Boneyard Ridge (14 page)

They were going to be quite the cat-burgling pair tonight.

“What’s the plan when we get upstairs?” Hunter asked in a lazy drawl that belied the sharpness of his gaze.

“First, I’d like to take a look inside Marcus Lemonde’s desk,” Susannah replied.

“You think he’d keep something incriminating there?” Quinn asked.

She slanted a look his way. “I don’t know. I’ll tell you more once I’ve searched it.”

“How’re you going to get into the office?” Quinn asked. “Isn’t it locked at night?”

And her keys were somewhere with her purse, wherever she’d dropped it during the ambush. “I didn’t think of that.”

“I did,” Hunter said with a grin. “I made a copy of your office key from the master set at the hotel once I realized you were the BRI’s target.”

“So that’s how you got my clothing and shoe sizes.” She wasn’t sure whether she was impressed by his resourcefulness or a bit creeped out by the fact that he’d gone through her things thoroughly enough to find the change of clothes she kept in the bathroom closet in her office.

“Do you know anything about handling firearms?” Quinn asked Susannah.

“I do,” she answered. “I’m best with a Remington 700.”

“A bit big for our purposes,” Hunter murmured, giving her an odd look.

What’s the matter, big guy? You think a girl can’t handle a big gun?
She shot him a hard look. “I’ve handled pistols, too. My personal weapon is a Ruger SR40.”

Hunter’s green eyes glinted amusement. “The princess has teeth.”

Princess?

“I have a Glock 27 I think you can use with no problems.” Quinn crossed to a large armoire near the fireplace and unlocked it to reveal a gun cabinet. There were rifles, pistols, shotguns, even a couple of high-tech hunting crossbows. From the drawers in the middle of the armoire, he pulled a box of .40-caliber ammunition. “This should do you for tonight.” He handed over the pistol and the ammo.

“I’ve got my Glock,” Hunter said, “and some rounds in the backpack, but if I need more, you have any 9 mm rounds?” The look Quinn gave him made Hunter laugh. “Right. Who do I think I’m talking to?”

“I have to go. Can’t be late for this meeting.” Quinn was already on his way toward the door. He stopped at the entrance and turned to look at them. “Consider this your place for now. I’ll be staying in town. There’s a Ford Explorer in the garage out back. I left the keys for you on the dresser in the master bedroom, along with a new burner phone. Call if you need me—my secure number is already listed on the speed dial.” His gaze wandered from Hunter to Susannah. “I’ll let you two work out the sleeping arrangements.”

Then he was gone, the door closing firmly behind him.

“He has a lot of faith in you,” Susannah remarked.

“Looks like he has some faith in you as well.” Hunter turned to look at her, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Do you know each other?”

She shook her head. “Never met him before.”

“He seems to know a lot more about you than I do.”

Hunter’s words set off a flutter of alarm in her belly. She tried to quell it, taking care that her expression showed none of her sudden apprehension. “There’s not a lot to know.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” he murmured.

“Do you mind if I take the bathroom first?” She started moving toward the hall without waiting for him to answer.

Before they’d settled down with the hotel floor plans, Quinn had told her he’d put some clothes for them both in the closet of the master bedroom and had pointed out the door on their way to the kitchen. She detoured to the master bedroom to pick out a change of clothes and stopped short in the doorway.

The room was larger than she’d expected, big enough to accommodate a huge king-size bed, a dresser and chest of drawers, and a sitting area near an enormous wall of windows that overlooked miles of cloud-capped mountains to the east. It was the view that caught her breath, and she made her way to the large-paned windows, wondering just how much Alexander Quinn had paid for a view this amazing.

“I thought you were headed to the bathroom.” Hunter’s low voice was so close she jumped. He put his hands on her shoulders to steady her, smiling a little as she turned to face him. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“This place must have cost a fortune,” she said, nodding toward the window. “You don’t get a view like that for cheap.”

His hands still warm on her shoulders, he followed her gaze. “I guess so. I don’t think Quinn’s hurting for money.”

She wasn’t inclined to remind him he was still touching her, since she was in no hurry for him to stop. “I guess The Gates is pretty successful, then?”

He shrugged. “I haven’t been working there long. I don’t think it’s even been in business that long, come to think of it. Maybe it’s family money.”

“Or whatever alphabet-soup job he had before opening his agency paid better than we thought.”

He looked at her then. “Alphabet-soup job?”

“You know, FBI, NSA, CIA, something like that. He has covert operative written all over him, don’t you think?” Which might explain why he seemed to know more about her than she liked.

What if he knew exactly who she was? It was possible, she supposed; the situation that had sent her running to her aunt’s home in Raleigh had made the papers as far away as Nashville and Chattanooga, she knew. And Alexander Quinn came across as a man who made a point of knowing everything there was to know about anyone who crossed his professional path. Once he knew she was a target, he’d have looked into her past.

How far back had he been able to go?

She’d changed her look in the twelve years since she’d left Boneyard Ridge. Different eye color—at least, until she’d lost the contacts. She had a different hair color and hairstyle. Gone were the faded, sometimes ratty jeans and tees she’d worn most days, now replaced by stylish tailored suits and stratospheric heels. Makeup and polished manners helped her look like a completely different creature, but at her core, she was still Susan McKenzie, a little redneck girl from the hillbilly haven of Boneyard Ridge.

She supposed someone like Alexander Quinn, who’d clearly spent a little time dealing with people who lied for a living, could see through her facade easily enough to know she wasn’t who she appeared to be.

But what other secrets had he learned?

Hunter dropped his hands from her shoulders, and she bit back a sigh of disappointment. It wasn’t a good idea to get used to having him around. Not good to start thinking about other places he could touch her, either. They would get through this mess tonight, and then she’d have to get serious about coming up with a different name, a different look and a different place to hide.

She’d taken a lot of risks coming here to Barrowville, so close to her hometown just across the county line.

She should have known better.

But she’d missed the mountains, living in the city. In the flatlands, as she and other hill folks called it. She hadn’t been meant to live in the flatlands, especially not in a sprawling, noisy capital city like Raleigh, North Carolina. The job offer at the Highland Hotel and Resort had seemed like a kiss from God himself.

But everything had changed now. Once she was done here, it would be time to move on again.

Hunter wandered over to the closet. “Want to take bets on whether he got our sizes right?” he drawled.

“I’d bet on Quinn.” She turned to watch as he pulled out a couple of large suitcases and hauled them up onto the bed.

The CEO of The Gates had done more than select the right sizes. He’d also chosen exactly the clothing she’d have opted for herself in the same situation—sturdy jeans, shirts and sweaters that would easily layer, and a weather-resistant coat that would keep her both warm and dry if she and Hunter were forced to brave the elements again after their hotel caper. Nothing stylish or decorative in the lot. Certainly nothing Susannah Marsh would have chosen for herself.

But Susan McKenzie, on the other hand—

“How’d he do?” Hunter asked, pulling out a pair of boxers, a long-sleeved tee and a pair of jeans from his own clothing stash.

“Not bad,” she answered. “How about you?”

“Everything looks like it’ll fit.” He nodded toward a door next to the closet. “I think that’s probably a bathroom, if you’d like a little more privacy. I can take the other bathroom.”

She opened the door and found a roomy if utilitarian bathroom behind it, complete with a large tub and a separate shower. “Okay, thanks.” She turned to smile at him, but he was already halfway out the door.

Tamping down a sigh, she dug out a fresh change of clothes and headed for the shower.

* * *

T
HE WATER JETS
in the whirlpool bath shot warm bursts of water against his aching leg, easing the tension in his muscles and sending little shivers of relief jolting through him. Leaning back against the foot of the tub, Hunter closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind of his escalating list of troubles and concerns. The key to a successful mission, he knew, was laser focus on the ultimate goal.

Tonight’s goal wasn’t to get in and out of the Highland Hotel and Resort undetected. That was just the means to the end. Nor was the goal to discover exactly what Billy Dawson and his crew were planning for the law-enforcement conference that started the next day, although that was also on their agenda.

No, the goal was to stop the BRI’s plan before it ever started. And that meant they were going to have to think like terrorists.

Hunter had some experience with getting into the heads of people who thought nothing of blowing up hundreds or thousands of civilians to achieve their goals. The mind of a terrorist was a bleak, soulless place. He didn’t imagine it made much difference what the terrorist’s goal might be—anyone who gave no thought to differentiating between innocent civilians and armed troops was a monster. Any deviation was a matter of degree, not intent.

The BRI had already proved their depravity by going after Susannah Marsh. The woman meant nothing to them, other than the impediment she posed to their plans for the conference. She was nothing more than a lock to be broken, moved aside and discarded.

Don’t think about her. She’s a distraction.

But he could hardly shut her from his mind, could he? She wasn’t merely a target to be protected. She was going to be his partner in this break-in, and if he didn’t take hold of his libido when she was around, this mission would go straight to hell.

When the hot water and whirlpool motion finally unknotted his muscles enough to erase the worst of the pain and fatigue in his bum leg, he drained the tub, toweled himself dry and went to look for Susannah.

He found her in the front room, hunched on the sofa in front of the television that hung over the fireplace. She’d dressed in jeans and a dark blue sweater that hugged her lithe body like a lover. But what he saw on her face as she watched the screen quelled any prurient urges he might have indulged.

She looked terrified.

He followed her gaze to the television screen and saw that she was watching a midday news program out of Knoxville. As an attractive blond news anchor spoke, the image on the screen changed to a slightly grainy photo of Susannah. She looked pretty and composed in what must have been her official publicity headshot, a Mona Lisa smile barely hinting at the depths of the woman beneath the placid exterior.

“As authorities widen their search for the missing Barrowville woman, the mystery surrounding her deepens. Who is Susannah Marsh? Authorities aren’t willing to discuss anything about her background on the record, but sources close to the investigation admit they’re stymied in their attempts to learn more about the missing woman’s murky past.”

Hunter turned his gaze back to Susannah’s stricken face. Her eyes were closed, her lips trembling.

“Who is Susannah Marsh?” he asked softly, crossing to sit on the sturdy coffee table in front of the sofa.

She opened her eyes slowly, her eyes dark with fear.

“A lie,” she said.

Chapter Eleven

“I was sixteen.” The words seemed to squeeze their way from her tight throat, past her reluctant tongue and lips, to spill into the taut silence of Alexander Quinn’s cabin. She opened her eyes to find Hunter’s green-eyed gaze fixed on her face, serious but somehow comforting, as if he wanted only to understand her.

She wanted to believe there was someone she could trust with the real truth about who she was, because it had been a long, long time since she’d revealed anything true about herself to anyone.

“You were sixteen,” he prodded gently when her nerves failed her.

She reached across the space between them, squeezing his hand. “You have to promise me you’ll never tell another soul what I’m about to say. Promise me.”

His brow furrowed. “Did you kill someone?”

Her whole body went numb, and she jerked her hand away.

He caught her arms in his big, strong hands as she started to rise. “Tell me, Susannah. Tell me what has you so damn scared.”

“I can’t.”

“I won’t tell another soul what you tell me. I don’t care what it is. I swear it.” His fingers cupped her chin, forced her to look at him. His green eyes were solemn. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“If you do, you might as well put a gun to my head and pull the trigger.” She hated how melodramatic those words sounded, how overwrought. But the truth was the truth.

“I told you. Not a word.” He dropped his hand away from her face, let go of her arm and sat back, giving her space, as if he understood just how vulnerable she felt at the moment.

She swallowed with difficulty and began again. “My whole life, until I was sixteen, I lived in a place called Boneyard Ridge, just across the county line from here. It’s a little nothing of a place, not much more than a road curving over a mountain, a few homes dotting the ridge. Most everybody who had a lick of sense or two pennies to rub together got out as soon as they could, but my grandmother had no intention of going anywhere. ‘I was born here, and here I’ll meet my Maker,’ she always said. I used to think she was crazy. Until I had to leave the place myself.”