Chapter 12 #2
“Tyler,” Mary corrected. “And yes, so far. They’ve got him in the cardiac unit with a police guard.” Mary’s eyes widened. “Taylor. Oh my God.”
Kat gave Mary a half smile. “I meant Tyler.”
“Reuben Tyler.” Mary’s head lifted and she stared up at Nick. “Taylor Rayburn. That’s why I know him. They’re the same. Reuben Tyler is Taylor Rayburn.”
“Did I miss something?” Kat glanced from Nick to Mary and back to Nick.
“Are you sure?” Nick’s gaze never left Mary’s face.
“Positive. Sometimes I’d go with Dad on poker night at Rueben’s house. Mr. Tyler had a photograph on his mantel of himself as a young soldier.” She lifted the photograph and pointed at the man in the picture identified as Taylor Rayburn. Her eyes narrowed. “But that doesn’t make sense.”
“What doesn’t make sense?”
“The article we found in the trunk. The one about illegal arms sales involving Taylor Rayburn.”
“Why?”
“The man I know as Reuben Tyler would never do anything wrong, never commit treason.”
“War makes a man different, Mary.”
Mary glared at Kat. “Not that different. Reuben Tyler may not talk, but he would never hurt his own people or country. Ever.”
Kat raised her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’ll take your word for it. And from what the article said, he wasn’t convicted.”
Mary’s glare receded only slightly. Her back stiffened and her hands clenched into fists. Her pale blue eyes fired up when she was mad. He’d be honored if Mary showed that much loyalty to him. Anyone would.
Nick fought a smile. “If Reuben was one of the men in Santa’s, aka Charles Mercer, unit back in Bosnia, then his house exploding wasn’t an accident.” Nick forced himself to look at Kat. “And Royce confirmed our stiff in Brooklyn, Frank Richards, was a member of the same unit.”
“Okay then, we have something to go on.” Kat reached across the table and snagged a cup from the holder. She pulled the top off and a cloud of steam rose, the air filling with the rich aroma of fresh coffee.
Nick turned to Mary. “Which makes it even more imperative that we find your father before whoever has it in for the unit does. We haven’t checked out your father’s other poker players, Bob Feegan and James Janovich. Do you think they might be harboring him?”
Mary’s face paled. “Do you think they might be in danger because of Dad? If he’s hiding out with them, they well could be.
” She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and selected a number.
She waited, her gaze connecting with Nick’s.
After a long minute, she shook her head and ended the attempted call. “No answer at Mr. Feegan’s.”
“Try Janovich.” Kat nodded toward the phone resting in Mary’s hand.
Mary dialed and waited. After a while, she shook her head. “Sill no answer. Same as yesterday.” She slipped the phone in her pocket and rubbed her hands over her arms a worried frown pushing her brows together. “I have to go.”
Nick grabbed her before she made it outside. “You’re not going anywhere without me.”
“Mr. Feegan lives in a cabin north of town. Chris Moss lives with him. Mr. Janovich lives in a house east of here on Highway 2. What if my dad is staying with them? A killer could find them by asking around. They could be hurt or...”
“Or nothing. Don’t borrow trouble, Mary.” Nick smoothed a hand down her arm.
Mary’s blue eyes glazed with tears. “If you’re right, and Ms. Betty knows anything about where my father is, she’ll be in trouble too.” She pried at Nick’s hand. “Let me go. I have to go check on them. They’re as much a part of my family as my father.”
“We will,” Nick said. “Ms. Betty is on her way to Fairbanks. Does she have a cell phone?”
Her brow furrowing, Mary answered, “Yes.”
Nick handed her a pen and paper. “Give me the number. I’ll call her and let her know to be careful. We’ll also need addresses for Janovich and Feegan.”
Mary scribbled down the number and addresses.
Kat set her coffee on the table. “I’ll take Janovich.”
“And we’ll drop in on Feegan.” Nick gathered his jacket and gloves from the bed. “After you’ve checked on Janovich, catch up with Betty Reedy in Fairbanks and tail her. She might know something about Santa’s whereabouts.”
“Roger.” Kat’s hand dove under her jacket and she pulled out her nine-millimeter SIG Sauer. She released the clip, tapped it once in her palm, shoved it into the handle and stuck the weapon back in the holster in under three seconds. “I’m ready.”
Mary’s eyes rounded, her face paled.
Nick hid a smile.
Kat must have realized Mary was staring at her. “What? Haven’t you ever fired a pistol?”
“No, I mean yes. My father taught me when I was a teen.” Mary laughed, the sound shaky at best. “I just didn’t expect everyone around me to be carrying one.” Her gaze shot to Nick’s pistol lying on the dresser where he’d left it last night. A shiver shook her body.
Everything that was happening was a lot for Mary to handle. If he could have, Nick would have left her in town, but he didn’t trust her not to do something stupid like try to find her father on her own. “Come on.”
Mary grabbed her coat, gloves and hat from her bedroom and slipped into her snowpants and boots.
“You doing her?” Kat tipped her head toward Mary’s door.
“For a married woman, you’re very crude,” he replied without taking his gaze off Mary’s door.
“It’s a tough life being an SOS agent, whether as part of the government or not. It’s hard to manage a relationship even when you’re both on the inside.”
“Who said we’re in a relationship?”
Kat rolled her eyes and slipped into her jacket. “Whatever, St. Claire. I’m beginning to think you don’t know what the hell you’re getting into.” She left the room and jogged down the hallway to the exit.
Nick clenched his fists, his gut knotting as tightly as his fingers. “I’m beginning to think that myself.”
The winter storm had let up from the day before, but the clouds hovered, blocking out the few short hours of dusky daylight, making the sky a thick smoky gray.
At least the wind was still for the moment.
Mary could deal with the cold a lot better when the wind wasn’t blowing through her clothes like an air pressure hose.
The snowplows had been hard at work early that morning clearing the main streets and highways. Taking Highway 2 out of town would have been easy in a car. But they weren’t taking the more traveled route. Mary passed the rental car and headed for the snowmobile.
Nick zipped his jacket and pulled gloves onto his hands before he climbed aboard the vehicle. “I don’t suppose our man Feegan lives out on a river somewhere, does he?”
“No. Normally, you can get to his place by car or a four-wheel-drive vehicle, but with the recent snow, we can’t count on the plows having made it out that far yet. They get the main roads between Fairbanks and North Pole cleared out first.”
“Fair enough.” He turned the key and hit the start switch.
Mary’s body tingled at the thought of getting close to Nick again. Why she should be shy after what they’d done last night, she didn’t know, but damn it, she was. Or was it the memories of their lovemaking that made sliding on the back of a snowmobile with Nick more intense?
Nick’s lips twitched as if he could read her thoughts. “Are you coming?”
Her cheeks burning, Mary clambered on and wrapped her arms around Nick. There. That wasn’t so bad. In fact, it felt pretty darned good. Too good.
Mary slid her goggles in place, blaming the negative temperatures for the stinging in her eyes.
What did she care if Nick St. Claire left?
Hell, he’d only been here a couple of days.
She couldn’t have fallen for the guy so soon.
It was just sex. A one-night stand. No emotional attachments, right? She wasn’t that stupid.
As they sped out of town, Mary leaned into Nick’s strong back, letting him block the cold wind stirred by the snowmobile, moving forty-five miles an hour over the snow.
Right or wrong, being with Nick gave her a certain sense of security and reassurance. She didn’t know what she would have done if she’d had to look for her father on her own. That bleak thought gave her a chill that shook her from head to toe.
Nick slowed. “Doing okay back there?”
“Yeah, no problem. Just hurry.”
Nick still hadn’t told her who he worked for and likely never would. Mary had no reason to trust him. But she did. He’d saved her life on the trail yesterday. Of course he was saving his own life at the same time.
He’d made passionate love to her through the night.
A sinking feeling settled in her gut. Mary supposed sexy special agents always slept with the girl.
That’s how it worked in all the James Bond movies.
Granted, Nick was no James Bond. He was much more appealing in a rugged, tough-guy way.
She much preferred Nick’s hardness. He banked around a corner in the road, and she squeezed tighter around his middle.
Even through the thick layers of the snowsuit he wore, the solid core of muscles couldn’t be missed. She’d run her hands across them in the privacy of his bedroom last night. Not an ounce of fat on that man’s body.
Her blood warmed beneath her clothes, and she almost missed the turn to Bob Feegan’s place. “Here! Turn left here!”
Nick whipped the machine to the left.
If Mary hadn’t been holding on tightly, she’d have been flung off.
The snow hadn’t been cleared off this road yet, but someone had been out this way since the snowstorm ended. A clear set of skid marks and tracks indicated a snowmobile had passed through not long ago.
Nick gunned the accelerator and sped along the road. Mary was used to being in the driver’s seat on a snowmobile. The lack of control made her hold on for dear life.
As they approached the last bend in the road before the cabin, Mary squeezed tighter. “Slow down!”
Letting off on the accelerator, Nick slowed immediately and brought the vehicle to a halt on the edge of a clearing where a log cabin stood. He killed the engine.
Without the sound of the motor, the silence in the picture-postcard setting was eerie. No smoke poured from the chimney, nothing moved, no signs of life.
Mary shivered, a cold lump of dread settling in her belly.
Nick pulled her off the snowmobile and behind a tree.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered, scrambling to get her feet under her in the snow.
“See that window on the right?” He pointed to a window on the front of the house.
Mary squinted in the near dark, trying to see what Nick saw. Then she did. A perfectly round hole, the size a bullet would make, in the glass, six inches from the left side.
“Mr. Feegan. Chris!” Mary lunged toward the house.
A hand grabbed the back of her jacket and yanked her back so hard, she stumbled against Nick’s chest.
Nick’s lips moved against Mary’s ear. “Whoever put that hole there might still be around.”
Her gaze darted around the shadowed clearing. Nothing moved.
“Look.” Nick pointed to the ground around the house. Footprints marred the freshly fallen snow. Footprints that led around to the back but not out into the trees. Whoever made them had come from either inside or the rear of the house. “If he’s still here, he knows we are.”
Mary hunkered lower to the ground. “What if Mr. Feegan or Chris is inside and hurt? We need to get in there.”
“Not yet.” Nick moved her closer to the tree. “Stay here. And I mean stay.” He gave her a stern look. His lips pressed into a straight line. Then his long body bent low as he scanned the shadows beneath the trees.
Fear jolted through Mary. “You can’t go out there.” She grabbed his sleeve and held on. Images of Nick being gunned down tightened her grip.
Nick faced her, laying his hand over hers on his arm. “Gonna miss me?”
“No—yes—oh, hell.” She let go. “You could get hurt...”
“I’m trained in this kind of thing. I’m just going to have a look around. I’ll be back in five minutes.” He leaned forward and kissed her. “Promise me you’ll stay?”
With the warm promise of his kiss still on her lips, Mary stood back behind the tree and trained her eyes on Nick as he moved through the trees on the edge of the clearing.
He had the grace of a cat, slipping from shadow to shadow, zigzagging from one large tree trunk to another, his white coat blending into the snow.
When Nick had gone halfway around the clearing, Mary lost him. The darkness of the Alaskan winter wrapped her in a frigid shroud. She shivered, counting the seconds until the five minutes were up. She couldn’t wait any longer. He should be behind the house by now.
A loud crack killed the silence, echoing off the tree trunks.
A shout bounced off the treetops. “Get back!” It sounded like Nick.
Mary leaned around the trunk. Dusk was claiming the minimal daylight, and she couldn’t see a damned thing in the tree line.
Another crack pierced the air. A man cried out, his voice cut off in a gurgling sort of grunt. Was it Nick? Had he been hit?
Mary staggered away from the safety of the tree and ran toward the house.
An engine revved on the other side of it.
More guns popped off, one after the other until the engine noise faded away.
By now Mary had reached the back corner of the house. A figure lay crumpled on the ground in front of a shed out behind the house. A river of blood stained the virgin white snow.
A moaning wail rose from her throat and Mary threw herself toward the inert form. “Nick!”