Dane was taking a long time. Faith forced herself to stand still by the opening in the fence, aware that movement was more likely to draw attention. But inside, she was pacing, and worrying about what reckless thing Dane might have done this time. The man had little regard for his safety, and a history of making rash decisions. He wasn’t used to thinking about how the choices he made affected others. How his choices affected her.
She checked her watch, squinting to make out the numbers on the display. He’d been in there twenty minutes—more than enough time to take a look and get back out. Should she go in after him? She stepped forward, intending to squeeze through the gap in the fence, then froze as voices drifted to her, the words clear in the still night air. “This is going to be like last time,” one man said. “A raccoon or something. I told TJ that perimeter alarm was set too sensitive.”
“As long as it isn’t a bear, I don’t care,” a second voice said. “But we have to check it out.”
Faith swallowed a gasp then stared at the fence. Why hadn’t they looked for an alarm?
But looking now, she saw no wires or sensors or electric eyes. They must be on the inside. And it didn’t matter, anyway, because two men were headed this way. She sprinted out from the fence, to the cover of trees, and lay flat on her stomach in what might have been a drainage ditch. When a powerful flashlight’s beam swept the area behind the fence, she squeezed her eyes shut, biting her lip as one of the men exclaimed over the gap beside the pillar. “Someone cut the wire!” he said, his voice carrying in the clear night air. Would Dane, wherever he was, hear him and take cover?
The men’s voices moved away and, after a long interval, Faith risked rising up and looking around. She saw no one. Of course they wouldn’t be interested now in anything outside the fence. They were looking for someone who had broken in. And the first place they’d look would be the Quonset hut.
She moved away from the gap, then raced back to the fence, careful not to touch it this time, unsure of how the alarm was triggered. The two guards must have not been too concerned, since it had taken them so long to respond. Maybe lulled by previous false alarms, they had waited until whatever television program or movie they were watching had ended.
She reached the gap and paused to listen again. She didn’t hear anything, but the silence didn’t soothe her. The two guards were still around, she was sure. And if she couldn’t hear them, neither could Dane.
She drew her weapon and, heart pounding painfully, she slipped through the gap in the fence and crept toward the Quonset. She was almost to the hut when bright lights flooded the backyard. She didn’t hesitate, but dove into the shadows between the back of the Quonset and the fence. She crouched there, panting and trying to control her shaking. Shouts rose from someone, then a sound of scuffling inside the hut. The noise was so close she thought she could have reached out and touched whoever was involved.
Then she heard a familiar voice, deep and forceful, full of anger and pain. Her heart clenched. Dane! The voices receded toward the front of the hut. She moved to the side and looked down the long length of the Quonset. After an agonizing interval, two men crossed the yard, Dane between them. His body was limp, and they struggled to drag him. Was he only unconscious—or dead?
She should go back through the fence now. She should run to the truck and drive back to the highway, to Ranger Brigade headquarters, where she could summon help. But even as she thought this, a third man emerged from the guesthouse and moved toward the fence, where he replaced the log Dane had removed, blocking her exit. She could do nothing but sit and wait, helpless, as Dane receded from sight.
DANE’S HEAD THROBBED where the stockier of the two guards had cold-cocked him. The rest of him probably hurt, too, considering his arms were bound tightly behind his back and he could feel a bruise swelling on his face. But the pain in his head trumped them all. The guy had fists like iron.
He opened his eyes enough to determine he was lying on his side in a room with white Berber carpet and dark paneling. Then he closed them again, pretending to be unconscious, hoping to learn more about his possible fate.
“If we cut his throat and dump the body, the boss never has to know.” The man who spoke had an accent—Texas, maybe.
“What happens when somebody finds the body and it ends up on the news?” another man, with a higher pitched voice, asked.
“So what?” a third man asked. “He won’t know it had anything to do with us.”
“He’ll know.”
“And we’ll be lucky if he doesn’t shoot us and dump our bodies,” Texas said.
“Not necessarily.” High Voice walked over and nudged Dane with the toe of his boot. “You know who this is, don’t you? It’s Dane Trask. Terrell will be so happy we’ve got him, he’ll probably give us a bonus.”
“If he’s not happy, I’m blaming it all on you two,” the third man said. “I wasn’t even awake when this was going down. You two were supposed to be on duty, instead of on your duffs in front of the TV.”
“You’re always asleep,” Texas said. “Even when you’re supposed to be awake.”
“Shut up,” High Voice snapped. He moved away from Dane, but seconds later, a shower of ice-cold water jolted him, followed by laughter.
“Wake up.” High Voice nudged him with his boot again.
Dane glared up at the man but said nothing.
“Mr. Terrell is not going to be happy to see you,” High Voice said.
The feeling is mutual, Dane thought.
“We took your phone,” Texas said. “We smashed it good. You won’t be sharing those pictures you took with anyone.”
“Hey, did you know there’s a big reward for your capture?” the third man said. He was wiry and balding, corded muscles standing out on his arms. “Think we’ll be eligible for the cash?”
The others laughed, as if this was the funniest thing they’d heard in months. Dane waited, silent. Maybe it was his military training on how to deal with interrogations, or maybe just a reluctance to talk to these criminals. He closed his eyes, his head throbbing.
Someone—probably High Voice—kicked him in the ribs. Hard. Dane gritted his teeth to keep from crying out. “Wake up,” High Voice said. “It’s almost morning. Mr. Terrell is an early riser. He’ll want to see you.”
You said he won’t be happy to see me, Dane thought. Make up your mind.
“How did you get here?” High Voice asked. “I know you didn’t hike all the way over here from the national park.”
Dane merely looked at him.
“Maybe he flew,” Texas said.
“Or maybe he had help,” the third man said.
Dane’s heart lurched, though he kept his expression impassive. He couldn’t let these three find Faith.
“Did you see any sign of anyone else out there?” Texas asked.
“No. The ground’s too dry for tracks—and it’s dark anyway. I thought I heard some rustling in the woods, but it turned out to be a squirrel or something. I saw it run up a tree. I put the post back in the fence and reset the alarm.”
“Maybe the squirrel ran because something else—or someone else—disturbed it,” Texas said. “Did you think of that? You should have walked back and looked.”
The third man frowned. “There wasn’t anybody back there,” he said. “But if it’ll make you happy, I’ll go look.” He grasped the arms of his chair and started to push himself up.
“I don’t need help to outsmart you three,” Dane said, disdain in every word. “I’d been in that Quonset hut twenty minutes before you even bothered to see what had tripped your alarm. Terrell is going to be thrilled to hear about that. You’ll be lucky if you can find a job guarding sheep after this.”
This earned him another blow to the ribs and a barrage of curses. But, for the moment, they had forgotten about Faith.
Someone’s phone rang. The third man unclipped a smartphone from his belt and answered it. “Uh-huh... Uh-huh... Yes, sir... Yes, sir.” He ended the call and looked at the others. “Mr. Terrell is up. He got the message I left for him and he wants to see Trask.”
Texas hauled Dane to his feet. “Come on,” he said. “You’re finally going to get what’s coming to you.”
FAITH WAITED UNTIL she was sure the man was gone, then carefully emerged from her hiding place. She didn’t think her pursuer had done much more than set the log Dane had removed back in place. She could probably shift it and get into the compound that way. She dismissed the idea. Rather than stepping through the gap in the fence and risking triggering the alarm again, she decided to approach the house from the front. She had to find out where Dane was being held, and if he was all right. Calling for help might be the wiser choice, but by the time that help arrived, Dane might be dead. If she could pinpoint his location, she could at least get help to him that much sooner.
Charles Terrell’s home presented an imposing façade from the street, in a mix of adobe-and-log architecture that reminded Faith of the clay and Lincoln Logs’ structures she and her brothers had built as children. She supposed Terrell, or maybe his decorator wife, thought of this as Western Chic or Southwest Modern, or some other hip label.
One thing was for sure—the place was big. Two stories tall, it sprawled almost the whole width of the large lot, with towers and parapets, covered and uncovered porches and patios, and various attached and unattached outbuildings. A sweeping circular drive curved in front of the house, with two dark SUVs parked out front. Though it was only a little after six in the morning, lights glowed in several of the windows. Was Dane in one of those rooms?
She avoided the driveway and kept to a thin belt of trees along the property line, which had probably been left as a privacy screen from the neighbors. In the early darkness, the brush provided enough cover for Faith to move closer to the house. When she was even with the two parked vehicles, she stopped and waited. What now?
No one moved outside the house. She spotted a couple of cameras focused on the driveway, but none on the sides. The windows and doors were probably alarmed. If she waited until someone emerged from the house, could she possibly slip in when they went back inside?
She dismissed the idea—way too dangerous. She wasn’t going to be able to help Dane if she got caught. Disappointed, but driven by a new sense of urgency, she turned and began creeping back toward the road. She’d run all the way to the truck and drive as fast as she could to Ranger headquarters. Dane was tough. He would hang on.
She was halfway to the street when the sound of a slamming door made her freeze. She turned to see two men—possibly the same two she had spotted earlier—once more dragging Dane between them. As they wrestled him into one of the SUVs, Charles Terrell emerged from the house and stood on the porch, hands on his hips. He said something that she couldn’t make out and one of the men with Dane answered.
Dane said something, too, which earned him a punch to the side of the head. His hands were tied behind his back and his ankles were bound. He looked rough, as if they had beaten him. Dirt or dried blood smeared his face.
Faith looked away and focused on Terrell. Dressed in jeans and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he looked like an average middle-aged executive on a Saturday morning, though his expression was anything but relaxed. He spoke again, and the two guards began wrestling Dane into the back of the SUV. A chill swept over Faith. They were taking him out to kill him. They would dump his body somewhere on public land, the way they had dumped other people who had gotten in their way—the reporter, Roy Holliday, and Larry Keplar. By the time she summoned help, it would be too late. They’d only be able to search for Dane’s body.
She eased the Glock from its holster and took aim. The first shot punctured the rear tire of the SUV. Both guards shouted and let go of Dane, who hit the ground hard, like a rug that had suddenly been dropped. Faith fired again, this time at the wall behind Terrell. A window shattered and he dove to the porch floor, hands over his head, shouting at the guards to do something.
The two men took cover behind the vehicle and began firing in her direction. Their shots were wild; they hadn’t yet figured out where she was. She slipped through the brush, moving closer to the house, trying for stealth, but the sky was growing lighter, reducing her cover. Bullets struck near her. She stopped and, from behind the cover of a large rock, she fired toward Terrell again. He was still cowering on the porch, apparently too paralyzed by fear to go into the house, out of harm’s way.
She checked the SUV again. Dane had rolled under the vehicle, so he was safe, at least. One man still fired in her general direction, but the other had moved out and was headed toward her.
Faith fired, clipping his shoulder. “Stop right there!” she shouted. “I’ve got my gun aimed on Terrell and I will shoot to kill if you come any closer.” To prove her point, she shot into the porch floorboards, inches from Terrell’s head. He screamed profanities as she shoved another clip into the Glock.
“Untie Trask,” she called.
No one moved.
“Untie him,” she shouted and then shot out the window on the other side of Terrell.
“Do as she says!” Terrell shouted.
The taller of the two guards—the one who wasn’t gripping his bleeding shoulder—took a knife from his pocket and cut Dane free.
“You two move into the house,” she called. “Terrell stays out here.”
Again, no one moved. This time, she aimed a little closer to Terrell, who lay prone, not even trying to get away.
The guards moved then, Terrell shouting at them. Dane stumbled toward the woods, heading not for her, but for a spot closer to the road. Faith fired at the house again and more glass shattered. Then she took off running, praying Dane would be strong enough to follow.
DANE IGNORED THE pain in his ribs and arms and ran, catching up with Faith at the rear corner of the property. “How do we get to the truck?” she asked.
“This way.”
The trek took longer than he would have liked, since they were forced to stick to cover. Once, he thought he spotted the second dark SUV cruising down the street, Texas in the passenger seat, scanning the surroundings for any sign of them.
He estimated it took almost an hour to make a trip that had taken less than twenty minutes only a few hours before. They piled into the FJ and Faith started the engine and sped forward, jouncing over the rough ground until he cried out from the pain in his ribs. She immediately took her foot off the gas and turned to him, her face stricken. “Are you hurt? I should have asked before.”
“Keep going,” he said through gritted teeth. “We have to get out of here.”
She didn’t argue, and started forward again, though a little more slowly this time, until they reached the highway, where she floored the gas pedal. Without his asking, she took the back way to the remote pull-off where they had hidden the FJ before. She parked and they got out. He waited while she arranged branches to cover the vehicle, then she turned to him. “Can you make the hike to the cave?” she asked, scanning him with a worried expression.
“I don’t have any choice,” he said, and turned and began walking, or rather, limping, away from the truck.
By the time they reached the cave, he was gritting his teeth to keep from groaning with every step, and sweating heavily. But Faith had enough sense to leave him be. She followed along behind, the heavy pack on her back. At one point, they spotted a lone fly fisherman on the river, and had to retreat to cover and wait until he had moved on before they continued. Faith handed Dane a water bottle and he drained it, but refused the protein bar she offered, half sick from the adrenaline surge of the past few hours.
The sun was high in the sky before they reached the welcome dimness of the cave. He stumbled inside and crawled to his sleeping bag, and lay on his back, eyes closed, utterly exhausted. Light flickered behind his eyes as Faith lit the lantern. She moved around the space, pouring water and taking items from the pack. Then she knelt beside him, her touch light on his arm. “Are you okay?” she asked.
“I will be.” He started to sit up, but she pushed him down. “I’m going to wipe the dried blood from your face and then I’m going to check that you don’t have any broken bones.”
“Just leave me alone to rest,” he said, but without any heat behind the words.
She ignored him and began dabbing at his face with a wet cloth. The fabric brushed against his beard, bringing with it the scent of antiseptic and soap. She took his hand in hers and examined the fingers, then felt up his arm. He winced when she touched a bruise.
“Sorry,” she said. “You’re going to have to take off this shirt.”
She helped him sit up, and he eased off the shirt, wincing as he did so. She brought the lamp closer and scowled at the purpling marks on his torso. “What did they do to you?” she asked.
“They got in a few good kicks,” he admitted.
“You could have broken ribs.” Not waiting for an answer, she began running her hands lightly up and down his sides. The pain receded somewhat as he registered the sensation of her silken touch along sensitive nerve endings. When she skimmed her hands over his abdomen, he felt it in his groin and flinched. “Does that hurt?” she asked.
“Not exactly.”
She sent him a questioning look, and her touch became firmer, the pain returning. He grunted. So much for a sensual moment.
At last, she sat back. “Any sharp pain when you breathe?” she asked.
“No. It pretty much hurts all the time.”
“I can’t be certain, but I don’t think anything is broken—just badly bruised. You must have strong bones.”
She started to move away but he grabbed her wrist. “Why did you do that?” he asked.
“Do what?”
“Challenge them that way. Shoot at them. There were three of them and one of you. They could have easily overwhelmed and killed you.” Thinking about it now made his head swim.
“I had the element of surprise in my favor.” She eased out of his grip, but kept one hand resting lightly on his forearm. “Terrell is a coward. He’s not used to being vulnerable, and his bodyguards have been trained to do what he says.”
She couldn’t have known that. She had taken a huge risk. “You were supposed to go back to the truck and wait to meet up with me,” he said.
She shook her head. “I saw them take you. I couldn’t just leave you.” Her eyes met his, steady and full of accusation. “You wouldn’t have left me.”
No, he wouldn’t have. Why did he believe she should have behaved differently? Was it because she was a woman? Or because he thought her life was more important than his? The idea startled him. He’d never been a fatalist. “I’m not sorry you didn’t go,” he said. “I’m only saying you were reckless. That isn’t like you.”
“Maybe some of you is rubbing off on me.” She looked away. “Does it hurt anywhere else?”
“I’m cold,” he said, which was true, but when she turned to look for a blanket, he tugged her hand. “Lie down here beside me. We can keep each other warm.”
He fully expected her to protest. Despite the kiss they had shared, he wasn’t sure how she felt about him. Yes, she had risked her life to save him, but as a law enforcement officer, she would have likely done the same for anyone—even Terrell.
“All right,” she said, and eased herself next to him on top of the sleeping bag.
“It’s okay.” He slid his arm beneath her head. “You can move closer.”
She fit against him snugly, her warmth seeping into him. She nestled her head in the hollow of his shoulder and rested her hand, palm down, in the center of his chest. He covered her hand with his own. “Tell me what happened,” she said. “Did you get inside the Quonset hut? What did you find?”
“I cut a hole in the side first, to look in. There were a lot of empty metal shelves, and a big tractor-trailer. I unzipped the cover at the rear of the hut and went in. The back of the trailer was open and you were right—Terrell is using his property to store the drugs. There were thousands of heroin bricks in there, packed in barrels labeled as fertilizer.”
“Did they catch you in the trailer?”
“Yes. Inside the truck, I didn’t hear them coming.”
“I heard them, and saw them, but I didn’t have any way of warning you. I overheard them talking about a silent alarm on the fence that tipped them off, but apparently they’ve had a lot of false alarms before, from wildlife, so they hadn’t been in any hurry checking this one out.”
“When no one came out right after I breeched the fence, I thought I was in the clear,” he said. He turned his head, his nose almost touching her cheek. “You were supposed to whistle to warn me.”
“It was too late. All that would have done is let them know I was there.”
“They didn’t know you were there. At one point, they were speculating on whether I was alone or with someone, and I distracted them.”
“How did you do that?”
“With my usual charm.”
Dane felt rather than saw her lips curve into a smile. She settled more firmly against him, though she was still wearing her body armor, its stiffness detracting somewhat from the moment. “I saw them dragging you toward the house,” she said. “What happened after that?”
“They waited until Terrell summoned them, then dragged me up to the house. Apparently, he’s an early riser. I think he’s at the house by himself. Either that, or his wife is willing to look the other way while he breaks the law. He didn’t seem anxious to hide any of his activities.”
“They were going to kill you.” Her voice was flat, not asking a question.
“Yes. They planned to dump my body on public land somewhere remote, where it wouldn’t be found for a very long time.”
“I had to stop them,” Faith said.
“You could have killed Terrell. That would have stopped them.”
She blew out a long breath. “I’m sworn to uphold the law, not break it. It’s up to the courts to pass sentence on Charles Terrell, not me.”
“I respect you for that.” He didn’t think he would have done the same in her shoes, but maybe he would have. Killing someone in self-defense or in the midst of a battle was a long way from shooting a man—even a man like Terrell—in cold blood. He tightened his arm around her shoulder. “You were pretty amazing out there,” he said.
“I was desperate.” She spoke softly, her lips against his chest. “I think I realized a little of what you’ve been going through these past two months.”
He shifted to roll toward her, ignoring the pain in his side as he focused on her. She tilted her head up to him, her lips full and slightly parted, her pupils dark and dilated with need. He kissed her gently, the barest brush of his lips against hers, ready to pull back if she protested. But instead of objecting, Faith snaked her hand up to press the back of his head, urging him closer, surging up to meet him with an urgency that stirred him.
He kissed her lips for a long time, then pulled away to kiss her closed eyelids and the gently beating pulse at her temple. Her fingers fluttered over his skin in tickling, teasing caresses. Breathing hard, he grasped her wrists. “How far do you want to go with this?” he asked.
Her smile held heat and promise. “How far are you able to take me?” she whispered, the rough desire in her voice driving his lust up another notch.