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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“ S o,” shouting over the noise of the engine, I call up from the shaking metal floor, “How did they find us?”

Warrior says, “That’s what I want to know.”

I ask, “How many people can it be? How many people could know where we were?”

The Mastermind says, “Not many, A handful at most.”

“So,” I tell them. “Shouldn’t be too hard. Give each one a piece of privileged information, in strict confidence. Each piece is different, none of them are true.”

Mastermind chuckles.“Then we wait and see which lie comes back.” His is the most unsettling laugh of all three of them. “The canary trap.”

When we get to our destination, a silver half-moon gleams high up in a deep blue velvet sky, breaking through silhouetted spikes of tall pines. The house is a low ranch with pitched shingle roofs and heavy posted porches.

Inside, it’s cozy in the extreme. Much higher in the mountains, judging from the dry chill in the air. I would guess we’re not far below the snow line.

Two of the three bedrooms are hardly big enough for an adolescent. The other has the smallest imaginable double bed.

The men agree to take turns in the two smaller bedrooms.

The Emperor says, “More than ever, we’ll need at least one pair of eyes open, twenty four seven.”

I ask him, “In case we’re blown again?”

He gives me a sly look. “That, yes.” He looks me up and down, like he’s inspecting a piece of suspect contraband. “Along with our other worries.”

The walls are bare wood, adorned with pictures — mostly drawings — of bison, elk, buffalo, stags, and old time sailing ships.

Furnishings here are sturdy and rustic, mostly covered with heavy tartan throws or native-style rug weaves. It’s too small a place for all four of us. Too close and cozy for so much testosterone, muscular ego and fiery temper. I would include myself in most of that, too.

The Warrior and the Mastermind leave and take the Land Rover.

Settled on the couch with a cold beer, the Emperor watches me closely. He offers me a drink, but I pass.

He says, “Bourbon? Glass of wine?”

“Thanks. No. What is this place?” I seat myself in one of the cushioned chairs.

“Its a hunting lodge.”

“Is there food here, or do we have to go out and shoot some?”

“There’s food. The fridge is well stocked, and there are freezers out in the shed.” He watches me as he tips back a pull on his beer. “You hungry?”

“Not especially.” His head turns as I say, “How long are you expecting we’ll be here?”

He shrugs.

“The house we just left,” I ask him, “was that my house? Did I live there? Or was it yours?”

“No. Neither.” He’s taking his time. Like he’s feeling me out. Being careful what he says and trying to get a measure of me. “An architect built it for himself as a retreat. It’s been unoccupied a few years, though.”

“Some dark tragedy? Did you cause it or only exploit it?”

“He ran up some debts. Put up the house to cover them. He was ready to move on. He wasn’t seeing the kind of return on the house he had been hoping for.”

“Is distressed property a large part of your portfolio?”

“Oh, now you’re a business analyst?”

“I’ve a feeling there’s a little more to that story than you’re telling me.”

He shrugs again. “There are things you’re not telling me.”

Maybe he’s talking about what happened between me and the Warrior, but I wonder if he has something else in mind.

“What can I be holding back? I don’t remember anything.”

“I think you still have a few secrets up your sleeve.”

After a while he says, “We’re bringing the doc up here to look you over, but I don’t know if he’ll be much use from here on.”

This time I wait him out.

He watches me as he says, “He seems to think you’ll recover your memory at your own pace.” Trying to see how his words are landing, I guess. Trying to judge their impact. “That’s supposed to be his specialty. If all he can prescribe is wait and see, then we probably have all that we’re going to need from him.”

“Okay.”

His head tilts. “You don’t seem to mind.”

“I don’t. Not much.”

“Don’t care whether you see him or not?”

“What are you after?”

“You’re getting along fine with everyone, aren’t you. Little miss easy-going.”

I squint at him.

“When you’re not climbing out of windows, that is.” He takes another sip. “Which you do just when there happens to be a drone in the air.”

My heart stops. Holds in suspension. I don’t breathe for a moment. “Seriously?” I blink. “What, do you think I’ve got a drone chip implanted or something?”

“Have you?”

“Honestly? How the fuck would I know? But I was unconscious for some time, right?”

“You don’t know how long, though, right?”

“But do you think the drone chip was sleeping, too?”

He shrugs. “Maybe they knew where you were. They could just have been waiting on a sign that you were awake.”

“I’m pretty sure those men at the house were there to kill me.” Now I really wish I had a shot of whiskey. “I’m also sure that I stopped one of them killing you.”

His eyes narrow.

“You’ve been getting pretty cozy with… one of our number.”

“Still no names. Are you afraid you’ll let something slip there? Is it really doctor’s orders that’s keeping you from using names when I’m around? Even mine? You talk about me keeping secrets, holding back when there’s practically nothing that I can tell you. But you ,” I’m holding on to the arms of the chair, trying to will my breathing and my pulse to calm down. “You could probably give me my whole life history. Chapter and verse.” I take a couple of slow breaths. He’s about to speak.

I lean forward. “You could turn on the lights for me, but you won’t. Am I supposed to believe that you don’t have any reasons of your own for wanting to keep me in the dark?” My lips tighten and pull back. “You really aren’t getting something out of keeping me locked up?”

I stand. “I think you’re enjoying this. I think it suits you fine, having power over me.”

I pace. “Are you like that with all women, or is this a special privilege? Am I someone special to you, or would you be just as happy keeping any one of a number of women caged for your pleasure.”

He’s studying me. Paying particular attention to all the marks, the grass stains and dirt on my pants and my tee-shirt.

I turn on my heel. “You didn’t want to see the cable ties come off me, did you? Would you like to tie me up again? How about now? There’s only you and me. Would that amuse you, as a way to pass the time? Maybe a blindfold. Yes, somebody mentioned blindfolds. And a gag, perhaps.”

“Oh, hell, no,” he gets up, laughing. “No, I don’t believe I would ever want you gagged.

And he lets out a laugh. A proper laugh. I’m so surprised, it’s so spontaneous and natural, it infects me too.

“Stung, slapped, tied, teased, all of the above. But never gagged.” I narrow my eyes. He says, “It would kill me to miss a single syllable from your precious lips.”

All the things I can think of to say, I totally should not say right now. Not to him.

He tells me, “I’m going to have another beer. Are you sure I can’t get you something?”

“A glass of water.”

“Don’t trust yourself around me?”

Another laugh trickles out of me. “No, I trust me completely. It’s you I worry about.” This time he catches my laugh.

He says, “You’re not nervous, then? Being alone with me?”

“Probably no more nervous that I would be with you in a crowd of thousands. It’s not the alone part.” Suddenly he’s very close. My words stumble and slip. The heat of his body is stifling. My head swims in the dark tang of his scents. “It’s the you part.”

His chin tilts up and his nostrils flare. My chest tightens and it’s hard to breathe.

He looks down at me. The soggy, knotted panties are more awkward and uncomfortable than ever. The heat from his body reaches through my clothes to all the front parts of me. My nipples ache and sting. The way I’m stirring inside makes me feel like I’m betraying my Warrior all over again.

“What you got up to at the cottage this morning,” he says, “Was that a secret game?”

My eyebrow twitches and my chin trembles.

He says, “You wouldn’t be trying to play us, picking us off, one against another, would you?” a sarcastic tug pulls at the side of his mouth.

My throat dries. “I wouldn’t exactly say that I’ve picked you off.” The words crackle and skip as I push them out.

I want to move away. This situation is spinning out of my control. Not that I’ve had any control since the day I woke up. Maybe I was better off while I was unconscious.

Perhaps the doctor is right and I should have a long period of rest and peace to recover. Rest and peace. The very thought makes me anxious and fidgety. I want to move but I’m rooted to the spot.

He has a beer in one hand, and a glass of water in the other. I tell myself, he can’t do anything like that. Not with both hands occupied.

“If anyone engineered this situation,” I glance around, “you and me, here, alone,” my words are drying out before I can push them out of my throat, “it’s you.”

I make a smile as I reach for the water glass. He moves his hand back so I have to reach around him. So I’m closer. My clothes are brushing his. My scent is giving me away.

My knees have turned to jello.