Deadly Sight (7 page)

Frankly, that surprised him. He was careful to keep his expression neutral, however, and not reveal his thoughts. She certainly was an odd mixture of contrasts. Tough and demure, biker chick and church lady, occasionally sensible and often completely impulsive. She didn’t hesitate to change her eyesight radically, but she wouldn’t dream of marking her skin.

Reflectively, he murmured, “Which version of you is the real one?”

She tilted her head to stare at him. “Who says they’re not all me? I don’t have to be just one kind of person, do I? Surely you’re not always the same guy. In your work as a spy, I’ll bet you put on all kinds of personas—different jobs, lifestyles, income and educational levels. You just can’t pull off checkered-flannel shirts. But I could see you as a surfing bum or Wall Street banker about equally well.”

“I do like to surf.”

“See? Behind that ramrod-stiff demeanor, you’re a multidimensional guy, after all.”

He wasn’t ramrod-stiff, thank you very much; he was organized. Logical. Rational. All qualities that had saved his life before and would no doubt do so again.

He must have frowned because she reached up and smoothed her fingertips across his brow. “Live dangerously,” she murmured. “Embrace a little variety.”

“I’m not
that
big a stick in the mud.”

Sammie grinned. “You just keep telling yourself that.”

He stepped forward until they stood chest to chest. There was one way to win this argument fast. It would certainly be living dangerously to kiss her into oblivion. Or rather, let her kiss him there. He started the journey gently by bending his head to hers. Exhaling lightly against her temple. Tilting her chin up with a fingertip. Just a light touch of lips to lips. A promise. A hint of more.

He wasn’t sure how fragile she was feeling and he let her call the shots, let her lean in against him, let her kiss her way across his neck and toy with the short hair at the back of his neck. But at some point he wanted more. He slipped a hand under the warm weight of her hair and lifted her face to fit his mouth more closely against hers to taste her warmth and softness. He could sip at her all night like this. She was better than a fine wine on his tongue, more savory and complex. The bite of her personality lent just enough zing to keep her from becoming predictable. Oh, yes. She was a woman to be tasted time after time.

She drew a sharp breath and rose on tiptoe, grabbing the back of his head without warning and imploding in his arms. “I’m not supposed to want another man yet,” she mumbled against his lips.

“Why not?”

“Two weeks mandatory man-hating, otherwise I risk a rebound relationship. I’m only one week post-breakup.”

“Live dangerously, Sam. Embrace variety.”

“Smart aleck. Shut up and kiss me.”

That
he could do. And shockingly, he
wanted
to do it. He didn’t stop to think or to question it. He merely stepped into her room, turning her until she pressed back against the wall. Her right leg crept up and wrapped around his hips. It was entirely natural to catch her waist, and as he supported her weight more fully, her left leg joined the right. She didn’t weigh much, not that he cared. He didn’t need to be able to lift a Jeep to hold her tight as she sucked his tonsils out of his throat.

She kissed with as much gusto as she did everything, her exuberance for life flowing over him like a dancing and healing stream. How long had it been since he’d felt anything like
that?
It soothed him and washed his soul clean, and for the first time in years, he could really breathe. He tore his mouth away from hers to drag in a big, full breath. And another. Who’d have guessed the simple act of breathing could feel so good? Or furthermore, that kissing this woman would make it so?

He stared down at her, amazed.

“What?” she demanded. “Have I grown feathers or something?”

“Good Lord, no. They didn’t actually use eagle DNA on you, did they?”

She laughed. “No. It was all my own DNA and stem cells they manipulated.”

Relieved, he let out his breath. And even that felt good.

“I think I’m going to be able to sleep now,” she murmured. “I guess I’m going to have to get on a more normal schedule if we’re going to be social with the neighbors.”

“Hey, it was your idea to set up house,” he replied.

“When will I quit opening my big mouth and getting into trouble?” she groused.

“I don’t know about that. I rather liked it when you opened your mouth.”

Her eyes twinkled merrily. “You have no idea, big guy. No idea at all.”

And maybe the images her comment conjured were why he stumbled as he let her push him backward out of her room. He stood in front of her closed door and stared at it for a long time. What had just happened to him? For a moment there, he’d almost felt...normal.

Except he of all people was anything but normal. He was Humpty Dumpty. Irrecoverably, irretrievably broken, and nothing and nobody was going to put him back together again.

Chapter 5

I
t felt weird to wake up before noon, but Sammie Jo dutifully dragged herself out of bed and dressed in simple jeans and a sweatshirt. Of course the sweatshirt had a skull and crossbones on it, but it was the best she could do at approaching normal. In a fit of rebellion against suburbia, she chose her steampunk sunglasses, round lenses with leather flaps at the sides that nicely sealed out secondary sunlight.

Gray was nowhere to be found in the house. She stepped out onto the front porch and was shocked to see him on his knees, efficiently planting her rosebushes. Oh, God. He looked
so
hot. Who knew he’d wear gardening so well? He was carefully forming mounds of dirt in the holes, spreading the roots out symmetrically, and packing enriched planting soil around them.

“Where’d you learn how to plant roses properly?” she asked.

He looked up, a smudge of dirt endearingly tipping his nose. “My granny was a big rose gardener.”

“Can I help?”

“Sure. Grab a shovel and dig the next hole.”

She started digging, the rich smell of warm earth rising around her. It was strangely soothing.

“Nice shades,” he commented.

“Thanks. Personal faves of mine.”

“Your eyes doing okay?”

She smiled at his concern. “Fine. These are super dark and the leather flaps—” She broke off as a trio of police cars rounded the corner fast, lights flashing, but sirens silenced. The vehicles raced past, drove up the hill at the back of the neighborhood and stopped in front of the last house, parking in a defensive formation.

“What’s that about?” she asked under her breath.

“Don’t know.”

They planted another rosebush as a half dozen sheriff’s deputies surged out of their cars and clustered at the front door of a red brick ranch that looked like every other house in this neighborhood.

On cue, Maddie Mercer stepped out on her front porch in a housedress and slippers to watch the show.

“Back in a sec,” Sammie Jo murmured. She strolled over to join the woman, wiping dirt off her hands onto her jeans as she went. “Hey, Miss Maddie. Any idea what’s going on?”

The older woman gave her an arch look. “Word has it a young man was found dead.”

“Right there in that house?” Sammie Jo asked in mock horror.

“Oh, no. He was found back up in the hollers a ways. Probably a fight over a moonshine still. This is a dry county, you know.”

Sammie Jo acted appropriately scandalized. “Then why are the police at that house?”

“Dead guy must’ve been mixed up with that Proctor gang,” Miss Maddie replied knowingly.

“Proctor gang?” Gray asked as he materialized at her side. Sam slipped an arm around his waist and was delighted that he didn’t go board stiff at the contact.

She leaned into his warmth and strength as Miss Maddie drew a deep breath to impart clearly treasured gossip. “Wendall Proctor is the leader of a group of hippies and weirdos hereabouts. They’re all hepped up about going off the grid. Most of them are looking to live all back-to-nature and organic. That Proctor guy has turned his property into practically a cult compound full of ’em. Women and kids are up there, too. But—” she leaned forward and her voice dropped to a juicy whisper “—I hear there’s some wackos among ’em. You know, the kind who think there’s government conspiracies all around, and someone’s trying to kill them.”

Gray nodded toward the police cars. “It looks like no good has already come of it.”

Miss Maddie snorted in agreement. “Four of Proctor’s boys rented that house a few months back. Mighty suspicious if you ask me. Men coming and going from that place and at all hours of the day and night. No surprise they’re mixed up in that young fella’s death.”

As the woman fell silent, Sammie Jo fanned the gossip flames. “Do you suppose the police will arrest someone?”

“Oughtta arrest ’em all. Throw ’em clean out of the Zone. Damn outsiders.”

Gray piped up in his most charming voice, “I hope you won’t consider us outsiders for long, Miss Maddie. You make the best macaroni and cheese I’ve ever tasted, and I’d be mighty sad not to get any more of it.”

The woman simpered under his warm regard, and behind her shades, Sammie Jo rolled her eyes.

“Police have been in there a long time if they’re just picking someone up,” Miss Maddie announced. Her voice dropped in volume. “I’ll bet they’ve got a search warrant.”

“You think?” Sammie Jo murmured back. “Maybe I should go for a jog up that way and see if they’re tossing the place.”

“Oh, my child, I wouldn’t go near there. What if it turns into a shoot-out?”

“I’ll run away. And I’m really fast.”

Gray interrupted. “Miss Maddie has a point, sweetie. I’d hate to see you get hurt.”

Sweetie?
Grayson Pierce had called her sweetie! How was it one stupid little word that he didn’t even mean could knock her completely off balance like that? Of course, it wasn’t the word that did it. It was the man saying it who messed her up so bad. Being around him was like hanging out with Prince Charming. And just like a fairy tale, he was too perfect to be real.

She didn’t know what his flaw was or where the chinks in the armor might be, but he had to have some. He
had
to. Otherwise, her entire conception of the world was wrong. She’d known for a long time that life was not fair. That happiness was not guaranteed, nor even likely, at the end of the day. A person was born; their life sucked; they died. That’s how it went. If she happened to grab a few moments of transitory pleasure along the way, then she was luckier than most.

But this man challenged all of that. If men like him were real, then she had spent her entire adult life failing to search for a man like him. And what a waste would that have been? Had she been completely, totally wrong about everything?

“Honey? Are you okay?”

Honey?
Her heart pitter-pattered until she mentally shook herself. “Yes. Of course. I was just thinking about that poor man. The one who died. Do they know who he was?”

Miss Maddie supplied, “Zimmer’s the name. Not from around here. Hooked up with Proctor as soon as he got here. Must have known someone on the inside. Way I hear it, Wendall’s pretty cautious about outsiders.”

“Now why’s that, I wonder?” Sammie Jo speculated. “Do you suppose he’s got something to hide?”

“Why else would he have all those big fences and guys with guns patrolling his place?” Miss Maddie replied.

Sammie Jo ventured a glance at Gray, who nodded at her infinitesimally. In a hushed voice, she asked Miss Maddie, “Do you suppose it’s something illegal?”

“Most folks around here think it’s moonshine or marijuana. But I think it’s something bigger.”

“Why do you say that?” Sammie Jo prompted.

“People been bootleggin’ and smokin’ weed in these parts forever. And there’s never been a need for guns and electric fences before. I think Proctor’s going to pull one of those fruit punch massacres.”

Alarmed, Sammie Jo blurted, “A what?”

“He’s gonna put rat poison or something in fruit punch and make ’em all drink it. The women and kids and everyone.”

It wasn’t much of a stretch to act suitably shocked. “That’s terrible!”

Miss Maddie wagged a warning finger at them. “You mark my words. No good’s coming out of that place or that Proctor guy.”

The conversation devolved into meaningless gossip about other neighbors in the area, and Sammie Jo mostly tuned out. She made an appropriate noise of sympathy or shock to keep Miss Maddie happy, but her mind raced elsewhere.

A cult, huh? Why would Jeff Winston care about a bunch of hippies and conspiracy theorists tucked away in the backwoods of West Virginia? There had to be more to this Proctor guy than met the eye. One thing she knew for sure. It was time to have a conversation with her boss.

They went back to the roses and planted the last bush in silence. When they retreated into the house, Sammie Jo turned to Gray immediately. “I need to make a phone call.”

“To Jeff?”

“Exactly. Do you suppose the phone line here in the house is secure?”

“I doubt anyone would have tapped the phone on a vacant house, and I checked the box on the telephone pole in the backyard early this morning. It’s clean for now.”

Cautious man. Of course, just because the phone was safe today didn’t mean it would be safe tomorrow. She nodded and headed toward the kitchen.

Gray called from down the hall, “I’m going to jump in the shower. Tell Jeff I’ll call him when I get out. I’ve got a couple of questions about other stuff for him.”

Her mental antenna shot up and wiggled warningly. What other stuff? Was he going to pump Jeff for information about her? She shook off the paranoia. Jeff and Gray had known each other forever. For all she knew, they had other business dealings together. It wasn’t like Jeff Winston told her everything about his family’s vast corporate empire.

She, however, was not above snooping about her partner. The sound of running water came out of the bathroom and she dialed the Winston Ops Center’s main line quickly. She recognized the Slavic accent of the duty controller.

“Hey, Novak, it’s Sam. Is Jeff about?”

In a moment, her boss’s deep voice came on the line. “How’s it going, Sam? You and Gray getting along?”

Memory of the searing kisses they’d shared flashed through her mind, and she stammered, “Yeah. Sure. Great guy. So why in heck did you send the two of us out here?”

“Have you found anything?” he asked cautiously.

“Plenty. Your guy, Luke Zimmer, is dead. He was gutted and dumped in the woods behind his place.”

“Zimmer was murdered?” Jeff exclaimed.

“Brutally.”

Jeff swore roundly.

“Talk to me, boss.”

“I sent Zimmer out there to infiltrate a group of folks who ostensibly want to live completely off the grid.”

“Wendall Proctor’s group?” she asked.

“Exactly. I wanted you two to contact Luke. Give him support and relay information to me from him. That way there’d be no direct connection between him and me.”

She made the logical leap immediately. “You were worried Proctor would figure out you and Luke were in cahoots, and you needed a middleman to act as a go-between?”

“Right.”

“What was Luke supposed to find out about the Proctor gang for you?”

“What the hell they’re up to. I have reason to believe they’re far more than an antigovernment separatist group.”

“The way I hear it, there’s a commune of folks living at his place who want to live technology- and chemical-free.”

“Proctor’s using them for cover,” Jeff replied impatiently. “They’re not the heart of his organization.”

“Who is?”

“That’s what Luke was supposed to find out.”

“Since he’s dead, I guess that means Gray and I are going to have to make a run at this Proctor guy directly.”

“No!”

“What other choice do we have, Jeff?”

“I’ll figure out something. But it’s too dangerous. I’d lay odds Proctor’s behind Zimmer’s murder.”

That was a bet she wouldn’t take. She frowned. Contrary to popular belief, she didn’t actually have a death wish. And she was no great fan of serious danger, either. However, she and Gray were already here. “The two of us are in place. We already have a cover story, and we’re inserting ourselves into the local community. How long is it going to take you to find another appropriate mole who’s also a competent operator, build him or her a cover and move that person into the area without arousing suspicion?”

“You’ve figured out Gray’s competent, eh?”

“It’s hard to miss, Jeff. But speaking of which, is everything okay with him?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Now and then I get a flash of...something from him. Pain. Or maybe grief. It’s pretty dark, whatever it is.”

Jeff’s reply was sharp and immediate. “Leave it alone, Sam. Don’t ask and don’t pry.”

Taken aback by how vehement her boss had gone on her all of a sudden, she replied placatingly, “Okay, okay. I’ll leave it alone.” Sheesh. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard Jeff get that tight that fast. She changed the subject. “Gray said he’d call you when he gets out of the shower. You gonna be around for a few more minutes to take his call?”

“Jenn and I are on our way to go parasailing, but I’ll have Novak forward his call to my cell phone.”

“’Kay. Have fun and don’t kill Jennifer. We all like her more than you.”

Jeff laughed. “Me, too.” His voice took on a serious note. “I promise I’ll keep her safe.”

Sammie Jo thought she heard a woman’s warm, contralto laughter in the background as the phone disconnected. Jeff had been a different man since he met his fiancée, Jennifer Blackfoot, earlier this year.

She felt Gray’s humid body heat behind her before she heard him. She turned, startled to realize he’d gotten right up behind her without her hearing a thing.
And he had no shirt on
. Hubba, hubba, that guy had a nice chest. And not an ounce of fat around his waist. Check out those rippling rows of cut abs! “Dang, you’re quiet.”

“I’m a superspy, remember?”

“Right.” A worrisome thought occurred to her. “How much of my talk with Jeff did you hear?”

“I caught something about not killing his fiancée.”

She hoped she didn’t look too relieved as she passed him the phone. Given how intensely Jeff had reacted to her question about Gray, she didn’t think she wanted to see Gray’s reaction to the notion of her prying into his deeply mysterious past.

She set about tossing a salad and shamelessly eavesdropping while Gray dialed Jeff.

“Hey, bro,” Gray announced. He listened in silence for a few moments, then, “Oh, yeah. It was definitely murder. Sam was able to see where he was attacked in his kitchen and dragged out of his house. The guy’s body was gutted with surgical precision. Now that the guy we were supposed to help is dead, what do you want us to do?”

A long silence ensued while Jeff no doubt repeated what he’d already told her.

Then Gray surprised her by asking, “Sam, could you go into my bedroom, find all the paper files I had on Luke Zimmer, and bring them in here? I’d like to look at them.”