The Last Resort Page 8

  Higg’s relaxation was subtle. “I don’t.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “The problem is you getting in my face because I chose you to run an errand and you don’t want to do it because you’re afraid someone will put a move on her in your absence.”

  “No,” Spencer said coolly. “I’m afraid someone will think they can get away with taking what’s mine, and then I’ll have to kill him. You don’t want to lose a soldier in our war, do you?”

  “You said yourself, she doesn’t matter worth shit,” the colonel said impatiently. “What’s your problem?”

  “My problem is that I laid my reputation on the line. That matters to me. If you expect me to exert any authority over this bunch, it should matter to you, too. If someone hurts her and smirks at me when I get back tomorrow, what’s it going to look like if I back down from what I promised?” He let that settle for a minute before shaking his head and raising an eyebrow. “I’m not willing to do that. I’ll do your errands tomorrow, but if I find out anyone touched a hair on her head, there’ll be violence. I’m just telling you, that’s all. Don’t be surprised.”

  Higgs muttered an obscenity. “Fine. I get it. I’ll reinforce your message tomorrow. If that’ll satisfy you, General?”

  Spencer snapped a salute. “It’s Captain, as you know quite well.”

  “I never could verify your service.” This was an old complaint.

  “The army can be secretive, even with an air force lieutenant colonel. More so when it comes to the records of spec-ops soldiers.”

  “Especially snipers,” Higgs grumbled. “I got nothing out of them at Fort Bennett.”

  “Well, it’s not as if that’s something I could fake,” Spencer pointed out. “You want to get me a different rifle, I can make a kill shot from over a thousand feet out.”

  “Why not the rifle you’re using?”

  Spencer had said this before, but he didn’t mind repeating himself. “The M82 loses accuracy over nine hundred yards. It’s a mallet, not a stiletto.”

  “A mallet’s what we want, and you’re right. You’ve proved your abilities and more. I’d take one of you over ten of the rest of these grunts.”

  “They have their uses.”

  Higgs smiled. “Indeed they do.”

  Repelled by that smile, Spencer stifled his need to hear Higgs promise that they had a deal. Demanding any such thing would undo all the good he’d just accomplished.

  If he had to kill someone tomorrow, he was prepared, but that would do shit for Leah.

  His self-control was rarely strained, but as he held back a growl, he was freshly reminded that she’d put more than a few cracks in it.

  * * *

  SCUTTLING ALONG AT Spencer’s shoulder in the morning, Leah asked, “Won’t Higgs be outside most of the day, like usual?” Spencer hadn’t wanted to talk about it last night. In fact, his mood had been foul.

  “Probably.” His long stride ate up the ground. “He promised to reinforce my message where you’re concerned. He knows what will happen if anyone bothers you.”

  “Well, that’s reassuring,” she mumbled. Nothing like knowing he’d take revenge for her, even if by then she was a bloody, bruised piece of pulp.

  “Stick with the other women and you should be all right,” he ordered before they reached the lodge and there was no more chance to talk.

  Should was not the most reassuring word in this context.

  Since she’d been designated cook for the first time this morning, she had to shove her worries to the back of her mind. With only a little advice on the quantities needed to feed nineteen men and five—no, four—women, she competently turned out pancakes and two platters piled with nice crisp bacon. Nobody said, “Hey, good job,” but as they served the food she felt part of the quartet in a way she hadn’t before.

  Of course they’d pretend not to see if someone like Joe Osenbrock assaulted her in the middle of the kitchen.

  During the meal Spencer ate mechanically, never so much as glancing at her. The table was barely cleared when he, Lisa and Del Schmidt went out the door. Feeling hollow, Leah pretended not to notice.

  While the other men headed out for whatever training scheduled for today, Tim Fuller took up a position in the kitchen, his irritation plain.

  Did he hate this detail? His wife seemed more self-effacing than usual, which made Leah suspect either he’d been posted out of rotation or was missing something especially fun—say, they were going to find out today what happened when they fired a rocket into a big pile of boulders.

  Had they tried out their rocket launchers yet? They surely wouldn’t dare shoot one upward. Wouldn’t that be picked up on air force or civilian airport radars?

  As she was setting the table for lunch, two men walked in. Joe Osenbrock and Carson somebody, another look-alike. Joe’s expression turned ugly as he looked at her.

  “Coffee,” he snapped.

  She set down the pile of silverware on napkins and wordlessly returned to the kitchen.

  “Joe and Carson want coffee,” she said.

  “I’ll pour it,” Helen offered.

  Leah smiled weakly. “Thanks.”

  A minute later she set the mugs down in front of the two men, careful to follow Spencer’s instructions. Head bowed, shoulders rounded, avoid meeting their eyes. She hoped they couldn’t tell that her pulse was racing so fast she felt light-headed.

  Neither thanked her, of course. Joe flicked a glance past her, as if checking to see whether anyone was watching.

  Knowing she had no choice, she continued setting the table. She finished and headed for the kitchen just as she heard the front door open again, followed by a burst of voices. She hadn’t realized Tim had come out to the dining room until she almost bumped into him.

  He stopped her with one hand on her arm. “You’re a lucky bitch,” he murmured. “Don’t count on that lasting.”

  Leah shuddered. The minute he released her, she hurried into the kitchen. Had he been assigned to watch out for her? Was that why he’d followed her from the kitchen...and why Joe had kept his distance?

  Maybe...but she knew a threat when she heard one.

  * * *

  GETTING AWAY FROM Schmidt long enough to make a phone call wasn’t easy, but Spencer managed. He’d ordered Schmidt to stay with Lisa while he used the john. Then he helped himself to a phone he had spotted at a momentarily empty cashier’s station and took it down the hall toward the public restrooms, an office and what appeared to be an employee break room. It was likely password protected, of course, and he had a phone he could use, but he couldn’t be a hundred percent sure that it was still secure. Even if it had been found, he doubted anyone in the group was sophisticated enough to know how to record his conversation or trace numbers he called, but better safe than sorry. If he could get away with borrowing—

  Yes. He’d gotten lucky.

  Thank God Ron answered. “Special Agent Ron Abram.”

  “This is Wyatt.” No, that wasn’t his name, but he didn’t use his own name even in theoretically safe moments. He had to think of himself as Spencer Wyatt. “I’ve only got a minute.”

  “I’m glad you called. I’ve been worrying.”

  A woman emerged from the restroom, head bent over her own phone as she passed.

  “I have problems,” Spencer said. He summarized the events of the past few days, from Leah Keaton’s arrival to the “deal” he’d made with Ed Higgs to ensure her safety. “Even though I don’t want to quit until I have all the info we need, part of me wants to throw her in my SUV and take off. Trouble is, I’m not even betting we’d get away with that. Del Schmidt drove today. I’m wondering if I won’t find the starter or alternator have kicked the bucket. Or worse, it runs for five minutes and then dies. As it is, Higgs keeps the keys when we’re not using the vehicles.”r />
  “You’re not driving today?”

  “No. I wasn’t given the option, which is one reason I suspect sabotage. By standing up for Leah, I awakened suspicion. Higgs has called me on it. I think I talked him around, but I can’t be sure.”

  “If you have to cut and run, we’d have no choice but to raid the resort and pull the plug on the operation.”

  “Exactly.” He watched two teenage boys laughing and bumping shoulders as they headed for the men’s room. “Leah’s smart. I think she can play her part for a few days. Higgs wants me with him for a meeting Saturday.” The day after tomorrow. “I think it’ll be a meet to acquire some new arms.”

  “That’s worth holding out for,” Abram said.

  “I hate keeping a civilian in the mix,” Spencer said.

  Abram was quiet for a minute. “Damn. I wish you had a panic button.”

  “You and me both. I can’t promise when I’ll be able to call again.” He saw a woman wearing a checker’s nameplate at the cashier station where he’d swiped the phone. “Gotta go.”

  He quickly deleted a record of his call, shoved the phone in a pocket and strolled that way. Just as he reached it, he said, “Hey! Somebody lost a phone,” and bent over, rising with it in his hand.

  “Oh, thank goodness!” she exclaimed. “You’d think I’d have heard it drop.”

  “It’s not damaged, is it?”

  “Well, there’s no crack anyway.” She beamed. “Thank you.”

  “No problem.”

  When he rejoined Lisa and Del, now heaping packages of meat into one of the two carts, he asked, “We get any desserts? My sweet tooth has been aching.”

  Lisa almost forgot herself so much as to smile. “I’m supposed to pick up some flats of strawberries and blueberries for pies, and rhubarb for a cake.”

  “What about some apple pies? Let’s get plenty of ice cream.”

  Nodding in agreement, Del said, “We need to load up on chips, too.”

  “I’m supposed to keep to a budget,” she said nervously.

  “If it looks like we’re going to run over, I’ll pick up the extra,” Spencer said. “Remember, we’re feeding another mouth, too.” Even if Leah hadn’t eaten enough to keep a bird alive, as far as he could see. He’d have to get on her about that.

  “Thanks,” Lisa said shyly. “I don’t want to make anyone mad.”

  “I’ll be mad if I don’t get an apple pie,” Spencer joked.

  The mood stayed good as they shopped and then packed huge quantities of food in the rear and on one backseat of the big SUV. Spencer made sure neither of the others saw even a trace of his growing tension as they made the drive heading northeast on increasingly poor roads.

  If he found Leah hurt, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t grab the closest fully automatic weapon and start spraying bullets.

  When at last they pulled up in front of the lodge, he hopped out, waited for the rear hatch to rise and grabbed bags of potatoes and a couple of flats of canned goods, then took the steps to the porch. He had to shift the load a little to reach the knob, shouldered the door open and walked in. The first person he saw was Joe Osenbrock, sitting beside Tim Fuller at the long table. Spencer clenched his teeth until his back molars hurt.

  He passed the two without a word, without pausing long enough to read expressions, and went into the kitchen.

  One of the other women was off to his right. He didn’t even know which one. All he saw was Leah, turning from the sink, her hands encased in plastic gloves, a scrub brush held in one of them. The relief and something more that suffused her face did a number on him.

  “Leah,” he said hoarsely.

  Can’t drop my load and take her into my arms.

  He couldn’t even ask if she was all right. He hated that.

  Her eyes widened at whatever she saw on his face. What she did was flush, draw a deep breath and say, “Oh, good. I was hoping potatoes were on the list. I’m not sure we have enough...” She bit her lip and ducked her head. “I’m sorry.”

  Sorry for? But he knew. Some men here would have backhanded her for that artless chatter, especially given the implication that he might have screwed up by not buying everything that was needed.

  He tore his eyes from her, saw Jennifer watching them. “Where do you want this stuff?” he asked.

  “Oh, in the pantry.” Maybe reading his expression, she added hastily, “Or...anywhere is good. We can put everything away.”

  Footsteps behind him heralded Del’s arrival with more food. On his heels, Lisa carried more than she should have to.

  “Wherever is best,” he said shortly, and went to the pantry.

  As he made three more trips back and forth from the SUV, he couldn’t help wondering what Jennifer thought she’d seen, and whether she talked to her husband. Or whether he listened to her if she did.

  After depositing the last load, he said, “I hope dinner isn’t far off. I’m starved.”

  It was Jennifer who answered, the tiniest edge in her voice. “No, not if Leah gets on with that potato salad.”

  “I’m hurrying,” Leah said, sounding chastened.

  Turning to stalk out of the kitchen, Spencer knew he’d be happy never to hear her sounding so diminished again.

  But if they were going to hold out long enough for him to make this mission a success, that was one wish he wouldn’t get.

  Chapter Eight

  They didn’t talk during the walk back to the cabin. With the sun still high in the sky, it might have been midafternoon. Days were noticeably longer here than even in Portland, Oregon, she’d noticed.

  Inside, Spencer did his usual walk-through, then said, “Waste of a goddamn day.”

  “We...we really were running out of food.”

  He made a rough sound. “Higgs should have sent Ritchie or Jack Jones.”

  Leah only vaguely knew who the second man was. Would Spencer dare talk like this if there was any chance at all of a listening device?

  Maybe. This barely muted contempt went with the arrogance he projected so well. Deliberately, she thought. Higgs would expect it from him.

  “I want apple pie tomorrow,” he said. “See to it there is some.”

  Seeing her bristle, he winked.

  In her best “I’m nobody important” tone, Leah said, “Jennifer makes up the menu. She doesn’t like it when any of the rest of us make a suggestion.”

  “Tell her it’s from me.” He flat-out grinned now. “Lisa knows what I want.”

  Leah rolled her eyes.

  Smile gone, he growled, “Did any of the men bother you today?”

  “I... No.”

  His gaze bored into hers. “You’re mine. If anyone so much as laid a hand on you...”

  “No. I think they’re all scared of you.”

  “They should be.”

  Neither of them had sat down. It was too early to go to bed. Leah felt restless and could tell he did, too, but they couldn’t go for a walk every evening.

  Eyes heavy lidded, he took a step toward her, his fingers flexing. The hunger on his face ignited her own. Leah swallowed. Sex was something they could do. In fact, if the cabin was being bugged, they definitely should be having sex. And if that wasn’t an excuse, she’d never heard one before.

  But he seemed to pull down a shutter, turning away from her and saying gruffly, “You have some books in your suitcase. Why don’t you get one? I want to read before we go to bed.”

  Would anybody buy that? But she knew; he didn’t really believe there was a bug, he was just being cautious. She should be grateful he wasn’t the kind of man who would use “we need to convince any listener” as an excuse to get her naked.

  So she only nodded, went to the bedroom and grabbed one of the books at random. She didn’t want to read; she wanted to hear whether he’d had a chance
to call his office today and, if so, what he’d learned. She wanted to tell him about the threat issued by Tim, and about the inimical way he and Joe Osenbrock had stared at her. She wanted to know what his lips would feel like on hers.

  And she wanted desperately to know when he thought they could leave—if there was any way they could without getting killed.

  But he’d finally lowered himself to one side of the futon, stacked his booted feet on the scarred coffee table and opened his book. He appeared to immediately immerse himself.

  Leah sat at the other end of the futon, which really meant she could have stretched out an arm and touched him, and opened her own book. She read a few pages, realized she hadn’t taken in a thing, and turned back to start over. She thought the one side of his mouth she could see curled up. So he wasn’t any deeper in the biography than she was in the romance she’d picked up.

  The next hour dragged. She read, reread and finally plunked the book down without bothering to save her place. She was going crazy here, and Spencer continued to read as if unaware of her. She felt quite sure that wasn’t true.

  Her mind wandered.

  He hadn’t answered her question about his name. She liked the name Spencer Wyatt. What if his real name was something like...she entertained herself by coming up with a list of not-so-sexy possibilities. Elmer. Homer. Barney. Cornelius. Wilbur.

  All names, she realized, that would have been her grandparents’ or even great-grandparents’ generation. If she’d been born then and her name was Dolly or Kitty or...or Winnie, she’d probably have been fine with Barney.

  The name Barney wouldn’t reduce the man beside her in any way, she admitted to herself in dismay. She couldn’t think of much that would.

  I can’t fall in love with him, she thought in shock. What a ridiculous idea. This gooey mess of emotions in her were completely natural, considering he’d dedicated himself to saving her life and virtue. And that was a silly way to think of a vicious crime like rape.

  She sighed. She couldn’t exactly whine that she was bored.

  Only, she didn’t want to know when they’d get there; she wanted to know when they could leave.