“Turn in here.” Higgs leaned forward, the action pulling against his seat belt. “Go around behind the building.”
The long, ramshackle log structure along the old highway might once have been a restaurant or tavern. “What’s this place?” Spencer asked as he braked and turned into a weedy gravel lot.
“Somebody told me it was a visitor’s center back in the fifties or sixties. Then a restaurant and gift shop.” The older man shrugged. “Not sure what else. Not a lot of traffic up this way anymore.”
The reason this meeting had been set for here.
Given how little traffic he’d seen in miles, he was surprised the highway was maintained this well. About all he’d seen in ten miles or more was beautiful forest, a waterfall plunging off a cliff only feet from the road and moss and ferns everywhere. Pale, lacy lichen draped like tinsel over branches. When they first set off, mist had clung in dips of the road, blurring the outlines of the evergreens. Half an hour ago they’d risen above it.
Spencer tensed as he drove around the building and saw a pickup already here, parked facing out. It was a dually built for especially heavy loads; black plastic tarps crisscrossed with cord hid whatever was being hauled in the full bed.
“Park so we can load easily,” the colonel suggested.
As he backed in, two men climbed out of the pickup, slamming their doors. Even before he saw faces, he noted both men were armed. Of course Spencer was, too, and he felt sure Higgs was, as well.
Turning off the engine and setting the emergency brake, he was slower getting out than Higgs was. He and the older of the two men were already shaking hands when Spencer walked forward.
He knew that face. It set off alarms in him, even if a name to go with it didn’t come to him immediately. He just needed to figure out the context where he’d seen the guy before—or his photograph.
Photograph, he decided. In his line of work, he studied thousands. Soon, he’d have a name to go with that face.
The high and tight haircut on the younger man looked military. His scrutiny suggested he, too, was trying to fit Spencer’s face into a context. The older guy’s was more buzz-cut, graying like Higgs’s hair. Same generation, sure as hell their paths had crossed during their military careers. Both, maybe, getting more and more dissatisfied with the direction their country was going as gay marriage became approved, a black man was elected president of the United States and now women wearing hijabs had been elected to congress.
They’d believe passionately that the violent mission they’d chosen was patriotic. Spencer didn’t see any hint of deference between them. They saw themselves as equals, he decided. The younger guy was just muscle. Hey, maybe that was all Higgs considered Spencer to be, too.
Spencer exchanged nods with both. The closest to an introduction came when Higgs said, “My second-in-command.” Two pairs of eyes raked him appraisingly. He lifted his eyebrows but didn’t otherwise react.
“Let’s get this done,” Higgs’s buddy said.
Spencer unlocked and opened the rear doors on the Suburban. Evaluating the load, he thought it would fit. Then he joined the younger guy in pulling the cord off so the tarps could be removed.
This was just like Christmas Day, he thought sardonically. What would be inside the wrapping?
THAT MORNING LEAH and the other women hadn’t even started clearing the table before Colonel Higgs swung his legs over the bench and said, “I’ll be running an errand.”
Everyone around the table looked startled, except for Spencer, of course. He nodded. “Shall I drive?”
Higgs took a set of keys from his pocket and tossed them to Spencer. “We’ll take my Suburban. It has more hauling capacity.”
Spencer gave a clipped nod, took a last swallow of coffee and rose to leave with Higgs. His gaze passed over Leah without pausing on her, but she made a determined effort to hold on to this last sight of his face as if she’d taken a snapshot.
None of the men moved until they heard the engine start outside. Tim Fuller looked at her.
“Where are they going?”
“I don’t know,” she said softly. “He doesn’t tell me anything.”
Every man in the room was staring at her. The effect was unnerving, making it easier to act scared. She stood up and began gathering dirty dishes.
“We’re running low on some of the ammunition,” one of the men she didn’t really know commented.
“He’s been promising a new rifle the army is supposed to be testing. I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on that.” Brian Townsend.
They threw out wilder and wilder ideas. But when somebody said “bomb,” a deafening silence ensued. Apparently, there were some things they weren’t supposed to talk about in front of the women.
Leah had been pushing through the swinging kitchen door and hoped they all thought she’d already gone back into the kitchen. Carrying a teetering load of dirty plates, Helen was right on her heels. Leah set down her pile, then took some of Helen’s.
Jennifer clapped her hands. “Let’s hurry! Along with lunch, we should do some baking.”
By all means. Bake goodies while the men planned to build bombs.
Not waiting to be assigned a task, Leah filled the sink with hot, soapy water and began washing while the others brought in the remaining dirty dishes and Lisa carried a coffeepot out to top off mugs.
Leah let most of the talk about the menu go over her head, but when the women turned to discussing what to bake, she decided to volunteer. Staying in the kitchen, in company with other women, would be smart today.
“I make a really good apple-raisin cake.” She suggested they think about picking huckleberries, too, currently ripe. “They’re as good or better than blueberries, and they’d stretch our supplies.”
Picking huckleberries would give her a reason to be well away from the lodge, too. She might be able to give herself a significant—no serious—head start. Wasn’t that how Spencer had put it? She couldn’t help remembering the rest of what he’d said, too.
If you ever see an opportunity—a good one—take it. Let me worry about myself. The ache in her chest told her it wouldn’t be that easy.
“I’ll ask Tim,” Jennifer said briskly.
Leah only nodded. She wasn’t sure she’d ever been truly timid a day in her life, and she could only hope all this deference didn’t get to be a habit.
Finished with the dishes, she joined the other women in the baking, putting together a double recipe of her apple-raisin cake while they worked on blueberry pies.
After lunch Jennifer reported that Tim said they could maybe pick berries tomorrow, but not today.
Damn.
She assigned Leah to mop the floor in the main room. She was to do beneath the table by hand, Jennifer said firmly.
The scarred fir planks really needed a new finish. After this many years, the original varnish had been almost entirely worn away. Soap and water weren’t really good for the wood, she couldn’t help thinking, in one of those absurd moments. Because, gee, did it really matter if the floor rotted and collapsed? As things stood—no.
At least the task shouldn’t leave her isolated. Helen had to clean the downstairs bathroom today, Lisa to sweep the front and back porches and clean the mudroom. Jennifer intended to reorganize the pantry and continue baking.
The benches pulled out, Leah was underneath the table on her hands and knees when she saw Del go into the kitchen and let the door swing shut behind him. On a sudden chill, she stopped scrubbing. From here, she couldn’t hear voices in the kitchen. He’d probably gone out the back to check on Lisa, she realized. He might stay there for a few minutes talking to her. Helen, here in the lodge, wasn’t that far away, but more sweet than a lioness at heart.
Leah made herself get back to work. Any minute Del would return as part of his appointed rounds. Anyway, the men were all too scared of Spencer to mess with him. She’d seen Joe back down. Still, she listened hard for any sound at all.
Like the sound of the lodge door opening. She froze. Del might have circled around. That would make sense—
Booted footsteps approached. From her low vantage point, Leah peered out. This wasn’t Del, who wore the ubiquitous desert camo today with desert tan boots. This man had on black boots with heavy cleats and forest-green camouflage cargo pants.
Joe Osenbrock.
Staying as utterly still as a mouse that had seen a hawk’s shadow nearing, she even held her breath. Did he see her beneath the table?
Who was she kidding? How could he miss her bucket filled with soapy water and probably her lower legs? In fact, he walked right to her.
“Alone at last,” he gloated.
Go with ignorance. “Who’s there?” She dropped the sponge in the bucket and turned to sit on her butt facing the threat. “Joe? Do you want a cup of coffee?”
“You know what I want.”
Maybe she ought to hold to her timid—now terrified—persona, but she couldn’t make herself. Still unable to see his face, she said, “Have you forgotten what Spencer said?”
“He’s not going to mess with our team. What we’re planning is more important than any piece of ass,” he scoffed. “He told Higgs that himself.” He crouched to look straight at her. “Don’t kid yourself that he gives a damn about you.”
“I don’t.” Scared as she was, Leah knew her chin jutted out at a defiant angle. “But I know he does care about his reputation. You’d be a fool to challenge him.”
Seeing the fury on his face, she knew she’d just made a big mistake. She’d issued a challenge. To save face, now he almost had to rape her and face down Spencer. What she’d forgotten was that Spencer wasn’t the only one to value his tough-as-nails reputation.
Lightning quick, Joe grabbed her ankles and wrenched her toward him. Leah screamed and grabbed for purchase, not finding anything. Her butt slid on the wood floor. No, there was the bucket. Even as he was still dragging her forward, she snatched it up and flung the water, followed by the bucket, too, in his face.
Joe bellowed and momentarily let her go. Maybe the soap stung his eyes. Leah seized the chance to scramble backward, desperate to come out the other side of the table within reach of the kitchen.
Water dripping from his hair and face, he ducked to grab her again. His head clunked against the edge of the table. By now he was yelling a string of invectives.
At that moment the swinging door slapped open and she heard the thud of running footsteps. Whimpering, Leah crawled out from the shelter of the heavy table right beside Del.
He didn’t even look at her. His hand rested on the butt of his pistol, though. Beyond him, Jennifer hovered in the doorway, watching.
Joe snarled as he rose to his feet. “Get out of here.”
Leah hardly dared take her eyes off Joe, but she turned her head anyway to see Del. What if he shrugged and walked back into the kitchen?
But his hard gaze stayed on Joe and he said, “No. She’s Spencer’s girl. You got no right.”
“He had no right to snatch her away right out from under our noses.”
Del’s expression didn’t change. “You could have done something then. You didn’t.”
Joe’s eyes narrowed to mean slits. “You calling me a coward?” And—oh, God—his hand slid toward the butt of his gun.
“That’s not what I said.”
Preparing to drop to the floor at any sudden movement, Leah hoped Jennifer was smart enough to fade back into the kitchen. Couldn’t they feel the tension?
As the two men held a staring contest, she prayed for Spencer to appear. He hadn’t expected to be gone long, and it had already been at least four hours.
Joe said in a low growl, “Butt out of this, Schmidt. She’s not your business.”
“My job today is to watch out for the women. All I’m saying is, you need to take this up with Spencer, not sneak behind his back.”
“You and who else will stop me?”
That should have sounded childish, but didn’t. The threat of violence had a weight; it raised prickles on the back of her neck. These men wouldn’t take a few swings at each other. They’d pull semiautomatic weapons and start shooting. Killing.
Over her.
Would either of them notice if she eased back until she could dart for the kitchen? And would that do any good if Del lost this confrontation?
A man’s voice came from the kitchen. Then heavy footsteps. Two men walked in. Jennifer was no longer visible.
Shawn Wycoff, tall, lean and blond, was accompanied by another of the men who’d so far remained anonymous to Leah. He didn’t say much around the table, and like too many of the others, was distinguished by a shaved head, a powerful build and full-sleeve tattoos.
When the men took up positions to each side of Del, Leah did edge backward.
The guy she didn’t know was the one to say, “What’s this about?”
“None of your goddamn business!” Joe snapped. “Get lost.”
“He wants Leah,” Del said, not taking his eyes off Joe. “I told him to take it up with Spencer, face-to-face, not stab him in the back.”
“What’s he done to you anyway?” Shawn asked.
“He’s suddenly giving us orders? Where was he six months ago? Where’d he come from? Does anybody even know?” Joe asked.
No-name said with surprising calm, “I’m betting Colonel Higgs does, or he wouldn’t be here. And the only orders he’s given are during training. The guy can shoot like no one else I’ve ever seen, and I had two deployments. I hear while he served he was spec ops. You don’t think you can learn from him?”
Joe made a disgusted noise. “He’s so sold on himself, I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t make up that shit.”
“You think the army would keep a guy who can make his shot from a thousand yards plus as a regular grunt?”
Joe let them know, obscenely, that none of that mattered. Spencer had overstepped himself when he claimed exclusive rights over the only decent-looking woman any of them had seen in six weeks or more.
“Del doesn’t have to do without.” He was trying for persuasive, which scared Leah enough to have her inching back again.
Should have gone sooner. Should have run for it.
“What say the three of us have a good time? I mean, come on. What’s Spencer going to do? Take us all on?” He grinned. “I’ve seen you looking, Wycoff. You can’t tell me you haven’t.” He tipped his chin at the other man. “You, too, Zeigler.”
Zeigler shook his head. “Not me.”
“Looking ain’t the same thing as taking,” Shawn Wycoff told him. His lip curled. “I can get women without raping them.”
By goading such an unstable man and appearing to enjoy doing so, Shawn might as well have lit the fuse on a stick of dynamite.
Joe’s face turned ugly again with a snarl. “You saying I can’t?”
“I’m not saying nothing, ’cept Del’s right. Take it up with Wyatt. We’re teammates. We gotta trust each other. That’s the right thing to do.”
Hear, hear! Except the idea of Joe Osenbrock “taking it up” with Spencer scared her. He hated Spencer and would kill him in a second, if he could.
Before, he hadn’t had the guts to face off with him. After this standoff, with not one but three of the other men looking at him with doubt, he’d think he had no choice.
And, oh, dear God, did she hear a vehicle outside?
FOLLOWING ORDERS, SPENCER drove around behind the lodge to the sturdy outbuilding that served as their armory. It was a natural. Constructed of logs, too, it appeared to have been added some years after the lodge and cabins had been built, which meant it was solid. Even the shake roof was in good shape. Mostly empty when they first opened it up, it had held only a few chainsaws, a heavy-duty weed whacker, assorted hand tools and an old Jeep with a custom-mounted snowplow. A quiet guy named Jason Shedd had given the Jeep a lube job and oil change, replaced a few belts and gotten the thing running. It was too small to be of much use, but Spencer figured you never knew. He’d been thinking a lot about that Jeep in recent days. The key hung on a string from a nail just inside the rusting steel garage-style door.
The trick was that a heavy hasp and padlock on the door ensured it could only be opened by Higgs, a fact that pissed off some of the men. The ones who’d begun to question his leadership.
Spencer really wanted to get his hands on that key.
Now he backed the Suburban up to the outbuilding door, set the emergency brake and turned off the ignition.
“I’ll look inside and see if anyone’s there to help us unload,” he said, careful to betray none of the edginess he felt.
“Do that.” Higgs reached for the door handle.
Spencer crossed the twenty-five yards to the back door into the lodge with long strides. His nerves had been buzzing since they left this morning. Pretending he was unconcerned had taken everything he had. There wouldn’t be any relief for him until he saw Leah unhurt, safe.
The unlocked door opened into a mudroom and then the kitchen. Lisa and Jennifer hovered just outside the entry into the pantry, their anxiety palpable.
His heart lurched. Ignoring them, he walked quietly to the swinging door that stood open.
Before he reached it, voices came to him.
“I’ll wait.” Joe Osenbrock. His voice turned vicious. “But, sweetheart, I’ll win. I know better than him how to treat a woman.”
“Gee, that might be why you’re so desperate,” Leah said flippantly.
Spencer hoped no one else heard the slight tremor in her voice.
One part of his tension abated. She was still on her feet swinging, which meant she had to be all right.
The ugly epithet from Joe sent Spencer into another state of being, one all too familiar. He felt...very little. Combat ready, he walked into the dining room just as something big crashed.
On the far side of the table, Joe must have just picked up and thrown one of the long benches. He stood above it with his teeth showing, breathing hard, face flushed with rage.
Only a few feet from Spencer, her back to him, Leah faced Joe...as did three men, all in battle stance, hands hovering over their guns.
Voice arctic, Spencer announced his presence. “Seems I missed some excitement.”