Secret Hideaway Page 6

  They reached the woods and took cover in the dense spruce trees just as the shack exploded.

  Hugh Parker’s personal IED.

  Luke kept Parker in his control. “Were you going to rig Maggie’s cabin?”

  “I have better plans for her.” He grinned at Ellen, spittle on the corners of his mouth. “You won’t be able to live with yourself after I’ve finished with her.”

  “He’s trying to plant thoughts in your head, Ellen,” Luke said. “Don’t let him.”

  She nodded but kept her gaze fixed on Hugh Parker. “Did you think that woodpile was going to protect you?” She laughed, shaking her head. “Dumb, Parker. Real dumb.”

  9

  Maggie knew something was up when her flight landed and both Sam Temple and her father met her at her gate. They were strong, handsome men, both wearing suits and white cowboy hats, clearly on duty. “Ellen’s with Luke,” she said, breathless. “Nothing’s happened, has it?”

  “They’re okay,” Sam said. “Hugh Parker is in custody in New York.”

  “He tried to kill them?”

  Her father nodded, grim. “He put together a homemade bomb in a shack he took over.”

  “It wasn’t his first plan, wasn’t it?” Maggie asked. “He was going to hurt me as a way to hurt Ellen. Then kill her. Am I right?”

  “It’s all that Jane Austen you read,” Sam said, but his humor seemed forced. “You have good insight into different kinds of people.”

  Her father slipped an arm over her shoulders. “We figured out Parker flew from Albany to Austin then back up to Albany right before you did.”

  “He’s going to spend a long time in the frozen north,” Sam said. “He’s the man you saw at the lake yesterday. He did a few things to disguise himself. You were right to run.”

  Her father nodded. “As I’ve been saying since you were a tot, always trust your instincts. We’ll go back to the Adirondacks one day. You, Ellen, Brent, your mother and me. We’ll rent a cabin on a lake and go swimming and kayaking and enjoy ourselves. It’s a beautiful area.”

  “I’d like that,” Maggie said. “But you’ll probably want to invite Luke, too.”

  Sam grimaced. “Luke. Right.”

  Her father was expressionless.

  Maggie laughed. “It’s good to be home.”

  She returned to her studio apartment on the third floor of a house owned by professor friends. She had her books and papers, her posters of movies of Jane Austen novels, her collection of Texas Ranger memorabilia. It was okay she wasn't in law enforcement. She was who she was. She felt free of her own restrictions on herself. She wasn’t a coward. Her parents had taught her to trust her instincts and get away from danger—and that was what she’d done.

  She got a text from a friend who’d heard she was back from New York. She and a few other friends were getting together that evening. Did Maggie want to join them?

  She did. Most definitely.

  ***

  “Maggie’s home safe and sound,” Ellen said, roasting in front of a roaring fire Luke had built in the fireplace at Maggie’s cabin. The temperature had dropped with the waning day but not that much. Either that, or Hugh Parker trying to blow them up was still affecting her. She decided to stay focused on Maggie. “She’s spending the evening with friends and then joining Mom, Dad and Brent and Uncle Sam and Aunt Kara and their two little ones for a picnic tomorrow.”

  “You’re quite a family,” Luke said, no sign he was hot.

  “Do we intimidate you?”

  “A senior Texas Ranger, a money whiz, twin sisters and a bright little brother. You Galways are a great family, but I’m not intimidated. No, ma’am.” He stood in front of her. “You’re asking the wrong question.”

  “What question should I be asking?”

  He took her hands and pulled her to her feet. “Let’s go outside. I got the fire too hot.”

  “So you do feel the heat.”

  He winked. “I do.”

  They went outside and walked down to the dock. The sun was sinking behind the hills in the west. Luke tossed a stone into the water and watched the ripples for a moment.

  “All right,” Ellen said. “What’s the right question to ask you?”

  He continued staring at the water. “Ask me if I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” he said, finally turning to her. “Ask me if I love you with all my heart.”

  “Luke…” She couldn’t say anything else, her throat was so tight.

  “You don’t have to ask,” he said. “You know why? Because you already know the answer. You know I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You know I love you with all my heart.” He touched two fingers to her chest. “You know it here, in your own heart.”

  “You’re a romantic, Luke Jackson.”

  He smiled. “Worthy of a Regency hero.”

  “Those thighs of yours would never fit in those slim Regency trousers.” But she took in a breath, wanting—needing to be serious, straight with him. “I’ve been running from my feelings for you. I see that now.”

  “You’re not running now,” he said. “That’s what counts.”

  “I’m never running from you again. With you, Luke. Only running with you.”

  He eased his arms around her. “Seeing how we were nearly blown up by a crazed would-be killer, we won’t be on a flight back to Texas tonight. It’s nice here. Peaceful.”

  “I can’t smell the smoke from the IED here, can you?”

  “Not at all. The state police would like us to stick around for another day if we can. I like the idea of a couple of days here on our own. I talked to the owners. They’re cool with it.”

  “It sounds perfect.” Ellen took in his blue eyes, his strong jaw. “You haven’t asked me if I love you with all my heart and want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

  “Do I have to ask?”

  She didn’t hesitate. “No. You know the answer.”

  “I’ve been meaning to get to this for the past week. I haven’t because your mind has been elsewhere—on your sister, and rightly so—and because her troubles got you stirred up about yourself, me. Us. But there’s no changing how I feel about you. I’ve loved you since you cursed at me when you found out the good-looking guy who’d just bought you a margarita was another Texas Ranger.” He tightened his hold on her. “Ellen Galway, will you marry me?”

  She felt tears hot in her eyes. “Yes—yes, Luke Jackson, I will marry you.”

  “Good, because when your father and uncle find out we’re spending the weekend here, they aren’t going to believe we’re staying in separate bedrooms.” He kissed her softly, slipping a simple diamond ring on her finger. “I love you, Ellen.”

  “We’re forever, Luke. I knew it from the start but didn’t trust my own instincts. I tried to make a run for it. Ah, Luke. I love you so much.”

  He kissed her again. “Shall we try out those kayaks and see if we can come across a loon?”

  She smiled. “One with feathers.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they were paddling side by side in the clear water of the Adirondack lake. The sunset glowed orange, striking Ellen’s diamond. She laughed, dipping her paddle into water and splashing Luke in his kayak. “You came up here with the ring.”

  He grinned. “Just figured that out?”

  “You were testing me.”

  “Gauging the situation, like a good prosecutor would.”

  “You knew I’d say yes before you asked me to marry you. You’re not a prosecutor.”

  They paddled back to shore, jumping out their kayaks. Luke swept her into his arms and carried her to the cabin. She sank her head against his chest. She had no thoughts of the past, only of her future with this man she loved, starting with the next few hours.

  COLD MOONLIGHT

  A Black Falls Short Story

  Carla Neggers

  Ryan “Grit” Taylor felt snow melting in his right boot. He didn’t feel whatever snow might be melting in his left b
oot because he didn’t have a left foot, or any of his left leg below the knee. In the year since he’d lost it in a firefïght in Afghanistan, he’d learned to manage with a prosthesis...even in the Vermont snow, even while looking for Marissa Neal, the eldest daughter of Preston Neal, the vice president of the United States.

  It wasn’t a Navy SEAL mission. It was a Charlie Neal mission, Charlie being the youngest Neal, a sixteen-year-old meddling genius and the missing Marissa’s only brother. The Neals had arrived in tiny Black Falls, Vermont, last night for a long weekend in the early-spring snow. Charlie had popped out from behind a tree fifteen minutes ago, when Grit had gone to look for Marissa, thinking she might be making a snowman. Now he wasn’t sure what was going on. Charlie had a tendency to overreact.

  He also had a tendency to be right. He was worried about his sister.

  The Neals weren’t Grit’s responsibility, but Charlie knew how to give the Secret Service the slip and had done it before. Marissa probably knew how but she was the eldest of five, a history teacher, responsible, mature...pretty. Had she just wandered off? How?

  What if something was wrong?

  “My life didn’t used to be this complicated,” Grit said.

  Next to him in the snow, Charlie shook his head. He wasn’t wearing a hat, and his hair seemed even fairer in the early-evening light, with a half foot of fresh spring snow on the ground and clinging to every branch, twig and pine needle in the Green Mountains. “You’re wrong,” Charlie said finally; he was confident that way. “Your life was complicated even when you were fighting in Afghanistan. It only seemed simpler then because you were a member of a special operations team that worked under a chain of command, with a clear mission.”

  “Still am, still do.”

  Charlie paused on the snow-covered trail. His face was pale, much paler than it should have been given the cold temperature and the pace he’d been maintaining. “Do you have a clear mission now?”

  “Keep you safe. Find your sister. Keep her safe. Get you both back to the Secret Service.”

  “What if Marissa’s already—”

  “Don’t go there, Charlie. It won’t help.”

  Without comment, Charlie resumed walking. He and Grit both wore boots, not snowshoes or cross-country skis. There were no other prints in the snow. They rounded a sharp curve shrouded with evergreens. Elijah Cameron was there, as grim as Grit had ever seen him—which was saying something, since Elijah, a Special Forces soldier, had been in the firefight in the Afghan mountain pass the night Grit had lost his lower leg. Black Falls was Elijah’s hometown. He’d always wanted to come home.

  Black Falls wasn’t Grit’s hometown. Too cold.

  “Marissa Neal’s in trouble,” Elijah said, never one to ease into a conversation. He glanced at Charlie, then shifted his Cameron-blue eyes back to Grit. “I spotted her up on the trail. Then out of the blue some jackass decides to shoot at me sniper-style.”

  “You were hit,” Charlie said, wide-eyed as he took in the blood on Elijah’s shoulder.

  Elijah shrugged. “I’m good.”

  Grit knew better than to argue with him. “Where is Marissa now?”

  “There’s a ski chalet not far from here. She’s probably heading there to hide, try to get hold of the Secret Service. She’s got about a ten-minute head start on you.” Elijah glanced at Charlie. “You, too.” He turned back to Grit. “One of them is hurt. Her or the guy who’s after her.

  “Blood trail?” Grit asked.

  Elijah gave a curt nod. “Intermittent.”

  Grit didn’t respond. Charlie’s instincts had been on target, not for the first time. Elijah’s presence had to have distracted whoever was after Marissa. Elijah had gone for an afternoon walk in the mountains he knew so well, maybe to think about his upcoming marriage to Jo Harper, a Secret Service agent and another native of pretty Black Falls, Vermont. He and Grit had become friends during the past year, but especially over the winter, when they discovered a network of killers had set up shop in Black Falls. The killers were now dead or in prison.

  Whoever was after Marissa Neal would be soon, too.

  “Let’s go,” Elijah said, teeth clenched.

  Charlie Neal was shivering, more from fear than cold, Grit thought as he looked up at the clear Vermont sky. “A nice day for maple sugaring, and here we are again.” He sighed at Elijah. “I thought you said Vermont was one of the safest states in the country.”

  “It is.”

  “Yeah. Just not Black Falls. Not lately.”

  Charlie stood between Elijah and Grit. “What do we do now?” Charlie asked.

  Grit took charge. “Elijah will get you back to the lodge. I’ll find your sister.”

  “Not a chance, Grit.” Elijah’s voice was low, uncompromising.

  Most people would be intimidated. Grit wasn’t. “I’d take you with me if I could, but you know I can’t, Elijah. You have a bullet in your shoulder.”

  “Graze.”

  “Take Charlie. The Secret Service must be all over this thing by now. You can fill them in.” Before Elijah could argue further, Grit added, “We’re wasting time.”

  Elijah was an experienced soldier and knew how to set aside his emotions and do what the situation demanded. “You’re not armed, Grit. Neither am I.” He glanced back through the woods, then shifted again to Grit. “It wasn’t supposed to be that kind of day.”

  “I’ll grab a big rock or something,” Grit said, half-serious. I’ll be fine. Go.”

  Charlie was close to hyperventilating, his lips purple, the skin at his jaw splotchy. He looked younger than sixteen. “I have a gun.”

  Grit sank deeper into the snow, the ground underneath soft, beginning to thaw. “Figures. Is it loaded?”

  “Yeah. Of course. I wanted to be prepared. Just in case, you know?”

  Elijah had the weapon out of Charlie’s hand and into Grit’s in two seconds flat. A Browning 9 mm. It’d work.

  “It’s not mine,” Charlie said without a hint of defensiveness.

  Elijah held up a hand. “Stop right there. Don’t tell us anything we don’t need to know.”

  “I won’t get arrested. It’s a legal weapon.”

  No doubt Charlie could cite the appropriate Vermont and federal laws—or make them up as he went along—but a look from Elijah and Grit silenced him, which wasn’t easy to do.

  Despite his bullet wound, Elijah clapped an arm on the boy’s shoulders. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.” Elijah winced as he lowered his arm. “I’ve been shot, you know. I need a damn doctor.”

  “The bullet didn’t hit any major organs or veins or arteries,” Charlie said. “You’d be dead by now if it had. How’s the pain?”

  “Not as bad as the pain of listening to a kid with a 180 IQ yap at me.”

  Elijah’s teasing seemed to energize and steady the teenager as they headed down the path, around the curve. Elijah glanced back just once, his expression grim, penetrating, as if he wanted to beam his strength and determination into Grit. Grit wished he could. He’d figured out early on in life—long before his SEAL training—that he wasn’t Superman.

  He ducked past a hemlock and saw blood, still bright red, splattered in the white snow. For a split second, Grit thought he could smell it, then realized that was a memory of a long, violent night a year ago—and the memory of the smell of his own blood.

  You can do this mission.

  He swallowed at the sound of the familiar voice close to him, as clear and calm as it had been that night in Afghanistan. As real. “Hey, Moose. What are you doing here?”

  You’re in love with Marissa Neal.

  Grit’s throat tightened. It was true. He was in love with Marissa. It’d started when he’d first met her last fall, just for a few seconds. He’d been chasing hired killers. Charlie had been trying to help on the sly. Marissa had been starchy, annoyed with Grit, annoyed with her brother. Understandably. With the network of killers finally dealt with, she and Grit had been spending tim
e with each other the past month.

  “Yeah, Moose. I’m in love with her.”

  But Michael “Moose” Ferrerra wasn’t there in the Vermont snow. He was dead, killed in action on a bad night last year in a remote Afghan mountain pass. Grit gripped the 9 mm and averted his eyes from the blood.

  He had no illusions. He knew he was alone, and he knew the Secret Service wouldn’t get there in time. He had to find Marissa on his own. • ·

  ***

  Marissa Neal shoved a heavy butcher-block island in front of the back door of the unoccupied ski house where she’d taken refuge, but immediately pulled it back to the center of the kitchen. She didn’t want to barricade herself in the kitchen after all. She wanted to be able to run out onto the snow-covered mountain if the man chasing her found her here.

  Unless he’s already in the house...

  She gave herself a mental shake, refusing to let her fear take control. She’d checked for footprints and signs of a break-in before she’d smashed the door window and slipped into the house herself.

  She was breathing hard, but she was no longer dripping blood. She’d torn her hand on a broken branch and had managed to tie her scarf over the cut. It ached, but she ignored the pain. Her thick leggings were soaked and cold from her trek through the snow. She’d fallen twice—maybe three times. Once in the house, she’d pulled off her gloves and hat but was careful to stuff them in her jacket pockets, in case she had to flee. Hypothermia was a risk...but the immediate threat was the armed man who’d shot Elijah Cameron. She’d gotten a glimpse of the shooter. Enough to know it was a man but not enough for a description—to know who it was.

  Marissa tried to focus on what she had to do now. To figure out her options.

  I’m not a Cameron. I don’t know these woods. I don’t know where this place is.

  The house was at the top of a dead-end dirt road. How far was she from help? Marissa tried to keep unanswerable questions at bay. Forcing back panic, she kept moving, digging through the drawers and cupboards for anything she could use for self-defense. Knives, bottles, rags, chemicals. She’d already grabbed a gas can from the attached one-car garage.