Keep moving, Hayley ordered feet that wanted to slow down—to put off the coming confrontation. She’d spoken glibly to Sean about coming up with a plan of attack, but that tone was to mask the dread roiling in her belly.
They were headed into a gunfight, plain and simple. Sure, she’d experienced one of those two days ago, but she’d been firing at her cabin, an inanimate object, without actually seeing the enemy other than the answering gun flashes. This time, she might have to point and shoot at people she was looking at eye-to-eye.
Could she pull the trigger? How could she not if it meant survival for Sean and herself? Sean was depending on her to be up to the task.
Soft footfalls heralded the agent moving up to stride at her heels. The guy’s woodcraft had definitely improved over the days they’d been on the run. She’d barely heard his approach.
Hayley glanced over her shoulder at him. His scowl reflected deep thought. Had he come up with a plan already?
“What?” she said.
“This outside access to the root cellar—what side of the house is it on? How visible is it to someone on high alert, watching for the approach of hostiles?”
“The door is located against the narrower side of the house next to the kitchen.”
“So, anyone watching the rear kitchen entrance wouldn’t be able to see it.”
“Not from the doorway, but a watcher could easily catch sight of someone approaching through the kitchen window over the sink.”
Sean let out a soft grunt and went back to abstracted scowling.
“Something’s percolating in that head of yours,” Hayley said.
“Is the cellar door locked?”
“Not locked per se. A two-by-four of wood is stuck through the twin handles of the side-by-side doors. Out here, we’re not as focused on keeping human intruders out as we are bent on blocking the invasion of four-footed critters.”
Sean nodded. “Good. Then I won’t have to deal with a chain or padlock.”
“You won’t have to deal with them? I thought we were in this together.”
“You assigned me to come up with an entry plan, and that’s what I’m doing. Your part is to reprise your role as a distraction while I slip into the house and deal with Patterson and the pilot.”
Hayley frowned. She hadn’t anticipated them splitting up for the attack, but maybe Sean’s idea was the best way—perhaps the only way that stood a chance of working. Or maybe she was telling herself that because the splitting up approach lessened the likelihood she might have to shoot someone. All to the good.
Unless Sean got killed in the execution of the plan. The greater risk was certainly his. Was she okay with that?
Her heart panged. No, she wasn’t okay with that at all. Not simply in the generic sense that she would mourn the loss of human life. No, this loss would be personal. Again, not simply in the sense that she knew and esteemed Sean as a capable officer of the law. No, losing him would rip her heart out. She could no longer pretend otherwise. Did that mean she cared for this man on a level that defied her rule never again to become involved with someone in a law enforcement career?
“Once I’m in the cellar,” Sean said, “other than guys with guns, what kind of problems am I going to have with getting into the cabin proper through the kitchen floor?”
His question jerked Hayley from her internal debate.
“What? Oh.” She mentally shook herself. This was no time to contemplate an ill-advised romantic interest. “There’s no lock on the trapdoor, inside or outside. We designed the hatch to blend almost seamlessly with the rest of the hardwood floor. It opens up under the kitchen table.”
“No rug on top of the door?”
“Nope.”
“Excellent.” A wolfish grin showed white teeth rimmed by his dark beard and mustache. “The table may camouflage the movement of the door. Still, speed will be of the essence once I emerge into the cabin.”
“What exactly do I do to provide a distraction? Start shooting at the cabin like last time?”
Sean shook his head. “Patterson is sharp. If we do the same thing as we did before when I raced for the airplanes, his mind will immediately scream at him that we’re trying to divert him from the real action. No, we’ve got to make him think you, Mack and I are together and trying to assault them in the cabin. If he catches on that I’m not with you, he’ll be looking out for me to come at them from another direction and that will negate any advantage we might have.”
“But how will we spoof him into believing you’re with me?”
“Scarecrow.”
“Huh?” Hayley stopped and faced Sean with her hands on her hips. “Do you mind being a tad less cryptic?”
“Operation Scarecrow. In my mind—” he tapped the side of his head “—that’s how I’m thinking of this ploy. We’re going to make a stick figure that mimics me in height and put my coat on it with the hood pulled up.”
Hayley snorted. “How long do you think a wooden scarecrow is going to fool anybody?”
“From a distance? Long enough. Hopefully. Perhaps longer than you might think if we do this right.”
“And what is this right way?”
“When you figure out what that is, let me know.” Sean chuckled and moved off into the woods.
“Turnabout is not fair play,” she called.
Then again, maybe it was. As she started after him, her thoughts began toying with ideas. They’d scarcely been walking another half mile when the edge of the forest loomed. The back of her workshop came into sight with the homestead cabin standing at a right angle to the left of it and about twenty yards distant. Through the screen of trees, the corner of the cabin was barely visible, though the odor of woodsmoke and a plume of gray marking the blue sky above signified the cabin’s occupants were keeping the fireplace stoked.
Hayley halted with Sean by her side. Mack came up to them also and sat down at her feet.
“Here we are.” Sean’s tone came out rough like his throat was constricted.
Hayley could hardly blame him. Her own throat had gone so tight she wasn’t sure she could utter a word. Showdown coming right up. Would the next minutes see them still alive?
A warm hand gripped her shoulder, and she turned to find Sean gazing sternly down upon her. “We can do this.”
“We have to do this,” she whispered.
He nodded, and she nodded back.
“The root cellar entrance is on the side of the cabin only a few yards distant from the woods,” Hayley said. “You should be able to retain cover until you’re standing in line with the double doors. But then you’ll have to make a run for it in the open to get there.”
“I’m going to need noise cover while I access the cellar. I’m guessing the hinges on those doors might creak.”
“Good guess. I don’t think Craig or I have oiled those hinges in recent history. Let’s get busy making the very special ATF agent scarecrow.”
Sean let out a snort as he picked up a long stick from the ground. “You’ll have to walk Mr. Faux Agent along the edge of the forest, allowing glimpses of him and you until you get some kind of a response from the cabin—either a yell or possibly even gunfire. Then feel free to return fire, keeping up the noise factor.” He halted his stick-gathering enterprise and met Hayley’s gaze. “Make sure the scarecrow is the more exposed of the two of you.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got that part fixed in my mind. And Mack—” she looked down at her dog “—you stay right there.”
She pointed to the patch of ground where he was sitting. A shudder rippled through her, imagining her dog running out of the tree line into gunfire. Mack let out a rumble in his chest and hunkered down, fully prone.
Without another word, Hayley and Sean went about collecting sturdy sticks and lashing together a wooden cross that came to roughly Sean’s height. He shrugged out of his jacket with only a minor wince.
“We haven’t had a chance to check your injury today,” she said. “Are you going to be able to lift those doors and move as quickly as you need to do?”
“I don’t have the luxury of coddling myself. I’ll do what needs to be done.”
Of that, Hayley had no doubt. She swallowed any further protests.
Sean draped his jacket around the crossbeam and flipped the hood over the top of the upright beam. The effect was remarkable. A distant onlooker could easily believe they were seeing a human being, especially when the figure was also partially cloaked by forest vegetation.
“This is actually a genius idea.” She flickered a smile at Sean.
“Why, thank you, ma’am.” He executed a mock-courtly bow, accompanied by another barely discernible wince.
“Don’t let the compliment go to your head.” She glared at him. “We still have to survive this mess.”
He stood close, gazing down at her. His dark eyes went darker still. Intense and consuming, yet warm and welcoming. Something like steel bars around Hayley’s heart softened—melting away like a mirage.
“That’s why I have to do this right now.” Sean’s words emerged in a hoarse whisper.
His strong arms gathered her close, and his mouth captured hers. Nothing in Hayley mounted a resistance. Only a faint, cold voice—spewing fear and caution—echoed tinnily in her brain. But this time, the familiar litany sounded like an enemy, not the friend keeping her safe that she’d mistaken it for these many years. Her arms went around Sean’s neck, and she returned the kiss.
Then suddenly, her arms were empty. The breeze chilled her lips as his tall, sturdy figure disappeared into the trees, heading toward mortal danger. Her heart rent in two.
Please, God, keep him safe. Bring him back to me. Maybe I’m ready to risk my heart again after all.
The heart-melting sensation of Hayley in his arms, their lips pressed together, lingered with Sean as he glided through the forest in the direction of the cabin. He mentally shook off the beguiling distraction even as the cold gripped him in chilly fingers. The lack of a jacket made a huge difference in coping with the fall weather in the Alaskan bush.
Sean drew parallel with the cabin and stopped walking. Through the screen of trees and bushes, he made out the log siding and, framed by it, the kitchen window. No human figure appeared beyond the glass, though that circumstance could change at any moment. However, a pair of boards had been affixed across the opening on the inside, effectively preventing that means of access to the cabin but also restricting the enemies’ view. Good thing crawling through the kitchen window had never been the plan.
Beneath the window, the large cellar doors of weathered wood angled against the cabin only a foot or two above the ground. As Hayley had said, the doors were held shut by a small length of two-by-four thrust between the handles.
Tension rippled through Sean’s muscles. Once he broke tree cover, he would be in plain sight for half a dozen yards before he reached the cellar doors and then until he opened them and ducked down into the cellar. Sean pulled his cell phone from his pocket and powered it up. Significant battery life remained because they’d kept their useless phones off for most of the past three days. The flashlight app would be vital once he entered the dark cellar. He’d preferred the small device to toting along the camping lamp from Hayley’s pack.
Sean returned the phone to his pocket and checked the load on his automatic, then did the same with the handgun he’d stuck in the waistband of his jeans against the small of his back. His preparations appeared to be in order. Now, he could only wait for their diversion to be noticed by the occupants of the cabin.
A deep-throated bark, followed by a woman’s outcry, drew his attention in Hayley’s direction. The commotion brought a swift reaction from the cabin. An automatic rifle chattered from the front of the structure, answered by gunfire from the woods. Hayley had done her part, now Sean needed to do his.
Inhaling a deep breath of brisk, pine-laden air, he charged from the protection of the trees and covered the distance to the cellar entrance with long strides that sent shards of pain through his wounded side. But the pain faded quickly as adrenaline rushed through his system. He reached the doors and ripped the two-by-four from its position, then threw it to the side.
His two-handed grip closed around one of the metal handles, and his whole body went rigid as he heaved against the heavy door. The rusty hinges creaked, but not as badly as he had anticipated. The door sprang open, and a blast of musty air bathed his face from the darkness below.
Even adrenaline couldn’t entirely mask the sharp protest the effort drew from his broken rib. Warmth sprang forth from the area. He’d probably torn the wound open and was bleeding again. None of that mattered.
Sean retrieved his phone and pointed the flashlight down into the dark pit, revealing a set of rickety-looking wooden stairs leading to a bare dirt floor. With no time to second-guess the plan, he entrusted himself to the steps, proceeding with controlled haste. The wood creaked beneath his feet but did not collapse.
Frowning, he glanced back over his shoulder toward the ground-level opening. He had no time or ability to close the doors. Hopefully, their enemies would remain ignorant of the entrance and not notice the open portal.
Reaching the cellar floor, Sean panned the flashlight around the small room. At his height, the narrow-beamed ceiling hovered mere inches above the top of his head. The dank-smelling space probably encompassed less square footage than the modern kitchen above. Dusty, empty canning jars sat on wooden shelving against cement walls, but otherwise, the area was bare. Ahead of him, a ladderlike set of stairs led upward to a square hatch that might prove a tight squeeze for his shoulders.
Sean stilled his breathing and listened. Sporadic gunfire continued aboveground, but no one seemed to be walking across the kitchen floor. Hopefully, the bad guys’ attention was entirely on the woods behind the workshop.
Good job, Hayley.
Swiftly, Sean strode to the steep stairs. He’d only need to step up once to start pressing against the hatch, but the narrow step would need to fully hold his weight. A crack in the center of the wood slab put that prospect into question. Sean skipped that stair and entrusted himself to the second one, which required him to hunch beneath the trapdoor.
Holding his breath, he pressed head, hands and shoulders against the hatch. With a soft grumble, it moved and he brought his eyes level with the hardwood flooring in the kitchen area. Above, the table threw a shadow into his field of view, but no human legs and shoes nearby betrayed the presence of Patterson or whoever else was with the arms-trafficking kingpin.
So far, so good.
Sean pressed harder against the hatch with his shoulders even as he drew the handgun from behind his back. In close quarters, this type of firepower should be more than sufficient. The moment he had room enough, he wriggled his entire body out and onto the kitchen floor but left one booted foot in the hatchway to keep the trapdoor from banging into place.
Still, no attention was paid to him. Sean swiftly sat up and manually lowered the hatch door. Then he crawled from beneath the table and rose silently to his feet. His adversaries were out of sight, likely in the living room. He glanced around the kitchen, noting the reason Patterson didn’t seem concerned about anyone bursting in through the rear door. It had been barricaded by a pair of wooden planks nailed into the doorframe.
A few growled curse words floated to him from the front of the cabin, followed by a loud blast of automatic gunfire. A bitter, metallic tang hung in the air from all the shooting.
“Stop wasting ammo!” Patterson’s voice snarled. “They know they’re not getting in here, and Glenn’s crew will be along soon enough to put an end to them.”
“Yeah? And then how are we going to escape from the back of nowhere?” another voice whined, one Sean recognized. Rudy Spiegel, the gang’s pilot. “Our last operable plane is shot up.”
“Relax. It still flies.”
“Barely.”
“We only have to limp into Nenana. Glenn will get us fresh wings there.”
Sean let out a slow breath. The trooper’s plane remained airworthy. At least to an extent. Good to know.
He chanced a step toward the living room. Thankfully, the floor didn’t creak. A big pat on the back to Craig and Hayley, who had made their updates to the cabin solid and sturdy.
Another cautious step brought Sean in view of the enemy. They stood a few feet from one another, facing away from him. Both peered outside through holes made in the plywood sheet that had been used to cover the opening of the shattered picture window.
“Go check all windows and doors,” Patterson ordered his minion.
“Ah, boss, everything except the front door is boarded up tighter than a drum.”
“Just do it!”
His adversaries were armed, but they were standing with their backs to him, giving him the advantage. They’d never have time to whirl and shoot at him. Sean took another step forward, giving himself the best angle possible to cover them.
“Better yet,” he barked at the pair, “don’t move a muscle.”
Both men jerked stiffly. Rudy let out a snarl and made as if to turn. Sean pressed the trigger and sent a bullet into the plywood next to his head. The man yelped and clapped a hand to his cheek where splinters must have scored his skin.
“Drop the guns to the floor,” Sean directed, “and then face me slowly with your hands locked behind your heads.”
A staccato clatter signaled obedience to his first command. Grumbling curse words, Rudy put his hands behind his head and slowly began to turn, but Patterson stood with his hands raised, looking back at Sean across his shoulder.
“ATF, I presume,” the lead weapon’s trafficker said in the exaggeratedly suave tone that Sean had learned to identify as a symptom of this man’s extreme aggravation. “They’ve tried to infiltrate my organization before, but you are the only agent who succeeded. I’m impressed.”
“Yes, I’m ATF, but I don’t want your worthless compliments, just compliance. Unless you’d prefer me to spray wood splinters into your face, too...or better yet, put one through a limb you might be fond of.”
With a long huff, Patterson locked his fingers behind his head and turned fully to face Sean. The pair of crooks glared at him as he moved farther into the room and came around the bullet-shredded sofa. Sean spotted the men’s guns on the floor and kicked them well away.
“Now,” he said, “on your knees—slowly—and then cross your ankles over each other.”
The men complied, and Sean backed away toward the front door. Time to invite Hayley and Mack to join the party.
“If you don’t mind,” Patterson said through the teeth-gritted snarl on his face, “I’d like to know how you got in here.”
“I do mind. I don’t owe you any explanation. But I will tell you this—you’re under arrest.” He began to recite the Miranda warning as he opened the door. He darted a glance outside and then returned his attention to his prisoners. “Come on in, Hayley,” he shouted out.
Moments later, her slim figure left the tree line at a run with Mack on her heels. “I hear people approaching through the trees,” she called as she neared the porch.
Abruptly, a tsunami of gunfire erupted from the forest. Hayley stutter-stepped and fell face-first onto the porch. Sean’s gut plunged into his toes. Had they come this close to safety only to be gunned down now?