Fight or Flight (19 page)

She looked across the glistening blacktop and saw Tyler crouched opposite, watching her. As soon as she spotted him he nodded once, raised his weapon slightly in a two-fisted grip, and tilted his head at the gate.

Dear lord, he wants us to rush it
. She didn’t see how that would work, but nodded anyway. He knew the property. If there was a better way in, they’d be taking it now.

She stood and started running again. She kept to the tree line, hoping her dark, wet sweatshirt and jeans would blend against the as-wet tree bark. Sure enough, Tyler’s light blue, flapping shirt drew their attention, and all five of the bodies aimed their weapons his way as they shouted. Three of them moved toward him while the other two stayed near the gate. But they were angled away from Regan, watching Tyler, and she darted behind them and headed for the gate.

As soon as she touched it, she realized she’d made a mistake. It was clearly a motorized unit, unmovable by hand, and latched to boot.

And alarmed.

A klaxon-like whoop started above her. The two guards in front of her—one woman, one man—whirled. She had her weapon up before they finished their movement, but they had theirs on her, too. They shouted something she couldn’t hear, probably “drop your weapon,” so she shouted it back. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Tyler advancing slowly across the macadam, his gun aiming alternately at the other three guards, all of whom kept theirs trained firmly on him, even as they slowly moved backward.

The woman guard shouted again. The alarm was driving Regan insane. The shut-off must be in the guard house to her right, so she feinted left, like she was going to run around them and join Tyler, and then dove right, twisting the door handle and knocking the door open all in one move. She landed on her right hip on the cement floor, kicked the door closed, and reached up to lock it before she lay panting on her back, her right hip screaming.

Shit. Her left one had just healed enough so she didn’t feel the sting or pull of the knife wound anymore, and here she went, messing up the other one.

The klaxon wasn’t as loud in here, but a flashing red light on a console, timed to a beeping sound, looked like it might be the right signal for the alarm. She dragged herself to her feet and hit a button below the light. The alarm stopped.

Outside, four guards now had Tyler surrounded while the fifth one aimed her pistol through the window, straight at Regan’s head.

***

Kelsey calculated that if Tom satisfied his need for speed over the first five miles or so, it would take him half an hour to get to town and at least that back. Depending how quickly they found a newspaper box, and how long Van had to talk to her mother, it might be another half hour in town. By the time they got back, it would be dark.

She tried reading a book but couldn’t process any of the words. She listened to music and managed to kill about half an hour, but got tired of that quickly, too. Finally, she decided to cook dinner to have waiting when they got back. She could stretch it to take all the time they’d be gone, and have something to show for her time alone.

Calmer and more focused than before, she decided to try making spaghetti. She pulled a package of ground meat from the freezer, unwrapped it, and stuck it in the microwave to thaw. Then she found two jars of sauce and a pound of pasta in the pantry. Would be kind of boring, though. Had they bought peppers and onions on their way here?

As she pulled open the crisper drawer, she found herself missing her mother. It was weird. She hadn’t missed her much when she’d gone to Whetstone. There had been too much going on, and she was making new friends and was pretty wrapped up in Tom. She turned on the stove and adjusted the flame a bit higher than the last time she tried, then filled a pot with water and set it to boil while she chopped the veggies.

So did she miss her only because she was bored here? Or because of all the crap going on? She didn’t have a clue if her mother was even alive at the moment, never mind getting the answers she was determined to get. And even though Tom made her feel better about the becoming-a-weapon thing, it was still there, in her head. Without her mother here, she felt more alone in this than she had even when they were separated.

The microwave beeped. She hit the start button again and watched the bright red meat revolve. No, she didn’t think the boredom or the danger was the reason she missed her. It was the domesticity. She could ignore it when she was with Van and Tom, but making a whole meal by herself was too much like being at home. So she was a little homesick.

She had to get over that. Not only had she grown up and left home, Tyler had entered their world. Even if things went back to “normal,” or better than normal, and even if her mother and Tyler didn’t work out, things would never be like they were before.

The microwave beeped again and she removed the meat and dumped it in a frying pan. While she browned it—adjusting and readjusting the flame until it seemed the right height—she wondered what it would be like to have a father type around the house. Would Tyler try to impose curfews and stuff when she was home on break? Probably not. But the idea made her smile.

Until she thought about her real father—and how he’d never had a chance to set a curfew, or say she couldn’t date until she was thirty. Who had robbed him of all that? Robbed her of even more? What about them was so important, or so frightening, it had been worth killing an eighteen-year-old boy, and kidnapping a baby?

That was another thing. Those people had found her and her mother after she was born. And in the last week, they’d found them over and over again. So how come they hadn’t found them in the years in between?

Or had they? Tyler’d been around for two years. Maybe they’d always known where she was but didn’t want her, as he’d said, until now.

Damn, it made her head hurt.

She poured the pasta into the boiling water and stirred it, then turned down the heat under the meat sauce and put the cover on, pleased with herself. It should be about done by the time—

A click at the front door made her freeze. But she hadn’t heard the car or seen lights, so it wasn’t Van and Tom. Carefully she turned off the burners and took stock. The lights were all on, so she could be seen from the front windows and the back yard through the kitchen window. She couldn’t act like she’d heard anything.

If she had.

As the pasta water slowed and silence filled the little house, she heard the click again. Then a creak. The floorboards on the porch. There was definitely someone out there.

Pretending to have forgotten something, she snapped her fingers, half turned away from the stove, and mimicked turning the dials, her body in front of them so no one could see they were already off. Then she jogged across the living room and lightly up the stairs, hoping she looked unconcerned and teenager-y.

She hit the light switch to off at the top of the stairs and turned left into the bathroom. It was the only door up here with a lock, and was weirdly constructed. The window was over the tub, but was set low, the windowsill at the edge of the porcelain and the top of the window reaching nearly to the ceiling. Tyler said it had something to do with conversion in the fifties from the original farmhouse, but the end result was a shorter drop to the ground than any of the other windows.

Kelsey stepped into the tub and stood to the side of the window, looking out onto the back yard and listening hard behind her. The moon was bright, thankfully, and the yard fairly free of shadows. And bodies, as far as she could tell.

A dull thud from below could have been the front door opening. She didn’t have any more time. She unlocked and slid the window up until it was fully open. They’d soaped the edges so it moved with almost no sound. She grabbed a folded towel from the back of the toilet, dropped it onto the edge of the window to cushion her stomach, and maneuvered herself out. Using her stomach muscles and arm strength, she slowly lowered herself until she hung full length. Then she let go.

Her feet landed with surprisingly little impact and she dropped immediately to a crouch. She could hear footsteps now, moving around inside. They weren’t trying to be quiet—idiots or overconfident?

She grinned. She should be terrified, but she was…exhilarated. After all those years of being prepared, of training and having nothing come of it. She didn’t want this to get so exciting she died, but it was kind of fun avoiding these guys. Professionals. Trained in huge facilities and stuff. She was a kid trained by a teen mom.

“So there,” she whispered. She saw no shadows cast from the windows and gambled that no one was looking out. She tugged the key to the barn door from her pocket, inhaled, and took off across the grass.

She was halfway to the barn when she heard the distinctive growl of the Corvette coming up the road.

Shit!
She changed direction and headed for the trees to her left instead. She had to get to Van and Tom before the guys inside the house did. She pushed the key back into her pocket and made a beeline for the front yard, pulling the gun from the small of her back as she ran.

And dammit, the car passed her on its way to the back yard. She reversed yet again and sped past the slow-moving vehicle to unlock and open the barn door. She shoved it open and motioned frantically to Tom to get his ass inside. He couldn’t have been watching her; he positioned the car carefully, aiming it at the corner of the house so he could back it into the barn exactly as it had been.

The back door opened and a figure appeared, a semi-automatic rifle clearly outlined in his hand. There was a second, a heartbeat, when Kelsey watched from the shadows, not breathing, certain she was about to see the end of her true love and her best friend. And in that instant, everything inside her changed.

The man shouted instead of raising his weapon. Tom must have seen him right away, because he reversed so fast he nearly took off Kelsey’s right leg before she could get out of the way. She slammed the doors behind them and slid a piece of wood into the inside handles, suddenly understanding why they were there.

Van was out of the car already, running around to help Tom open the trap door. None of them wasted time with questions or exclamations or stating the obvious—that they knew they were in here now. The little room would be a trap.

Kelsey thumbed the safety and shoved the gun back in her jeans, then helped haul the trap door back.

“Get down there,” she said. Van obeyed immediately and caught the flashlight Tom dropped to her. Tom looked for an instant like he was going to argue, but he must have seen the look in Kelsey’s eyes.

“Did you get a paper?” she asked.

“Yeah. Nothing. And Van’s parents were fine.”

“Good. Go.”

Tom dropped onto the dirt floor below and looked up.

“I love you,” she said.

His expression changed from concerned urgency to furious horror when he realized what she’d said. She knew he would have shouted if it wouldn’t give their position away. She lowered the door and quickly scooped dirt onto it, packing it down and blending the seam lines. But Tom had the ladder, and he’d be up it in an instant if she didn’t do something. She stood on the door and wrapped her fingers around the end of the radiator sitting against the wall, gritting her teeth against the pull in her back when she tried to drag the heavy thing. It moved an inch. She widened her stance and pulled again. This time it moved more easily. She only needed to cover the corner of the door and the handle.

The tarp usually covering the car was in a heap on the floor. She flung it across the back of the car so it spilled over the radiator, further disguising the door and disturbed earth.

Then she drew the gun again, thumbed off the safety, positioned herself next to the main doors.

And waited.

Regan and the guard eyed each other for a moment. Regan knew they were trained to expect a fight, but there was no way she and Tyler would win two against five without someone getting seriously hurt. So she didn’t hide, she didn’t raise her gun, and she didn’t leave the building.

She picked up the phone.

The guard frowned but her weapon didn’t waver. Regan looked briefly at the face of the phone unit, then back up at the unchanging view outside, then back down. She spotted the tiny black label with white type reading “Mn Hse” and pressed it.

It was answered immediately. “Report.”

“Is this McCormick?”

There was a second while he adjusted to the unexpected voice. “Yes. Who is this?”

Lord, she hoped she was doing the right thing. “This is Regan Miller. Formerly known as Chelsea Conrad. I want to speak to Ben Harrison.”

She could almost hear flesh tearing as the phone was ripped from McCormick’s hand.

“This is Ben Harrison.” His voice was booming and arrogant, as she’d expect from a military officer. But then it was tempered by something else—something sounding suspiciously like relief and pleasure when he said, “Is this really Regan Miller?”

“Yes, sir.” She grimaced at the automatic address. “I want to talk to you and your wife, but for some reason your staff is harassing my escort.”

Away from the phone she heard Ben give the order for the guards to stand down. Another voice repeated it, and a few beats later the guards outside lowered their weapons. Tyler looked wary, squinting through the rain and the guard house window to her. Regan nodded, and he put away his gun.

“Thank you. Can we come up to the house now, or shall we play war games a bit longer?”

“A car is on its way down. I didn’t realize you were with Sloane.” A touch of gruffness was the only hint of apology in his voice. “He hasn’t reported in for several days. We didn’t know—”

“Yeah, we figured.” She stretched to unlock the door, and a moment later the room filled with dripping rain slickers and squeaky shoes. “We’re going to need some towels and dry clothes, Colonel.”

“Call me Ben, please. And of course you’ll receive our full hospitality. We’ll see you in a moment.”

Regan replaced the receiver and quirked her mouth at Tyler, who leaned against the wall watching her.

“We’ll receive their full hospitality,” she said wryly. Tyler didn’t smile. Instead he gazed at her a moment more, as if to be sure she was okay, before turning to the woman who’d covered Regan.

“What reason were you given for bringing me in?” he asked softly.

She didn’t blink or move a muscle. “We weren’t told.”

“Liar.”

A younger-looking man with flaming red hair and more freckles than Regan had ever seen on a man said, “She’s not lying. They just said we were to consider you dangerous and of unknown loyalties.”

Tyler rolled his eyes. “That’s a reason, you dipshits. I’ve worked with you for ten years, you can’t—”

The woman interrupted him. “We haven’t seen you in two, Sloane. We didn’t even know if you were still working for the Harrisons.”

“I was just here!”

“How are we supposed to know that? None of us saw you!”

A black car pulled up very close to the door and honked, interrupting the escalating argument. Tyler swept the room with a disgusted look, then held the doors of both building and car for Regan before sliding into the back seat with her.

Regan sighed and let her muscles go limp for a moment, to give them a respite. “That could have gone worse,” she murmured, surprised to see Tyler’s jaw clench. He didn’t look at her.

“It will.”

“What—”

But Tyler shook his head once, still not meeting her gaze. A new unease spread through her. There was something wrong, something beyond the “wrong” they’d prepared for.

There wasn’t time to get any information from him. The car glided to a stop next to a large white mansion fronted by pillars and a tall, wide stairway. Regan had the impression of waterlogged bushes, climbing vines and hanging plants from the second-floor porch before she and Tyler were hustled out of the car.

She didn’t like being hustled. The guy who opened her door and pulled her out by the arm held tight to her as they hurried up the steps and across the wide-planked porch floor. Two other men cuffed Tyler and jerked him around. When they cleared the double doorway into the foyer, more black-clad security surrounded them, most standing at ready with their hands on their weapons. Any tension she’d shed in the car snapped back into every muscle. The room practically hummed with it.

So when a tall, silver-haired, mean-looking man came toward her with his arms out, her brain screamed
threat
and she drew the pistol from her waistband and aimed it at his face. Her stance went wide, her left hand came up to support her hold on the weapon, and she sent him a glare that made no doubt she meant business.

Ben Harrison halted, his hands half raised, but at the same time the clicks of a dozen weapons echoed in the high-ceilinged foyer. Regan didn’t care. She’d take him out before they took her, and they knew it.

Her moment of panic faded into cool calm. She’d regained a measure of control, and they could move on. She glared at the man she recognized as Scott’s father, though he’d aged more than she would have expected in the time since she saw him at Blaydes Academy.

“Nice greeting,” she said.

Harrison inclined his head. “A bit aggressive, I admit. I apologize. I was simply about to give you a hug.”

Regan snorted. “Sure. People with guns always hug first, shoot later.”

“He means it,” said an elegantly feminine voice from behind him. A woman stepped around his upraised arm. She looked so much like an older version of Kelsey, Regan’s arms dropped a few inches before she recovered and jerked them back up.

“Major Harrison.” She, too, looked much different from Regan’s vague memory. Back then she’d been polished and regal but also very feminine, despite her military occupation.

“Please, call me Jeanne.” She smiled, and Regan couldn’t quite connect the smooth voice and manners with her current appearance. She wore her dark red hair close-cropped, almost spiky, and she was dressed in black like the security team—cargo pants, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and a weapons belt.

She saw Regan studying her and glanced down at herself. “Forgive me, I was training with the team. If we’d known you were coming I’d have worn something more appropriate for company.” She snapped her fingers and the security team immediately lowered their weapons, except for one man who kept his about a foot from Regan’s right temple. She guessed he was McCormick, the head of security, overcompensating for his staff not taking her gun at the guard house.

“As I was saying,” Jeanne continued, “my husband is an effusive man. He’s been very worried about you and Kelsey and considers you family. You and Scott may not have been married, but we’ve always thought of you as our daughter-in-law.” Sadness crossed her face, and Regan was so surprised she lowered her gun completely. After a second, she made it safe and stuck it back in her jeans. McCormick relaxed, too.

Jeanne’s words and the emotions behind them didn’t fit the scene in the foyer at all, so all Regan could come up with to say was, “That’s not what I expected to hear.”

“I’m sure it’s not,” Ben finally spoke again. He nodded to the stoic-faced men around him and they dispersed, all except McCormick and the two holding Tyler. Another man, this one wearing dress pants and a button-down shirt, approached her with a towel. Regan had forgotten she was wet. She dried off as best she could and handed the towel back to the man. She noticed he didn’t offer one to Tyler.

“I apologize for alarming you,” Ben continued. “I didn’t think—a rare and deadly thing. I was under the influence of relief and joy.” He held out an arm toward Regan and another toward one of four archways leading out of the foyer. “Shall we go sit down? We have plenty to discuss, I know.”

Regan didn’t move. “Not until you release Tyler.”

The steel behind the soft emotions showed itself. “No. His loyalties are unknown.”

“Not to me, they aren’t.”

During the short conversation, Tyler hadn’t moved. His expression matched those of the security people, except she’d come to know him well enough to see the pain behind his eyes. Though he’d expected treatment like this, it hurt him that they didn’t trust him.

“Where’s Kelsey?” Jeanne sounded as if she’d just realized the girl wasn’t there.

“I’m not telling anyone that.” Regan’s anger grew.

“She’s not with you?”

She raised her eyebrows. “You really thought I’d bring her here? To the home of the people who might have killed her father?”

The shock sweeping through the room was almost visible. Jeanne looked stricken and even teary, something Regan wouldn’t have expected from an Air Force major.

Ben nodded, though his shoulders slumped. “We can hardly blame her for thinking that, Jeanne.” He sighed. “There’s obviously a lot to discuss. Please, come in and sit down. Tyler will remain with us, but I’m fully aware of his capabilities and I won’t authorize removal of the restraints until I’m certain he’s not working for our enemy.”

Regan considered. Tyler’s proclamations, her growing feelings for him, put her on his side. She’d been suspicious long enough that she couldn’t blame the Harrisons for their caution. But… “If he was compromised, or bought, he wouldn’t have brought me here.”

“Not an invalid point, but there is a great deal at stake. You’ll understand in time.”

Obviously considering the debate settled, Ben turned and went through the archway into a comfortable-looking living room furnished in rich earth tones and decorated with items collected from all over the world. The front and back walls were both mostly tall, cathedral-style windows.

Jeanne waited patiently, her eyes on Regan, who finally followed and sat, as indicated, in a plush armchair. The gun dug into her back so she removed it and rested it on the arm of the chair. The Harrisons settled on the matching loveseat, Jeanne sitting on the edge but Ben relaxing against the cushions. They all watched as Tyler was walked into the room and pushed into a straight-back chair, his handcuffs removed and replaced in front of him. The two men stood behind him, each with a hand on his shoulder.

“You are dismissed,” Ben told them. “But he’s as effective with his hands cuffed as he is with them not. Better secure him to the chair.”

One of the men bent and shook out another pair of cuffs. He wrapped one around Tyler’s ankle, making it so tight Regan winced, and the other half to the rung of the chair. Tyler’s expression slipped into a glower before he smoothed it out again.

Silence reigned until the men had left. Then Ben looked at Tyler. “Explain yourself.”

“No.”

Three sets of eyebrows went up.

“I beg your pardon?” The steel was back in Ben’s voice.

“I have nothing to explain.”

“Tyler,” Jeanne started in a softer tone, but Regan cut her off. She understood what Tyler was doing.

“When did you last speak with Tyler?” she asked Ben.

“A week ago.”

“Since then we were attacked at the airport, received a phone call from our attackers’ leader—at least, to the best of my understanding—on a phone no one should have been able to call, and attacked again in a motel room no one should have known we were in. There’s someone on the inside here.”

“Impossible.”

Jeanne touched her husband’s knee. “Not impossible, and you know it. Do you have any idea who?” she asked Tyler.

“It’s more logical Tyler was the one conveying information to Archie,” Ben protested.

Excitement rushed through Regan. Archie. Who was Archie?

But Tyler’s stoicism had gone. When he spoke, his voice was icy with rage, his face darkening. “After ten years, you know better than to say that to me.” He started to rise, but the chain holding his leg to the chair clanked and he sat again, jerking his foot against the restraint. “I kept them safe for two. Why would I suddenly turn?”

“
You
kept her safe?” Ben barked. “You were a watchdog, yes, but hobbled. I was the one who kept them safe, at huge costs. You let them kill her lover, almost kill her!”

“Wait.” Regan shook her head against her confusion. “Back up. What—” She stopped herself and took her own advice. “Five people pounded on Tyler at the airport. Were those your men?”

Ben’s eyes narrowed, but he admitted, “No. They weren’t.”

“Then Tyler’s on your side.” She didn’t say “our” side and wondered if they noticed. “Now can we please start at the beginning? With Scott’s murder?”

Jeanne gasped softly at the word. “What happened?” she asked. Despite her appearance as a kick-ass military officer, she sounded like a grieving mother. “We never knew…the details.”

The telling had become easier now that Regan had done it once. She finished with, “He died in my arms.”

“Did he—” Jeanne pressed her hand to her mouth. Ben rubbed her back gently while she regained her composure. “Did he say anything?”

Regan’s eyes stung in response. “He said ‘they’ wanted the baby, and I needed to run. That ‘they’d’ tried to kill him. And he said he loved me. Loved us.”

Jeanne sobbed into her hands, and Ben’s eyes shimmered.

“He did love you,” he said, his voice rough. “It was obvious long before he came home and told us he was going to be a father. But he almost burned with it that weekend.”

“What did you say to him?” Regan pleaded. “What scared him so much we were going to run?”

Ben sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees. He stared at his hands, which he rubbed together, slowly, back and forth. He didn’t address her question directly, but Regan remained silent, listening.

“Scott arrived home Friday evening, about to burst with happiness. He couldn’t even wait until dinner, or until he unpacked. He sat us down. And he told us he was going to be a father.”

“As his mother, I was devastated, of course,” said Jeanne, who’d plucked a tissue from the box on the table next to her and now looked like she hadn’t been crying at all. “But there were so many other…factors.”