Buried Flames (20 page)

“You’re full of shit, Sykes,” Brenna snapped back, taking him by surprise at first. Then annoyance, considering she had no right to say that. Three weeks on the road didn’t give her that right. “It’s a good thing we plan to be here a while. I was enjoying getting to know you again. You’re not as bad as you seem to think you are. You’re just afraid.”

Mason curbed the instinctive urge to toss Brenna from the horse, knowing he would never do that. That didn’t mean she wasn’t exasperating or downright irritating to the core. He’d stated his case and that should be that. He wasn’t going to debate this with her. She’d be fine on her own once they got inside the lodge and he introduced her around.

“Just keep an eye out for the checkpoint up ahead,” Mason growled, hoping Brenna would do as he’d asked. They were both on edge and rightly so. Spending twenty-one days out in these elements wasn’t ideal. He thought about Berke and Van, already knowing from his last communication with the group that those two hadn’t made it to Washington yet. “It’s no more than a half mile ahead.”

A couple of minutes later, Mason didn’t feel quite so comfortable anymore. His gut was telling him something was off. He stopped the horses, holding up a hand in front of Brenna to warn her not to say a word. He ever so carefully lowered himself to the ground without jostling either Brenna or Sam from the saddle.

“Something’s not right here,” Mason said, looking up to see if the canine noticed anything either. He certainly did and was fixated on the area behind him. “Brenna, do you see anything?”

Brenna scanned the wooded area carefully and then slowly shook her head in response. Her blue eyes were easily visible inside the mask because they were so wide with fear. Mason hadn’t meant to do that to her so close to their destination, but it was better that she be prepared for it.

“Take over the reins.” Mason motioned that Brenna should start the horses forward. He could see her frustration at his directive, but at least she didn’t argue with him. He waited patiently for her to become at least ten yards away before starting to slowly walk behind them. He watched practically every flake fall and where they landed, heard every creak of a branch, and sensed the predator monitoring their every move. Sam’s attention was still to the right of them, nowhere near where Mason had thought Owen had been stationed. “I know you’re there.”

Mason said the words loud enough through the voice emitter for anyone in the immediate area to hear him. He’d startled Brenna, while Sam didn’t move a muscle. As a matter of fact, she appeared to be having some trouble keeping the dog on top of the horse with her. Fairfax appeared to be shifting a bit in his lethargic state. If they had to ride any farther, Mason wasn’t so sure he would have made it. He still wasn’t sure, considering that a lot could change from the information he’d received by radio last night. The lodge could have been overtaken in the meantime, no matter how unlikely that scenario was.

“It would be in your best interest for you to show yourself.” Mason continued walking, his boots leaving size twelve imprints in the ash. He wasn’t worried about covering his tracks considering the amount of ash that was falling per hour. “No one needs to get hurt.”

“Then you tell me what you’ve done to that man on your pack horse and I might allow you to live.”

Mason had his weapon trained on the man dressed in all black, very similar to Fairfax’s BDUs, before he observed Brenna stop both horses and spin as far as she could in her saddle. Her barrel was currently aimed at this stranger’s head. Good.

The man’s dark gaze settled on Mason…too calmly for the current situation. He felt he had the upper hand. Now why was that?

“Fuck you, Truman,” Owen yelled out, showing himself immediately as he maneuvered off the side of the cliff as he made his way down to the roadside. His weapon was still holstered, which wasn’t like his friend at all. “Lower your rifle. He’s one of ours.”

“No. Not just yet.”

Mason raised an eyebrow at the abrupt answer, only now realizing that the mask this tango was wearing happened to be an older one from Tank’s provisions. Things were adding up and not in a good way. Was Truman the team leader of this small Special Forces group Fairfax kept mentioning? Had he already infiltrated his way into Tank’s sanctuary?

“I’m thinking it’s best you do as Owen says,” Mason announced, feeling a hell of a lot more comfortable now that his friend had his six. No matter what this Truman fellow had told Mason’s team, they would always believe each other over an outsider. “I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in your head. I’m not the nice one, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Mason gestured toward Fairfax, giving Truman the indication that the man’s injuries weren’t by chance. Brenna remained silent, giving credence to his claim. They all kept their weapons trained on one another until Owen attempted once more to alleviate the tension.

“Mason, Truman’s with us now. I don’t know what the hell is going on, but we can sort this out up the hill.” Regardless of Owen’s words, he still remained steadfast beside Mason. “Truman, put your fucking weapon down.”

“That’s my man he has detained on that pack horse,” Truman stated, refusing to do as Owen ordered. Mason’s chest tightened when this bastard drew a second weapon and aimed it at Brenna. Truman had just crossed the line.

“Don’t—”

Owen’s warning came a little too late. Mason pulled the trigger on his Colt 1911A1…twice. The first shot caught the barrel of Truman’s Springfield Range Officer Model .45 ACP, smashing it out of his right hand. The second shot destroyed the bolt carrier as it traveled through the upper receiver of his M4, causing him to drop the rifle in his left. Brenna was already off of Sergeant, Sam secure in her arms as Owen had no choice but to draw his own weapon and aim it at Truman—who had somehow produced another pistol, albeit a smaller one that had most likely been attached to his lower right leg.

“Looks as if we have standoff,” Mason observed, keeping his voice steady when all he could think about was that Brenna had been in this man’s sights. Why the hell hadn’t she fired her weapon when she’d been placed in such an ominous position? “Don’t ever point your weapon at her again, do you understand me? There are six more in this stack.”

“Well, this escalated quickly,” a woman said, her muffled voice coming from the road in front of them. She only furthered to escalate the situation. Brenna now had her Colt .45 aimed at the petite woman Mason didn’t know.

“Prue, I told you to stay up at the checkpoint.” Owen shook his head before getting to the heart of the matter, more likely concerned that Mason would finish what he started. His friend knew him well. “Truman, this is Mason Sykes. I’m sure there’s a good explanation for why he’s traveling with one of your men.”

“Traveling?” Truman said, his dark gaze staring intently at Mason while blood dripped from his right hand into the ash below. It was really just a superficial wound, given the nature of how the weapon was shot out of his hand. In fact, that he could hold another weapon was a testament to his endurance. That was fine by Mason, as long as he left Brenna alone. “Look at him, Owen. Does Ace look fine to you?”

“Why is it me that always has to clean your shit up?” Owen muttered with frustration as he slowly began to lower his weapon when he realized Truman was doing the same. Mason didn’t give a shit what either one of them did, even if Truman had pulled something out of his pocket to wrap his wound and stem the bleeding. Mason kept his Colt raised with brutal intent. “Mason, give me something here.”

“Your man, Fairfax, caught a stray in the side.” Mason figured Truman thought he was the culprit and it was nice to grind this arrogant son of a bitch’s nerves, so he paused for effect. Brenna was still holding her position, making him proud. He understood all too well how a person could be caught off guard, but she’d found her backbone. That was the important thing. He refused to examine the severe flood of emotions when he’d thought Truman was going to pull his trigger. Owen was casting him another glance of irritation, so Mason finally finished the short conversation. “He developed an infection of some type on the way and needs more medical care than I could provide. A group of three blackhats were after some classified information your boy carried, Mr. Truman. Care to shed some light on what that might be for these good folks who gave you shelter? Is there something you’re keeping from the rest of us?”

Mason could easily see the stiffening in Truman’s shoulders at what he was being told. Fairfax was in no condition to give confirmation, but Truman looked to be a smart man. He would figure out there wasn’t any reason for Mason to lie about Truman’s fellow team member. The question remained—did he know about the intel or was Fairfax supposed to bring him the data?

“Classified information?” To give Truman credit, he didn’t let any recognition that he was aware of anything Mason had brought up. He did flinch when he finished tying the wide piece of fabric around his hand. “I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about, but it now looks as if both of us are in need of medical care. A word of warning, Sykes—if I find out you were the one to shoot him, I’ll hunt you down myself.”

Mason didn’t bother to even acknowledge the threat as he slowly lowered his weapon into its holster. He’d already proven he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot when the situation called for it. He sure as hell wasn’t going to stay at the lodge looking over his shoulder every damned second of whatever time they had left here on this earth. Things would have to change or he would give Truman the other six.

“Well, that went as well as you could possibly manage. Want to set the place on fire?” Owen muttered, holstering his weapon and slapping Mason on the back. “I figure we have three seconds left before Mav makes an appearance. Three…two…one…”

“What the fuck is going on?”

“I love being right.” Owen flashed Mason a genuine smile behind his mask. “I can’t wait to hear you explain this one.”

“Explain what?” Mason stayed where he was, although he gestured for Brenna to come stand by them. He didn’t want her anywhere near Truman. She still had a hold of Sam, while keeping the Colt in her hand. She warily gave Truman a wide berth, who was untethering Major’s reins from Sergeant while having a private conversation with Mav. “I think it’s Truman and his team that need to give up whatever classified information that’s just put this lodge in even more danger. I flatlined two rather determined NSA agents because they were after what Mr. Fairfax had. If they were doing their job, I committed a felony when I dotted their I. I don’t take that as lightly as I used to.”

“Shit. That’s not going to go over well with Tank. Truman and his team have helped us out a lot.”

“They have,” Mav agreed, having escorted Brenna to where Mason and Owen remained. The woman name Prue had taken Sergeant’s reins and started to slowly walk up the incline, looking back at Owen every now and then. The four of them followed suit after Mason had taken Sam to allow Brenna to holster her weapon. “It’s good to have you home, brother. You didn’t have to make such a grand entrance. You want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Yeah, after we get cleaned up a bit.” Mason wasn’t going to discuss this out in the open. What he had to say wouldn’t go over well with Tank and Mav. Truman and his team needed to go as soon as Fairfax was able to travel. They were too much of a gamble to be allowed to stay. “By the way, this is Brenna Helm. She’s with me. She’ll be staying with me in my cabin.”

B
renna wasn’t sure
when the tremors had stopped. Everything had happened so fast, she hadn’t had time to process things properly. One minute she and Mason were looking for the checkpoint through the grey-cloaked landscape and the next they had weapons pointed at their heads up close and personal.

Mason hadn’t hesitated. He’d actually pulled the trigger and struck both intended targets—Truman’s weapons in both of his hands. She’d literally braced for impact, frozen where she’d sat atop Sergeant, unable to do a thing while Mason hadn’t wavered. It had been too much to process so quickly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize our living quarters would be inside the bunker.” Mason had returned from using the shower and was dressed in clothes she knew he hadn’t brought with him. He must have kept a supply up here for when he visited. “It’s a hell of a lot safer than the lodge actually, but you can tell them you want your own room if it makes you feel more comfortable not being underground so much.”

And there it was. Mason had reacted to the intense situation and now was regretting his offer. Brenna didn’t care. She wasn’t leaving his side unless he physically removed her from his bed. She’d gotten used to knowing he was watching over her and she wasn’t ready to give that up.

“No, I’m good here.” Brenna wasn’t sure what had taken her by surprise more—the fact that Truman hadn’t retaliated after being shot at or that Mason’s friends had taken what had happened in stride. Had Mason been right all along? Was this what civilization had come down to? “Thank you anyway.”

Mason had been putting away the clothes someone had given him, presumably from his cabin, when he stopped and looked at her over his shoulder. It wasn’t like he had to think hard on what she was thanking him for, but it would be nice to get some acknowledgement.