Smoky Mountain Setup (14 page)

He dragged his mind back to the present, meeting her curious gaze. “Yes. There was. I don’t know why I didn’t consider that possibility.”

She licked her lips. “When?”

“Just about fifteen minutes before all hell broke loose, Agent Boyle came by with water. Remember?” He kicked himself when she ruefully shook her head. “I’m sorry. Of course you don’t. It was the first time we’d seen him all morning. I guess I must have assumed he was back at the staging area, conferring with the negotiators. He gave us each pep talks.”

She frowned. “Boyle gave us pep talks?”

“I know that wasn’t his way, but we both know the way he felt about domestic terrorists. He was rabid, and that’s kind of what the pep talks were about. He told me, and I guess he told the rest of you, too, that whatever happened, we were patriots for trying to stop the bombers.”

She shook her head. “Patriots. Interesting choice of words, now that we know he was working with the BRI to stage a big incident.”

“In retrospect, I have to wonder if he didn’t stage the incident in Richmond.”

“Or maybe it was just a target of opportunity. Maybe he let his zealotry get the better of him and took advantage of the situation to create an incident.”

“We weren’t supposed to live, were we?”

She met his gaze solemnly. “I don’t think we were. When we did, and you told the debriefers about the radio call, it sounded like a lie.”

“A bad agent covering his ass.” Landry shook his head. “And suddenly the story became about FBI malpractice instead of a domestic terror attack. No wonder Boyle sabotaged me. He must have been so furious.”

“You said it was the main negotiator, Williams, you heard on the radio. Are you sure it wasn’t Boyle?”

“As sure as you can be about a voice over a radio. I didn’t know Williams that well, but he has that distinctive Brooklyn accent. Definitely not a Baltimore accent like Boyle had.”

“Their voices are around the same depth, though,” Olivia murmured. “A Brooklyn accent is so distinctive, it’s easy to mimic, especially over a radio. And none of us on the team were from Brooklyn, so it’s not like we’d have been able to distinguish a real accent from a fake one.”

He followed her unspoken logic. “Fifteen minutes before the radio call, Boyle came by and took us one by one to talk to us. I remember he put his hands on my shoulders because at one point, he made my shoulder radio squawk with static, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.”

“He was changing the radio frequency.” Olivia let out a soft curse. “The bastard set us all up to be killed for his obsession.”

A shivery sense of relief washed over Landry, spreading goose bumps along his arms and legs. In the rush of excitement, he reached up and cradled Olivia’s face between his palms. “That’s it. Oh, baby, that’s exactly how it happened. You have no idea how much that question has haunted me. How did I not see it before?”

She closed her hands over his. “You just needed your partner to help you talk it out.”

Emotion swelled in his chest, choking him. A flurry of thoughts, of images and pent-up feelings, swirled through his brain, but the lump in his throat wouldn’t let them come out in words.

But he could see those unspoken thoughts shining in Olivia’s eyes.

Two words finally escaped his tight throat. “I forgot.”

Her lips trembled in a whisper of a smile. “Forgot what?”

“Us. I forgot us.” Swept up in an irresistible whirlwind of emotion, he curled his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her closer, fitting his mouth to hers.

The first time he’d kissed her after so long apart, it had seemed like kissing a beautiful stranger. The desire had been there, but not the familiarity. Not the sense of knowing.

The second kiss, initiated by Olivia, had been an explosion of fiery desire, almost faceless and nameless in its intensity. Two mouths, two bodies, looking for pleasure and completion.

But this kiss, this melding of lips and tangling of tongues, this symphony of touches and breaths and long, deep sighs—

This kiss felt like home.

Chapter Fourteen

Us
, she thought.
This is us.

Landry’s hands moved in a slow, sweet exploration of her face before sliding down to her shoulders and sweeping lightly down her arms. His fingers clasped hers. Entwined with them. And it felt so familiar, so perfect, that she wondered how they ever could have let go of this sense of completeness.

She let go of his hands and lifted her fingers to his face, tracing the little nicks and contours she’d once known as intimately as she knew her own face. That scar on his chin was a high school baseball injury, when he’d taken a cleat to the face diving to tag out a runner stealing base. The dimples that creased his cheeks when he laughed had come from his grandfather on his mother’s side, he’d once told her, though his mother didn’t have dimples.

“At least, I don’t think she did,” he’d said when she’d asked about the dimples that still had the power to make her heart skip a beat. “I never saw that much of her, and when I did, she wasn’t smiling.”

The image of his distant, unsmiling mother made her heart break a little each time she thought of it.

She drew back from the kiss, opening her eyes. Landry stared back at her, his gaze soft but intense. Slowly, he smiled, triggering the dimples, and she couldn’t stop a soft laugh.

“What?” he asked.

“Those dimples.”

His smile widened, the dimples deepening. “Missed ’em, did you?”

“I did.”

“I missed
you
. Every single inch of you.”

“All seventy of them?”

He laughed. “Yeah. And even more when you’re wearing heels.”

She pressed her forehead against his. “How did we let it fall apart? One day we were fine, and the next—”

“I don’t think we were fine.” He leaned back, putting a little distance between them. Cool air seeped in between them, giving her a chill.

She rubbed her arms. “You’re right. We weren’t.”

“This is such a bad time to be considering this.” He rubbed his jaw, his palm rasping against his beard stubble. “I have no idea what’s going to happen next. I’m wanted by the FBI, and you’ve been targeted by the BRI, and in case it’s not clear, those bastards aren’t going to just let me go unscathed if I run into one of them in the woods one day and they figure out who I am.”

“All the more reason we should stick together.” She lifted her chin and pinned him with her more determined gaze. “Maybe it’ll all go wrong again. Hell, maybe it’s inevitable. But right now we need each other, as partners if nothing else. We just work better together than apart, and you know it. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re not wrong.” He bent toward her and pressed his lips against her forehead. She snuggled closer and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. “I just don’t think we need to get ourselves all tangled up in plans and promises when we’re not sure what tomorrow’s going to hold.”

She sighed, wishing she could argue with his logic. But he was right. Rushing into things never worked out well, in her experience. “Okay. We’ll slow it down and just concentrate on the work for now. Agents Landry and Sharp, back on the job.”

“That sounds good.” He gave her a quick kiss on the temple then let her go. “In the morning, that is. It’s late and we’ve had a few long, stressful days. Let’s get some sleep and we’ll get started first thing in the morning. Deal?”

“Deal.” She extended her hand toward him.

He shook her hand, his grip lasting a little longer than necessary. In his green eyes she saw a sweet, intense longing that echoed in her own chest. Finally, he let go and smiled. “I really did miss the hell out of you.”

“Back at ya.” She made herself turn around and head for the bedroom she’d staked out earlier in the evening, closing the door behind her. By the time she’d snuggled under the warm blankets, she heard Landry’s footsteps enter the hall outside her room.

His footsteps faltered as he neared her door. Olivia waited, breathless, for him to make another move.

When his footsteps moved on, and the door to his bedroom opened and closed, she let out a pent-up breath, well aware he’d made the smart decision.

But she didn’t have to like it.

Her cell phone hummed on the bedside table where she’d left it. It wasn’t her normal phone; she’d left that back at The Gates locked in her desk. Instead, Quinn had provided both her and Landry with untraceable burner phones for their trip to Bryson City. Her late-night caller could be only one person.

“It’s nearly midnight, Quinn,” she said into the phone.

“You didn’t check in when you arrived.”

He was right. She hadn’t. “Sorry.”

“Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” she assured him, tucking her knees up to her chest. “No problems on the road, got here in time to have some good food and listen to some good music and now we’re safely tucked in our beds for the night.”

Quinn was silent for a long moment.

“Is something wrong?” she asked when he didn’t speak.

“Are you alone in that bed?”

Her spine straightened. “Is that any business of yours?”

“No. Not the way you mean.”

“Then in what way
is
it your business?”

“I remember the Olivia Sharp who walked into my office looking for a job. She was— I’m not sure I even know the right word for it. Broken, I guess. Not in a way that was obvious. But there were pieces missing, and I could see it.”

“Thank you for the analysis, Dr. Phil.”

“I’m not trying to psychoanalyze you, Olivia. I’m not sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong. If you’re going to continue to be a vital member of my team, you have to be smart and focused and emotionally centered.”

“I am all of those things.”

“Good. Keep it that way.” Quinn’s voice lowered. “I take it from your answers that you really are alone in your room?”

“Quinn—”

He laughed softly. “That time, I was sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“I’m fine,” she said, realizing he’d thrown in the last question just to break the tension. “And I know what I’m doing. I promise.”

“I hope whatever happens with Landry is a good thing for you. I really do. But I need you to put your own safety first. Carver’s missing, and for all we know, he’s already dead. I don’t want to have to call up your mother and tell her that you’re gone, too.”

She tamped down a flush of guilt. She hadn’t talked to her mother in over a week, she realized. Carla Sharp hadn’t exactly been a great role model, but Olivia had never once doubted her mother loved her. And she loved her mother, too, even when Carla exasperated her beyond words. Maybe especially then.

“I don’t want you to have to do that, either,” she said. “I’ll be careful.”

“You do that,” Quinn said. “Call if you need anything.”

“Will do.” She hung up, set the phone on the bedside table and stared up at the darkened ceiling, wondering if she was going to be able to keep her word. Carver was missing; she and Landry were both hunted. She’d chosen the work she did willingly, knowing the dangers, but she was nearly thirty-five now. Her window of opportunity for having a child of her own was closing quickly, if having a child was even what she wanted.

Was it? She and Landry had been partners and lovers, but one thing they’d never seriously talked about was getting married and starting a family. In fact, in retrospect, she could see that they’d gone out of their way to avoid talking about marriage and kids.

Why? What had they been afraid of? That they wanted different things out of life? In some ways, she knew Landry as well as she knew anyone in the world, but in others, she didn’t think she knew him at all.

Because he’d wanted it that way? Because she had?

Maybe they were crazy to think they could make their relationship work this time.

Maybe they were crazy to try.

* * *

O
LIVIA
WAS
ALREADY
up the next morning, scrambling eggs, when he wandered into the kitchen. She turned around to flash him a quick smile. “Good morning.”

Her face was freshly scrubbed and free of makeup, and her hair was damp and tousled from the shower, but she was still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, especially in that Alabama T-shirt and houndstooth-patterned running shorts, her long, tanned legs stretching for miles beneath the hem.

“Good morning,” he replied, looking over her shoulder. “Need any help?”

“The toaster is over there on the counter. There’s bread in the pantry—the Hunters stocked the place with some essentials for us, it seems. Janeane left a note so we’d know everything’s fresh.”

The kind gesture touched him more than it probably should have. “That was nice of her.”

Olivia must have heard something odd in his tone, for she turned away from the stove to look at him. “It was.”

He smiled. “I guess it’s been a while since I’ve experienced much human kindness.”

Olivia reached out and touched his arm briefly. “Give yourself a little time to get used to it again.” She turned back to the eggs.

He hoped he’d have reason to get used to it. The thought of returning to a life of running and hiding was deeply disheartening. He’d grown accustomed to living a mostly solitary life, his only relationships shallow and transient.

But he’d never grown to like it.

The toaster took four slices at once. He put bread in the slots and pushed down the lever. “If we can’t figure out a way to prove someone in the FBI set me up, I’ll have to go back under the radar.”

“We’ll figure it out,” she said, her voice firm.

“You can’t know that.”

She moved the skillet from the stove eye and turned to look at him. “I will not rest until we figure it out.”

God, he loved her when she stuck out her chin and made declarations of intent. She was fierce and formidable and as sexy as hell.

He lifted his own chin in response. “Then neither will I.”

She flashed him a big, toothy grin. “There’s the Cade Landry I remember.”

He hoped she was right. He hoped he was the man he used to be, because the man he’d become didn’t seem to be a damned bit of good to anyone.

As they were cleaning up after breakfast, Olivia outlined her plan for the morning. “I brought files with me that I want you to go through. They’re dossiers we’ve gathered on the bigger players in the Blue Ridge Infantry, and I was hoping maybe you could tell us if any of them were involved in your abduction.”

“I didn’t see faces. They wore masks.”

“Maybe there will be something else that you’ll be able to identify about them. Or maybe something in their files will spark a memory.” She put the last cup in the dishwasher and straightened. “I set up everything for us in the front room.”

He followed her into the living area and saw that she’d stacked fifteen manila folders in a neat line on the long coffee table in front of the sofa. “How long have you been awake?”

“A couple of hours.” She slanted a sheepish smile at him as she took a seat on one end of the sofa. “Early riser, remember?”

“I remember.” He sat beside her and picked up the first dossier. “Calvin Hopkins.”

“Head of the Tennessee branch of the Blue Ridge Infantry. Anything familiar about him?” Olivia asked as he flipped open the folder.

The photos in the dossier appeared to be candid shots taken with a telephoto lens. “Who took these shots?”

“Grant Carver, among others,” she answered soberly. “One of the benefits of his living near the Fowler Ridge enclave.”

“If you know where they’re living, why hasn’t someone gone in and staged a raid?”

“Because they learned a little something from the meth cookers with whom they’ve aligned themselves. They don’t bring their drug business home. We think they’ve set up meth labs in other places in the hills. Abandoned cabins up high in the hills, maybe. Or even some of the old, abandoned marble quarries north of here. A few of those places are still private property, with absentee owners. All kinds of activity could be going on there without anybody but a few locals knowing it.”

Landry rubbed his jaw, realizing he was already falling back into the habit of not shaving. Reentering civilization after nearly a year of living on the fringes was proving to be more difficult than he’d expected.

“Take a close look at some of the people with Hopkins,” Olivia suggested as he flipped to a photo of Hopkins talking to a clean-shaven man wearing khakis and a light blue golf shirt. “That guy isn’t in the BRI, we’re pretty sure.”

“Maybe he’s just some tourist asking for directions.”

“Maybe. Or maybe he’s one of those other FBI agents Darryl Boyle spoke about before he disappeared.”

He looked up at her, frowning. “What other FBI agents?”

“
You said you
thought there was someone in the FBI who had contacted the BRI when you tried to report Boyle’s treachery to your superiors. I just figured you knew that Boyle wasn’t the only one.”

“I did but I didn’t realize Boyle had actually admitted it.” Landry looked at the photo of the man in the khakis. “I don’t recognize him. Do you?”

She shook her head. “But I left the FBI before you did. I was hoping maybe he was someone in one of the local field offices. Probably not an agent, but maybe one of the support staff?”

“He might be with the Knoxville office, I guess,” Landry said doubtfully. “Though you’d think Rigsby would have recognized him.”

“She didn’t.”

“If he was with the Johnson City RA, he was either there before I came aboard or after I left.”

Olivia sighed. “I guess it was too much to hope for.”

“Sorry.”

She shook her head. “Don’t be. We have a lot more files to go.”

They continued working their way through the files, concentrating on photographs first. Then when none of those pictures triggered any memories, they started to go through the written reports The Gates had gathered from their agents as well as civilians who lived or worked in areas influenced by the Blue Ridge Infantry.

“Your files are amazingly thorough,” Landry commented a couple of hours later when they stopped for a break. She had coaxed him into his jacket and boots for a walk in the woods behind the guesthouse, where the evergreens had sheltered much of the remaining snow from the melting rays of the sun.