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Before Deb could ask, Michael explained. “That means we can take Hughes Creek road, farther south, and run in circles for a while if we have to. And Wiz is trying—probably through Tom and Pete’s connections—to get us on to a ranch, then they’ll lock the gate behind us. Locks can be cut, but no one wants to mess with ranchers.” He shrugged. “Although these guys might not be smart enough to know that.”
On the highway below them, two vehicles drove north. One turned off on their road, the other continued along the lake.
“Time to go.” He handed the phone back to Deb, made sure the lights were off and fired the ATV, and then bumped along a rough track under the power lines that generally paralleled the Forest Road, then crossed it. Technically, he was trespassing, but he didn’t think anyone would care; the track was well-used. Reaching the highway, he pulled off the monocle, put on the helmet, turned the lights on and sped down the road, hoping no critters popped out in front of him. Even if their pursuers turned around when they met at the head of the lake, the two of them would be too far south to catch and safely at the new place.
Michael grinned. He loved it when a plan came together. They flew down the highway, Painted Rocks Lake glimmering slightly in the scant moonlight. A few miles past the lake, he slowed. If he remembered correctly, the turn on to the ranch was next, then across the valley and up the hillside to their new safe house.
He pulled on to a dirt road and stopped at a gate, turning the lights off and hopping out. The gate was fastened with a chain, but the lock was undone. He opened the gate, drove through, closed and locked it, then put his monocle back on and drove the bumpy road across the big meadow. He kept his speed low so he wouldn’t have to use the brakes—red lights would shine like a beacon out here. He wanted to watch the rear view mirror, but he couldn’t. Watching for cows and elk was more important. They crossed the meadow, and the road entered a narrow valley. Cut into the north hillside, the track rose parallel with the valley’s floor, tall pines crowding around them, making it less likely they’d be spotted from the highway.
The road made a hair-pin turn at the head of the valley, then continued upward, switching back and forth across the mountainside. The trees thinned, but didn’t disappear. Finally, the road emerged into a small meadow, with a log cabin at the far end. Michael blew out a sigh of relief, and continued ahead to the cabin. Rather than parking in the clear area in front, he drove around the structure and stopped in the back, slamming the ATV into park to minimize the red flare of taillights.
“Are we there, yet?” Deb’s tone wobbled.
“Yeah. We’re here. I think we lost them, but no guarantees.” He took the ATV keys, unfastened his harness, grabbed the rifle, slung his backpack over one shoulder, and grabbed the big bag. His lower back screamed from the long, rough ride, and his mouth was drier than the Afghanistan mountain tops, but they’d survived, and that’s what counted.
Deb took both backpacks and preceded him to the cabin’s back door, the sat phone clenched in one hand. She entered a code, the lock beeped, and they were in.
She reached for the light switch, but he stopped her, pulling the headlamp from his backpack and clicked through the modes until he turned on the red light. They stood in a small mudroom, with hooks for coats and a bench with slippers underneath. The kitchen was on their left, open to the living room taking up the front half of the cabin. A door to the right was probably a bathroom, and the ceiling overhead was probably a bedroom loft.
Dropping the bags, he gripped the AR-15, and put the ATV keys in Deb’s hand. “Stay here.” Padding through the small cabin, he cleared each room and the larger cabinets, then returned to the back door. “It’s clear. The bathroom is there.” He pointed to his right. “And the bed is upstairs. I think you’ll be safe to use the light in the bathroom once the door is closed, but use the red light on your headlamp for everything else, okay?”
“Sure.” She skittered for the bathroom and shut the door. Light shined below the door, but not too brightly. The sprint wasn’t unexpected; the ATV’s rough ride was tough on the body.
Michael explored the kitchen; it had been stocked with groceries, a welcome surprise. Back in the mudroom, he opened the big black bag from the ATV. Inside, a second bag held freeze-dried backpacking meals and a stove, which he left. Two smaller bags contained clothing. He dropped the pink bag outside the bathroom. “Deb, there’s a bag with clothes outside the door.”
“Thanks.”
He continued into the living room. The cabin was maybe twenty by twenty feet; a love seat and two chairs faced a TV over a fireplace, with two stools under the kitchen counter. The front door was locked, and he drew the shades over the front windows, leaving a small gap to peer out at the bottom. At the top of the steep stairs—almost a ladder—a king-size bed took up the majority of the loft’s far end, with two chairs flanking a small table at his end, and a wood chest at the end of the bed. Floor lamps stood on each side of the bed, but since the loft was open to the living room below, and an uncovered window near the roof’s peak provided him a view of the meadow in front of the cabin, they couldn’t use the lights.
A fan turned on and water sprayed below him. Deb must be taking a shower. Michael checked the chest—extra blankets and pillows—then dumped his clothes on top, finding sweatpants and a t-shirt. He’d take a shower after Deb finished, but he had to stay busy—thinking about hot water sluicing around her was a very bad idea.
Taking his backpack back downstairs, he lined up all his medications on the kitchen counter and took his evening doses, adding an over-the-counter pain reliever to reduce the inflammation in his back. He couldn’t afford to take the stronger stuff—they might have to leave at any moment, and his decision-making skills and reflexes had to be perfect. He filled the empty days of the pillbox, and swept the individual bottles back into his pack. Normally, he wouldn’t fill the daily organizer until he took the last day’s doses, but with their current predicament, preparation was critical.
Deb emerged from the bathroom in a pink t-shirt and loose pants, with a towel wrapped around her hair, carrying bags. Michael wanted to turn on the light, but he couldn’t, and it was just as well; increasing his longing for her would be dumb. But when it came to Deb, his brain short-circuited. He cleared his throat, trying to cough away his desire, too. “Leave as much as you can near the back door. If we have to leave in a hurry, we need to grab and go. Take the vest upstairs, so you can put it on immediately if bullets fly.”
Her shoulders drooped. “Right. I guess it was silly to think we’d be safe here.” She carried her bags to the back door, then went back for her boots and backpack.
Michael wanted to comfort her, but grabbed the black bag instead, and took it outside, webbing it in place on the ATV. Back inside, he put his backpack and boots next to Deb’s, and entered the bathroom. Citrus and Deb smacked him in the nose—and the rest of his body. Grimly determined to control his reactions, he disrobed, carefully placing the weapons where he could reach them from the shower, and got in, sighing at the relief of hot water on his tight back.
The citrus shower gel didn’t smell the same on him, fortunately, so he cleaned up and finished his nighttime routine. After checking the doors and windows, he climbed the steep stairs, placed his weapons, and gently slid into bed next to Deb.
The large bed gave him no excuse to hold her close—a very good thing. She deserved better than a broken-down old man dependent on a dozen meds to get through the day and more to sleep well. He concentrated on his breathing, ignoring the siren call of the warm, lovely woman beside him, and fell into an uneasy doze, ready for any indication that they’d been found.
And if Deb starred in his dreams, no one else had to know.
Chapter 14
Deb woke, squinting at the sun shining in her eyes from the east-facing window at the peak of the roof. The far side of the bed’s covers were wrinkled, but pulled into place; Michael must be up already. Too bad; she liked cuddling with him. She stretched, wincing at the ache in her overworked muscles. A back rub would be even better. But he wasn’t interested—she had to stop thinking about him that way. He was a protective friend, but only a friend. She was fortunate to have him, because without him and the rest of her friends, she’d probably be dead. Or worse; a captive.
Despite her longing for romance and comfort, Deb threw back the covers and scooted out of bed, changing into her “tactical” clothes. Or as close as she could get. Gathering the bulky protective vest and her sleeping clothes, she carried them downstairs, repacked everything neatly and dumped the vest by the back door.
The bathroom was empty, and there was no sign of Michael other than his bags. The dark, rich scent of coffee lured her into the kitchen. A pot gently steamed, with cream and sugar waiting next to it. She poured a cup and doctored it heavily, then plopped down on the love seat, sipping and staring into the empty fireplace. But she couldn’t sit for long, wondering and worrying about Michael. They had bad people after them, plus there were wild animals, and whoever owned the cabin. But he was smart and a trained military man; he wouldn’t do anything stupid. If she went outside looking for him, she’d end up inviting the bad guys inside and serving them breakfast.
To forget her concerns, she explored the gorgeous, luxury log cabin. The pale, exposed logs brightened the inside, and the shade-covered windows were large for a log structure. The kitchen cabinets were beautiful knotted hickory, with dramatic white and gray-veined marble countertops and high-end appliances. The living room furniture was Stickley, and small bronze statues of cowboys tastefully nodded to the ranch’s working status. The bathroom mirrored the kitchen’s scheme, and Deb hoped they’d be there long enough that she could use the shower’s multiple spray heads. Last night, she’d been too tired and sore to do anything but get clean and plop in bed.
She peered into the lower kitchen cupboards. A big set of expensive pots, baking pans, and small appliances would make it easy to cook and bake whatever her heart desired, and if she dared to make a video, it would look fabulous. In the pantry, staples were plentiful, plus expensive jams, jellies, pickles and imported canned food along with two loaves of her competitor’s bread.
She chose the sourdough and carried it to the counter. By now, her bakery would be full of rock-hard loaves. Hopefully, one of her friends threw everything away so she didn’t have a rat problem when she returned. If she returned.
