Against the Wild (15 page)

“Hello, Caleb.” Holly Kaplan stood next to him, her pretty face a stiff, unpleasant mask. She turned to Jenny. “I'm Holly Kaplan. Caleb's girlfriend. I'm sure he's told you about me.”

Jenny's face went pale.

“That isn't true, Jenny,” he said, pushing up from the table. “What the hell do you think you're doing, Holly?”

“You said you were going to call me.”

“That's bullshit. I didn't promise you anything.” In fact, Holly had called him a couple of times after she'd come to the lodge, but after the first call, he had let the rest go to voice mail.

Jenny slid out of the booth. “I'm going home. Don't worry, I'll find my own way.”

Caleb stepped in front of her, blocking her path to the door. “You came here with me. If you want to go home, I'll take you.” He tossed some money on the table, enough to cover the bill, and cast Holly a look of disgust. Taking Jenny's arm, he started guiding her toward the door. He could feel Holly's dark eyes burning into his back all the way.

Out in the parking lot, Caleb opened the door to his pickup and helped Jenny into the passenger seat. Her face was pale and she was shaking as she pulled her seat belt across her lap and clicked it into place.

Caleb slammed the truck door, rounded the vehicle to the driver's side, and slid behind the wheel.

He turned to Jenny. “What Holly said in there . . . it isn't true. We dated once, but it was a long time ago. It's been over for years. She just moved to Waterside a few weeks back. She wants to take up where we left off, but I'm not interested.”

Jenny's eyes zeroed in on his face. “She said you promised to call her.”

Caleb sighed, resigned to telling her the rest. “She came out to the lodge. I didn't invite her, she just showed up. She asked me to call if I got to town. I never said I would.”

“It's getting late. I need to go home.”

“Dammit, Jenny. I'm not seeing Holly. You're the only woman I'm interested in, the only woman I want to see.”

He caught the sheen of tears an instant before Jenny brushed them off her cheeks.

“I'm telling you the truth, honey. I wouldn't lie to you about something like this. Holly's bad news. It's been over between us for years. I'm asking you to believe me.”

She gazed up at him, studied his face in search of the truth. A soft breath whispered out. “I believe you.”

Caleb leaned across the seat and very gently kissed her. He could feel her lips trembling under his, feel her mouth begin to soften, her response begin to build. For an instant, he deepened the kiss, letting her know that she was the woman he wanted, not Holly Kaplan or anyone else.

He forced himself to end the kiss, though he wanted to kiss her until she begged him not to stop.

“Now, I'll drive you home.”

If he'd been the least bit tempted to see Holly again, that temptation was gone. She was trouble. Always had been. He wanted no part of it, or her.

Caleb looked over at Jenny, thought of those soft lips and trusting blue eyes, then reached down and started the engine. There was something good between them. Caleb wasn't about to mess it up.

It was after 1:00
AM
, the night sounds intruding into the bedroom. The wind in the trees, the hoot of an owl on a limb somewhere nearby. Curled into Dylan's hard body, Lane stirred and slowly opened her eyes. A faint trace of moonlight slanted down through the window. Tall pines cast dark shadows across the deck outside the bedroom.

Lane drowsed, her body warm and languid. She thought of Dylan's amazing lovemaking, and a faint smile curved her lips. The man was a very demanding lover and yet he never took without giving back. Her body was beginning to crave him like a drug.

Her smile slipped away. She had to remember this was only a summer affair, a sinfully delicious episode, a respite from the real world that she had allowed herself. Both of them knew it couldn't last; both had accepted that before the affair ever started. Maybe they would see each other once in a while, when they could fit it into their busy schedules, but it was hardly a secret that long-distance affairs never worked.

Lane didn't want to think about that. Not now. Not when he slept so peacefully beside her.

She listened to his even breathing against the side of her neck, turned onto her back so she could study his face, the carved cheekbones, the curve of that hard mouth. When he shifted onto his back, intriguing bands of muscle tightened across his powerful chest.

She loved his body. Long, lean, and hard, every ridge and sinew honed for stamina and strength. She loved the way he knew exactly how to use it to bring them both pleasure.

She loved his protective nature, his commanding presence, his work ethic, the way he took control. She loved—

Lane broke off. She loved too many things about Dylan Brodie. She had to be careful, had to protect herself. She couldn't allow herself to get in too deep.

Instead of touching him, rousing him from slumber and making love with him again as she wanted, she turned back onto her side and stared out the window. The curtains were open, giving her a clear view of the black night sky and jewel-bright stars, nothing like the view through the haze in L.A.

She was staring at a cluster of sparkling white dots, trying to recall the name of the constellation, when she saw him. A man, tall, his shadow moving stealthily, soundlessly across the deck. A cry locked in her throat, and she started to tremble. Moving toward Dylan, she barely touched his arm before he came awake.

“What is it?”

“There's a man . . .” She pointed toward the window. “Outside on the deck.”

“Stay here,” he commanded as he climbed out of bed. Jerking on the jeans he had slung over a chair, he grabbed his pistol off the nightstand and shoved it into his waistband. “The shotgun's under the bed. There's a safety on top. Don't shoot me.”

Lane swallowed and nodded as she watched him stride toward the bedroom door that led out onto the deck. He didn't ask if she knew how to use the weapon. He just assumed she could handle the job if it needed to be done. No man had ever treated her so much as an equal.

Her heart raced as she watched him quietly disappear out the door. Hurrying to the window, she surveyed the wooden deck that wrapped around the bedrooms on this side of the lodge, but the man was already gone.

She thought of the moment he had realized she had seen him, the faint hesitation in his step. He was wearing a sweatshirt with a hoodie that shadowed his face, and though she couldn't really see him, she could feel the power of his gaze, burning into her.

Lane shivered.
No one can get inside
, she reminded herself. Caleb had personally seen to that. She was safe. They all were. Still, she didn't relax until Dylan returned to the suite.

She met him at the door. “Did you see him?”

He shook his head. “Nobody there.” There was something in his manner, something he wasn't saying.

“What is it? Tell me.”

He sighed, raked a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. “There was nothing. Not a trace. Not a footprint. Nothing.”

Her chin inched up. “I saw him, Dylan. You doubted me about the ghost, but I was right. It might not have been real, but it was there. And I saw someone out there tonight.”

His mouth edged up. “All right, you saw someone. I believe you. Let's just hope whoever it was got the message that he's no longer welcome. Maybe now he'll leave us alone.”

Lane relaxed.

Dylan draped an arm around her shoulders. “Come on, baby. Let's go to bed. We'll take another look around in the morning. Caleb'll be back by then. I'm a good tracker, but Caleb's better. If the guy left any sign, we'll find it.”

Maybe they would. Lane hoped so. Anything that would bring all this to an end.

“In the meantime,” Dylan said, “maybe we can find a way to get back to sleep.”

Lane's insides warmed at the thought of that incredible male body pressing her into the mattress, moving deep inside her. Amazing how the man always seemed able to read her mind.

But as they passed the window, she thought of the shadowy figure on the deck, remembered the stealthy way he'd moved, then just seemed to disappear, and a chill slipped down her spine.

Who was he? What did he want? She couldn't help wondering if any of them would truly be safe until they found out what was going on.

 

 

Dylan took another look around Sunday morning, but it had rained in the hours just before dawn. He'd found no footprints last night, and with the ground so wet, the chances of finding anything now were slim to none.

Instead of continuing to search, he went back to the lodge and phoned Jeff Fenton. He needed to know for sure if Fenton had been a victim of the hoax, and if so, what exactly he and his wife had experienced. He needed as much information as he could get before he talked to Jacob Payuk in Yeil Monday morning.

Cell phone in hand, Dylan walked outside where the reception was better and sucked in a lungful of crisp mountain air. He couldn't stand to be cooped up for long, not even in the lodge. He liked the pine scent of the forest, the rich, musky smell of the soil beneath his feet, liked to look up at the clear blue sky above his head.

He found Fenton on his contacts list and punched in the number. It took the man a few rings to answer. “Fenton.”

“Hey, Jeff, it's Dylan Brodie. You got a minute?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Dylan didn't miss the slight hesitation that had crept into Fenton's voice.

“We've had a little trouble up here. I'm wondering if you might have had some of the same stuff happening to you while you were here.”

A long silence ensued. “I don't know what you mean.”

“I think maybe you do. I want to know what went on in the lodge, what you heard, if you saw something out of the ordinary.”

“Look, Brodie. A deal's a deal. The lodge is your problem.”

“I'm not trying to back out of the deal or hold you responsible for anything. If it'll make you feel any better, it was all a hoax. I found wireless speakers and a mini-cam in the hall. Someone was using an old supply room off the basement, running the equipment with a laptop. I'm trying to find out who it was and why.”

A sigh whispered out on the other end of the line. “So the footsteps and the crying were nothing but a prank. I tried to tell my wife it was all a crock of bull, but she was convinced. I should have told you, I guess, but no one told me, so I figured tit for tat.”

“So you heard footsteps and crying? A kid, right?”

“That's right. Sounded like a little girl. We'd heard stories . . . something about some Indians that murdered a woman and her child.”

“Anything else happen?”

“Stuff misplaced then showing up the next day, windows opening and closing. Dark shapes outside at night.”

“Ever see a ghost?”

“No ghost, but it was damned unnerving, that's for sure. After the first year, Millie wouldn't go to the lodge anymore. I'd come for a few weeks of fishing in the summer, but I usually stayed in one of the cabins.”

“So you finally had enough and sold the place to me. The question is, do you have any idea what the motive for all this could be? They forced you out and they're doing their damnedest to get me out, too.”

“I wish I knew. I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact it was all just a con.” He chuckled into the phone. “I guess in a way it helped you. You got one helluva good price for the lodge.”

Dylan smiled. “That's something, I guess. Listen, Jeff, thanks for being straight with me.”

“Past time, I guess.”

“Maybe so. Take care and if you think of anything that might help, give me a call.”

“Will do. You calling the police?”

“I'm not sure yet. I may have to.”

“At least I'll have the pleasure of telling Millie it was all a load of crap.”

Dylan chuckled and hung up the phone. He glanced up to see Lane walking toward him across the grass, thought how pretty she looked with the sun shining down on her burnished hair, tried not to think how good it was to have her sleeping in his bed.

“I saw you on the phone,” she said.

He nodded. “I called Jeff Fenton. He didn't see the ghost, but the rest of it was about the same. He wasn't much help.”

“Maybe the hologram was the latest addition.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You think they've been getting more sophisticated over the years?”

“It's only logical. In the old days, they could scare people off just by making a few weird noises and moving some candles around upstairs. Once the ghost stories got started, the lodge sat empty. It would have taken a little more effort in modern times.”

“Good point. You coming with us to Yeil tomorrow?”

“I'd really like to. I wasn't sure you'd take me.”

Dylan shrugged. “Alaska Natives live in a matriarchal society. They respect women so that isn't a problem. You're helping me rebuild this place. You deserve to be kept in the loop.”

Lane's smile was wide and warm. Damn, she had the prettiest smile. “I appreciate that,” she said.

“Hey, Dylan!” Caleb walked toward them, a cardboard box in his hands. “Your package came in. I stopped at the mercantile to see if there was anything to pick up, and Charlie asked me to bring it out to you.”

“That's great.” Dylan took the box, turned, and handed it to Lane.

“What's this?”

“Just something I thought you might like.” They headed back toward the house, stopped at the picnic table next to the built-in barbecue on the sloping front lawn. It was warming up nicely. He made a mental note to have supper outside one evening. Emily always loved it when he barbecued. Or at least she used to.

He looked back at Lane, who was carefully examining the package.

“It's sealed up pretty tight,” she said.

Dylan pulled his big folding knife out of his pocket. It was a notch up from his old Swiss Army knife, a SOG military issue that Nick had given him a few years back for Christmas. He also carried a Tool Logic Survival Card with a fire starter and a mini-light, an amazing little piece of gear the size of a credit card that fit neatly into his wallet. The stuff had come in handy out in the woods more than once.

Dylan took the knife and popped it open, used it to slice through the packing tape. Lane opened the box and looked up at him, her green eyes wide with surprise.

“Art supplies?”

“That's right. You told me you used to love to paint. Scenery doesn't get much better than this. I thought you might like to try your hand again.”

Lane sorted excitedly through the box that contained an artist palette, brushes of every size and shape, and tubes of acrylic paint in more than a dozen different colors.

“I got home pretty late last night,” Caleb said. “The canvases are in my cabin. I'll go get them, take them into the office.”

Her eyes were shining. “Thank you, Caleb.”

“Don't thank me—thank him. I just picked them up.” Turning, he strode off across the yard.

Lane studied the items in the box. “This is a wonderful present.”

“I didn't know exactly what you'd need. I asked Penny Hawks over at the Whale's Tail Gallery. She gave me a list of the basics and I ordered them off the Web. I figured we could get whatever else you need.”

She hugged the box against her chest. “I can hardly wait to get started. Thank you, Dylan.” She went up on her toes and kissed him softly on the mouth. When she tried to back away, he took the box out of her hands and set it down, dragged her into his arms, and kissed her the way he'd been wanting to all morning.

A faint sigh slipped out when the hot kiss ended.

“That's more like it,” he said as he reluctantly stepped away.

Lane just grinned, turned, and went back to digging through the box. Clearly, he'd hit a home run. He was surprised how much it pleased him to give her this one small gift.