Always a Hero Page 17

  In moments he had removed the tread and was staring down into the storage locker he’d built there. He remembered the day he had sealed it up, the time he’d spent arguing with himself, telling himself that if he was really walking away he’d get rid of it all.

  But he’d known even then he couldn’t do that. He’d made some very nasty people very angry over the years, the kind of people who would come after him in an instant, if they could find him. And he knew those same people wouldn’t hesitate to take their anger out on an innocent boy, if he was connected to him.

  He gave himself a fierce mental shake. You know what the motions are, go through them, he ordered silently.

  He took out the long protective storage pack that held the Mossberg pump shotgun, since it was the biggest and took up the most room and blocked everything else. It had been untouched since he’d cleaned, prepped and sealed it into the protective storage bag. He set it on the floor beside him. He took out the canvas pack that held in various pockets cable ties suitable for use as flex-cuffs, a pair of wire cutters, a single strand flexible saw blade, a small bag that in turn held a powerful monocular, a K-bar style knife and a couple of grenades. He kept the monocular, flex-cuffs and one of the grenades; not the lethal one, but the stun grenade commonly known as a flash-bang.

  In the right side of the locker was a sealed storage can holding nine boxes of .45 caliber ammunition. He took that out and set it aside as well, leaving in place the similar can of shotgun shells.

  Two smaller sealed storage packs came next. He chose the larger of the two, and used the flat-bladed screwdriver to tear it open. He undid the brown gun wrap, revealing the weapon that had saved his life more times than he could count. The compact .45 HK USP looked as pristine as the day he’d put it into storage, with the promise to himself that in ten years, if he hadn’t had to come for it, he would then empty the cache and take his chances.

  And here he was, barely a year later, doing what he’d never wanted to do again. And telling himself all the reasons he should do nothing more than keep Jordan safe didn’t change a thing. He wondered if there was something in his DNA, buried deep, that made him as incapable now as before to just walk away.

  He had no time for useless questioning, he reminded himself. He started to move quickly then, as if speed of motion could overcome the reluctance. He put the shotgun bag back in the step-locker. He stripped down the HK, wiping parts as he went, although he’d taken such care in packing it up it wasn’t really necessary. He did it anyway; he hadn’t survived without taking every possible precaution.

  He was slower than he used to be putting the weapon back together, this time putting back the spring that he’d kept separate to avoid it losing any strength from long storage. He’d lost a step there, and he’d better remember that he’d likely lost a step elsewhere, too.

  He slid the HK’s magazine out of the bag, and the spare. Then he opened the ammo can, took out the first box, and loaded the first magazine. Then began the second; if he needed more than that, he was probably going to die anyway.

  At the thought he hesitated, then opened the second bag, taking out the small, two-inch .38 revolver. He dug down until he found that ammo, loaded it, then pulled out the black nylon ankle holster from the bottom of the locker. He strapped it on and slipped the little five-shot inside. Insurance, he thought. He had to think about that now.

  That done, he turned back to the HK. He finished loading the backup magazine, his fingers remembering automatically what his mind had tried so hard to forget.

  He put the magazine he’d just filled in his back pocket. He picked up the first one, aligned it with the slot in the grip. For a moment he just crouched there, staring at the tools he’d put away with such care, because it was so ingrained in him. Resistance was still growling inside him.

  “No choice.” He said it aloud this time, as if that would finally pound it into his head.

  He slammed the magazine home, and the sound of it was like a trigger, and he felt the old, cool determination start to well up in him.

  A small sound came from above. He froze. Looked. The familiar weapon tracked the change, like an extension of his vision.

  His son was staring down at him from the top of the stairs, eyes wide with shock.

  Chapter 23

  Trying to solve the enigma that was Wyatt Blake was exhausting, Kai thought. That he’d wanted them to go out, all three of them, was touching. Although he hadn’t said anything to Jordy to indicate this was anything more than just grabbing a meal together because they happened to be together, it still seemed significant to her. Proof he’d meant what he’d said, that he didn’t want to keep it—them—a secret.

  And he’d seemed to enjoy the evening, even with Max conducting his slimy business just outside the door. And that was on her list of things to do tomorrow; maybe Wyatt didn’t think there was enough proof, but she was going to call somebody anyway. She wanted there to be a record that someone had reported it, even if it took them forever to get to it.

  All through dinner, and after, when they’d just been chatting, Jordy even joining in a little, Wyatt had been watching Max. And then he’d gone…not cold, but distant somehow, as if his mind were completely elsewhere, and he’d ended things rather abruptly. She thought it might have something to do with the way Max and his buddies had also left rather abruptly, but Wyatt had said nothing about it. And Jordan’s homework was a legitimate excuse, but she couldn’t help thinking that was exactly what it was, an excuse.

  And something about Wyatt nagged at her. He hadn’t just changed in his demeanor, he’d changed in a deeper way, right before he’d ended the evening. It was almost visible to her, a sudden steely determination and cool detachment. This wasn’t the man struggling with a teenage son, or even the passionate lover who had so startled her. This was the suspicious, edgy man she’d first met in her store that day, only much, much worse. There had been something almost frightening about him, in those last few minutes, although Jordy had seemed unaware. But she was aware, she felt it coming off him in waves.

  She told herself to give it up, she had no answers so it was useless to keep pacing her living room wondering. She thought of going down to play, but for one of the few times in her life the idea held little appeal. She should do that paperwork she’d been putting off, or update her banking data, count strings, something.

  Or just go to bed, she thought. It was nearly ten anyway. Early for her, but late enough for most, she thought.

  Sure, she muttered inwardly. You can lie there awake for a couple of hours, trying to figure out the man while you toss and turn wishing he was here.

  Because, she realized with a little shock, she wanted to sleep with him. Literally. She wanted to feel his warmth in the night, and more urgently, wake up with him in the morning.

  A little shiver went through her at the thought. She shook her head sharply, warning herself she was falling too far, far too fast. For all the good it would do. She might not be able to figure Wyatt out, but what she did know—that he was an edgy, sometimes harsh man that half the time she suspected wasn’t at all what he appeared to be—should be enough to convince her to tread carefully. And yet here she was….

  Her cell phone rang, a welcome distraction tonight. Wyatt? she wondered as she ran to the kitchen counter where she’d set her purse. He’d called her several times before, in the evenings after Jordy had gone to bed, once she’d told him she was nearly always up until midnight. She’d found the calls sweet and a little awkward, because he’d sounded like he didn’t even know why he was doing it, when they’d just been together a few hours before.

  And that was a thought that made her smile as she pulled the phone out and glanced at the screen. Not Wyatt. This was the call she’d been waiting for for days now. And for a moment she pondered whether she really wanted to answer, if she really wanted to know….

  With a sigh, she clicked on.

  “Hey, girl!”

  David King’s cheerf
ul greeting echoed in her ear.

  “Hey, Davy. How are you?”

  “About the same as when you called before,” David said, and she could see her old friend and bandmate’s irrepressible grin as clearly as if he were standing there, twirling a drumstick madly with his fingers as if it were a propeller.

  “A little nuts, you mean?”

  “I’m a drummer at heart, y’know? Comes with the territory.”

  They shared the laugh about old times, and then he turned to business. Which in this case, revolved around his other skill; David’s nimbleness with drumsticks was more than matched by his nimbleness with a computer keyboard. He’d run the band’s internet presence with skill and knowledge, taking Kai’s ideas and running with them. He had once considered hacking a hobby. He’d thankfully retired that for the most part.

  Except when it was a favor for a friend.

  “So, what’s your interest in this guy?”

  Uh-oh. David hadn’t asked that before, as she knew he wouldn’t; he was a no-questions-asked kind of friend if you needed help. That he was asking now told her he’d found something that made him, at the least, curious, at the most, protective.

  “He’s the father of a kid who comes in here every afternoon to practice.”

  “Okay, that tells me who he is to you, but not what.”

  David, for all the jokes in the music world about drummers, was far from stupid.

  “You tangled up with this guy?” he asked.

  An image shot through her mind, of herself, quite literally—and nakedly—tangled up with Wyatt just hours ago. He’d learned her so quickly, found every sensitive, nerve-loaded spot on her body, and then proceeded to play them better than she played BeeGee. And she’d tried to learn him in turn, returning the favor. And she’d succeeded, except for the scars he bore and his reluctance to talk about them, insisting they were the result of simple accidents. He’d distracted her—intentionally?—by asking if they bothered her, with just enough uncertainty to trigger a protective urge in her. She’d proceed to make those scars a starting point for caressing him, kissing him, until she was sure he knew that nothing could detract from how beautiful she found him.

  Because she did find him beautiful, lean, strong and with that subtle grace that sent frissons of heat through her every time he moved.

  But the nature of those scars, especially the one she had finally realized was from a gunshot, had always run a tiny thread of unease through the joyous passion that was so utterly new and precious to her.

  And now she was very much afraid she was about to find out that unease was well-founded. She drew in a breath to steady herself, then said it.

  “How bad is it?”

  “Bad?”

  “Is he on the run?” It was one of the many ideas that occurred to her when she pondered the mysterious Mr. Blake and his scars.

  “Maybe,” David said. “But probably not the way you mean.”

  She blinked. “What is he, a protected witness or something?”

  “Closer,” he said. “You really don’t know?”

  “Obviously,” she said, trying to keep annoyance out of her voice; David did like to play people a bit.

  “He’s not a protected witness, but he’s put a few people there.”

  She frowned. “What? Come on, David, don’t play with me.”

  He relented. “He was a fed.”

  She blinked. “What?” she repeated, stunned. A fed? A federal agent? FBI or CIA or something?

  “And he’s something else, Kai.”

  Something had come into David’s voice that made her shiver inside. “What?” she asked weakly for the third time.

  “He’s a freakin’ hero.”

  Chapter 24

  She’d been right all along, Kai thought. Wyatt Blake was not what he seemed.

  She sank down into the big, overstuffed chair that took up the space by her front window.

  “Give it to me,” she ordered David.

  “You want the whole list?”

  “Yes.”

  She could almost see the stocky drummer shrug. “Joined the FBI right out of college—”

  “Where?”

  “College? UCLA. Cum laude. Big time. Bet they recruited him.”

  “Yes.” She wasn’t surprised. She’d known he wasn’t stupid.

  “According to what I found, took the usual path, heavy training, tactics, weapons, all that. Moved around a bit the first couple of years. But he racked up some awards, commendations and stuff, bank robberies and the like. He was given his own field office fairly early, although I guess it was a small one, only two agents.”

  “Where?”

  “Montana. Lot of territory there. Anyway, they foiled what would have been a nasty terrorist plot, stopped a truckload of explosives and weapons smuggled in over the border. Lots of news articles about that one. The bad guys had built a false floor in a livestock truck, then put real sheep in it. Clever.”

  She grimaced. “Scary.”

  “Yeah, that too.” He chuckled. “Your boy was a hero, they decorated him like a Christmas tree, but he got in a little trouble too. Turns out he told the bad guys the truck had originally transported pigs. Didn’t go over well.”

  Kai nearly laughed aloud at that.

  “Anyway, he apparently got a say in where he went from there. Transferred to the L.A. office, saved a couple of kidnap victims, took down some seriously armed bank robbers, piled up a ton more awards and medals, or whatever they give those guys. Then he went under.”

  “Under?”

  “Only thing I could find was that he ended up on a crack special assignment team. A supersecret special assignment team. I don’t think he was still FBI at that point. Maybe not even CIA. This stuff is way, way under.”

  Kai fought to absorb it all. She felt nearly dizzy with all the revelations, and had to force herself to focus.

  “He really was a hero,” she said, shaking her head in shock.

  “Several times over, from what I found.”

  “But…why did he leave?” Her breath caught. “He did leave? You did say he was a fed.”

  “Yeah. I found a record of his resignation from federal service as of about a year ago.”

  “Was it…because he’d been shot?”

  “Shot? Don’t know about that. No record of that, so it must have happened after he went into that supersecret unit. How’d you know?”

  “I’ve seen the scar.”

  There was a moment’s pause, and she could imagine what David was thinking, what he was guessing. But for once, he didn’t tease her. Maybe something was sounding in her voice that warned him off.

  “I don’t know why he quit,” he said briskly. “He’d been at it for almost seventeen years. Maybe he just burned out. I’d think that kind of work would do it to you.”

  “Yes. Yes, it would.” No wonder he assumed most people lied. In his work, the ones he dealt with probably had.

  “I could keep digging, if you want, but those walls are high and thick. Not sure I could get much further without crossing some dangerous lines.”

  “No, David. You’ve done enough, don’t get yourself in trouble over this.”

  “Thanks,” he said, sounding relieved.

  “One more thing, though,” she asked as a cogent thought finally worked its way through her daze. She hesitated. She wasn’t a snoop by nature, figuring that most people would eventually tell her what they wanted her to know.

  But she wasn’t in love with most people.

  She smothered a gasp as her mind formed the words for the first time. David’s words cut off her thoughts, and she’d never been more grateful for an interruption.

  “Sure, Red, what?”

  She shoved the stunning revelation aside for the moment and calculated quickly back from Jordy’s birthday, which he’d glumly told her was right after he’d moved here, and that it had sucked.

  “Where was he fourteen years and three months ago?”

  Da
vid didn’t comment on her specificity. “Let’s see, I’ve got it all here…he was in L.A. by then, but barely. And he was there for a couple of years before the uber-secret stuff started. So that would cover your fourteen and three.”

  So it fit, she thought, that that was where Jordan was conceived. And born. And had lived until tragedy struck and he found himself out in the woods of the great Northwest.

  “Any more details on what he did in L.A.?” she asked.

  “Looking,” David said, as if he were scanning data, as she supposed he was. “Yeah. He was there barely long enough to unpack before he landed a kidnapping that got him yet another decoration. Bet that’s what got him the attention of this other unit, because he went in undercover, news article says, saved a woman and got back the ransom, practically single-handedly.”

  “A woman?”

  “Yeah. Some rich guy’s daughter. Got snatched right out of her college dorm.”

  Jordy’s mother? Had he gotten involved with a victim? Wasn’t that verboten?

  “Hmm,” David said. “Twins.”

  “What?”

  “The woman had a twin sister. Sounds like she was a big help in the case. She was all ‘my hero,’ but your boy said they couldn’t have done it without her.”

  Your boy. She tried to get a grip on emotions that were piling up behind the dam she’d hastily thrown up. She fought for calm, for logic.

  “Can you find anything about the sisters? What happened to them after?”

  “Probably. Hang on.”

  Kai waited, heard the faint sound of keyboard keys clicking, then a pause, then more clicking. She focused on the sounds intently, making herself try to imagine what he was keying in, postponing the moment when she was going to have to start processing all this.

  “Michelle Price, the kidnapped sister, moved to Europe. Wanted to leave it all behind, I guess. Oh, wow, that’s sad,” David said.