Читать книгу Unforgettable - Cassie Miles, Cassie Miles - Страница 7

Caitlyn only knew one thing for sure about Jack. He was stoic—incredibly stoic. His ability to tolerate pain was downright scary.

Moments ago, she’d closed the wound on his head with four stitches. Though she’d used a topical analgesic spray to deaden the area, the effect wasn’t like anesthetic. And she wasn’t a skilled surgeon. Her clumsy stitching must have hurt a lot.

He hadn’t flinched. When she had finished, he turned his head and calmly thanked her.

After that, he had wanted to leave, but she insisted that he stay long enough to eat something and have some water. After sewing him back together, she was invested in his survival.

Also, she was curious—an occupational hazard for a journalist. She wanted to get Jack’s true story.

They sat at her dining room table, and she watched as he devoured an egg salad on light rye. She’d found him a faded black T-shirt that belonged to her brother, who wasn’t as big as Jack but wore his clothes baggy. The fabric stretched tight across Jack’s chest. Underneath were all those scars. How had he gotten wounded? In battle? The long ridge of puckered flesh on his torso was still healing and couldn’t have been more than a couple of months old. If he’d been injured in military service, he wouldn’t have been discharged so quickly.

She nibbled at her own sandwich, trying to find a nonintrusive angle that might get him talking. In her work, she’d done hundreds of interviews, some with hostiles. The direct question-and-answer approach wouldn’t work with Jack.

“You’re not from around here,” she said, “What brought you to the mountains?”

“Beautiful scenery. Fresh air.”

Spare me the travelogue. “Where did you grow up?”

“Chicago.”

Was he a kid from the burbs or a product of the mean streets? Instead of pushing, she offered an observation of her own. “One of the best times I had in Chicago was sailing on Lake Michigan at dusk, watching as the lights of the city blinked on.”

He continued to eat, moving from the sandwich to a mouthful of the beans she’d heated on the stove.

“Your turn,” she said.

“To do what?”

“I tell you something about me, and then you share something about yourself. It’s called a conversation.”

His gaze was cool, unreadable and fascinating. The green of his eyes contained dark prisms that drew her closer. “You have questions.”

“We’re just having a chat. Come on, Jack. Tell me something about growing up in the Windy City.”

“The El,” he said. “I don’t care for underground subways, but I always liked riding the elevated trains. The jostling. The hustle. Made me feel like I was going someplace, like I had a purpose.”

“Where were you going?”

“To see Mark.” As soon as he spoke, his eyebrows pinched in a frown. He swallowed hard as though he wanted to take back that name.

“Is Mark a friend?”

“A good friend. Mark Santoro. He’s dead.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Me, too.”

His friend’s name rang a bell for her. Even though she hadn’t been following the news regularly, she knew that the Santoros were an old-time but still notorious crime family. For the first time in weeks, she glanced longingly at her laptop. Given a few minutes to research on the internet, she might be about to solve the mystery of Jack Dalton.

“I haven’t been honest with you, Caitlyn.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t have a car accident.”

“What else?”

“There are some guys looking for me. They’ve got a grudge. When I came here, I thought I could use your car for a getaway. But that’s not going to work.”

“Not that I’m volunteering my SUV for your getaway, but what changed your mind?”

“If I have your car, it connects you to me. I don’t want anybody coming after you.”

She agreed. Being targeted by the Santoro family wasn’t her idea of a good time. “We should call the police. I have a friend, Danny Laurence, who’s a deputy sheriff. He’s somebody you can trust.”

“I’m better off on my own.”

He rose from the table, and she knew he was ready to depart. She hated the thought of him being out there, on his own, against powerful enemies. She bounced to her feet. “Let me call Danny. Please.”

“You’re a good person, Caitlyn.” He reached toward her. When his large hand rested on her shoulder, a magnetic pull urged her closer to him. Her weight shifted forward, narrowing the space between them. He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “It’s best if you forget you ever saw me.”

As if that would happen. There weren’t a whole lot of handsome mystery men who appeared on her doorstep. For the past month, she’d been a hermit who barely talked to anyone. “You won’t be easy to forget.”

“Nor will you.”

“For the record, I still think you need to go to the hospital.”

“Duly noted.”

From outside, she heard the grating of tires on gravel.

Jack had heard it, too. In a few strides, he was at the front window, peering around the edge of the curtain.

A 1957 vintage Ford Fairlane—two-toned in turquoise and cream—was headed down her driveway. She knew the car, and the driver was someone she trusted implicitly. His vehicle was followed by a black SUV with tinted windows. “Do you see the SUV? Are these the people who are after you?”

“Don’t know,” he said. “They’ve seen your car so you can’t pretend you’re not here. Go ahead and talk to them. Don’t tell them you’ve seen me.”

“Understood.” She gave him a nod. “You stay in the house. I’ll get rid of them.”

Smoothing her hair back into her ponytail, she went to the front door, aware that she might be coming face-to-face with the enforcers for a powerful crime family. Panic fluttered behind her eyelids, and she blinked it away. This wasn’t her first ride on the roller coaster. She’d gotten through war zones, faced terrorists and bloody death. A couple of thugs from Chicago shouldn’t be a problem.

From the porch, she watched as the Ford Fairlane parked near her back door. The black SUV pulled up to the rear bumper of her car before it stopped.

She waved to Bob Woodley—a tall, rangy, white-haired man who had been a longtime friend of her family. He was one of the few people she’d seen since moving back to the cabin. A retired English teacher, he had been a mentor to her when she was in her teens. “Hi, Mr. Woodley.”

He motioned her toward him. “Get over here, Caitlyn. Give an old man a proper hello.”

When she hugged him, he must have sensed her apprehension. He studied her expression. His bushy eyebrows pulled into a scowl. “Something wrong?”

“I’m fine.” She forced a smile. “What brings you here?”

“I was visiting Heather at the Circle L when these two gentlemen showed up. Since I’m a state congressman, I figured it was my duty to extend a helping hand to these strangers by showing them how to find your cabin.”

She looked past him toward the SUV. The two men walking toward her were a sinister contrast to Mr. Woodley’s open honesty. Both wore jeans and sports jackets that didn’t quite hide the bulge of shoulder holsters. Dark glasses shaded their eyes.

Woodley performed the introductions. “Caitlyn, I want you to meet Drew Kelso and Greg Reynolds.”

When she shook their hands, their flesh was cold—either from the air-conditioning in their car or because they were reptiles. “What can I do for you?”

Woodley said, “We understand that you had a visitor this morning.”

How did they know about Jack? Had her cabin been under surveillance? “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“The dappled gray mare,” Woodley said. “You had Heather come over and pick it up.”

“Oh, the horse.” She rolled her eyes in an attempt to look like a ditzy blonde. She didn’t want these men to take her seriously, wanted them to dismiss her as harmless. “Silly me, I’d already forgotten about the horse.”

The one named Reynolds said, “It belongs to someone we know.”

“Your friend needs to be more careful,” she said. “The horse showed up on my property without a saddle or a bridle or anything.”

The friendly smiles she offered to the two thugs went unanswered. They meant business.

The taller, Drew, had sandy hair and heavy shoulders. His mouth barely moved when he spoke. “We’re looking for the guy who was riding that horse.”

“I didn’t see anybody.” She widened her eyes, even fluttered her lashes. “Like I said, no bridle or saddle.”

Drew said, “If you saw him, it’d be smart to tell us.”

His comment sounded a bit like a threat. “Who is this person? What’s his name?”

“Tony Perez.”

With complete honesty, she shook her head. “Never heard of him. But I’ll be on the lookout. Is there a number I should call if I see him?”

Drew handed her a business card that contained only his name and a cell phone number.

“I guess that wraps up our business.” Woodley checked his wristwatch. “I’d better shove off.”

She wanted to cling to him and plead for him to stay until these two men were gone. “Can’t you stay for coffee?”

“Sorry, kiddo. I’m running late for an appointment in Pinedale.” He strolled toward his vintage Ford Fairlane. “I hope you gents can find your missing friend.”

They gave him a nod and headed toward their SUV. Caitlyn breathed a little sigh of relief. They were leaving. The crisis was averted.

Before Woodley climbed behind the steering wheel, he said, “Don’t be a stranger, Caitlyn.”

He drove down her driveway and turned onto the road. The two men stood beside their SUV talking. With every fiber of her being, she wanted them gone. These were two scary guys. Why hadn’t Mr. Woodley been able to see it?

They came back toward her. Drew said, “We want to take a look around. To make sure he’s not hiding around here.”

“That’s not necessary.” She positioned herself between him and her front porch. “There’s nobody here but me.”

Drew glanced over his shoulder at the other man, Greg Reynolds. He was neat and crisp. His boots were polished. His charcoal sports jacket showed expensive tailoring, and his thick black hair glistened in the sunlight. She guessed that he was a man of expensive tastes, definitely the boss.

Greg gave a slight nod, and Drew walked toward her cabin. Short of tackling him, there was no way Caitlyn could stop him. Still, she had to try.

“Hey.” She grasped his arm. “I told you. There’s nobody here.”

Slowly, he turned toward her and removed his sunglasses. He didn’t need to speak; the curl of his upper lip and the flat, angry glare from his eyes told her that he wouldn’t hesitate to use violence. And he would most likely enjoy hurting her.

She stepped back. Silently, she prayed that Jack had hidden himself well or had managed to slip out the back door.

“This is for your own safety,” Drew said. “Tony Perez is dangerous.”

As she entered her cabin, her heart was pumping hard. She shoved her hands into her pockets so no one would notice the trembling.

Jack had cleaned up every trace of his presence. On the dining room table, there was only one plate and one bottled water. She watched as Drew went into the bathroom. Jack’s discarded clothing had been in there. Apparently, his shirt and undershirt were gone because Drew emerged without saying anything.

When Tony brushed past her, she caught a whiff of his expensive cologne. It smelled like newly minted hundred-dollar bills. He rested his hand on the door handle of the front closet and yanked it open. She noticed that her rifle was gone.

IN THE LOFT ABOVE the stalls in the horse barn, Jack lay on his belly and sighted down the barrel of Caitlyn’s rifle. This weapon lacked the sophistication of the sniper equipment he was accustomed to using. Her rifle scope was rudimentary and so poorly mounted that he had removed it. At this range, he trusted his marksmanship. His first shot would show him the correction for this particular weapon, after which he would be accurate.

His plan was simple. Take out the tall man with sandy hair; he was the most deadly. Then the boss.

Holding the rifle felt natural, and he easily comprehended the necessary strategy in an assault situation. These skills weren’t inborn. He couldn’t remember where he’d learned or who taught him. But he knew how to kill.

When Caitlyn and the men entered the house, Jack adjusted his position, trying to keep track of their movements through the windows. So far they hadn’t threatened Caitlyn, except for that moment when she touched the sandy-haired thug. The bastard looked like he wanted to kill her. If he’d hurt her, Jack would have squeezed the trigger. He’d gotten Caitlyn into this mess, but he wouldn’t let her be harmed.

The optimum scenario would be for them to make their search and then go. She wasn’t a part of this.

Not being able to see what was going on inside the house made him edgy. If they didn’t come outside soon, he needed to move in closer to protect her. He started a mental timer for five minutes.

In the corral below him, the two horses—one light and one dark—stood at the railing. Their ears pricked up. They nickered and shifted their hooves. Animals could sense when something was wrong. The horses knew.

He was nearing the end of his countdown when the small group emerged from the back door. Caitlyn looked angry. Earlier, she’d tried to act like a dumb blonde and had failed miserably. Her intelligence showed in every move she made and every word she spoke.

The two men walked ahead of her toward the barn. Jack got ready to shoot. His position gave him an advantage, but he needed to time his shot so there was no chance they could retaliate. He wished there was some way to signal Caitlyn to keep her distance from them.

They walked toward the corral. Coming closer, closer. They were less than fifty yards from his position. The tall man was in front. His hand slid inside his jacket, and he pulled his handgun.

Jack aimed for the center of his chest, the largest target. If he’d been using a more sophisticated weapon, he would have gone for a head shot.

He heard Caitlyn object. “What are you doing? Why do you have a gun?”

The other man assured her, “We have to be prepared. The person we’re looking for is extremely dangerous.”

Damn right. Jack knew he was capable of lethal action. A trained killer. Damn it, Caitlyn. Get out of the way. The slick-looking man with black hair, the boss, stayed close to her. Too close.

Jack adjusted his aim. He’d kill the boss first. As he stared, he realized that he knew this man. Gregorio Rojas. He was the younger son of a drug cartel family that supplied the entire Midwestern United States.

Hatred flared in Jack’s gut. His finger tensed on the trigger. Rojas was his sworn enemy. Take the shot. Rid the world of this bastard whose actions have been responsible for so much misery, so much death.

Rojas paused, took a cell phone from his pocket. After a brief conversation, he motioned to the other man. They headed back toward their vehicle.

Still, Jack didn’t relax his vigilance. Rojas was still within range.

His memory was returning. The blank spaces knitted together in a tapestry of violence. Take the shot.