Harlequin Intrigue, Box Set 1 of 2 (33 page)

Jake had finally admitted to himself last night at Faye's apartment that he was in over his head out here and needed backup. Dex was supposed to arrange that. But without any way to contact him, even if backup came, they wouldn't know where to go. And what if Quinn saw the police before Jake could get to him? He'd kill Calvin.

Or would he? Jake tried to put himself in the crooked FBI agent's shoes. Quinn was risking everything to find that journal. It must have had some incredibly incriminating entries to justify that risk, something that could put him in prison for a long time, or even send other mob guys after him. Calvin was his leverage to get the journal. So he couldn't afford to kill him and risk Faye giving the journal to the police.

Quinn would have to wait until he saw Faye again before doing anything about Calvin, even if he saw police presence. And if Faye didn't arrive back at Eddie's at the agreed-upon time? Jake shook his head. Quinn still wouldn't kill Calvin. He couldn't lose his only bargaining chip.

With the journal destroyed, the only way to keep Calvin alive was to keep him and Faye apart and hope that Holder showed more interest in the situation than he had at the crash site—because Calvin's survival just might come down to the decisions Deputy Holder made.

Keeping Faye from her brother wasn't a task Jake looked forward to. But hopefully she'd listen to reason and come around to his side of thinking. Either that, or he'd have to trick her.

He smoothed the mud and dirt over the top of the hole and stowed the shovel at the back of the house. He did a quick circuit around the perimeter to make sure there weren't any broken branches or footprints that would indicate Quinn had decided to head into the swamp after all and had somehow followed them. With everything looking okay, he headed inside and locked the door.

When he turned around and saw Faye, he swore beneath his breath. She was sitting in the floor in the middle of the room, a foil pan in front of her with a clump of brown and black inside it. He knew even without asking that the little stove-drying experiment had been a failure. He could tell by the tears coursing down her cheeks.

Faye lifted her head, her expression so bleak it took his breath away. “What am I going to do?” she whispered brokenly.

The desolate look in her eyes, the broken sound of her voice, slammed into him with the force of a hurricane. He'd seen that same desolation in his own eyes when he'd looked in the mirror the day his sister died. He'd choked on those same words, felt the same sense of hopelessness, of loss. The feeling that the world would never be normal again, that he couldn't survive without the one person he cared about the most.

She choked on a sob and covered her face with her hands, leaving muddy tracks down her cheeks.

Ah, hell.

He stepped over the pan on the floor and scooped her into his arms.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Faye had taken care of Jake, after he was shot. Now it was his turn to take care of her. He set her on the countertop in the kitchenette and gently washed the mud from her hands with a wet washcloth. He washed away every smudge and smear from her tears, every trace of dirt from her face, her arms, her hands, even her legs as she stared off into space. But even though he spoke in low, soothing tones the whole time, trying to get her to react in some way, she acted as if she didn't even know he was there. Tears continued to silently trace down her cheeks.

He rinsed out the washcloth. He'd already washed the mud off himself as well, and there was nothing left to do. She'd refused to drink from the bottle of water he'd offered her, and turned her head when he tried to give her some of the crackers he found in the cabinet.

“I wish I could tell you everything's going to be okay,” he said. “But I honestly don't know what's going to happen in the morning. All I can promise is that I'll do everything I can to keep you and your brother safe. Even without the journal. We'll leave early, scout around, come up with a plan long before we get to Eddie's house for the meeting with Quinn.”

She blinked and focused on him for the first time since he'd found her staring at the ruined journal, sitting in the middle of the floor. “Why?” she whispered.

He waited but she didn't say anything else. “Why, what?”

“Why would you risk your life to help me? This goes way beyond being hired as a private investigator. I think it's safe to say Quinn's not going to pay your fee anymore.” She fingered the silver chain around her neck, something she often did, without even seeming to realize she was doing it.

He grinned. “I suppose it's that whole damsel-in-distress thing. I'm a sucker for a woman in need.”

His attempt at humor fell flat. She didn't even smile. What was he supposed to say? Admit that he cared about her? It was crazy to care about someone so fast. He didn't trust it, especially a relationship based on so many lies right from the start, on both sides. Until a few hours ago, he'd thought she was wanted for murder and he was ready to turn her in. And now he knew she was innocent of murder, but she'd stolen that journal. And she was always trying to cover for her brother. For all he knew, she could still be keeping more secrets. He didn't even know if he could trust her. So, why was he helping her? He couldn't answer that. Because he really didn't know.

Since she was still staring at him, waiting, he slid his hand under the necklace to turn her attention. “Are you ever going to tell me what's in that third pouch? The purple one?”

She glanced down and pulled the necklace out from between her breasts. Red, gold and purple pouches hung on the end. She pulled the top of the purple bag open, took his hand and emptied the contents into his palm. It wasn't a bottle with some kind of potion or powder as he'd expected. Instead, it was a pewter figurine, about two inches high.

Both their flashlights were on the countertop, standing on end, pointing up at the ceiling to light the kitchenette. He picked one of them up and shined it on his palm.

“I remember this. It was on your dresser in your bedroom.”

“Yes.”

“It's a centaur, right? Half man, half horse. Something to do with astrology, I think.”

“It's a zodiac symbol. Usually the centaur carries a bow and arrow. Instead, this one is carrying a set of scales.”

He turned the little figurine in the light. “Ah, so he is. Like the scales of justice.”

“Or scales to balance out the elements, colors, nature...love. That figurine was given to me many years ago, when I had my palm read.”

“Read? Like, someone told your future?” He turned the figurine over, impressed with the detail carved into the horse.

“Yes.”

At her somber tone, he looked up from the figurine. Her beautiful green eyes captured his. He cleared his throat. “What does the figurine represent then?”

“My fate. The scales and the centaur are linked. One can't exist without the other. The scales are for Libra. The centaur is for Sagittarius.”

He grinned. “I'm a Sagittarius.”

“And I'm a Libra.”

He laughed, but when she didn't laugh with him, he sobered. “Wait? You believe this woo-woo stuff? You think, what, that...you and I...are somehow...fated? What does that even mean?”

She grabbed the figurine and shoved it back into the pouch. “That's the second time you've disparaged my beliefs, and what's important to me.” She jumped off the counter and headed toward the bed, her bare feet slapping against the floor, blue skirts fluttering out behind her.

He swore softly. How had she gone from completely nonresponsive to being upset with him in the span of a few minutes? He flicked off one of the flashlights. He brought the other one with him and followed her.

“I wasn't trying to make fun of your...beliefs, or whatever. You kind of threw me with the fate stuff. Are you trying to say something here? About you and me?”

“Not necessarily.” She yanked the covers back and slid into bed.

He noted that this time she didn't strip down as she had back in the tent. He sighed and pulled the covers back on his side. When they were both settled, he switched off the flashlight and set it on the floor. He lay on his back, staring up at the dark ceiling.

“What does ‘not necessarily' mean?”

She made an aggravated noise and fluffed her pillow. “It means somehow my fate is tied in with the fate of a Sagittarius. Whether it's a good fate or not, I couldn't say. The only thing I'm sure of now is that it's most likely a different Sagittarius than you. Good night.” She turned on her side away from him, dismissing him.

He scowled. He didn't believe one bit in her spiritual nonsense. So why did it tick him off that she'd decided
he
wasn't the Sagittarius tied with her fate? He scrubbed his stubble, which was really starting to drive him crazy. He couldn't wait until he was back in civilization again so he could take a real shower and shave.

After several moments of silence, he let out a long breath. Who was he kidding? When this was all over, if they survived, he was going to miss the crazy town of Mystic Glades and all its crazy people. And the person he'd miss most of all was the crazy woman next to him. But she wasn't going to miss him. Of that he was certain. Because once she found out tomorrow that he had no intention of letting her anywhere near Quinn, she was probably going to hate him.

* * *

A
FTER
ONE
OF
the worst nights of Jake's life, sleeping on a lumpy, far-too-small mattress beside a woman who kept huffing and arching away from him every time he got too close, he was more than happy to see the sun's first rays peeking through the blinds.

Using a latrine kit was just another fun thing to add to what he was sure would be a miserable day. By the time he and Faye were both ready and had stowed their dirty clothes and toiletries back in their packs, the sun was up enough for them to be able to navigate without the help of flashlights. It was time to go. Thank God.

Faye stood beside him at the door. Her golden hair was captured in a braid for a change, focusing attention on her beautiful eyes, which were as deep green as the bodice-hugging skirt outfit she was wearing. If they were talking right now he'd tell her how gorgeous she was. But so far she hadn't said a word to him, and he refused to be the first one to break the silence. Childish, maybe. But he was in a foul mood and wasn't ready to back down or even apologize at this point.

He grabbed the bolt, ready to slide it back and open the door.

She put her hand on his forearm, stopping him. “Wait. We've been running around so fast getting ready that we haven't even had time to make a plan. How are we going to ransom my brother without the journal?”

They hadn't had time to make a plan because they weren't
talking
to each other, not because they were running around so fast. Then again, since his plan was to keep her going in circles today and he was going to do everything he could to sabotage their progress, what was there to discuss?

“We've got several hours of hiking ahead of us and then a long ride on that cherry ATV. We can figure out a plan on the way.”

She didn't look as if she agreed with him but she didn't argue. She adjusted one of the straps on her matching green backpack—which meant she'd actually unpacked her backpack from yesterday and had repacked everything into the new one, all so her outfit would match. He barely managed to hold back a grin over that. She squared her shoulders, and her jaw, as if she were about to march out to face a firing squad.

She was brave. He'd give her that.

He slid the bolt back and pulled the door open just a crack to make sure there weren't any gators, snakes or panthers lying in wait. The coast was clear, so he shoved the door back and stepped outside.

Faye closed the door behind her and took the lead without a word.

They headed down the same path they'd traveled yesterday, going slowly to avoid the bumps of cypress roots and soggy marsh encroaching from the woods. So far they'd been lucky not to encounter any rain, which was unusual during the summer. But the sky was cloudy today, as if they might get an afternoon thunderstorm or two.

The path wound around a thick clump of trees. A metallic ratcheting sound echoed through the 'Glades.

Jake grabbed Faye to pull her off the path. He jerked to a stop. The muzzle of a rifle was pointing directly at his head from about ten feet away. And the person holding it was Quinn, a cruel smile curving his lips.

“Hello again, Mr. Young. You're looking fit for a dead man. Kevlar?”

He grudgingly nodded.

“Should have thought of that. Take it off.”

“What are you doing here?” Faye asked, sounding panicked.

“I thought I'd do you the courtesy of saving you the long trip back. And since I threw a tracking device into your backpack when I searched it last night, it was pretty easy to find you.”

Jake swore. Electronic devices never worked for him out here, but of course they'd work perfectly for Quinn. When Faye told him last night that Quinn had searched her pack, he should have thought to look for some kind of tracker. Unfortunately he was still fuzzy from hitting his head and hadn't been thinking clearly.

Quinn waved toward the other side of the path. “I also brought our friend Calvin along to make the exchange easy.”

Faye sucked in a keening breath when she saw her brother, a few feet to the right of the path, the white nylon rope wrapped around his waist securing him to a tree. His hands were behind him.

“The vest, Mr. Young.”

Jake pulled his shirt off over his head, grimacing when his bruised ribs protested the movement. He tossed his shirt aside and dropped the vest onto the ground.

“Excellent. We're almost done here.” Quinn edged over, putting more distance between him and Jake, stopping next to Calvin. He swung the rifle to point at Calvin's head. “Give me the journal, Miss Decker, or your brother dies.”