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Chapter Three

“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?”

“Yes.”

“That sounds a whole lot like breaking the rules, Darcy.”

“I like to live life on the edge.” His dry tone made her laugh, which she instantly regretted.

“Ow,” she moaned, shifting to find a more comfortable position.

“We’re close,” he promised her, and sure enough, within a few minutes he had turned the Land Rover off the main highway onto a one-lane road that twisted and turned deep into the woods.

The one lane ended abruptly in the middle of nowhere, and for a second, McKenna thought they’d taken a wrong turn. But at the last second, Darcy steered the Land Rover onto a narrow dirt road the woods seemed to swallow whole.

The road twisted and climbed until they appeared to be a long way from anything approaching civilization. Then the dirt road disappeared, and Darcy stopped the Land Rover and turned off the engine.

McKenna gazed into the dense thicket of trees in front of them, her heart sinking. “Where’s the cabin?”

“Through those trees.”

She felt sick at the thought of trudging through the woods again so soon. “Don’t suppose we could just stay here? Bunk down in the back?”

“I promise, it’s not far.” He unbuckled his seat belt and got out of the SUV, walked around the front and opened the passenger door. His dark eyes met hers steadily. “You can do this.”

Gritting her teeth, she unbuckled her own seat belt and eased her legs toward the open door, trying to ignore the burning ache in her side. “If anyone ever says ‘It’s just a flesh wound’ to me again, I swear I’m going to belt them right in the mouth.”

He held out his hands. She took them and let him help her to the ground. Her legs felt like noodles, but she willed herself to stay upright, not wanting to show any weakness in front of Darcy. If she couldn’t convince him she was on the mend, he would ignore her wishes and follow his own instincts to call in help.

And if he did that, they both might end up dead.

* * *

MCKENNA HAD GONE from pasty white to a sickly gray color by the time the evergreen trees gave way with shocking suddenness to a narrow clearing that housed a small, rustic-looking cabin. Darcy slid his arm around her shoulders and felt her tremble under his touch.

“Thank God,” she murmured, leaning her head briefly against his shoulder before she started to move again.

“It’s hardly the Waldorf,” he warned as he helped her up the three steps to the cabin porch and settled her in one of the two cane-bottom rockers that sat to the right of the door.

“Whatever.”

He wasn’t sure she’d be so blasé about the cabin’s primitive comforts. The owner, Hunter Bragg, didn’t live there full-time, but it was apparently a favorite getaway for him and his new fiancée, if office scuttlebutt was anything to go by.

There was no easily discovered spare key to be had, Darcy was certain. The Gates trained their agents not to be careless.

But the agency also taught their agents to be skilled and resourceful. Darcy pulled a lock-pick kit from his backpack and made quick work of the dead bolt on the front door.

“That is so illegal,” McKenna murmured, sounding impressed.

He shot her a quick smile. “I am not the man you knew in Kaziristan.”

“I’m beginning to see that.” She pushed herself up from the rocker, wobbling a little when she gained her feet.

He caught her elbow in his firm grasp and led her into the dark cabin.

The power was running, though all the lights and appliances had been turned off, leaving the cabin’s interior shadowed in the early-morning gloom. Darcy flicked the light switch on, and the overhead lamps revealed a small, cold front room furnished with an old but sturdy-looking sofa, what looked like an old Army footlocker doubling as a coffee table, and a couple of mismatched armchairs that sat across from the sofa to create a shabby but cozy conversation area.

“Are you cold?” he asked, nodding toward the fireplace.

She followed his gaze, one eyebrow arching as she saw that, instead of logs, the width of the hearth was filled with a large electric space heater. “Well. That’s different.”

“Apparently the point of this backwoods haven is maximum seclusion and secrecy. I suppose smoke rising from the chimney would negate that effect.” He took her arm and eased her over to the sofa. “Sit. I’ll retrieve the rest of the supplies from the Land Rover.”

By the time he returned with the two large duffel bags he and McKenna had stuffed full of supplies they might need, McKenna had curled up into a miserable-looking knot on the sofa.

“You look ill,” he commented as he set the duffels on the floor.

“You’re such a sweet talker, Darcy. I bet all the ladies love you.”

He ignored her soft gibe and crossed to her side, placing the back of his hand against her cheek. She was definitely warmer than she’d been in the car. And she’d been quite warm then.

“I need to take a look at your wounds.”

She managed a grimace of a smile. “Is that a proposition?”

“It’s a statement of fact. You appear to be feverish. If your wounds are infected, we need to alter our plan.”

“We had a plan?” she asked through gritted teeth as she plucked the hem of his T-shirt away from her side.

Blood had oozed through the gauze bandage, he saw, though not a lot. He eased the bandage away from her torn skin and took in the two holes in her flesh. The skin around them was reddened and warm to the touch. “I’m afraid infection may be setting in.”

“Clean it again,” she said. “Just give me a bullet to bite first.”

“You need antibiotics. We need to get you to a physician.”

“Can’t do that,” she said with a firm shake of her head. “Any other ideas?”

One, but he didn’t particularly like it. “I could break into the free clinic in Bitterwood and steal some antibiotics.”

She stared at him in stunned silence for a moment. “You are definitely not the man I knew in Kaziristan.”

He wasn’t. He hadn’t been for a long time.

“Is there an option between those two extremes?” she asked when he said nothing else.

He nodded. “I can call on someone I trust for help.”

* * *

“HE HASN’T MADE contact again, has he?”

Alexander Quinn looked up from his laptop computer and found Olivia Sharp standing in the doorway of his office, her shoulder leaning against the door frame. Her bare, shapely legs seemed to rise for miles before disappearing beneath the charcoal pencil skirt of her lightweight summer suit. She was a tall woman who didn’t need to wear heels to be imposing, but today’s footwear sported four-inch heels and open toes that displayed the impertinent bright green of her toenail polish.

“He has not,” he answered her question. “Have you anything new to report?”

She shook her head as she entered the office and closed the door. “Anson Daughtry has taken advantage of his administrative leave to drive down to Atlanta for something called The Mixed Magic Tour. Five alt-punk bands on one stage, lots of alcohol and girls with rainbow-colored hair.” She shrugged. “Are you sure he’s thirty-two?”

Quinn tamped down a smile. “Almost thirty-three.”

“Either he’s not concerned about the internal investigation or he’s trying very hard to appear unconcerned.” Olivia shot Quinn a shrewd look. “I’m leaning toward the latter.”

Quinn concurred. “What about the agent you assigned to him?”

“He can hardly follow him to Atlanta. Daughtry would spot him.” Olivia sat in the chair across from Quinn’s desk and crossed one long leg over the other. “I take it Darcy hasn’t sent out a distress signal to the other agent?”

“Not yet.”

“How did he sound when you talked to him earlier?”

“Worried. And wary.”

She nodded. “To be expected.”

“You haven’t told me which man you most suspect of being the mole.”

“I consider everyone a suspect at the moment.” She arched one honey-brown eyebrow. “Even you.”

He smiled at that. “Anything new on the FBI angle?”

“I’m not exactly the bureau’s favorite former denizen.”

“Still, you worked for the FBI for almost eight years. Surely there’s a contact left you can exploit.”

Her brow furrowed, and he realized he’d touched a nerve. “I’ve put out some feelers.”

He frowned at her wary tone. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“I’ve told you everything I know pertinent to this case.”

“The next time you bother to come to my office to talk, I expect you to be the one supplying information. Clear?”

Her full lips thinned with annoyance. “Yes, sir.” She rose like a waterbird taking flight, all long legs and soaring, restless spirit. She stalked to the door in three long strides, then turned at the last moment to look at him.

“I’m going to find out who’s leaking information from this agency, Quinn. No matter who it is. How’s that for a little useful information?” Before he could respond, she was out the door, letting it shut with a loud snap behind her.

Quinn sat back in his chair, regarded the closed door and unsuccessfully tried to stifle a smile.

His intercom buzzed. Line four—Dennison. He felt a flutter of anticipation as he picked up the phone. “Tell me you’ve got something.”

Cain Dennison’s gravelly voice held a hint of irritation. Quinn knew the agent didn’t care for spying on one of his own, even in an attempt to clear his name. “He called two minutes ago.”

“What did he want?”

“He wants a few minutes alone with my grandmother.”

* * *

“SHE’S A WHAT?” McKenna stared at Darcy, certain she’d misunderstood.

“A sort of mountain healer, if the stories are true.” Darcy checked the magazine of his SIG Sauer and slid the pistol into the pancake holster behind his back. He shrugged a thin plaid shirt over his T-shirt and jeans, leaving the buttons open in the front. “Do I look like a local?”

She took in his day’s growth of beard and broad, muscular shoulders, the casual clothing and the baseball cap he pulled low over his forehead. “As long as you keep your mouth shut.”

“I shouldn’t have to speak to anyone but Lila Birdsong.”

“Pretty name.”

“She’s an interesting lady, if her grandson’s stories are anything to go by.” He checked his watch. “I have to go soon.”

“Are you sure you can trust this Dennison guy you called?”

“As much as I trust anyone.” She could tell from his tone that he wasn’t as certain about Dennison’s motives for helping him as she’d hoped.

“You know the protocol for internal investigation is to use an agent’s closest friends against him.”

He nodded. “I’m pretty sure Dennison’s the agent Quinn has assigned to keep an eye on me. So might as well let him. I have nothing to hide.”

“Except me.”

“Quinn already knows about you. He’s already made his choice which side he’s on—yours.”

“How does he know I haven’t gone to the dark side since we all last worked together?” she asked curiously, resting her head against the sofa cushions as she watched him pace a tight circle next to the coffee table.

“I suspect he knows more about your career than almost anyone but your supervisor.” Darcy stopped in front of her, his brown eyes narrowing. “He knows more than I do, certainly.”

“Do you think I’ve gone to the dark side?” she asked, curious.

His smile made his eyes sparkle. “I always thought you were on the dark side, Rigsby.” His smile faded. “Are you certain you’re going to be all right here alone?”

She patted the holstered Glock 27 sitting on the sofa next to her. “Mr. Glock and I will be just fine.”

He took the portable phone off its cradle and set it in front of her on the footlocker coffee table. “You have my cell number memorized?”

“You’ve spent the last hour drilling it into my brain.” Her achy, tired brain. “Just go see what the witch woman has for us. And if you don’t like what she has to say, you have my permission to rob a pharmacy.”

“Duly noted.” He opened the front door and turned to look back at her. “You sure you’re okay to stay here alone?”

“I’m fine. Go. Hurry back.”

She forced herself to remain upright until he was out the door. But as soon as the lock clicked shut, she slumped back against the sofa cushions, gazing at the holstered Glock by her side. It looked far away and heavy.

She hoped the next time the door opened, it would be Darcy returning. Because she was anything but fine—and in no shape to fight for her life.

* * *

LILA BIRDSONG LIVED near the top of Mulberry Rise, below the craggy face of Miller’s Knob, in a small cabin surrounded by dense evergreen woods. Darcy had been there once, with Cain Dennison and a few of the other Gates agents, for a cookout in the brick barbecue pit behind Dennison’s old silver Airstream trailer. From Darcy’s cabin, the drive had taken five minutes.

From Hunter Bragg’s cabin in the middle of nowhere, however, the winding mountain roads and sharp switchbacks took almost twenty minutes to navigate.

Twenty long minutes for something to go terribly wrong back at the cabin where McKenna waited for him to return.

Her temperature had been elevated when Darcy checked it before he left, but not high enough for immediate concern. McKenna had downed a couple of ibuprofen and told him to go meet with Lila Birdsong, although he could tell she was skeptical that Cain Dennison’s grandmother could provide anything useful to stop her wounds from becoming any more infected.

He would normally be as skeptical, but Quinn himself had consulted with Lila Birdsong about herbal remedies that could work as stopgaps in the field, when prescription medications weren’t readily available.

Maybe she wouldn’t be able to come up with anything to help him. But the alternative was getting antibiotics by deception or outright theft.

The road up the mountain topped off suddenly, giving Darcy a good look at the small clearing where Lila’s cabin sat. The Airstream trailer that had been home to Cain Dennison was gone.

But in its place sat a Ridge County Sheriff’s Department cruiser.