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NASH CROUCHED BESIDE the steps to the porch, waiting for Grinch to check for a rear exit. From the looks of this place, it had been a makeshift job, a bare-bones hunting cabin. Mismatched siding, different sized windows. He doubted there had been any permits pulled, or any building inspections. Which probably explained why the sheriff’s department had given them GPS coordinates, not a physical address.
A metal stack suggested a wood stove, but it wasn’t giving off heat. Thin curtains covered the windows. A flickering glow hinted at someone inside.
Three red flashes from the other side of the porch. Grinch was back, and three flashes meant there was no other way out for anyone inside.
Grinch crept around the porch to Nash’s side. “On your word,” Nash said.
Grinch jerked, then held up a finger. He worked his phone out of his pocket and stepped away.
Nash continued to watch the door, listening for any sounds from inside.
Grinch handed Nash his phone, which displayed another driver’s license image. “Tacoma is registered to a Peter Stanley in Lake George. Works at a convenience store gas station. Processes game on the side. Another clean slate.”
“Or someone else good at keeping under the radar.”
“Which makes them all the more dangerous,” Grinch said.
Nash suspected Grinch had fed his information to Blackthorne as well as Dispatch, and it was Blackthorne who’d come up with that much detail so quickly. It might not be Cheese in the air with Lobo feeding them information, but it was enough to boost Nash’s confidence. He made a mental note of the man’s description. Dark hair, square face, flat nose. Six-one, but lean.
“We’re not waiting, are we?” Nash was ready to break the door down himself if Grinch wanted them to hold back.
Sounds of shouting, English interspersed with a language Nash didn’t recognize, came from inside. He didn’t need to understand the words to know the speakers were angry. Something about money. A million dollars? Accusations. A crash, then another, as if someone was throwing furniture.
Grinch chinned toward the door. “Let’s do it.”
Close quarters. Nash slung the rifle over his shoulder and drew his Glock. He took the stairs in two strides, stood off to the side, and tried the door.
Unlocked. Too easy. He twisted the knob enough to ease the door open half an inch. With a nod to Grinch, on a silent count of three, he pushed it open, then burst inside, Glock drawn, knowing Grinch was one step behind him.
Three men stood in the center of the room, still shouting, arms gesticulating. An upended table and four chairs lay on the floor behind them. The men all wore ski masks. Parkas, hats, and gloves were strewn about the room. Engrossed in their arguing, none of the men seemed to notice that Nash and Grinch had entered.
Nash did a quick scan of the single-room cabin. No sign of Danika. Fear and anger boiled inside. He stepped up to one man, grabbed his arm mid-gesticulation, and pressed his Glock to the man’s neck. “On the floor. On your belly. Hands behind your heads. All of you.”
Grinch had moved into their line of sight, his Glock tucked away, his shotgun raised. “You heard the man.”
Once the three men were cuffed and searched for weapons, Nash yanked off their ski masks. Two of them matched the images they’d been sent. Grinch kicked the third man onto his back and snapped a picture. “We’ll see if Intel can match this guy’s mug to any of their databases.”
Nash took Grinch’s shotgun and pointed it at Barinov. “Where is she?”
A muffled cry from above sent Nash racing for a steep staircase on the other side of the room.
He lowered the shotgun and started climbing, despite the angry protests from his hamstring. Using his arms more than his legs, he ascended to a loft. His penlight revealed Danika lying on one of three twin beds, her arms, ankles, and wrists bound with duct tape. Another strip covered her mouth. Her clothes, other than her underwear, lay in a heap at the foot of the bed.
Fear filled her eyes. Her body shivered. He yanked off his balaclava. “Danika. It’s me.” He grabbed his multi-tool from his belt and cut her bindings. Carefully, he worked at the edge of the tape over her mouth.
She shoved his hand away and gave the tape a good yank. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, and he wiped it away with a thumb.
“I’ve got her,” he shouted downstairs. He cradled Danika to him, rocked her against his chest.
“It’s about damn time.” She wriggled from his grasp and stretched out an arm. “Give me my clothes.”
Not exactly a hero’s welcome, but he did as she asked, noting a cut at her neck, scrapes on her wrists. When she turned, as if she didn’t want him to see her getting dressed, he couldn’t miss the bruises beginning to form on her arms, legs, and back.
“Oh, God, Danika. What did they do to you? Are you all right?”
She shoved her arms through the sleeves of her sweatshirt and turned. “What’s all right supposed to mean? Let’s get out of here, okay?”
She bumped past him and leaned over the loft railing. “What in hell is going on?”
Nash moved alongside Danika. Grinch stood guard over their three prisoners.
“We thought it would be wise to get those guys secured. The cops are on their way. So are the paramedics,” Nash said.
“Not what I meant. I think ... I know ... one of those guys.” She rubbed her hands together, then sidled behind him for the stairs.
Nash grasped her arm. “Wait up here.”
“Why? It’s not like ... they can do anything. Tied up. Want a ... closer look.”
“Which guy?” Nash asked, concerned about Danika’s halting speech patterns. He’d felt the lump on her head. She could have a concussion.
Danika folded her arms, hugged them to her chest. “Nearest the couch. Not in camo.”
Nash hollered for Grinch to shine his light on Barinov, the man Danika had pointed out. Grinch complied, and Danika gasped.
“That’s him.” She squirmed away from Nash’s grip. “I’m going down.”
“Wait.” Those stairs were closer to a ladder than a normal staircase, and he didn’t want her to fall.
As if she’d read his thoughts, she wobbled, grasping the loft railing to steady herself.
“Let me see your eyes,” he said, pulling her to face him and clicking on his flashlight.
She jerked away at the brightness. “Ow.”
Her pupils both contracted at the light, which was a good sign, but he’d insist the paramedics check her out. Where were they?
Nash hurried to the bedside and handed Danika her shoes. “Put these on.”
She wobbled, trying to get her feet into them. He guided her to the bed.
“Easier to do sitting down,” he said.
She fumbled with the laces. “Hands. Cold.”
Over her objections, Nash tied her shoes, listening for any signs the paramedics were approaching. He moved to the rail, leaving Danika on the bed and hollered down to Grinch, asking for an updated ETA on the responders.
“Accident,” Grinch said. “Snowplow carrying sand for the roads tipped over, creating a domino series of crashes. At least four cars, including a highway patrol vehicle. One side of the highway’s shut down. We’re on our own for now. Since we have these goons secured, and Danika’s not critical, we’ve been shoved down the priority list.”
Danika reappeared. In the dim light, Nash couldn’t make out her color, but he’d bet she was pale. He didn’t need more light to see she was shivering.
“Let me go first,” he said. If she lost her footing, better to fall into him than all the way to the floor. Nash made his way down, pausing every couple of steps, as much for his leg as to keep Danika from moving too quickly.
On the main floor, Danika shoved past him to Barinov. “Who hired you? Why are we here?” She punctuated her questions with solid kicks to the man’s ribs. Nash didn’t try to stop her. Neither did Grinch.
“Instead of waiting, what if we throw these three into the back of the truck, dump them at the sheriff’s?” Nash said. He didn’t look at Danika when he added, “And from there, we can go to the hospital.”
“No hospital,” Danika said.
“Not likely we’ll get through,” Grinch said. “Accident, remember? There’s a woodpile at the side of the house. Might as well keep warm until things are cleared.” He headed out.
Nash righted the table and chairs, lit a propane lamp he found on a shelf. He raised the wick on the kerosene lamp by the couch, but the room was still dim. He brought the propane lamp over.
“Come here, Danika. Please? There was an accident on the road. The paramedics are delayed.”
She grumbled, but took a seat on the couch, wrapping herself in her arms again. “Don’t need paramedics. No hospital.”
“Humor me, okay? How’s your head?”
“Had worse headaches.”
Which didn’t mean a lot. The pain could come and go. Been there, had that.
“Your stomach? Nausea?”
Her fingers bounced against her chin. “Fine. You ordering dinner? These creeps wouldn’t feed me.” She jumped up and kicked Barinov again.
Nash half-dragged her to the couch. “Better if you sit still. What about your vision?” He held up three fingers. “How many fingers. Are they blurry?”
“Two. No. Three.” She squinted. “Maybe a little fuzzy. How should I know? It’s half dark in here.”
Irritability was another symptom of a concussion, but so far, Danika was behaving within the parameters he’d come to know as her normal self.
Memory loss was another symptom. “What do you remember about today?”
Danika rubbed her temples. “I got new tires. That creep—” she pointed at Barinov— “was there. Then I went shopping. Walmart? No, the other store. For you. You were sick.” She tilted her head. “How are you now?”
“Much better,” he said. “Keep going.”
“My head hurts.” She drew her knees onto the couch and wrapped her arms around them, lowering her head. Trying to disappear or keep warm?
When her body shook, Nash shouldered out of his borrowed parka and draped it over Danika. Her hands were icicles. She gave no indication she was aware he’d done it. Without his parka, Nash realized how cold the cabin was. Was she hypothermic, not concussed? Or both? Where was Grinch with the firewood?
*****
DANIKA PEEKED AT THE men on the floor. All three lay motionless. Her gaze moved from one to the other, resting on Taurus Man. What had Nash said his name was? Baryshnikov? No, that wasn’t right. She strained to remember, but her thoughts were coming and going like the sun popping in and out from behind moving clouds. Eyes closed, she rocked on the couch in rhythm to a nonsense song playing in her head. Light and shadows, shadows and light. Bright and shady, shady and bright.
“Danika? Can you hear me?”
She knew that voice. Friendly. She opened her eyes. Nash. He was supposed to be home taking care of himself. “You’re sick,” she said.
“I’m better now, Danika. I think you should lie down.”
Footfalls on the porch. A tap on the door. A man’s voice. “Rambler. It’s Grinch. I’m sure there’s a code of the day, but I have no clue what it is.”
The door opened. Stomping feet.
Nash adjusted her on the couch as if she were a doll. Betsy. Danika smiled. She had a doll named Betsy once.
Nash covered her with a blanket—no, a coat. He whispered something she didn’t understand and kissed her forehead. He moved away, and she closed her eyes again.
Floating pieces of gold. Cactus in the rain. A man rambling down the highway. Nash?
A buffet laid out on a table covered with quilts. A dancer, leaping over the table, spinning, twirling. Dreams. She knew the pictures in her head were dreams, not real.
“Danika. Wake up.”
Hands on her shoulder. She jerked away.
“Danika. Come on. Wake up. Drink this.”
Someone propped her up.
She needed to wake up. Get out of these dreams. But they were such nice dreams.
“Danika.” This voice was sharper. She blinked to clear her vision. He held a lantern. Bright light. She knew that voice. Grinch.
“I’m okay. Fell asleep for a minute.”
Nash held a cup to her lips. “Drink this.”
She sipped. Broth. Chicken? Warm, not hot. Salty. Nash shouldn’t have salty food.
Why had she remembered that?
She wrinkled her nose and pushed the cup away.
Nash moved it back. “Yeah, I know it’s not very good. It’s instant. Don’t know how old it is, but you need to get warmer.”
“I’m warmer.” She sat, wrapping herself in the parka, curling her feet under her. A fire crackled in the wood stove. The three men weren’t on the floor anymore. She spotted them sitting against the walls, well apart from each other.
“I remember more,” she said. “Taurus Man put me in the trunk of his car. I left DNA. Lots of it.”
“Taurus Man?” Grinch said. “You mean Barinov?”
Barinov. Not Baryshnikov. No way that man was a dancer.
Lights flashed outside. Red and blue. A siren gave a quick whoop.
“It’s about damn time,” Nash muttered.
“Is the cavalry here?” Facts lined up in an orderly fashion now. Nash and Grinch were okay, she’d be fine once Nash let her off the couch. Taurus Man and the two brutes were tied up. Their gazes darted from one to the other. Nervous gazes.
“We don’t need to be rescued, though,” she added. “Can we go home? I mean, back to the house on the ... tree ... cotton ... street?” Dang it, her memory was made of lace.
“Soon enough,” Nash said.
Grinch went outside. Nash stayed on the couch with her, but his gaze alternated between her face and the door.
Two deputies came into the room, followed by Grinch, who swept an arm toward the goons. “All yours, gentleman, bagged and ready to go.”
“We’ll need more information,” a deputy said.
“We’ve given everything to Deputy Cochran,” Nash said.
“Deputy Cochran. I remember him. Don’t you share?” Danika escaped from the couch and stood over Taurus Man—Barinov—hands fisted at her hips. “This guy kidnapped me. He whacked me on the head, tied me up, and shoved me in the trunk of his car.” She glared at him, then faced the deputies. “I left DNA all over his car. Your forensics people shouldn’t have any trouble finding it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” one of the deputies said. “What about the other two?”
“They showed up later. I was stuck in the car. I mean, I chose to stay there because even though I got out of the ties because I remembered the Boy Scouts, it was cold and dark, and I didn’t know where I was.” Danika realized she was babbling. She took a breath, collected her thoughts. Credible witnesses didn’t babble. She pointed at Brute One. “He was nasty. The other guy—” she gestured across the room to Brute Two— “he was a little nicer, but then they stripped me and tied me up. It was cold. They didn’t feed me.”
Were the deputies smiling at her? The room spun, and her knees turned to rubber bands. Hands grabbed her under her arms, and the room went dark.