A punch to the ribs made Kellen grunt and wake. Her first thought was not an attack! Her first thought was Rae.
How times had changed.
She opened her eyes and found Rae asleep on the bed with her, one foot extended in kick position, the other twitching as if she was winding up for a kidney shot.
Everything was well. They were both alive.
Gently, she turned Rae so she faced into the room and looked across at Max and Zone. They stood in the kitchen and talked, their low voices a rumble as they leaned over a...a what? Something electronic. Kellen listened to them, picked out a few words, enough to rouse her interest and explain what they were doing—and seeing.
Raising herself on one elbow, she stroked Rae’s head, swaddled her little girl in a blanket, pulled on the terry cloth robe that was at the foot of the bed and headed for the bathroom.
Both men stopped talking and watched her, maybe because they were concerned about her ability to stand. Maybe because they didn’t want the little woman to hear what they were saying.
Too late for that. She shut the door behind her and used the facilities; her aunt and uncle’s old camp trailer had a larger bathroom. She glanced in the mirror. She looked like hell.
Oh, well.
She came out and strolled over to the tiny old slump-shouldered white refrigerator. She looked inside. A slightly shriveled green apple sat on the top rack. She plucked it free, shut the door and bit into the apple.
Zone slammed his palms on the table. “Damn it! I figured that was disgusting enough I’d be the only one to eat it.”
“Ever been to Afghanistan?”
“Yes.”
“So have I.”
He stared at her through those thick black glasses.
She stared at him.
He said, “Okay, then.”
“Okay, then,” she agreed. She glanced at Max.
Interesting. When she sparred with Nils Brooks, Max hated it. He hated everything about her and Nils. But with Zone, he watched them both with an affectionate half smile. Probably he thought Zone wasn’t attractive?
ZONE (FIRST OR LAST NAME UNKNOWN):
MALE. ETHNICITY: BROWN (HISPANIC?) AND/OR CAUCASIAN/TANNED. 6'1", 160 LBS, SHAGGY BLACK HAIR HANGING BELOW THE BASEBALL HAT HE WORE EVEN INSIDE (BALDING?), LONG MASSIVE CURLY BLACK BEARD; RESEMBLES AN OLD TESTAMENT PROPHET. GREEN EYES, BLACK LASHES, DISTORTED BEHIND HEAVY-FRAMED BLACK GLASSES. FACIAL STRUCTURE UNKNOWN. DEDUCE SCARRING. HERMIT. AURA OF POWER, INTELLIGENCE, KNOWLEDGE. EASILY IRRITATED BY HUMAN CONTACT.
No, Zone was definitely attractive, if only for the mystery he exuded.
She asked, “What are you two looking at?”
“It’s the radar for all submarines in the western Pacific,” Zone said.
“No, it’s not. It picks up life forms around the lookout.” She met Zone’s gaze again. “I heard you.”
“It used to be a radar screen for... Oh, to hell with you.” He stomped away and started rummaging through the cupboard over the miniature stove top and incongruously large dishwasher. He saw her watching him and said, “What are you looking at? I’m not going to wash dishes by hand.”
“I didn’t say a thing,” Kellen pointed out.
Max chuckled, that nice low laughter that made her feel warm in all places south, then guilty for being so easily distracted from a very serious and deadly situation.
Zone got out three mugs. “Coffee?” He didn’t wait for an answer but poured the mugs full, rinsed out the coffeepot and set it up again. He muttered, “Only thing I miss about civilization is espresso.”
“Espresso machines aren’t expensive.” She finished the apple, tossed the core in the compost bin and accepted the coffee. She took a sip and amended that to, “Espresso machines aren’t terribly expensive.”
“Thanks for that!” Zone said.
She studied the screen. “When I look at this, I see a mile perimeter around the lookout, and I see life forms. Animals, right?”
Zone muttered something rude.
She figured she’d get used to that. She put the coffee cup down on the tiny countertop. “You must be Canadian,” she said to Zone.
He grinned evilly. “How did you guess?”
“Because you don’t look Turkish.” To Max she said, “Only the Turks and the Canadians make coffee that strong.”
“A few Venetians, too.” Max sipped. “I’ve got an aunt who makes coffee that will keep you awake for days.”
She pointed at the screen. “I can see creatures prowling around. Coyotes? Wildcats of some kind? Congregating around in the area where the battle took place.”
“No living humans are out there,” Max said.
She glanced at Rae, still sleeping hard. The child had been through enough hell. She didn’t need to hear them talking about danger and death. Rae shouldn’t know about death and pain at all.
But she did. She did.
“What happened to them? There were four shooters—three men and the man in charge. I shot two of them, wounded them badly and knocked one unconscious, but none of them were dead, and I left the goddess for them.”
“As a diversion,” Max said.
She nodded. “They were after us, Rae and me. I was carrying her. We got into the canyon, into the fog. I heard a rifle shot. I sent her away and passed out. Easy pickings for them.” She dug her hands into the robe’s wide pockets. “Where did they go? How did they not kill me? Why didn’t they take the head?”
“Good questions,” Zone said. “Nils called, wanted me to search for you. I said no.”
“Who says gallantry is dead?” Kellen asked.
Obviously, Zone didn’t give a crap about his lack of gallantry. “I heard a rifle shot, too, then a bunch of pistol shots, then more rifle shots. I was headed to the lookout to get in out of the firefight before I was a casualty.” He made no apology for running away.
Kellen didn’t blame him. “Not your battle,” she said.
“No shit.” Zone sighed mightily, and in a flat tone of resignation, he said, “Then I ran into the kid, and she dragged me to get you. She wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“She never does.” Kellen cleared her suddenly clogged throat.
Zone continued, “On the way, we met Di Luca and he had grabbed you.”
“I sprinted up that mountain.” Max leaned forward, gaze fixed on her, intense and grim. “I got into that place where the trees thinned and the path narrowed. Fog drifted like terrorized ghosts. I could see trees looming up, rocks. But I couldn’t hear anything, anyone. Then someone shouted. And that rifle shot. Then no more shouting. I thought... I thought Rae was dead. You were dead. I ran toward the shot.”
“Hero,” Zone said.
Fiercely angry, Max jerked around. “If they’re dead, I have no reason to be alive.”
“Wasn’t being sarcastic,” Zone said.
Max closed his eyes, opened them and nodded.
“What happened, Max?” Kellen whispered.
“I saw a body. Then another. I found a trail of blood and another body, still warm, shot twice, once at close range.”
Kellen broke a sweat. She wasn’t out there anymore, in that wilderness of trees and stones looming out of the fog, but Max’s words brought the anxiety, the fear, the desperation back to her. People had died for that head. Rae had almost died for that head.
She got up, went to the sink, poured herself a glass of water and sipped it. “Four shooters,” she repeated. “None of them dead. Don’t get me wrong, I would have killed them, but with a pistol I couldn’t aim well enough, not at that distance. I killed no one.”
“Then shooter number four offed them all.” Zone was matter-of-fact.
She chewed her lip. “So one of the remaining mercenaries—the boss, I bet—must have killed the rest to keep the payment for himself.”
“But he didn’t take the head.” Zone indicated his workshop; he’d covered the Triple Goddess with a cloth.
Kellen was glad. She got tired of locking eyes with that statue, and every way you turned there were eyes, if not the goddess’s, then that relentless mercenary. “He was ruthless,” she said. “He must be the one who slit Horst’s throat. And killed his other men.”
“Why isn’t he out there?” Max tapped the radar screen. “We should have at least one human life showing on this screen. He should be watching for his chance to grab the head. When is he coming back for it?”
Kellen looked again at the Triple Goddess, and even though she was hidden beneath that cloth, Kellen could feel her gaze, critical, demanding that Kellen be all the things a woman must be—mother, warrior, protector. She looked toward Rae, toward that small face so sweet in repose and so vibrantly, irritatingly alive when awake. She whispered, “He wanted to eliminate the witnesses.”
The events of the past few days rose in a tide of memory and overwhelmed her. She pulled the chair toward her, tried to sit, missed.
“Kellen!” Max lunged for her.
She thumped on the floor and burst into tears.