Dark Memories (The DARK Files Book 1) (3 page)

Restful stay in the country, hell.

One DARK officer had already moved into a rental cabin as a guest. The second ensconced at the inn was code-named the Confessor, for an ability to make friends and encourage people to talk. Not that a pro hit man would fall for that, but having an operative on the inside could eliminate suspects. The rest of his team would be deployed at the resort today.

Meanwhile, guarding Laura was his responsibility. He had to stick as close to the sacrificial lamb as a conjoined twin, but how the hell could he convince her to let him protect her? She considered him the wolf, not the shepherd.

As he clamped on his helmet, he noticed the sheen of a viscous fluid on the pavement beside him. Small puddles and drips glistened where the old hatchback had stood. A trail of sparkling drops led out of the parking area.

Brake fluid.

Sputtering oaths, he spun onto the pavement. Had someone done this? Or was she still not maintaining her vehicles? The thought of Laura tearing down that mountain road with no brakes raked his spine.

He prayed he reached her before it was too late.

He leaned into the turns and followed the trail of fluid weaving down the slope. He cast a wary eye at what took the place of a guard rail — boulders nearly as big as her car.

What would she do when she reached the bottom? What was there? He couldn’t remember. Damn. He gunned the bike.

A screech of tires followed by the shriek and crunch of metal had his heart racing as fast as his engine.

Around the next turn were the rocks she’d hit. One fender, sheared off as if by a can opener, lay beside a scarred boulder. Miraculously, she was still descending.

Halfway down the hill, he caught up to her as she steered wide on a gentle turn.

The trail of fluid showed she was handling the curving down-grade damned well. She downshifted so the engine slowed her. But the car was still gaining speed.

At the foot of the hill, her car shot across the path of an unwitting truck driver. The wild-eyed man slammed on the brakes. His worked.

Veering wildly, Laura careened past a shed and through a wooden fence. Slowed by the impact with the fence, the hatchback plowed on into a farm field. The car ground to a halt axle deep in grass and mud.

Cole jumped off his motorcycle and wrenched open the car door. He allowed himself a deep breath when he saw no blood, no twisted limbs.

Laura clutched her belly and groaned.

“Are you hurt?”

She groaned again, but shook her head.

He had to get her out of there. What if the car blew? Rare, but it could happen. Gently, his throat constricted, he checked for injuries. When he found none, he unbuckled her seat belt and cradled her to him. “Here we go. Let me carry you.” With her trembling in his arms, he trudged away from the car.

She curled into his chest, murmuring in a wrenching tone that tore at his heart. “My…” A sob obscured the rest of her words.

“What is it, Laura? What did you say?”

She shook her head, then raised it a little. “N-nothing. I’m … okay.” Eyes closed, she inhaled slowly, then exhaled in what he figured was a calming tactic.

He set her down on a log near the bike. He squatted in front of her and checked her pupils, her face. Reassured she was whole, he pressed his shaking hands to her knees.

She gulped down her tears. “If you hadn’t stopped me and made me turn around to go back to the resort, I’d have driven down the other side —”

“And over the cliff.” His words left no room for doubting the outcome.

She’d been through hell already. He wished he could shield her, wrap her up and cart her off to safety. But she wouldn’t have it. Nor would the general, damn him.

“You saved my life. I —” A sob cut off her words.

So many emotions whirled and tumbled through Laura that she could scarcely get her bearings. Fear and fury at Markos’s latest attempt on her life were only part. Harder to accept was her treacherous relief that Cole was the one to pull her from the car and hold her in his arms.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he growled. “That may be only his first attempt. I bet my saddlebags that those brake lines have man-made holes. If we had doubt about Markos trying to kill you, this is proof.”

He sprang to his feet and stalked to the hatchback, buckled into the muddy field like a permanent growth. He stared as though X-ray vision would reveal the reason for the brake failure.

Deep breaths gradually calmed her. She smoothed back her hair and tried to stand.

“Whoa, babe.” Arm around her shoulders, he eased her back down. “Take it easy. Maybe we should get you to a hospital.”

“No hospital.” She just wanted to get away from him.

He peered at her, clearly still worried. “I know better than to argue with that tone, but you shouldn’t ride back to the resort on a motorcycle.” He flicked on his cell phone. “Stan can send somebody.”

She eyed the Harley as if it were a fire-breathing monster. Ride back with him, on that, her knees pressed to his hips? She was relieved she didn’t have to create an excuse. “I can’t leave my suitcase and other box in the car. It’s everything I own.”

“Everything you own? A downsized princess.” He stood, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’ll load them myself when your carriage arrives.”

As he waited for a response, she caught him watching her, puzzlement on his face. “Laura, what was that you said when I pulled you out of the car? ‘My’ something?”

Her heart stopped at the fear he’d puzzle out her garbled cry. Then she’d have no choice but to reveal the secret locked in her mangled heart. Only six months after they’d broken up had come her first brush with death.

She dropped her gaze to the ground. “I … I don’t know.”

***

It wasn’t Stan who arrived in a resort pickup truck, but the hot-eyed kid Burt. An amazingly perked-up Laura installed herself in the truck’s passenger seat before Cole could object.

He followed them on his bike. He didn’t trust anybody where Laura was concerned. The shifty-eyed Burt especially.

He ached to grill her about what she said as he pulled her out of the wreckage. My … something, but what? She knew all right, but she didn’t want him to know.

Opening that can of tarantulas would get them nowhere fast. Yesterday he’d blown it, and she’d run. Not from a killer, but from him. So he had to toe a tightrope with her. And after today’s so-called accident, the present — not the past — demanded one hundred percent of his attention.

Desiring her and remembering how she’d
gotten
him better than anyone before or since were logical consequences of being near her. But she’d dumped him long ago. He had to put personal concerns aside until the threat to her life ended.

Sure.

Later a visit to Libby’s Garage where the hatchback was towed confirmed his suspicions about the car being sabotaged. The mechanic pointed at tiny holes along the brake lines. He said in his laconic down-East drawl that corrosion could cause the fluid to drain out slowly and, “Ayuh, might be a accident. Might not.”

But it was no accident. So Cole was sticking to Laura the rest of the day like ugly on a warthog.

He stood to the side of the tennis court as she stowed the ball machine in the adjacent shed. “You should see a doctor. At least rest for a while.”

“I’m perfectly fine. Coaching tennis beats sitting around like a caged bird.” She juggled her sunglasses and racquet and stepped forward to face him. A white visor with the Hart’s Inn logo shaded her eyes. She’d had to miss the sailing class, but chafed at any other rescheduling. “Besides, the accident wasn’t that bad.”

“If you say so, but you have a shadow. After this morning, I’m not letting you out of my sight.” At that thought, his blood simmered. The clear challenge of her golden-brown eyes and her familiar scent reminded him of the power she once had over him. Damn.

Resisting her was essential to her safety.
Essential to his sanity.

With a resigned huff, she strode down the path.
She wore longer dark-blue shorts that didn’t show nearly enough of her legs. Like her pink-striped shirt, the shorts looked preppy perfect.
And like yesterday, she had the collar turned up to conceal the scars where Markos’s hit man had cut her.

The thought of the asshole importer or his goons manhandling her churned within him. DARK had better snatch up Markos before he could try anything more. If Cole ever got his hands on the bastard, there wouldn’t be even a smudge left.

He shoved away his urges and fell into step with her.
“The brake failure was no accident. At the garage, I insisted it was corrosion to keep the local cops out of it except as an accident. But a tool like an ice pick or awl was used to puncture the lines. Sabotage, not pure, but simple. Markos has found you. Or his paid killer has.”

“Then why make it look like an accident? Why not a … bullet?” Her chin trembled, but her voice remained calm.

“An accident would let Markos avoid two murder charges — the murder you witnessed and yours. Without you, there’s little evidence against him. The only accidental part was timing. The sabotage could’ve happened anytime in the last few days.” Not knowing how the killer might strike next cranked up the risk factor. And he couldn’t rule out a direct attack.

When they reached her cabin, he said, “I’m not leaving you at the door again, Laura. We have more to talk about.”

“You have to talk, I suppose. General’s orders. And I suppose I have to listen.” She unlocked the door and leaned her racquet against the wall inside. “But we don’t have to do it here. Let’s take a walk. If you think it’s safe.”

“Safe enough.” His DARK team would back him up. But she didn’t need to know about that yet.

Through the open door, he noted one great room with a kitchenette. Bathroom and bedroom in the back. Her refined touches to the tag sale furnishings — flowered pillows on the faded sofa and wildflowers on the painted table.

“Not the Ritz Hotel.” He and Laura may have been in the same high school class in Potomac, Maryland, but a chasm bigger than the Gulf of Maine yawned between them in every other way.

“It’s adequate.” She relocked the door and pocketed her key. Chin raised, she cloaked herself in cool dignity as she led the way to the lake.

A smiling man in a warm-up suit came toward them on the path. With his erect bearing and brush haircut, he should’ve been jogging to a military cadence. Instead he hobbled with a cane.

Not bad duty for a DARK officer. A stroll around the resort two times a day, once at night, report in, relax around the lake.

Glorious morning, isn’t it?” Snow’s gaze slid neutrally over Cole.

“Beautiful,” Laura sang out.

Cole gave him a casual salute as he passed them.

A dragonfly dipped a wing before darting across the glittering blue surface of the lake. Bees hummed in the flower beds, and a jogger passed them, humming along with the tune playing in his ear. Cole was about to suggest this location wasn’t private enough for their conversation when Laura veered off on a diverging path into the woods.

“This leads around behind the cabins and west along an old farm road,” she explained.

On their left, birch and other trees leaned over a small stream that babbled beside the path. On the other side stretched a partially overgrown field, dotted with saplings. At its edge, massive branches from a dead elm tree had fallen over a stone wall. The bare hulk stood like a ghostly sentinel, lending the clearing an ominous air.

Crossing her arms, Laura sat on a boulder. She glared at him down her nose. “You said we have to talk. So talk.”

Her princess manner peeled away his professional resolve. Was he angry at things he couldn’t change, or at her?

“Seeing you on that tennis court takes me back. Sports for rich kids who don’t have to work.” Like that summer after she started college. He’d mucked out stalls for horses he never rode while she and her preppy friends learned jumps.

Rolling her eyes, she shook her head. “Are you still hung up on that rich-girl image of me that your … biker buddy put in your head?”

He gave a derisive snort. “Hell, if I forgot, my old man reminded me.” She was rich in lots of ways he couldn’t even begin to express.
Outta your league, boy.
He shoved his dad’s slurred put-down back into the vault where it belonged. “They just voiced what I already knew.”

He’d lived with his drunken father in a two-room garage apartment smaller and way grubbier than her cabin here. No family. No real home. Had never had. Never would have. He scooped up pebbles and leaned against a birch to toss them into the stream.

“I know you had a rough time. But you excelled in your AP courses and later at the community college no matter how long or hard you worked outside school.” Her earlier reserve had eased a notch.

“Yeah, at the stables and the cycle shop. Biker bums don’t get white-collar jobs. Right, Laura?” Hell. That was his old man talking. Seeing her exhumed the defeatist attitude he thought he’d buried.

Her eyes shot sparks. “I know all that. You practically raised yourself. But, as the kids say, get over yourself. You seem to be doing all right these days. And I meant what I said yesterday. General Nolan can send someone else. After the way you treated me ten years ago, why would I want anything to do with you?”

The unfair remarks heated his simmering enmity to a boil. He dumped his remaining pebbles at his feet. “The way
I
treated
you
? I didn’t notice you complaining when we made love in front of the fireplace. Or twice in the bed. Afterward you wouldn’t even accept my calls. When I really needed you.”

Before he could draw another breath, she leaped to her feet. She waved a fist and yelled back at him. “Needed me? For what? To post bail? Of course I didn’t take your calls. I knew that bike gang was trouble. Did you think I’d help you get out of jail after what you did to me?”

“All I did was make love to you. And it
was
love, dammit.” He was rolling now, roaring with all the invective he could muster. “I thought we had plans. But I was just stud service, wasn’t I, babe? So you could return to campus with experience and enjoy the high life.”