couldn’t have told her earlier eluded her. Baby steps, she reminded herself.
“Grinch?” she said. “Does he work for this company, too?”
“Retired.” Nash shoved his hair out of his face.
A new tell now that he was clean-shaven?
Danika recalled the trip to the basement, the sidelong glances between the two men. Nash would have checked the water heater on his own. They’d been gone a lot longer than it would have taken to adjust a temperature setting, even factoring in explaining a security system.
“He still has connections?” she said.
Nash shifted in his seat. “The ties are always there.”
“Kind of like there’s no such thing as an ex-marine,” she said.
“Yeah, like that.”
“And you were doing work for this company before you came to the cabin.”
His face closed. She’d have to tread carefully if she wanted more information from him, but damn, it felt good to be doing an interview, even if it wasn’t for an article.
Not to mention, Nash was so much more interesting than the anti-vaxxer fanatics, or the speed bumps on Main Street advocates, or the best xeriscaped yards in the city competition.
She considered her words before speaking. “Is the high-end security work you were doing like installing security systems or more like being a bodyguard?”
Had he been hurt on the job? Would he be allowed to tell her what the job was? Even if he was allowed, would he? She guessed no, and rather than risk closing him down completely, she crossed those questions off her mental list.
“Bodyguard is closer.” His voice was more grunt than speech.
She kept her tone light. “High-end, eh? I’ll bet you’ve met some cool people. Movie stars? Sports stars? The filthy rich? Witness protection?”
Nash snorted. “Not hardly.”
He didn’t offer more.
“My turn,” he said.
“I didn’t realize we were taking turns, but go ahead.” Taking turns meant she’d get another chance to whittle away at his rough exterior.
She had a feeling he knew a lot more about her than what a simple Google search would reveal. High-end security screamed access to the kind of databases private investigators would use. Or law enforcement.
She gave a mental shrug. She’d already told him about her mother, the one genuine secret in her life.
“Why didn’t you get another reporting job?” he asked. “There’s more than one paper in Albuquerque. Lots more, if you consider the entire state. Or didn’t you like the work enough?”
Anger burned red-hot behind her eyes. Humiliation sent heat coursing up from her neck until she knew her cheeks flushed bright pink. She fought to keep her voice even. “Don’t think I didn’t try. Big cities, small towns. New Mexico, Colorado, Arizona, Utah. Back east, too. Nobody was hiring. Not hiring me, anyway. My phone calls weren’t returned, my emails weren’t answered, and nobody was in if I showed up in person. I was—am—blacklisted. A pariah.”
Nash finished his water, set the bottle on the coffee table. “Doesn’t fit with being let go in a downsizing effort.”
“Duh.” She crushed her empty bottle. “Thank you for that brilliant observation. I wonder why I didn’t think of it.”
“Thinking out loud. No need to get testy.”
“Testy? You think I’m being testy? I have a degree in journalism. I learned lots of words. What about cantankerous? Belligerent? Indignant? Rancorous? Or—how about this one—furious?”
“Any of those would seem to reflect your mood, yes.”
She paused. His eyes twinkled. “Are you trying to tease me out of my current state of mind?”
“Is it working?” he asked.
She wiped her eyes. “Damn it, yes.”
“Then what if tomorrow, after we’ve both had a good night’s rest, we go through your articles and see if we can find one that could be the root of your troubles.”
Anger reformed, a tight ball in the pit of her stomach. “You think I haven’t done that?”
“No, I’m saying fresh eyes, a new point of view, might uncover something you missed.” He stood.
“I have another question,” she said. “What happened on your last job?”
Nash picked up both empty bottles and strode toward the kitchen. Midway, he paused. Turned.
“I got shot.”