Black Sheep (30 page)

“How much time do we have?”

He consulted his phone. “Poppy just turned off 19. Maybe twelve, fifteen minutes tops.”

That wouldn’t give her time to tell Lena about her dad. Keeping the living alive had
to take priority.

“Ideas?”

“Only vehicles we have are your car and my bike. How about if you take the others
over the logging road in the Subaru and I’ll play decoy?”

She gave him half an eye roll. “Don’t be stupid. You’ll blow your cover and they’ll
probably kill you on sight.”

“I could say I was waiting for them—” He interrupted himself before she could do it
for him. “No, that won’t work. Weasel and Poppy will wonder why I wasn’t at Hale’s
house like we planned. Okay, what do you suggest?”

“My dad taught me to hunt here in these woods. I think with a few minutes’ head start
I can set up some diversions to slow them down. While you take the others down the
mountain in my car.”

He frowned, clearly not liking her plan. Hey, she wasn’t so keen on it, either. But
there was no better way, not with three civilian lives at stake. “A lot of the Reapers
hunt around here, too.”

She shrugged. “That’ll keep it interesting. Let me see what supplies I can rustle
up.”

“I’ll hide my bike.”

“Good idea. Why don’t you park it with the lion?”

He laughed and leapt off the porch. She opened the Subaru’s trunk and removed her
weapons and spare ammo. Wished she had brought her Remington. Next time for sure.
She grabbed a roll of duct tape, stomped on it to flatten it to fit in her coat pocket,
then added a small roll of twine left over from when she’d hauled her Christmas tree
home. Knife, ASP, two 40-caliber Glocks, almost a full box of ammo, a little night-vision
help from her surveillance monocular, good to go.

Goose returned. “Might want to do something about your hair and face—you practically
glow in this moonlight.”

She grinned. “You’ve the heart of a poet.”

“And the paycheck to match.” They moved inside. Bernie was sitting up, sipping at
a plastic glass Lena held for him. The chimp had climbed up onto the nightstand and
squatted, combing his hair with her fingers. If Caitlyn had more time, she’d have
snapped a photo because no one was ever going to believe this.

“How’s Bernie?” Goose asked.

“I gave him ibuprofen for his fever and that’s his second glass of Gatorade,” Paul
said, turning from where he was washing his hands at the sink. “But he’s icteric and
I can’t do anything more for him here. We need to get him to a hospital.”

“Working on it,” Caitlyn said as she opened and closed each door, familiarizing herself
with the cabin layout and searching for more weapons. No locks on anything, not even
the exterior doors. Kid sure had a lot of books—including an entire walk-in closet
filled with paperbacks and comic books. She took a black ski mask from a coat hook.
“Bernie, do you have any guns?”

“Just the one.” His voice was hoarse, as if it took all his energy just to answer
her.

Lena left Bernie and handed Caitlyn a Smith & Wesson .44 magnum. She wouldn’t look
Caitlyn in the eye, as if Caitlyn scared her.

Caitlyn wished they had more time. She could tell Lena stories about when she was
a baby, hear all about Vonnie’s life, tell her that her dad had died.

Paul scowled at her, seeing her face for the first time in the light. “What happened
to your head?”

“I’m fine,” she protested as she checked the revolver. Four bullets.

“No. You’re not. Let me check you out.”

“Leave me alone. I said I was fine,” she snapped, her patience frayed. She had no
time for distractions.

Thankfully Goose intervened, wrapping one hand around Paul’s upper arm and almost
lifting him off his feet as he hauled him away from Caitlyn. “Let the lady do her
job.”

“Idiot.” Paul’s tone was scathing. “Her judgment is obviously impaired.”

“She seems fine to me. I vote for letting her save our sorry asses.”

“She had brain surgery a few months ago. And now she might have a concussion. I need
to check her out.”

“He’s exaggerating,” Caitlyn said, scanning the darkness from the window. No sign
of the Reapers. Yet. She dared to look over her shoulder at the two men. Paul stood
in the center of the room, face twisted in frustration, while Goose leaned against
the far wall, angled so he could keep one eye out the other window and one eye on
Paul.

“You almost died,” Paul said.

“Before the aneurysm repair. I’m fine now.” Why the hell were they having this argument
and wasting time? “Goose, you need to get them out of here before the Reapers find
us.”

“Why him?” Paul argued.

“Because I need to create a diversion.”

“You come with us. Let him stick his neck out. He’s nothing but trouble anyway.”

Silence. She couldn’t break Goose’s cover, not even for Paul.

“We could make that work,” Goose said, offering her an out.

Didn’t they just have this discussion? Impossible. If the Reapers caught him, they’d
know he was a traitor and kill him.

“No. We can’t. You have friends out there”—she emphasized the word
friends,
hoping he caught her drift, “who can back you up. Once you’re in cell phone range,
they can get Paul, Lena, and Bernie to safety. Then you can come back for me.”

He frowned but nodded. “Let’s go, Doc.”

“No—” Paul protested. For a moment she thought Goose was going to slug him and haul
him out on his ass.

“The lady has a good plan. Let’s not mess with it.” Goose glanced at his cell phone
then handed it to her. “They’ve stopped about two-thirds of the way up.”

She gave him hers in exchange. “That’s the last switchback before they’ll be in sight
of the lodge. If I were Poppy, I’d send an advance guard on foot. That means I’ll
have the chance to set up an ambush at the choke point, take them one at a time.”

“If Poppy thinks like you. Either way, we’re out of time.”

Paul stood, frowning at Goose then at Caitlyn as he followed their conversation. “But
as soon as we get out of here, we send help back, right?”

“Right.” Caitlyn smiled and nodded without actually looking at Paul. And Santa Claus
really had reindeer that flew.

Goose glanced at Caitlyn before mirroring her smile and nod. “I’ll come back for her
myself.”

“No,” Paul said. “I mean real help. The police.”

“Oh, of course.” Goose’s expression never changed. Caitlyn could see why he’d be good
at undercover work. They both knew the odds of her eluding Poppy and the other Reapers
weren’t good. Most likely any help would be too little too late.

But it was the price she’d pay for their safety. She gave Paul a hug, kissed him hard.
“I’m sorry about this weekend,” she whispered.

“That’s okay,” he said but she could tell he didn’t really mean it. “You’ll make it
up to me.”

Such a nice man. “Someday you’re going to make some lucky lady a great husband.”

He stared at her long and hard. Blinked slowly. And she knew that he finally understood
what she’d been trying to tell him for days. “But not you.”

She shook her head sorrowfully. “Not me.”

He thought she was breaking up, had no idea she was saying good-bye. Forever.

Probably best that way. She turned to Goose. “You keep them safe or I’ll chase you
to hell and back.”

He smiled that sloe-gin smile that had first caught her attention. “Yes, ma’am. I
will.”

She zipped her coat tight, pulled Bernie’s knit cap over her head, grabbed her weapons
and Goose’s cell phone, and was out the door before she could change her mind. Just
had to stay alive long enough for them to get down off the mountain. How hard could
that be?

A low growl echoed through the darkness from the trees before her. Harder than she
dreamed.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

“What did you mean back there when you said her judgment was impaired?” Goose asked
once they had Bernie and Lena—and the chimp—loaded and were headed across the compound
to the logging road. He had Paul drive with the lights off, leaving his hands free
in case he needed to shoot. “She’s carrying a weapon. The FBI wouldn’t let her do
that unless they cleared her.”

Paul hunched over the steering wheel, peering into the moonlight as the sullen silence
grew. “They did clear her. But she’s smart. She knows how to fool the tests and their
doctors.”

“But not you?”

“She still has problems. Associating names and faces. Remembering dates. Recognizing
people she doesn’t know well. She hides it, has a ton of ways to cope, but she’d be
better off without this job.”

“Better off sticking with you, you mean.” It was so obvious the man was in love with
Caitlyn, and just as obvious that he was not the right man for a woman like her. He’d
smother her, douse the fire and passion that made her good at her job, made her who
she was.

Goose fiddled with the defroster, trying to get a handle on his own feelings. He knew
nothing about Caitlyn, so why did he feel so upset by Paul’s interest in her?

“Better off with me than dealing with lowlifes like you, yes,” Paul said defiantly.
“I don’t understand why she fights so hard to keep her job. The FBI doesn’t appreciate
her, she has to deal with all their bureaucratic crap just so she can risk her life—it’s
not worth it.”

“You want her to quit.” No way a woman like Caitlyn would ever quit. Goose couldn’t
see her giving up on anything—she’d see it as a challenge. Just like recovering from
her brain surgery.

“We were supposed to go away this weekend. To the beach. I had it all planned.” Paul
turned away from Goose, face aimed at the darkness flitting past the window. “I was
going to ask her to marry me.”

“Sorry about ruining your plans,” Goose said, only half meaning it. “Let’s start with
saving your ass so you can try again some other time.”

“Not sure if there will ever be another time.”

They reached the logging road. “I can’t do this without lights,” Paul said.

Goose nodded. Under the cover of the trees, it was as safe as it was going to get.
Paul clicked the lights on and bounced the car onto the primitive dirt road. From
the backseat Bernie moaned and the chimp made an anxious chattering noise.

“Hang on, guys,” Goose told them.

“What do we do if they find us?” Lena asked.

Good question. They weren’t going to like the answer. “If it looks like we’re going
to get caught, then you’re all going to have to trust me.”

“And why should we do that?” Paul asked. Goose couldn’t see his sneer, but it came
through loud and clear. To Paul, Goose was just another lowlife biker helping Bernie,
his fellow Reaper.

“You can trust him,” Bernie’s voice came from the back, weak but earnest. “What’s
the plan, Goose?”

“If they stop us, I bail and run for help.”

“Like hell—saving your own sweet ass,” Paul said. “What about us? They’ll kill us.”

“Not if they need you alive.” Goose was totally improvising, but he had no choice
since he had no clue what Poppy’s endgame was. “Lena, they want something from you.
Any ideas?”

The girl hesitated and looked at Bernie, who nodded. “I think it might have to do
with the original Freedmen Pact. But I’m not sure. I was in the middle of my research
when—”

“That’s okay. Just act like you have something they want. All you need to do is keep
them talking until either Caitlyn or I can bring back help.”

“Okay.” Her voice quavered. “I guess I can do that.”

“Hopefully it won’t come to that. We’ll get off this mountain and everything will
be fine.” Except for the fact that in the past ten minutes they’d barely gone a hundred
yards. Paul’s driving would make a slug seem like a speed demon.

Then Paul stopped the car.

“What’s the problem?” Goose asked.

“Over there. Down the mountain. See them?”

Lights. Moving. Toward them. Goose rolled down his window. The night was shredded
by the sounds of a dozen motorcycles straining their engines as they tore up the logging
road. Coming right at them.

*   *   *

Caitlyn stopped at the edge of the road beyond the switchback’s curve. She was above
the Reapers, out of sight of them, although she could hear the rumble of their bikes’
idling. She decided to start with a simple surprise if they did ride their bikes up.
She strung the twine across the road, tied to two trees at neck level, double thickness.
Probably not enough to do serious harm, but it was invisible in the shadows and if
it threw one rider on the narrow road, it would slow them down.

Next she planned her escape route. She’d stay in the trees; head up the mountain to
the Mingo Falls trail then take it across and down to Route 19. In case any Reapers
tried to follow her, she set a few quick traps: hemlock boughs covering a narrow crevasse
where the stream had carved the granite into a sheer drop, bent saplings anchored
with duct tape and rocks she could kick away as she passed, and more twine, this time
tied at ankle level across the path at strategic points.

Ten minutes later she was in position behind an outcropping of rocks looking down
on the Reapers through her night-vision monocle. No sign of Poppy but Weasel was there,
riding in a big SUV, pump-action shotgun in his hands, along with six Reapers on their
bikes and two more pickups at the rear. Nice. She didn’t even have to wait for them
to make the first move; she could keep them pinned down from here with minimal risk.

She started with Bernie’s .44. It would be the loudest and have the greatest impact
at this range. Took aim at the engine block of Weasel’s SUV and fired two rounds at
it, quickly followed by two more at the nearest pickup.

A shout went up and the men scattered. A barrage of gunfire aimed her way filled the
night sky but they were at a disadvantage: shooting uphill and blind. None of the
bullets even came close.

She changed to her Glock and got off several more shots before Weasel had his men
organized enough to kill their headlights. She watched through the night-vision monocular;
she hadn’t managed to hit anyone with the Glock, no surprise given the distance and
the moving targets. Several Reapers began to climb the mountain toward her while the
rest gave them cover fire. Good strategy if she couldn’t see them coming. As it was,
all she had to do was follow her retreat path, cross the road, and reposition herself
a little farther up the mountain. It meant giving them a bit of extra ground, but
gained her what she really needed: time.