Читать книгу Covert Cargo - Elisabeth Rees - Страница 11

THREE

Beth kept her hands on the dash of the truck as Dillon sped to her home.

He handed her his cell. “Call 9-1-1.”

She fumbled with the phone, barely able to form her words in coherent sentences. How could this day be any worse? It was like all her most terrible nightmares rolled into one. She managed to give her details to the operator, all the while watching her lighthouse come into clearer view. A pungent smell of burning wood invaded her nostrils, and as soon as the truck skidded to a stop on the graveled parking area, she flung herself from the passenger seat and started to run to the cottage. The front door of the keeper’s cottage was fiercely ablaze and smoke was eddying around the tower, rising and falling with the wind. Yet the windows were intact, with no smoke leaking through—this meant she might be able to save the contents inside. Her entire life was in the cottage, including all the handcrafted furniture she had spent hundreds of painstaking hours making.

She felt a strong arm curl around her waist and pull her back. It was Dillon.

“Stay back,” he ordered. “I’ll try and stop the flames from spreading.”

She felt helpless as she watched him pick up one of the buckets she kept by the front door for retrieving small pieces of wood from the beach. The buckets had filled with rain overnight and he threw the water at the door, dousing the flames as best he could. She noticed that the door had almost burned away and she could see right through into her living room.

“It looks like somebody dumped a bunch of trash by your front door and used gasoline as an accelerant to set the whole house on fire,” he shouted. “The fire’s taken a hold of a china hutch along the wall.”

“No!” Beth said, hearing the sound of her plates cracking and dropping to the floor as the wooden shelves gave way. “That was the first piece of furniture I ever made.”

She tried hard to stop herself from sinking to her knees. It felt as though the whole world were against her.

Dillon saw her distress. “I’ll see if I can save what’s left. At the very least, I should be able to do enough to stop the fire from spreading.”

Dillon picked up the second metal bucket by the door and briefly turned to her. “Now, stay as far away as—” He stopped as the bucket flew out of his hand, sending the water splashing across the stones. In an instant, he threw his body toward her and tackled her to the ground.

“Somebody’s shooting,” he shouted. “Keep down.”

Beth’s mind was awash with confusion. She was dazed. Dillon sprang to his feet but crouched low. He pulled out his gun with one hand and grabbed her arm with the other. Together they crawled to the truck and Dillon positioned Beth against the driver’s door.

“Are you okay?” he asked, kneeling beside her, checking her over.

“I’m fine,” she said breathlessly.

Another shot rang out, zipping through the air and hitting the roof of the truck. Dillon shuffled to the front wheel and used it for protection while he tried to spot the shooter.

“I see him,” he yelled. “Do you still have my cell?”

She slipped the phone from her pocket with shaking hands. “Yes.”

“Call 9-1-1 again. Tell them that the fire truck will need police protection.”

Another shot hit the truck’s hood and she let out a yelp. The fire looked to be taking tighter hold inside her house. Smoke was billowing out the door and the sound of smashing crockery falling from her china hutch made her jump. She found it hard to believe what was happening. It was like the scene of a movie. She watched the smoke sweeping out over the bay and imagined her quiet, sedate life being carried away with it.

“Beth!” Dillon’s voice brought her out of her trance. “Make the call.”

She punched the numbers into the keypad and waited for an answer. She saw the lights of the Bracelet Bay Fire Department truck flashing some distance away. They were on their way already.

“Dillon,” she said, her voice betraying her rising panic. “The fire truck is coming.”

“I can’t let them drive into an ambush,” he said. “I’ll go take care of this guy myself. Stay right here and wait for me to come back.”

Then he was gone. The emergency operator on the end of the line had to repeat her question twice before Beth remembered what she was meant to do. She requested officers from the sheriff’s department in the town of Golden Cove, the closest law enforcement station. The operator said there would be a wait of twenty minutes. Beth wondered if that would be too late. But there was no other choice. She hung up the phone and watched the fire truck making its way toward the lighthouse. Sporadic shots pinged through the air, but none seemed to be close. She pressed her hands together, closed her eyes and said, “Please, Lord, keep Your servant, Dillon, safe as he faces the forces of evil.”

She kept her head bowed until she heard the sound of the fire truck’s siren become louder. Then she lifted her head, realizing that she could no longer hear the gunshots. Somewhere down on the beach, beneath the cliff, the sound of a power boat or maybe a Jet Ski roared to life. Then the motor streaked over the water, echoing across the bay.

The fire truck was within a half mile of her home. She didn’t know whether to run and stop it or to sit and wait. She couldn’t make a decision. She was overwhelmed with a sensation of helplessness and despair, a feeling she had not experienced since her ill-fated wedding day.

“Come on, Beth,” she said out loud, rallying herself. “You’re tougher than this.”

With renewed strength, she rose from her position behind the coast guard vehicle and began running toward the fire truck, waving her arms to flag it down. She couldn’t allow the firefighters to drive into a gun battle. She had to take control. The truck stopped right in front of her and one of the men jumped from the vehicle. It was the long-serving station chief, who had known Beth since she was in elementary school.

“Beth,” he said. “We need to get to your home. You’re blocking our way.”

“No, I can’t let you pass,” she said, realizing that she sounded crazy. But what did it matter? They all thought she was crazy anyway. “It’s too dangerous.”

The fire chief spoke to her in a gentle tone as if she were a child. “We’re specially trained for this. We’re used to the danger.”

“This is more than a fire,” she said. “Somebody is shooting a gun. The police are on their way, and we should wait for them.”

Then she heard Dillon’s voice behind her. “It’s okay, Beth, you can let them through.” She turned around and saw him standing at the side of the road, looking disheveled and covered in sand. “The guy escaped on a Jet Ski.”

He walked over to the fire chief. “The fire is in the living room. Please be careful and save everything you can.”

He steered Beth to the side of the road and they watched the red truck rumble past. He then turned her toward him and put both hands on her shoulders.

“I’m sorry the guy got away,” he said. “I really wanted to catch him this time.”

Beth found herself unable to contain her emotions any longer. “Why me?” she asked with a wavering voice. “Why would somebody hurt my dog and try to destroy my home?” Tears began to flow, and she was powerless to stop them. She gritted her teeth. She hated to cry. She’d spent too much of her life crying, and she was done with it.

Dillon pulled her into an embrace. His skin was warm and slightly damp from the exertion of running. He smelled like a mixture of wood smoke and soap, and it was strangely comforting. But she hadn’t been in the arms of a man for a very long time and she stiffened against his touch. This only caused him to draw her in tighter.

“We’ll figure this all out together,” he said. “I’ll find you a safe place to stay in the town while the damage is repaired.”

She pulled away in one quick movement, her mood swiftly changing from fear of the unknown to a fear of returning to live in Bracelet Bay. “No. I don’t want to move into the town.”

“Beth,” he said. “Your home isn’t secure.”

She wrung her hands together. In her peripheral vision, she saw the firefighters bringing the smoking remains of her china hutch out onto the gravel. “I don’t want to move into the town,” she repeated. “Even for just one night. I can’t. I really can’t.”

“I’m afraid there really is no other choice.”

A thought struck her. “I have a friend who lives close by. Her name is Helen. I’ll stay with her.”

Dillon ran his hands through his dark curly hair. Sand fell out onto the shoulders of his jacket and he brushed it off. “Which house is hers?”

Beth pointed to Helen’s small wooden bungalow a half mile away. The place was old and ramshackle, with wind chimes and streamers hanging from the porch.

“That place doesn’t look very secure to me,” he said. “And I’d feel a lot better if we didn’t involve anybody else in this matter. Another person would simply be another liability.”

Beth cut him off. “A liability? Is that what I am?”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” he protested.

“That’s exactly what you meant,” she said angrily. She knew that her anger was borne out of shock, fear and distress. She had temporarily lost Ted, lost her home and was rapidly losing hope. The only person she could attack for this pain was Dillon.

Obviously seeing her determination to remain close to home, he relented. “I’ll arrange for somebody to stay with you at your friend’s house,” he said.

She nodded mutely.

He rubbed her shoulders as if he was trying to warm her up, and she realized she was shivering. “I know this is hard for you, Beth,” he said. “You’re a private person who didn’t ask for any of this, but you have to stay strong.”

He put an arm around her shoulder and started walking to her house, where the fire had now been extinguished and the firefighters were assessing the damage. “You’ll get through this,” he said gently. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

Beth silently balked at his words. Promises rolled off a man’s tongue like raindrops from petals. Promises were cheap, even those from supposedly good men.

* * *

Dillon wiped the last of the sooty residue from the inner walls of Beth’s living room. She had been fortunate that the fire hadn’t spread beyond her large china hutch. The thick stone walls weren’t a good conduit for flames and, therefore, the most damaging effect of the fire was from the smoke. Beth’s misery had been obvious and she had insisted on trying to clean the house immediately. His only option was to assist her, leaving Larry, Carl and the rest of his staff holding the fort at the station. He hadn’t yet had the opportunity to speak to Larry about the incident at the Salty Dog, and this troubled him. He felt as though he were juggling too many balls, and he didn’t want to drop one. He needed Larry working at full capacity, not brooding on a petty argument with his brother.

Both Dillon and Beth had worked hard all afternoon to remove the traces of soot. They began right after the local sheriff’s deputies had taken statements and left to begin their investigation. Dillon had given them the best description he could of the gunman, but he got the feeling they would struggle to find the culprit—the attack had been well prepared and was indicative of a professional criminal. This guy would be safely hiding away by now.

Beth came into the living room carrying two mugs of hot chocolate. “Thanks for helping me get things straight again,” she said, handing one of the mugs to him. “It’ll be getting dark soon. We should finish up.”

He took the cup and warmed his frozen hands on it. The door had totally burned away, and he had placed a temporary board over the empty space, but the air had chilled right through. He had put Larry on lighthouse lookout duty over at the coast guard station, keeping watch for anybody approaching Beth’s cottage, but this would be an impossible task as soon as darkness fell. Any attack she was likely to face would come from the sea, and at night the ocean was an immense and murky hiding place. They would need to be gone by nightfall.

“I’ve arranged for two members of my staff to stay at Helen’s house with you tonight,” he said. “They’ll be there by seven.” He raised his eyebrows at her. “You did call her, right?”

“Yes, I called her and asked to stay the night, but I didn’t want to worry her, so I didn’t tell her about the gunman.”

“You need to tell her, Beth. She should know the risk of allowing you into her home.”

“I know,” she said. “She’s already guessed something is wrong anyway, and once two coast guard members arrive with toothbrushes and sleeping bags, she’s bound to ask a ton of questions.”

“Well, I won’t be far away if anything happens,” he said. “I’ve decided to stay here for the night. If the gunman comes back, then I want to be ready and waiting for him.”

Beth held her mug close to her chest. “You mean, if the gunman comes back looking for me.”

“Yes. I don’t know why the cartel has you in their sights, but I intend to find out.”

“Is it because I saved the boy?” she asked, hooking her hair behind her ear. Her cheek had black streaks on it, where grime had rubbed off. “And because I can identify the man who was chasing him?”

“Perhaps,” he said. “I think the arsonist assumed you were home when he set the fire. I noticed some blood on his pants as he escaped, so I’m reckoning that Ted injured him earlier this morning. He obviously came back a second time to finish the job properly.”

“What job was he looking to finish?” Beth asked. “Burning down my home or shooting me?” She broke off to compose herself. “Or both?”

Dillon tried to phrase his reply carefully because he simply didn’t have any definite answers.

“When the gunman returned and found your house locked up, I assume he set the fire to flush you out into the open.”

“To take his shot?”

“Yes.” There was no way of softening his words, but he tried anyway. “This is all just guesswork. The gunman may have a whole other agenda.”

“It’s pretty obvious that his agenda is to hurt me,” she said quietly. “Possibly to punish me for saving the boy and to stop me from helping others. I know you probably can’t discuss the matter in detail, but are there lots of people like him being smuggled over the border out at sea?”

She was right about one thing. He couldn’t discuss the matter in detail with her. “The coast guard has seen a small rise in people trafficking activity lately.” The word small didn’t even come close to describing the unprecedented levels of smuggling over the last two months. “We’re hoping to make a breakthrough soon.”

“What kind of people would put a child in a boat and transport him through a raging storm?” she asked. “Do you know much about the gang responsible?”

Dillon wished she would drop the subject. She was already in grave danger, and the less she knew the better. He needed to keep his focus firmly on the trafficking cartel and not protecting her. He was already concerned enough about her safety to sleep in her unsecured house overnight. That was as far as he wanted to go.

“Don’t start asking too many questions,” he said. “The coast guard is tracking the movements of these smugglers and we hope to make some arrests soon.” He drained his cup. “You already know too much, so it’s best to leave the investigation to the professionals.”

She looked a little hurt and he wished he hadn’t spoken so severely. But it was in her best interest. Driving Aziza to safety in Kabul had prevented him from helping others who needed him, and had resulted in their probable deaths. If Beth learned more information, then she would be even more at risk and would demand even more of his time. He felt as if he were walking a tightrope—one wrong move and someone would die. But who would it be?

“Okay,” she said. “I get it. I’ll butt out from now on. You’re the expert, after all.”

He looked at her gray eyes, startling in their clarity, and saw intelligence within. She was perceptive.

“So what’s your background?” she asked. He suspected she was fishing for more details on the case. “Carl said you came here from Maryland. I’m guessing Washington, DC.”

He had learned his cover story down pat. “Yeah,” he said. “I was working a boring desk job in the Office of Strategic Analysis, and I wanted to get back on the front line.” The act of lying to her again didn’t sit well with him, so he mixed in some truth. “For a long time, I couldn’t move away because I was taking care of my father, who was suffering with Alzheimer’s disease. After he died, I decided to make a change and take a new post.” He smiled. “I figured that moving over two thousand miles away was enough of a change.”

In reality, he had been based in Little Creek, Virginia, taking care of his father in Pittsburgh on weekends, while his sisters picked up the slack during the week. It had been hard work, but he was glad he did it. His father had spent the last few months of his life being looked after by those who loved him.

“That’s an honorable thing to do,” she said, clearly surprised. “Not many men have such a strong sense of family commitment these days.”

He noticed the way she flinched when she said these words, no doubt remembering the man who had so spectacularly dishonored her by abandoning her on their wedding day.

“There are plenty of honorable men around,” he said, thinking of the five men he had served with in Afghanistan during the Dark Skies Mission. “You just need to know where to look.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “I’m not looking.”

“I guessed that,” he said, placing his mug on the coffee table. He couldn’t blame her for deciding never to trust a man again. Any woman would probably do the same in her position.

“I’ll arrange the delivery of a new door from the hardware store tomorrow,” he said, inspecting the frame. “I’ll buy one as similar to the old one as possible, and once you put a new coat of paint on the walls, you’ll be almost as good as new.”

“Let me know how much everything costs,” she said, not looking him in the eye. “I’ll pay you back in full.”

He guessed that she was already concerned about the vet’s bill, and this was another expense that she just didn’t need. “We don’t need to talk money now,” he said. “You should go pack a bag. I’ll drive you to Helen’s house and stay with you until the protection team arrives.”

“Okay,” she said, turning to go through the door that led up a small flight of stairs to her bedroom. She looked back. “I appreciate everything you’re doing for me,” she said awkwardly. “It’s really kind of you to help me like this.”

He was surprised at her sudden and uncomfortable show of gratitude. He guessed that social interactions didn’t come naturally to her. “You’re welcome,” he said. “I’m glad to be able to do it.”

She smiled and disappeared through the door. He sat down on one of the chairs and let out a long, slow breath. He felt like a fraud for lying to her, especially considering she had commended his honor in taking care of his father. Being with her unsettled him. Just like the town of Bracelet Bay, Beth was beginning to creep into his affections, and he needed to put an immediate halt to it. He had no intention of getting too involved with her, and he couldn’t let her safety override the safety of the vulnerable people being trafficked into a life of misery. All he needed to do was keep an emotional distance, maintain a level head and stay resolute. How hard could it be?