Killshadow Road. Пола Грейвс
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wanted to know if you were here, he’d have stopped by to see for himself. Instead, he wanted to get me some information I needed, in case you were here.”
“That’s ridiculously convoluted,” she muttered.
“That’s Quinn.” He smoothed the blanket beside her. “He believes you’re being railroaded. And he wants me to do anything possible to protect you.”
She levered herself upward to a half-sitting position, grimacing. “What do you believe?”
“I believe you’re in trouble.”
Her eyes narrowed, and he saw his halfhearted answer had struck a blow. She looked away and finished sitting up. “I can go.” She plucked at the hem of the borrowed shirt. “Can I keep the tee? My sweater is a loss.”
He closed his hands over her arms, holding her in place when she started to edge toward the other side of the bed. “Don’t be stupid.”
“Don’t be insulting.” She shook off his hands.
“I don’t think you’ve hooked up with a domestic terror group.”
“Wow, thanks for that vote of confidence.”
“But I know how little you care for the rules if you think they’ll stop you from getting the outcome you want.” He kept his tone gentle, though there was an edge of bitterness he couldn’t quite keep out of his voice.
“And I know how piously you worship them,” she shot back.
“We had to follow the evacuation protocols.”
“And Cameron died!” Her voice rose to a point before dropping to a hoarse half whisper. “He died because we left him behind.”
He pushed down a surge of guilt and kept his voice as even as he dared. “I know that. I never, ever forget that.”
“We could’ve—” Her voice broke, and he knew she was thinking the same thing he was. If they’d stayed to save Cameron from the fire, they’d have died, too. That part of the embassy had collapsed seconds after they cleared the area. Lingering one minute more would have been certain death for all three of them.
“No, we couldn’t. And I know you’ll never forgive me for pulling you out of there. I can live with that.” He put one finger under her chin and tipped her face up, willing her to look at him.
Her eyes drifted closed, refusing to comply.
He dropped his hand away. “I know that whatever you’ve done, whatever you’re doing now, is something you believe is right. Whatever rules you’ve broken, whatever orders you’ve defied, you’ve done it with good intentions. That’s what I believe.”
Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked at him, fire in her expression. She spoke slowly and carefully, her accent disappearing with her precise pronunciation. “I broke the rules, Darcy, because someone in the FBI was aware I was getting close to discovering their link to the Blue Ridge Infantry and their hodgepodge of associates. Those people have gone beyond meth dealing and planting pipe bombs. They are up to something huge. Mass-casualty huge. And someone in the FBI is facilitating their plans.”
“And you don’t know who?”
“Six people in the FBI knew I was trying to infiltrate the Blue Ridge Infantry. One of them set me up. I just don’t know which one.”
She looked even paler than before, he realized, except for the bruise-like purple shadows beneath her haunted eyes. He hated what he was about to say but he had no choice. Quinn’s call had been a clear signal.
“I know you’re tired. Clearly you need rest.”
“I’m okay—”
“No, you’re not.” He reached over to the nightstand and picked up the thermos. He checked to make sure the seal was tight before he put it in the wicker basket on the floor at his feet. “But this can’t be helped.”
“What are you doing?”
“Packing,” he said as he reached for the water bottle and checked the top, as well. “We have to leave this cabin now. Before the people out there looking for you realize you came here.”
“How are you holding up?”
Darcy’s low voice rumbled like thunder through her pain-hazed mind, stirring her from a jumble of disjointed dreams. All she could remember of those fractured images was the loamy smell of decaying leaves on the forest floor beneath her nose as she hid from a horde of faceless shadows chasing her through the woods.
She twisted her head to look at him. “How do you think?”
“You look like bloody hell.”
“You’re so free with the compliments, Darcy. People will talk.” She realized they weren’t moving. Looking up, she saw they were in a line of cars waiting for a stoplight to change colors. “Where are we?”
“Just south of Bitterwood.”
“Where’s that?”
“Just south of Purgatory.”
“And where’s that?”
“Somewhere north of hell.” Darcy’s lips quirked at the corners. “I think you’d be safe to take some acetaminophen now if you think it’ll help with the pain. Your ibuprofen dose was nearly two hours ago.”
She shook her head. “No more pain relievers. They’re making me feel loopy and that’s worse than the pain.”
He pressed the back of his hand to her cheek, catching her off guard. She slanted a questioning look toward him and he dropped his hand away. “Over-the-counter pain relievers shouldn’t be making you feel loopy. You’re a little warm for my liking.”
She shifted in her seat, sucking in a quick gasp at the ache in her injured side. “You think I have a fever?”
“Maybe. I don’t have time to get the first-aid kit out.” Ahead, the light had turned green and they started moving again. “We’ll be there soon and I’ll take your temperature and see where we are.”
“Where is ‘there’?” She fought to keep her eyes open, weary of the nightmares that chased her through her dreams when she drifted off.
“It’s a cabin. Belongs to someone I work with.”
“Quinn?”
“No. Someone else. He’s out of town for a week. Took his sister and his fiancée to the beach to celebrate. His cabin is empty for the next few days, and it’s deep in the woods, far enough from here that no one should bother us.”
Even through the haze of pain, mention of a trip to the beach caught her attention. “Are you talking about Hunter Bragg?”
He angled a sharp look toward her. “You know Bragg?”
“I know his fiancée. She’s my cousin. I talked to her a couple of weeks ago, before everything in my undercover op started going belly-up.” She quirked one corner of her mouth. “Pear-shaped, I think you Brits call it.”
“Not a Brit,” he murmured, but his lips curved upward. It was an old joke between them, one she hadn’t been certain he’d remember after all this time.
He was technically as American as she was. He just sounded like his British-born mother after spending his formative years in England.
“Did you tell Hunter what’s going on?” she asked after his smile faded.
“Of course not.”
“So we’re breaking in and staking out squatters’ rights for a few days while he’s away?”