Deadly Sight (3 page)

He spoke quietly, his voice a dangerous caress. “Be very careful about teasing me, little girl. You may get back more than you bargained for.”

Little girl?
She hadn’t been one of those since she was about six and her mom’s latest boyfriend made a punching bag out of her for the first time. She ought to be offended. Tell Gray to go to hell. But he actually did make her feel young and rather foolish with that extreme self-control of his.

“That sounds like a challenge,” she responded belatedly. It was a lame comeback, but all she could manage with his large, muscular frame only inches from her own. Darned if her breathing wasn’t going all wonky, too.

He pushed away from the counter and she let out a careful breath. He turned around and something metal flashed in his hand.
Knife.
Her own hands flashed up defensively and her foot lashed out and connected with his shin. Hard.

“Ouch!” He leaped back from her. “What’d you do that for?”

“The knife... Saw it coming... Didn’t stop to think...” She trailed off into silence, too embarrassed to continue.

He was studying her far too intently for her comfort. “Are you a trained martial artist?” he finally asked.

“I’ve had some self-defense training.” Although her reaction had a lot more to do with a long string of jerkwad boyfriends—her mom’s and hers—than any self-defense training. But she wasn’t about to tell Mr. Perfect that. He’d probably never had a bad breakup in his entire life. But then, he probably never dated nutballs, either. His women were no doubt as perfect and well-bred as he was.

He laid the knife down carefully on the counter in front of her. “If you’d like to chop up the tomatoes and cucumber, I’ll wash the lettuce.”

Crap. She berated herself silently for making a fool of herself over a stupid knife and vented her irritation onto the hapless veggies, which she minced nearly into pulp.

The omelet turned out to be as irritatingly perfect as its maker, all fluffy and light and neatly folded. It didn’t help her bad mood that Gray was quiet through the meal, alternately staring at his food and glancing up thoughtfully at her. She’d inadvertently revealed far too much of herself to him, and clearly he wasn’t hesitating to draw all kinds of no doubt accurate and damning inferences about her.

Too jumpy to stand those thoughtful looks any longer, she leaped up and cleared the table. While she washed and dried the dishes by hand—apparently dishwashers were off-limits in this wacky place—he gathered the pictures he’d piled together earlier and spread them out across the table.

She dried her hands and approached them.

“Sit beside me,” he ordered absently.

Startled, she sank into the chair he’d pulled up beside his. It brought their ankles, knees, hips, elbows and shoulders into a proximity that threatened to destroy her concentration. Really, she ought to just jump the guy’s bones and get him out of her system so she could work with him. Otherwise, the next few days could be seriously miserable.

Gray filled her in efficiently. “Luke Zimmer’s upbringing was pretty normal. Middle class, Midwest, average home, average income. He ran with a neo-Nazi gang in high school, however, in—” he shuffled through the printed pages “—a suburb of Chicago. But his current political leanings are more antisocial than that.”

“What’s more antisocial than neo-Nazis?” she blurted. She’d hung out with a skinhead or two, and they’d been way too violent for her taste.

Gray continued, “Zimmer moved into this area several months ago, apparently at Jeff’s request.”

“Given that Jeff mentioned a cult leader to both of us, I’m assuming Luke got sent here to infiltrate Proctor’s group on behalf of Winston Enterprises?”

A flicker of something suspiciously like respect passed through Gray’s opaque gaze. “That’s a good guess. Although why Proctor’s a threat to an international conglomerate with no business dealings anywhere near here is a mystery to me.”

“Maybe Luke’s profile can give us a clue into what kind of a person Proctor is, or at least what the orientation of his cult’s stated beliefs is.”

The respect thing flickered again in Gray’s gaze as he replied, “My main impression of Zimmer is that he’s severely paranoid. I did a little reconnaissance on him yesterday, but without electronic equipment, I couldn’t get even remotely close to him. Although I don’t know if his paranoia predates his relationship with Proctor or is possibly a result of it.”

“Enter the girl with eagle eyes.”

He smiled a little at her. “If you can point your eagle eyes at this guy and learn more about him, that could be enormously useful.”

“Does Luke have a job?” she asked.

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“How’s he paying his way, then?” she asked. Even losers had to eat and buy drugs.

“I’m working a little too off-book to just stroll into the local bank and ask.”

“I could hack into the bank’s computers—” she broke off “—but nobody uses computers around here, do they?”

“A few folks actually have them. They have to use hard-wired, buried cable lines, though, and there are no Wi-Fi networks.”

She shrugged. “It probably doesn’t matter, anyway. Guys like Luke work in cash. Leaves less of a trail for the cops to follow. What else do you know about him?”

“He’s twenty-seven years old. Computer science major at Cal Tech. Didn’t graduate, though. Busted a couple of times for pot possession by campus cops. Thirty days in jail and a fine the last time. Nothing remarkable about his family. Two brothers—one older, one younger. He got decent grades in high school, ran about a 2.5 GPA in college. Nothing else shows up on him in the system.”

She doubted she could dig up more than that if she had a computer and internet access at her disposal. He didn’t sound like the kind of guy whose life would leave much of an electronic trail. “Anyone interviewed the family?” she asked.

“I don’t have those kinds of resources at my disposal.”

She frowned. What the heck did that mean? “What can I do to help your investigation?”

“Anything you can see and learn is more than I have to go on now.”

“And who do you work for, exactly?”

He leaned back in his chair. Crossed his arms. Pressed his lips into a thin white line. He even spoke tightly. “At the moment, Jeff Winston.”

He might have dodged her question, but all that body language spoke volumes. He had secrets to keep. “You do realize I have the equivalent of military top-secret clearances or better,” she commented.

He didn’t seem impressed. And he didn’t open his mouth. There were not too many employers in the United States who demanded complete and total silence from their employees. She considered him thoughtfully. He didn’t look like a mercenary for a private security firm. He was too clean-cut for that. Too by-the-book. Government, then.

“Okay, Sparky. I’m going to assume you work for some spooky, secret government agency until you say otherwise. Which begs the question of why you don’t just have your peeps poke around a little and hand you a complete list of names of every known associate of one Luke Zimmer. Order up a little surveillance detail on his cronies, and you’d know what ole Luke’s up to in under a week. I don’t see why Jeff thought you would need my help at all.”

“It’s not that simple. Given our total lack of ability to use electronics in this area, the manpower required to mount the sort of surveillance op that you’re proposing would be prohibitive. Not to mention, people in this region routinely live completely off the grid. They’re nearly impossible to track by any other means than direct visual surveillance. For all I know this kid’s using a fake ID and isn’t going by the name Luke Zimmer at all.”

She nodded. “Fake identities are pretty easy to get.”

“You say that like you have one,” he replied, amused.

She had several, in point of fact. More than a little of her youth had been misspent. But she wasn’t about to admit that to him. “It’s dark enough to go outside and do parlor tricks with Sammie’s eyesight. If you’ll grab something with writing on it, I’ll start jogging down the road.”

“I have a better idea. Let’s put your eyes to work for real,” he suggested.

“What do you have in mind?”

“How about you put on some walking shoes and I’ll show you?”

He definitely came from the government-intelligence community. Those guys always answered a question with a question. Curious, she went to her room and grabbed her neon yellow running shoes. When she came back, Gray was just finishing packing a rucksack.

“Let me guess,” she said dryly. “You were a Boy Scout and you’re taking along a few items in case we get stranded in the woods. With angry bears. In a blizzard. On the side of a cliff. And we need to put on Thanksgiving dinner for a dozen guests.”

He grinned. “I’m not
that
anal.”

“Had me fooled,” she grumbled under her breath.

“I’m trained to anticipate contingencies and plan for them.”

Oh, yeah.
So
a spy. When he headed for the passenger side of the Bronco, she rolled her eyes. “Really, Gray. I can get my own doors.”

“Really, Sammie Jo. Aren’t you confident enough to let a man get them for you?”

The quip hurt. She was sure he didn’t intend it, though. How could he know how inadequate she felt around polished, sophisticated people like him? To distract herself, she asked, “How old is this vehicle?”

“It’s a 1972. The first onboard car computers were put out in 1975, so all the cars permanently in the NRQZ have to be ’74s or earlier.”

“This place is like some kind of bizarre time warp.”

He nodded. “Just think about how bizarre it’s going to seem in another twenty years. Tourists will come here to see the living history exhibit it’s rapidly becoming.”

“Where are we going?”

“Luke lives in the next valley over. Little town called Spruce Hollow. It’s known for being a bit cultish.”

That lifted her eyebrow. “Define
cultish.
”

“I wish I could. But I’ve only been here one day. As best I can tell, the folks there are particularly intent on eliminating all electronics from their lives. Real back-to-the-good-old-days fanatics. And apparently they’re pretty suspicious of outsiders. I thought it might be prudent not to just barge in and start asking questions.”

“Good call. I’ve done cultish before, and you have to be very careful in your approach. Best bet is to find a way to get them to invite you in.”

He looked over at her sharply. “Define having done cultish.”

She winced. It simply was not in her nature to be secretive. Yet again, her big mouth had given her away. “Let’s just say my choice in boys wasn’t always stellar. A few of them were gang types.”

“What kinds of gangs?”

“Bikers. Skinheads. Drug dealers.” She omitted the coming apocalypse bunch her mother had dragged her into the middle of. She nearly hadn’t gotten away from that particular cult alive.

To his credit, Gray didn’t show any outward signs of horror. He asked casually enough, “Do you still go for guys like that?”

The question stopped her cold. Did she? Until this afternoon, she might have said yes. But Grayson Pierce was a revelation. She’d had no idea that decent men actually existed. She’d always thought they were a figment of television producers’ imaginations. She settled for mumbling, “I don’t go for men at all at the moment. I’m a committed single person.”

He made a sound that was probably supposed to pass for a laugh, but somehow failed. “Me, too.”

“Why’s that?” she queried. “You must have women falling all over you.”

“Work,” he answered from between gritted teeth. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he’d gone a little pale.
What on earth?

She waited for more, but he didn’t add anything to that one-word response. She prodded, “Most men work and yet manage to have relationships. What’s the problem with your work?”

“Long hours. Lots of travel.”

“And then there’s the whole undercover thing,” she added sympathetically. “And the killing.”

His hands clenched the steering wheel abruptly, and in the glow of the dashboard, he looked a ghastly shade of gray. He gave no other outward sign of tension, but it was enough. Her eagle eyes didn’t miss much. She spoke quietly, “Your secret is safe with me.”

“I have no secrets,” he ground out.

“Sure you do. You’re afraid of women. That’s why you avoid us.”

That made him actually jerk the steering wheel. The Bronco briefly swerved, and he righted its course angrily. “I am
not
afraid of women!”

So. There was passion beneath that calm, cool, collected exterior. Somehow, his outburst made him seem more human. More approachable. And a little color had returned to his face. Satisfied that he had himself back in hand, she sat back.

“What about you?” he asked. “Why the whole leather and chains bit? The scarlet lipstick and black nails thing shouts of insecurity and need for attention.”

He had no idea the nerve he’d just hit. She turned her head to look out the window. And there was no way she would let him see the tears in her eyes. She presented herself to the world as tough and savvy, and she wasn’t about to let down that facade.

The interior of the Bronco went silent. She fixedly studied the mountains outside the window. Although they were not all that tall, the terrain was rugged. Steep outcroppings of rock interrupted the carpet of green trees. Here and there she spotted movement. An owl circling in the dark overhead, a coyote slinking across an open field. The night was alive, and she sank into it, becoming a part of it.

“Do eagles hunt at night?” Gray asked without warning.

“They can. Although their prey mostly is active during the day, so they do the bulk of their hunting in daylight.”

“We’re coming into Spruce Hollow. Luke’s place is on the other side of town.”

She counted buildings—gas station, small grocery store, car wash, video store. Wow. She hadn’t seen one of those in a while. And of course, a church. Several dozen modest homes clustered around the businesses. Soft lights came from a few windows, and she frowned, not placing the dim glows. Those weren’t electric. Kerosene lamps, maybe? Wow. These folks did take going off the grid seriously.