Dark Memories (The DARK Files Book 1) (23 page)

She stepped away from him, shaking her head. Pain and sorrow pinched her mouth. She searched his face, as if looking for the answer there. “It’s everything — Janus, Markos, last night’s attack. Us. All of a sudden I felt crushed, like being covered by a landslide.” She managed a wobbly smile. “I’m all right. I’ll go out now and see the kids.”

As she walked away, he swore silently, his arms aching for her. But maybe she needed to keep busy. He looked through the screen door to assure himself she wasn’t alone.

Sunglasses concealing her eyes, she sat at a table with the twins and Kay and their parents. Vanessa loitered nearby. Byrne on the other side of the crowd. Snow at a table with some of the other guests. Laura was safe for now. Physically.

Time and time again she’d berated him for dwelling on his dysfunctional and delinquent background. She ordered him to get over himself. And crowed when he acknowledged using his DARK credentials to open doors for Marisol.

He waited for his old man’s voice to snipe at him from the depths of his soul.

Silence. No sneering voice.

Laura was right. He’d overcome the past and moved on. He didn’t need to prove himself over and over. Success in his work and for the Colombian kids was a source of pride, but not hurdles with constantly raised bars.

If he applied the logic Laura so valued, no barrier existed between them. No more walls of stubbornness and self-doubt. Only the ones she erected out of pain and fear of the future. But he could knock those down.

For her.

For them.

He’d waited this long for her. He could hang on until she was safe from murderous importers and dodgy hit men.

His next order of business was to find out why Alexei Markos was nowhere to be found.

“THANKS, MAN,” COLE said to Isaacs. “I don’t know if that information means anything. At this point I’ll take whatever the hell I can get.” They stood beneath a tamarack tree at the edge of the inn’s wide lawn.

The DARK officer shrugged. “Fisher said to tell you one of the techs could fix the bum computer. I’ll take it to him now if you like. I’m free.”

“Great. The damn thing’s not much good to me dead. Can’t you fix it? You ATF guys are up on all the electronics.” It was clear that Isaacs was trying to make up for the night before, for misunderstanding where he was supposed to be. If the guy wanted to run errands, okay by Cole.

“I can rig remotes to trigger bombs or deactivate ’em or block the signal. That’s it.”

Cole laughed. “Damn thing’s on the front seat of the Tundra. You might as well drive that, for your trouble.” He handed over the keys.

“Always wanted to tool around in that behemoth.” Grinning, the other man waved a small salute and jogged away.

While Laura helped carry the leftover food inside, Cole gave a hand to Burt Elwell and Simon Byrne, who were folding the picnic tables and stashing them in the back of the resort pickup.

Awhile later, Laura came out carrying a paper plate covered with plastic wrap. When she spotted him, she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. Trying to conceal her exhaustion. Aches and pains from a tumble downstairs wore down even a woman with a steel spine. He’d pick her up and tuck her in bed, but she’d screech louder than a siren if he tried.

She cocked her head and smiled in a teasing way. “Bea wrapped up some lemon tarts. For a bedtime snack, she said.”

“Think the chipmunks outside your cabin would like them?”

Laura descended the steps with care. “Not Bea’s creation but Joyce’s. Her cooking is blue-ribbon quality, not like Bea’s black-ribbon cuisine, so you’re safe.”

Mouth watering, he peered at the crispy crusts filled with pale-yellow custard. He reached for the plate. “I’ll eat one now. I didn’t get any dessert.”

She whisked it to her side, just out of reach, a sexy smile on her lips. “Not yet, mister. First, I want to know what has you looking like you swallowed a porcupine. Your jaw’s as relaxed as a boulder. What did Isaacs have to report? Is it Markos?”

He took her free hand. “Not here.”

They headed toward the lake, where no one would overhear. The aroma of barbecue blended with pine scents on the cool night air. Small brown bats scooped up insects on the wing.

“How’s the knee?” he asked, swatting at the mosquito dive-bombing his ear.

“Not too bad. I’ll be glad to put it up for a while.”

She wasn’t a whiner. That meant it felt like Mike Tyson had used it for a punching bag.

He moved her hand to the crook of his arm, to lend support — and better cover. “Nothing on Markos. That’s a bust.”

“Then what?” Her stubborn chin told him she was trying to sound casual.

“You heard me ask Stan about the gas heater. I want you to understand that there may be nothing wrong with it. Somebody may be deliberately loosening the valve and dousing the pilot light. Even with our surveillance.”

Comprehension widened her eyes. “Do you still suspect Burt?” Her shoulders shook with a small shiver, as if a chill raced down her spine at the thought of that boy mixed up in this deadly game. She didn’t want to believe it of him. God knew why.

He uttered a grunt of doubt. “I’m willing to bet no. I want to eliminate him once and for all. When he comes to fix the heater, I’ll talk to him.”

Laura squeezed his arm, enjoying the feel of hard muscle beneath the skin. “Are you basing your skepticism on facts or on your spy instincts?”

“A little of both.”

“Is it the note?”

“Think you’re pretty smart.” He grinned in admiration. “He’s not clever enough for the so-called accidents. Janus wouldn’t hire somebody so clumsy. Besides, the words on last night’s note are spelled right.”

She scuffed her sneaker toe in the sand. “My instincts about people are usually good. Burt may be lazy and not the sharpest pencil in the box. Rudy Damon may have dreams of returning to Broadway. Stan and Dr. Rhodes may be in debt. But none of them would take money from this hit man to murder me. They’re no killers.”

He brought her hand to his lips, kissing the palm. “I hate to point it out, but a year ago would you have guessed that Alexei Markos was a terrorist shill … and a murderer?”

Her heartbeat kicked up, and she could do nothing but shake her head. The chill she felt wasn’t from the cool breeze wafting across the lake. “So do you believe it’s one of them? Or do you think the hit man is here?”

“He’s here.” Cole’s jaw was taut, his mouth grim. “But that doesn’t mean he hasn’t bribed or blackmailed an accomplice to help him.”

She bit her lip in concentration, fighting the fear with cool logic. “And he seems to know where I am, what I do and what time I come home,” she said as they meandered aimlessly. “Now that I think about it, the attacker last night seemed to know the theater in the dark as well as I did.”

“He’s sure as hell keeping a close watch on you. He seems to get around my operatives to set up his damn accidents.” Knuckles rasping against his whiskers, he wagged his head. “I should see a clue or two in that, but so far nada.”

She trusted him to figure it out eventually, but hated to see his frustration. “Your background checks have come up empty. That doesn’t make sense. Someone should stick out.”

“That’s the hell of it, babe. I figure the hit man has to be somebody we both know. Somebody we see every day.”

His gaze swept the area. The thickening clouds were deepening the shadows in the shrubbery. Every movement of the breeze shifted the shadows and rustled leaves.

“Let’s head to the cabin. Too many dark places out here.” He curved an arm around her waist.

They walked in silence until the cabin came into view through the trees.

She pointed. “I see Burt headed there. He doesn’t look happy about doing repairs this time of night.”

The cabin was dark except for the outside light. Its glow illuminated the silhouette of the young handyman, a tool kit in hand. He slouched along the gravel path.

“About time. Come on.”

“Oh, no. Let him fix it.” She placed a restraining hand on his chest. “You said yourself gassing someone that way was an unreliable and clumsy way to commit murder.”

“Exactly. But it would look like an accident. Another in a damn string of accidents.” He lifted her hand and kissed the palm. He flicked a glance toward the inn. Stan and Byrne were still loading tables. “I’m going in to keep an eye on him. And to see if the safety valve is defective or purposely disabled. You stay with Byrne until I give the all clear.”

He sent Byrne a hand signal, and the officer replied with a different signal.

She didn’t want to believe that someone she knew as a friend could be trying to kill her. Still, she had to trust Cole to know his business. “Don’t be too hard on Burt if he’s just doing his job.”

“Please go back to the inn. I need to know you’re safe.” His eyes bored into her, seemed to reach out and touch hers with their heat. If she lived to be ninety, she’d remember the sizzle his gaze never failed to inspire. Now, with the added fillip of danger.

She sighed, and not entirely with resignation. “Okay, okay. I’m going.” She cut across the dew-damp lawn, but looked back at Cole as he continued along the path. He was only a dark silhouette against the fading sky as he approached the cabin.

A rumble like a waking dragon shook the ground.

The cabin windows burst outward in a torrent of glass splinters.
The walls exploded apart with a thunderous roar and a burst of smoke and flame.
A volcanic ball of fire shot through the roof.

The shock wave from the blast knocked Laura down. Roof shingles and broken glass fell on her head. A board crashed to the ground beside her.
Broiling heat seared her skin and ignited trees. The old tamarack went up like a Roman candle.

Cole! Where are you?

Coughing and choking at the acrid stench of smoke and God knew what else, she scrambled toward where she’d seen him last. She pulled her shirt up to cover her nose and mouth. The heat was stifling. She could barely breathe. Black smoke curtained the path. She could see nothing.

“Cole!”

Only the roar of the fire and the serpentine flow of smoke responded.

***

Cole stumbled out of the choking smoke cloud and searched for Laura. Byrne was helping her to the safety of the inn. Coughing and wiping his eyes, Cole slogged in that direction. Every bone in his body ached like he’d been cranked on a medieval rack.

Sirens screamed in the distance, then blared louder as they approached.

Orange-red tongues of fire licked into the night sky from what was left of the small wooden structure. The tree beside it was a charred trunk, but most of the others nearby had only a few burnt limbs, like lightning damage. The recent rain must have soaked everything well enough to protect them.

One adjacent cabin had holes in the roof from the initial blast, but the wind blew the blaze the other direction. The fire was leaping across the open space to a cabin on the other side. He hoped the fire trucks would arrive in time to save them. Most employees were local and lived in town so both cabins were unoccupied.

Thank God he hadn’t gone inside with Burt Elwell, the poor bastard. The valve must’ve been wide-open again, so the cabin filled with gas. The unhandy handyman probably clicked on lights, triggering enough of a spark to ignite the gas. A damn bomb.

The entire cabin was a bomb, rigged to explode.

Except Laura was supposed to be the one to die inside. And probably him.

No doubt that the gas leak was deliberate. Too many contrived accidents for this to be a coincidence. When murder was involved, he didn’t believe in coincidences.

In spite of the heat rolling over him from the blaze, horror frosted him at what had nearly happened to Laura, and what could still happen if he wasn’t more alert and careful than he’d ever been in his life. Fear for her coiled in his gut like a rattler ready to strike. A wave of dizziness hit and he had to grip the tennis court’s chain link fence for support.

What would the bastard try next?

Cole shouldn’t have listened to her plea not to go to a safe house. He should’ve hog-tied her and thrown her in the Tundra and taken off that first night before the head of DARK even thought of setting a trap.

They could still leave. Right now.

Hell, no cabin and no clothes, no reason to stay even tonight. He had the means to get them the hell out of here — his laptop and truck, safe in Alderport, thanks to Kent Isaacs. His Bad Boy hunkered safely in the theater lobby.

But he was close, so close, to trapping Janus and nailing Markos that he hated to give up.
If it was the last thing he ever did, he would get the sons of bitches. Puzzling how to do that and protect Laura made him sweat and clutch at the writhing serpents in his belly.

Red fire trucks rushed onto the lawn. Men and women in black-and-yellow jackets and black boots raced to the lake with hoses. Soon plumes of water streamed over the blazing cabin and the small fires started around it.

“Cole! Oh, thank God you’re all right.” Laura hurried to him and threw her arms around his waist. “I — I couldn’t find you. The smoke…”

“I’m okay. The blast threw me backward, knocked me flat on my ass. Once I got my breath back, I got the hell out of the way.”

She clutched at him. “That poor boy. Burt went in the cabin and…” She dissolved in tears that streaked down her soot-smudged cheeks. Ash smudged her blouse and pants. If she was smeared with it, hell, he must look like a coal miner.

He pulled her as close as he could without stripping off their clothes and holding her skin to skin. That was what instinct spurred him to do, to examine every inch of her skin to satisfy himself she wasn’t injured. Instead, he kissed her, tasting her sweetness and filling himself with the fragrance of her hair, tinged with smoke.

The firefighters yelled at them to get back. Arms around each other, he and Laura walked to the inn.

Knowing she was safe uncoiled the snakes in his gut. An inch or two. He’d done the right thing to keep her safe. He’d sent her out of harm’s way before the cabin blew. Maybe his instincts weren’t all bad.