CHAPTER Three

 

 

“Alright, let me have it.”

Emily rifled through the brochures and extracted the pen drive. She shuffled some more and handed over another disk void of its protective sleeve.

“Are you going to tell me what happened now?” Swinging the drive with the tips of his fingers, Colin propped his rear on the back of the sofa and waited expectantly.

Nate. The word sent a tremor down her legs. Colin saw the physical jolt and hefted an eyebrow.

“Did anyone see you?”

“No.”

“Okay, so the hospital visit was because—”

“I witnessed an accident.” It sounded so feeble.

“An accident?” He frowned. “You weren’t hurt?”

“No.”

“Then, you were at the hospital because—” He waved his hand, waiting for her to fill in the details.

Emily crossed her arms. “Because I had to be.”

The finality of the statement only piqued Colin’s curiosity all the more.

“You have something to say?” she challenged. “Look, maybe the accident was a godsend. If anyone was following me they would have surely cornered me in the hospital, but it looks like I’m in the clear.”

Colin shook his head. Hair a shade darker than hers skimmed across the collar of his UCONN sweatshirt. Cerulean eyes gazed at a point beyond her shoulder.

“In the clear,” he recited. “Did you hear that? She says she’s in the clear.” Still staring beyond her, he continued, “Oh, I forgot, you’ve grown deaf in your old age, haven’t you, Ben?” Colin raised a finger up in condemnation and cocked his head, listening. He turned back towards his sister and said matter-of-factly, “None of us are in the clear, right?”

Emily almost caved in to the urge to glance behind her. “Don’t listen to him, Ben. I did the best I could. It’s not as if I’m a seasoned criminal. Given the circumstances I think I handled it very well.”

Colin snorted. “We’re screwed.”

As ludicrous as it was, Emily spun about and admonished the open space behind her. “We are not screwed!”

Uggg. She ran a hand through her hair and took a breath to stabilize herself. Benjamin Franklin was not standing in the dining room of their Lake George retreat. He was locked in the mind of a brilliant, but eccentric young man who had issues dealing with people, and instead used this 18th century interpreter.

“You see him?” It was a small voice, and when she turned around she caught the hopeful glint in her brother’s eye.

“No.” Emily’s shoulders sagged. “But I know he’s there.”

This declaration mollified Colin, even though he had asked the same question a thousand times. “He thinks you did a good job.”

Why the approval of a philanthropist that had been dead for over two hundred years appeased her—perhaps she had lived too long in Colin’s world.

“Do I have to tell you how scared I am?”

“No.” He fished in the back pocket of his jeans and extracted a packet of red licorice. Stripping a vine off, he let it dangle from his lips.

Colin would never eat it. It was a crutch. Like Ben Franklin.

“Look, they came after me, I’m telling you. First it was my cubicle. I knew they had been there. I knew they were on my computer. Then they’d gone through my notes. Granted, I’d wiped everything off the hard-drive, but I still had the backup drive in my drawer. What, aww come on, you don’t think anyone ever lifted any of your electrical theories?” Colin admonished the dining room chair.

“Colin, listen to me.” She stood up to block his view. “Don’t think everything is just peachy right now. We’re in big trouble. I mean BIG trouble. This is a government operation. You don’t steal from the government.”

“How is it stealing when it’s my design?”

“You work for them. That makes it their property.”

Deflated, Emily sank onto the dining room chair and ignored Colin’s look of alarm. Ah, let Ben get a quick thrill. “If it ever went to trial to determine whether you designed that submersible at home or at work—they would find a way to make you lose, Colin. You know it. I know it.”

“Emster, if they build it—as it is—people will die.”

And there lie her moral dilemma. That, and the fact that someone had physically threatened Colin. Oh, one could make the argument that the Volkswagen was a relic—that the brakes needed repair. One could argue that the fire in the laundry room beneath their condominium was a faulty electrical wire.

Her cynicism was bred from an instant thrust into adulthood. Her brother was in trouble. She had seen the design and understood the structural flaws, but NMD saw only a means for a machine that would draw nearly a billion dollars on the open market. One abnormal engineer would not be an obstacle.

Emily gasped at the shrill ring of her cell phone even with it muffled deep in her purse. She resisted the urge to fling the leather bag across the room. Instead, she reached inside and jolted at her brother’s urgent voice.

“Jesus, Emmy, don’t answer it!”

Blood drained from her face and her hand shook as she listened to the last musical chord. “They could trace it?”

She knew the answer before he said anything.

Colin glanced towards his right, towards the unseen colonial and said, “Of course they can. We can’t stay here too long.”

He tipped his head back and looked up at the wooden beams, drawing Emily’s attention to another painful memory. Her mother’s hand-painted roses framed the dining room walls and tapered into a floral blend at each corner. Her father thought it was tacky. Emily thought it brought a touch of femininity to an otherwise rugged house.

“Okay.” She slipped the leather strap off her shoulder and slung it around the base of the polished stair rail. “You’re right. Do you have a bag packed? I dumped one in the trunk before I—” Before I committed a felony. “We definitely have to move on. I thought this place would be good. It had always seemed safe before.”

“What?”

“What?”

“Him,” Colin nodded at her shoulder.

“Huh, oh? What did he say?”

“He says it is safe.”

He’s dead already. “Good. Well, tell Ben to man the front windows and keep watch for anyone pulling up the road.”

“Good idea, big sistahh.” Pointing his licorice stick for emphasis, Colin added, “You heard her—make yourself useful. What good are the bifocals if they’re on top of your head, Mr. Brilliant Scientist? And don’t give me that, they’re for reading line again.”

Emily pressed trembling fingers to her forehead and massaged the tension. She needed air. This cabin had been closed for four years. It was thick with the odor of timber, charcoal, and the faraway hint of their past.

“I’m going to go move the car. Did you bring any food?”

It wasn’t that she was hungry. Her stomach rolled at the thought of food. But the consumption would be an act to keep Colin occupied for awhile. His constant chatter with Ben Franklin proved too much of a distraction when she needed to concentrate.

“Yeah, I stopped at the store. Got some essentials. Cream of mushroom soup.”

Emily gave him a tired smile. Her brother loved cream of mushroom soup. From the can, or with rice, or on top of chicken, or on top of mashed potatoes, or even mixed with corn. He would survive on cream of mushroom soup.

And she would learn to survive on it too.

Four o’clock, and already the path to the lake had been swallowed by shadows deep enough to demand a flashlight. Only the pink mist at the end of the pine tunnel directed Emily towards the beach. Hard-packed with ice, it was difficult to recall how soft this dirt could be under her bare feet as she charged across it into water that sparkled beneath the summer sun. Even more difficult to recall was a time in her life when she was happy and carefree enough to do so. It seemed like another person—another existence.

At this time of year, the lake was frozen around the perimeter, and its center was a sinister black crater, hinting at depths greater than any ocean trench. Jeans, a sweatshirt, and a thick flannel shirt provided little warmth when the temperature plummeted. Still, the frigid air felt good. It pierced her lungs, but it was cleansing, and it reminded her that she was alive.

Emily crossed her arms and leaned against the trunk of a dead tree, the brittle bark not so severe with the buffer of her sweatshirt. She tipped her head back and fought tears of fear and frustration. She was in way over her head and had no idea what to do next. An instinct to protect her brother superseded any rational thought. But now in hindsight, smack in the middle of a quandary, she wished she had taken a moment to consider her options.

The options were minimal, though. Colin had designed a vehicle fantastic enough to make the government salivate. The fact that the design was his idea of doodling at lunch would never be enough to convince NMD that the plans were not flawless. He was a genius. They hired him because he was a genius. The eccentricities were conveniently ignored when he supplied them with designs that defied conventional engineering.

A snap of a twig jolted her and made her drop to her knee under the cover of a tangle of branches. She was ready to lash out at her brother, but silence ensued. She held her breath. In the bitter stillness all she could hear was the savage beat of her heart. She peered through the branches expecting to glimpse a hungry deer, or possibly even a wayward black bear.

Crack. The sound ripped through her. She crouched down further, her palms flat on the frigid earth.

“Hello Emily.”

The voice was hoarse, and yet, beguiling, as if the lake itself exhaled her name.

Emily held her tongue and craned for a better view. In the forest, the invasion of night came quickly with little regard for those left outside. She welcomed it as an ally. This was her domain. The victor in every hide-and-go-seek match, she knew these woods. For having such a bright mind, her brother could never find her out here.

But with the night, the cold invaded as well, and it made her knees begin to tremble.

Crack.

Emily’s breath halted. She crouched even further and peered beneath the underbrush at the boot only ten feet away. It was not Colin’s.

“Emily.” It repeated with certainty. “Come out.”

Something in the intonation haunted her, but it was hard to tell over the pulse barreling in her eardrums. Emily risked a glimpse behind her in search of an escape route, but the shore of the lake loomed. One wrong step on the icy surface and she would not only reveal herself, she could slip down the embankment and into the frigid abyss.

“I’ve been looking for you.” The voice beckoned softly.

Recognition sapped all her strength. She gasped and the sound triggered the boot to shift in her direction.

A last wayward stroke of dusk penetrated this shelter as she looked up at the highlighted face.

Nate Morrison.

Her initial reaction was relief. Here she had been thinking that the authorities had finally reached her…or that NMD had sent a hit man and not even bothered with the police. But no, it was just the man who had looked into her soul as if she was his salvation. As she stood up, the shock of the reunion began to set in. Nate Morrison was not smiling.

With nowhere to go, she stepped from the brush. In the hospital, effects of the accident seemed to encumber the man. She knew he was tall, and sensed he was strong with such power in the chest that had been exposed in that hospital bed. But now, without a sling−without a crutch, and sporting only the sallow bruise near the head laceration, he seemed larger than life.

“How?” Her throat was so dry. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

“I never got to say goodbye.” His tone was stark.

“D-did you follow me?” She was confused, but sensed that there would be no good answer to that question.

Nate’s eyes were impassive. Nothing was left on his stern features to remind her of the compassionate man she had shared two days with.

“Again.”

“Again?”

“I followed you again.”

Alarmed, she stepped backwards and then cried in frustration as her boot sank into melting ice.

“No Angel, you’re not going to get away this time.”

It was almost completely dark out now, and he was a menacing shadow that blended into dusk. Anxiety chilled her to the point that her whole body trembled.

“You were chasing me that night.” Resignation deflated her.

“I’ll admit you’re good at evasive maneuvering.”

“I didn’t even see you—not until the accident. And I didn’t think—” How stupid. How could she have not figured it out that night? She had been lulled into false security when after an hour on the highway there seemed to be no visible tail.

“I just didn’t think…” she added.

Whoever Nate Morrison was, it was apparent now that he was an enemy, and she was not about to surrender to him without a fight.

Colin.

Maybe Nate didn’t even know Colin was here. If she surrendered, her brother had the pen drive—he could escape. The need to protect him overruled all.

“Well, you caught me.” Her head came up, challenging as she tramped out of the pine shrubbery.

“So it seems.” The voice was startlingly close now. She hadn’t even seen him move.

Braving the unknown, Emily stepped forward and felt the vise of his hand clamp around her wrist.

“Who are you?” she whispered.

***

Nate felt a jolt when he touched her. After all, it was less than twenty-four hours ago that he thought this woman was the most beautiful, benevolent creature he had ever encountered. It had to have been the hit to the head. At the time, he fantasized about seeing her again. About what it would be like if he could be with her outside of the hospital.

Hah, he got his wish. This all just validated his training. He was taught to be mistrustful. He was skilled at finding deceit in people. He hated that his training paid off so well.

He forced aside the disturbing recollection of her in the hospital, but nonetheless gentled his grip. Emily wasn’t going anywhere that he couldn’t catch her, but he was impressed with her agility on such a gnarled and slippery trail.

Through the trees, a light mounted above the porch door of the cabin acted as a homing beacon. When they emerged into the clearing, Emily tugged against his touch and stopped to stare at him. She looked wary. Ready to take flight. He could tell that she was shaking, but under the glow of the overhead bulb he detected aggression in her eyes. Damn it all to hell that they still tempted him.

“I’m with NMD,” he stated.

“Of course you are.” Scorn tinged her reply.

“Why did you do it?”

“None of your damn business.”

“Yes,” he smirked. “Actually it is. Do you want to turn it over now?”

“You think I kept it? I got rid of it. It’s safe, but I don’t have it anymore.”

Nate’s glance sliced towards the cabin, its innards glowing from a stoked fireplace. “In there maybe?”

“No.”

Her response was hasty enough to thin his lips in resolve. “It’s cold out here. I’ve been traveling for hours and I’ve got one hell of a headache—why don’t you invite me in at least so that we can talk about it.”

“Look, if you’re going to arrest me, just go ahead and get it over with.” She went so far as to offer up her wrists for him to shackle.

Nate snorted. “We’re going inside, and we’re going to discuss your options.”

“Options? You’re giving me options? How damn noble of you.”

Pain pulsed above his eyebrow causing muscle spasms in his eyelid. His patience was being whisked away by the increasing wind.

“You’re right. They’re narrowing by the second. Now just get inside.” His grip was more emphatic than he would have liked, but Emily Brennan was getting under his skin. The fact that she dug in and resisted only aggravated him more.

“If you want to do it the hard way, I’ll throw you over my shoulder.”

She snorted. “Big talk for a guy who has a couple of broken ribs.”

“Which you gave me. Nothing like anger to boost the adrenaline.”

***

That menacing declaration had Emily reassessing Nate Morrison. Under the stark outdoor light, half of his face was cloaked in shadow. The portion that was illuminated revealed the stern slash of a jaw, a narrowed brow, and an eye as dark as pine. With broad shoulders under a black pullover sweater, he loomed above her like night itself, a dark entity that could consume her if she was not careful.

“I’m telling you, it’s not in there.” She tried again.

“And I’m telling you, that at this moment I don’t give a damn.”

“Okay.” She yanked her arm from his grasp, relieved that he offered her this one morsel of dignity.

At the base of the steps she paused to grip the handrail. Kicking the heel of her boot against the wood, she shifted and executed the same task with the other. “I don’t want to track snow in.” She announced in a higher pitch than normal.

Her steps as she ascended the back porch were heavy in tread. At the sliding glass door she reached for the handle and declared, “You might want to take your boots off if you’re not going to make an effort to clean them.”

“And risk surprising whoever it is you’re trying to alert in there?”

Damn him.

She could only hope that Colin had heard the exchange and escaped out the front door. If she bolted right now, could she get past Nate? How far would she make it? Would it be far enough to afford her brother the time he needed?

“Emily,” Nate warned softly. “Don’t try it.”

Her shoulders sagged. For a moment she closed her eyes and listened to the fir limbs rustle in the breeze−nature’s wind chimes. Other than that, the hush of night befell the lake. Only Nate’s tread crushing the snow on the bottom step broke her from her reverie. There was no time for this sense of futility. Her role was the same. The scenarios may change, but her job was to protect her brother.

She slid the glass panel open and felt the heat from the fireplace swathe her. It fortified her for the imminent task. Only the kitchen light was on so the vaulted ceiling glowed from the stone hearth. The soft pop of a splitting log jolted her as she watched the starburst of flames surge and then wane.

“Have a seat.” Emily’s head pitched towards the L-shaped couch before the fireside.

She watched Nate, rooted just inside the doorway, measuring the cabin and taking in the sunken living room with its charred stone fireplace. His eyes alighted on a fresh stack of lumber by its side and she guessed that he was calculating whether she had chopped it herself.

“Okay, do you want to tell me about it?”

Emily’s chin inclined, but her cheeks felt flushed. “Why, you’ve already convicted me?”

“I’m not here to judge you. I’m here to bring you back.” He took a step. “The curiosity is personal.”

She retreated till her calves drew up against the oak coffee table.

“In the hospital—” Her voice dropped low. “You didn’t know who I was?”

“I told you I couldn’t remember anything leading up to the accident.”

“You thought you were running from something,” she recalled.

“Yes.”

“I was running.”

“I know that now.”

“Nate, I—” It happened so fast. Emily screamed in shock and launched forward.