Читать книгу Sheltered - ХеленКей Даймон, HelenKay Dimon - Страница 10

Chapter Three

Simon Falls leaned back in his desk chair. The only desk chair on the property. Everyone else preferred mats and cushy chairs. He wanted a stiff-backed seat that put him face-to-face with the monitors on the wall and in front of him. Security feeds, including two rotating video shots of places in town.

Now was not the time to descend into touchy-feely madness. He’d leave the talk about privacy and personal space to the workshop leaders. No one paid him to hold hands. His job came down to one simple idea: protect the camp at any cost. A task that would be easier if everyone did their job, which brought his mind back to this meeting.

He tapped his pen against the desk blotter as he stared at the two men he depended on to handle trouble. This time they’d failed him. He’d handed them one assignment—grab the girl and bring her back unharmed.

They’d run into trouble and had all sorts of excuses. Only one interested Simon.

“What man?” When neither underling answered him, Simon tried again. “At the house. Give me the identity.”

“It was Hank Fletcher, one of the newer guys on our staff.” Todd Burdock, the best shot in the camp, gave his assessment while standing at attention.

Simon turned the information over in his mind. “You’re saying Hank is dating Lindsey Pike.”

Todd frowned as if he were choosing his words carefully. “I’m saying he was sleeping over.”

Grant Whiddle nodded. “No question they’re together.”

None of that information matched the surveillance. Simon watched Lindsey. Had watched her for months once the whispers started and the background investigation ran him into a wall. “Since when?”

Todd shook his hand. “I don’t know.”

Not a sufficient answer, and the man should know that. Simon did not countenance failure. Not here. Not on his watch. “Find out.”

“We can call him in,” Grant suggested.

Simon knew that was the exact wrong answer. That was the reason he ran camp security and the two in front of him didn’t.

“Hank is not to know we were behind tonight’s incident.” That would make tracking impossible, and now Simon had a new person to track. “No, this needs to be handled differently. Who does Hank know at the compound?”

“No one. He sticks to himself,” Todd said without giving eye contact. Then again, he never did.

But Hank was the issue here. A loner. No surprise there. They littered the camp. Disillusioned men who needed a purpose filled the beds and the coffers. They came with what little they owned and handed it over in exchange for a promise.

Simon remembered tagging Hank as one of those types during his interview. Dishonorably discharged for firing when any sane person would fire. He had potential plus a gift for shooting. And he might still work out, but that didn’t mean the Lindsey Pike connection could be ignored.

“He lives at the bunkhouse.” Simon knew because he’d assigned Hank the space. “Is this his first night away from the compound since arriving?”

Grant gave Todd a quick look before speaking. “No.”

That didn’t quite match up with Simon’s view of the man or with what Simon saw on the monitors day after day. Hank did his job, never wavered, rarely asked questions. But everyone had an agenda, and Simon would find Hank’s.

“We need a closer watch on him. I want every minute accounted for, including those with Lindsey.” Especially those with Lindsey.

“So we’re not bringing her up to camp now?” Grant asked.

The question screeched across Simon’s nerves. So stupid. That was the problem with hired guns. They didn’t always come with brains. “You can’t very well try to drag her out of her house two nights in a row. She’ll be expecting you.”

Grant shook his head. “But we’ll be expecting Hank this time. We can take another guy and—”

Enough. “The original mission is on hold until we know more about Hank.” Simon dismissed them by returning to watch his monitors.

Todd cleared his voice. “She is potentially dangerous, sir.”

“She is.” Simon stared at the men again. “So am I. You would both be wise to remember that.”

* * *

THE COUNTY SHERIFF’S office proved less helpful than Lindsey had expected. She didn’t want to file a report or even involve law enforcement. That opened the door into an investigation, which meant someone could stumble over pieces of her past. Pieces she’d kept hidden for years.

“Vagrants.” Deputy Carver made that announcement after his walk-through of her house.

The guy had been on the job for about eight months. He’d earned it the old-fashioned way, by taking over when his father had a heart attack. The elder Frank Carver went into the hospital and then rehab and now waited out his disability leave at home as he worked to get his strength back.

The younger Frank Carver stepped in. Never mind he was green and over his head, he’d grown up in this town. Knew everyone by name.

What Frank Carver, Jr., with his red hair and cheeks stained red the way they did anytime he talked with anyone, lacked in experience, he made up for in sheer shooting ability and endurance. He’d simply been tagging along after his father long enough to be considered a fixture. Combine that with the town’s love and loyalty to his father, and the kid wasn’t going anywhere.

He wasn’t doing anything to help her either. She fought the urge to say “I told you so” to Holt. Settled for mouthing it instead.

The deputy had done exactly what she’d predicted—nothing. No forensics. No photos. He just walked around with Holt at his heels.

“No other answer, really.” Deputy Carver took a closer look at the doorjamb. Studied it. Even got up on his tiptoes since the thick-soled shoes only put him at five nine, and that was just barely. “You said they weren’t kids.”

Holt stood there, studying whatever Deputy Carver studied and shaking his head. “These were grown men.”

“Good thing you were here, then, Mr. Fletcher.” Deputy Carver shot Holt a man-to-man look.

“You can call me Hank.”

She was impressed Holt refrained from rolling his eyes. At six-foot-something, he towered over the kid. Also looked as if he could break the deputy in half. The contrast in their sizes and confidence, styles and stance could not have been more pronounced. At twenty-four, Frank Jr. had to be a decade or so younger than Holt, but the difference in maturity shone through.

Not that she was looking...but she couldn’t really stop looking. Recognizing Holt standing in her house had shaken her. He didn’t belong there. She’d locked the doors, performed her nightly safety check. But that wasn’t what had her rattled to the point where her teeth still chattered.

No, she’d been thinking about him. A lot, every day, at odd times. Ever since she’d seen him in town weeks before, he’d played a role in her dreams. The quiet stranger who walked into town, didn’t ask questions and swept her right into the bed. Pure fantasy wrapped in a tall, dark and dangerous package. The broad shoulders and trim waist, the coal-black hair and the hint in his features of Asian ancestry.

She blamed the dark eyes and brooding look. That was why she stared. She’d see him around town and she’d watch, her gaze following him, then skipping away when he’d look back. The whole thing made her feel like a naughty teen, but it had been so long since she’d felt anything for a man that she welcomed the sensation.

“I’d hate to think what could have happened,” Deputy Carver said, droning on.

Holt waved the younger man off. “But it didn’t, so we’re good.”

She tried to ignore the deputy’s attempts at male bonding and the way both men talked around her, as if she weren’t even in the room.

But this was her house. Her life. “For the record, I can use a gun.”

“Of course.” The deputy didn’t even spare her a glance before talking to Holt again. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around. Are you new in town?”

“I work odd jobs at New Foundations.”

Lindsey couldn’t figure out if this amounted to the deputy’s attempt to question Holt or if the younger man was so enamored that the staring reflected some sort of weird hero worship. Either way, it was getting late and she needed to clean up and get to bed.

“Good work. Good people up there.” Frank Jr. tucked the small pad of paper back into his pocket without ever taking a note.

“Yeah, right.” Not that anyone asked her, but she threw the words out there anyway. When Holt smiled, she figured he at least got her point about being ignored.

“And you’re with Ms. Pike.” The comment came out of the blue.

Holt didn’t show any outward reaction. She had to bite back a groan.

Here we go. “Are you asking about my love life?” She really wanted to know.

“Of course not.” The deputy looked at her for the first time. A short look. Long enough to frown, but that was about it. “Just making an observation.”

“We’re together.” Holt inched closer to her.

She hadn’t actually noticed him moving, but one second he stood by the door and the next he stood beside her. She concentrated for a second, tried to block out the whoosh of blood through her ears and the comforting feel of his hand low on her back. Long fingers. A warm palm.

She almost choked, and not from fear. No, this churning felt much more like excitement.

“We’ll let you know if we find anything, but I’m sure this was a once and done. Probably someone looking for drugs or money for drugs.” The deputy took out his car keys. He hadn’t run down the porch steps but looked two seconds away from taking off.

Holt’s questions stopped him. “Is there a big drug problem around here?”

“Isn’t there everywhere?” Frank Jr. asked as he glanced over his shoulder at them.

“Then it’s good I’m living here now. With Lindsey.” Holt’s voice rang out.

He didn’t yell, but he might as well have. It felt as if even the breeze stopped blowing. He sure had her attention.

The deputy turned the full way around and faced them. Kept his focus on Holt as an atta-boy grin crept across his lips. “Is that right?”

She had the opposite reaction. Shock rolled over her. Pretending to be her boyfriend was one thing, and she hadn’t even agreed to that yet. Being her live-in sounded much bigger. To the people in town and everyone at the camp, it would be bigger. But she guessed that was the point.

She hadn’t worked it all out in her head when Holt’s fingers tightened against her back. Ready or not, it seemed he wanted her support. She coughed it up. “Uh, yeah.”

The deputy just stared. Stood on the bottom step and looked them both up and down, never bothering to close his mouth or hide his delight at being the first to dig up this small-town gossip. “Then you have even less reason for worry.”

“That’s how I look at it.” Holt nodded in what came off as a dismissal.

The deputy must have gotten the hint, because he walked the rest of the way down the steps and to his car. Didn’t say anything about the attack in the house or give her any warning or advice. It was as if Holt had spoken and that resolved everything.

While she liked not having to answer questions, the way the whole scene rolled out had her feeling twitchy. Someone broke into her house and went after her, and only Holt mattered to the deputy.

She knew who—New Foundations—and why, but she doubted the deputy did. She’d done everything to keep her past and true identity hidden. Revealing it now out of frustration was not the right answer, so she let the whole thing drop.

Well, not all of it. There was still the small bit of gloating she planned to do. “That was a waste of time. I’ll refrain from saying ‘told you so’ a few hundred times.”

Holt took one step down. The move put them close to eye-to-eye. “Again, the point of that exercise was to send a message. We accomplished that.”

“You want people to think we’re not looking at New Foundations as the culprit.” She got it. The more she thought about the long term, the more she appreciated Holt stepping in with a rational head.

She wasn’t the type to run on emotions, but facing down men with a gun threw off her emotional balance. She still fought to regain a sense of normalcy...or what passed for normalcy for her.

“That and to establish me as the guy they have to get through before they can touch you,” Holt said.

That part didn’t quite fit together in her head. “Speaking of which—”

Holt leaned against the beam holding up this side of the porch. “When they think I live here it becomes less likely they come back.”

“You think they’ll just leave me alone?”

“No.”

Not exactly the answer she’d expected. The guy could use a lesson or two in tact. “That’s not very comforting.”

“I was going for honest.”

And she had to appreciate that. She’d spent a lot of her life trying to ferret out emotions and counteract the games people played. Holt appeared to be a straight shooter. She knew on one level she should love that, but when it came to being dragged out of her own house, she needed a little reassurance.

She also needed to set some ground rules.

“Then, honestly, you should know you’re not living here.” The last thing she needed was a walking, talking fantasy sleeping on her couch. Dreaming about him already messed with her sleep. Having him nearby, hearing him, smelling him, being able to look at him all the time, might just break her control.

Instead of commenting on her point, Holt crossed his arms over that impressive chest. “You danced around it before. Now tell me exactly why they want you. While you’re at it, you can finally tell me what you meant an hour ago with that talk about your identity. Maybe start with how many you have.”

Yeah, she could play this game, too. He stood on her turf. That should count for something. As far as she was concerned, he should go first. “Only if you tell me exactly what you’re really doing here and why. You can also throw in who sent you. Maybe give me a list of what you’ve found out so far.”

Standing there in the quiet he didn’t say touché, but she sensed it.

“Impressive.” He smiled. “I think we’re at an impasse.”

The twinkle in his dark eyes and that dimple in his cheek...oh, so tempting. She had to marshal all her resources to push back and fight off the energy zipping around inside her. “That still doesn’t get you a bed for the night.”

“I’ll take the couch.”

This guy had a ready response for everything. “Hank...Holt...” She actually didn’t know which was right, let alone who he really was and if he could be trusted. Her instincts told her yes, but even letting him plant the seed about being in a relationship with her amounted to a big risk. “Okay, I give up. What do I call you?”

“In public, Hank. If it makes it easier and helps you remember not to slip up, always call me that.”

She preferred Holt. The name fit him. It felt big and secure and special. Not that she could let him know any of that. “I don’t know you.”

He winked at her. “Right back at ya.”

Maybe it was the voice, all rough and husky. Maybe it was the fact he could have hurt her a dozen times, dragged her right up to the compound or let the two goons who broke into her house do it. For whatever reason, a sense of calm washed over her when he came around.

She wished she knew why. “Why should I trust you?”

“You don’t have a choice.”

Wrong. That was the one thing—possibly the only helpful thing—she’d learned from her father. “People always have a choice.”

Holt shrugged. “Fine. Leave town until it’s safe.”

He gave her the out and she should have grabbed it. The words sat right there on her tongue. She could leave, take a few days away and get her bearings. But the idea of leaving him, of running, made her stomach fall. “When will that be?”

“I don’t know.”

The guy did do honesty well. It didn’t always serve his case, yet he stuck with it. She liked that about him. That and those shoulders...and the face...and the hair that looked so soft. “I have work to do.”

“Which is what exactly?”

She couldn’t exactly say: rescuing people from the camp. That would open a whole new line of questioning, and she was not ready to go there with him. Or with anyone. “We’re spinning in circles.”

His arms dropped to his sides and he moved in closer. “Look, I get that you’re afraid and wary and don’t know me. Up until a few hours ago I only knew you as the woman in town who looked so hot in dark jeans.”

Wait... “What?”

He just kept talking. “Now I know you’re messed up in New Foundations, which is a crappy thing to be. Some of the people up there are dangerous, possibly delusional.”

They were all those things and more. She knew because she’d lived there, fought them. Escaped and hadn’t stopped emotionally running since. “I need to stop them.”

“You need to stay away and let me take care of them.” His eyebrow lifted. “You just have to trust me.”

She wanted to believe. She’d been in this battle so long exhaustion had crept into her bones. The idea of turning over the reins and walking away sounded like sweet relief. But she knew things that he didn’t, and not seeing this through would slowly pick away at her.

No, she needed to bring down New Foundations on her own. Every cabin. Every workshop. Send every person home.

If only Holt didn’t look so sincere. His laser-like gaze never slipped. He watched her until she started to squirm in her skin. She knew what he wanted and she couldn’t give it to him. “You’re asking a lot.”

“I know.”

His ready acceptance chipped away at her defenses, just as so much of him did. “You seem to take for granted I’ll look at that face and those shoulders and fall in line.”

He cleared his throat. “You like my shoulders?”

He stood very close now. Right there until only a few feet separated their bodies. His ego just might kill her.

Time to bring him back down to earth. “You’re missing the point.”

“I am here to assess what’s happening at the compound, determine the danger level and, if necessary, get people out before things blow up. Literally.”

That sounded so promising. She’d been stymied by her limited resources and inability to safely infiltrate the fence surrounding the place. To divulge everything to him might help her case against the camp, but it would put her identity at risk. The constant balancing act got old.

Still, if he really could help, really was willing to step in, she couldn’t ignore that offer. “But you’re not FBI.”

He shook his head. “Not FBI or ATF.”

“I want to believe you’re one of the good guys.” But that left a lot of other possibilities, both legitimate and not.

He held up three fingers. “Give me three days to prove it to you.”

That icy reserve melted inside her. She felt that resistance give way and her need to say yes overwhelm her. With him she might make progress. He wasn’t promising the impossible. He was offering protection, and right now it looked as if she needed it. Maybe together they could work through what the people at the camp knew and what they wanted.

At least that was her assessment. She still needed to know his. “And during those three days?”

His gaze bounced up and down her body, heating a trail as it went. “You get a pretend boyfriend with good shoulders.”

He’d hit upon the one thing she could no longer resist. “Deal.”