Witness in the Dark Page 9

  “This way,” he said and walked to the far end of the deck. At the railing, the deck met up with the steep hill behind the house. “If something happens and I tell you to run, this is where you need to go. Remember that. It’s very important.” He looked her right in the eye so she understood the seriousness of the situation.

  For a second, he got caught in the green warmth of her gaze. Her eyes were the color of springtime, with shots of amber coming from the center.

  She nodded. “Important. Got it.” She looked back at him expectantly.

  He fought to remember what he was saying.

  Damn.

  Right. Escape route.

  He deftly swung a leg over the railing and leaped to the bank below. She followed his movements exactly and, thankfully, didn’t sprain her ankle. He took it as a good sign.

  He climbed up the bank using some strategically placed rocks as stairs. At the top, the ground flattened out slightly onto an abandoned rail bed. They walked easily for a few hundred yards, then he pointed to a tree on the left of the trail with a mark on it—a roughly drawn arrow pointing straight up.

  “Do you see this? At this arrow, you want to go left into the woods,” he told her.

  “Ah. That makes sense.” The smile on her face vanished, immediately replaced by a wince. “Sorry. No smartass comments. I remember.”

  Obviously, she was trying to follow his orders. He smiled and guessed being a smartass was out of her control.

  “This is where it gets a little tricky. Pay close attention. It could be a matter of life and death.”

  People used that expression so much it had become a cliché, but in this case, it was very true.

  “If I’m taken down, your best hope is to run. You need to know where to go, and it has to be so second nature you can do it in the dark, in the rain, or while completely panicked.”

  Again she nodded, and scanned the area to orient herself. He hoped she had a decent sense of direction.

  There was no trail, just briars and pine needles, bushes, and downed limbs. He moved in a straight line to the next landmark.

  “Look for that fallen tree over there and head in that direction. But before you get to it, you’ll want to go left again.”

  She glanced back at where they’d come from and rubbed her forehead. When he turned around, he saw it from her perspective. Just a lot of woods with nothing descriptive about them.

  “Memorize tree shapes, knot holes, bushes, rocks. Anything that’ll keep you on track.”

  He kept going. The nonexistent path started to taper downhill slightly. He rounded a huge tree and turned sharply to the right. “Right at the big tree,” he said.

  By the time they’d lost visual on the big tree, it was easy to see where they were headed. He heard a sigh of relief next to him when she spotted the bunker.

  It was maybe eight-by-eight feet, with a door and a single window. It was painted the same dark brown as the trees around it. It looked like a shack. It was meant to blend in.

  He held his hand to a similar digital panel as the main house, tapped the screen to reset it, and stepped back.

  “Hold your hand here.” He tipped his head at the screen.

  She held her hand up to the glass and the blue light swept over her hand twice. He pulled her hand off and added her ID to the security matrix. When he finished, he gestured again to the panel. “Again.”

  This time when she held her hand up, the blue light scanned her hand and the lock popped open, causing a small smile to twitch at the corner of her lips.

  She was pretty when she smiled. She was also pretty when she frowned. Hell, she was pretty when she was looking at him as if expecting him to cut her up in tiny pieces. But he especially liked her smile.

  He stepped inside and went to a keypad on the wall by the door. “The code is zero, three, one, three. Repeat it.”

  “Zero, three, one, three,” she said with a nod.

  “Don’t forget,” he warned. He didn’t remind her about the life or death thing again. She’d probably gotten the idea by now.

  A hatch in the floor clicked, and Garrett pulled up on the handle to reveal steps that led under the building.

  Rather than go down the steep metal steps one at a time, Garrett simply put his forearms on the handrails and slid down to the bottom. He waited while Sam took the steps one at a time like a normal person. She’d learn.

  He flipped a silent switch, and the room illuminated in a dim blue glow. She examined the tight space. She jumped when she saw the white cement block walls were lined with weapons.

  “If you were coming here because I told you to run, you would obviously pull both doors closed behind you.”

  She swallowed as she looked over the arsenal. But she didn’t comment.

  Good girl.

  “There’s enough food and water here for ten days,” he said. “If I tell you to run, you will wait all ten days before you come out. And when you do, it will be with a weapon in your hand. Understood?”

  She swallowed again. “Yes. Ten days. How will I know when ten days are up?”

  “Keep track with your watch.”

  Her eyes dimmed and she glanced away. “You took my watch to put on my fake body in the car when it caught fire.”

  “Actually, I found an identical one at a pawn shop and swapped them.” It was totally unlike him to get sentimental, but he’d seen how much it had meant to her. And, well, he’d asked his boss, and Thorne had reluctantly agreed.

  Garrett pulled the watch from his jeans pocket and held it out to her. “No crying. You already used your pass.” He’d been holding on to the watch until she was more stable and wouldn’t break down in gratitude.

  She laughed, but some tears came to her eyes as she slid it onto her wrist. “Thank you so much, Garrett. Really.”

  He changed the subject while before she started gushing. “Pick one,” he ordered, indicating the guns on the wall. “Preferably a rifle.”

  She gave him a clueless look. “Um…”

  He barely refrained from letting out a frustrated groan. “One of the big ones.” This was clear evidence that she shouldn’t even be touching them.

  Unfortunately, there wasn’t a choice in the matter. She needed to be able to handle a weapon.

  She pointed tentatively at the most conservative looking one, with a shiny wooden stock, a short black barrel, and a large, matte black scope. He appreciated her choice. She had good instincts.

  “Thirty-aught-six,” he informed her, but didn’t move. “Go ahead. We’re taking it with us.” He turned toward the stairs and paused. “It’s loaded, but grab an extra box of ammo.”

  “Uh…?”

  He indicated a row of boxes lined up against the opposite wall. He didn’t offer any instruction, so she studied the boxes until she chose one that said “30-06.” He almost glowed with pride. She’d actually listened.

  They might just survive this ordeal.

  She wedged the box in the back of her jeans and picked up the gun. “Ready.”

  He helped her get the thick leather strap over her shoulder before he went up the steps. “Be sure to keep the useful end away from yourself and friendlies at all times, and finger off the trigger,” he said without looking back.

  She cleared her throat.

  Going up, the gun banged into the railing twice at first, but after that, it didn’t happen again. He could tell she was really trying, so he didn’t comment despite cringing inwardly at the possible damage to his beautiful gun.

  He waited outside as she secured the building. She set the rifle against the wall in order to close the hatch.

  Big mistake.

  Chapter Nineteen

  When Sam turned to pick up her gun, it was gone.

  Garrett stood at the door, pointing it right at her heart.

  She squeaked in surprise. Then fear rushed through her. “What are—”

  “Rule number one,” he said calmly. “Leave your gun unattended, and it isn’t your g
un anymore.”

  Her heart pounded. Oh, God. She’d been wrong about him. He really was going to kill her. But why would he go to the trouble of buying her clothing and ice cream if he’d planned to lure her to the woods and shoot her?

  Then he winked.

  She almost collapsed with relief. “Do you have to keep pointing guns at me?” she grumbled as he handed the rifle back to her.

  “Don’t let me, and I won’t.”

  She closed the door a bit harder than strictly necessary.

  “What is the code for the hatch?” he asked.

  “Zero, three, one, three,” she ground out, even while telling herself she was being childish. He was trying to help her. Imparting valuable lessons.

  “Good. Lead the way back.” He gestured that she should go first into the woods.

  “Me?” Her voice cracked, her mind spinning.

  “I’m not the one who needs to know.”

  “Right.”

  She scratched her head to stall while looking back at the bunker. When she’d first seen the shack, it was from the right front corner. She headed in the direction that would have given her that vantage point.

  After a slight rise, she could see the big tree he’d given as a landmark. She smiled, pleased with herself, and headed straight for it. At the tree she made a ninety-degree turn to the left…and then things got foggy.

  She surveyed her surroundings for something that looked familiar. Nothing did. Just trees and dead leaves and pine needles and branches.

  She took a few steps uphill, because she remembered coming downhill before arriving at the big tree. Halfway up the slope, she saw the tree that had fallen. They’d turned before reaching it. So, she turned about ten feet before getting there. Then she tried to go in a straight line. Through briars and over another downed tree that she was sure they hadn’t crossed the first time.

  She knew she wasn’t going the right way.

  But Garrett offered no correction. He followed silently behind her, even when she backtracked twice. Eventually, they came out on the trail that led to the cabin, but when she peered behind her, the tree didn’t have the marking.

  “Crap. I really messed up.” She put her palm to her forehead. He’d told her to listen. He’d said it was important. He’d said it could be life or death.

  Surprisingly, he didn’t look perturbed at all. “Not necessarily. Can you get us back from here?”

  She let out a deep breath. “I think so.”

  She turned right on the trail and started walking, and just about the time she thought sure she was lost again, she heard the hum of the generator. She led them down the steep incline to the deck in triumph.

  “I did it,” she said happily.

  “That took entirely too long and you sounded like twelve preschoolers stomping through the woods. Next time do it quicker and quieter.”

  “Still, I did it,” she muttered as he led them across the deck and down the stairs.

  Instead of going into the cabin, he crossed the parking area and headed down another steep bank. She held onto vegetation and roots to keep from sliding down and taking them both out. At the bottom of the hill there was a large open area about twice the size of the parking lot. At one end there was a low wooden fence with paper stapled to it, and at the other end was a lawn chair and a table made out of an old pallet.

  A shooting range?

  “Have you ever shot a gun before?” he asked.

  She nibbled her lip. “Does a BB gun count?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then, yes. I shot a BB gun about a million years ago in summer camp.”

  “Were you any good?”

  “They gave me a paper that said I was a marksman, but they probably handed them out to all the kids. It was one of those self-esteem kinds of camps.”

  “We’re about to find out. Have a seat, and see if you can hit the target.”

  She glanced at him. “Sitting down?”

  “Yep.”

  “Don’t I need to know about the gun first?” she asked.

  He stepped closer and pointed to the end of the barrel. “The bullet comes out here, so point that toward the target.” He stepped back, saying nothing more.

  She sighed, but refrained from calling him a smartass. She was starting to catch on to his method. He was training her to think for herself. To defend herself. She was grateful, regardless of how frustrating it was.

  Thank God for TV. At least she knew how to hold the rifle. The butt went against her shoulder, her other hand around the barrel. Somewhere there would be a safety button. She fumbled around until she found it and switched it off. She looked through the scope twice before she figured out how to adjust it so she could actually see the target.

  The paper target on the fence was weathered, but otherwise unmarked. She put the intersecting lines at the center of the circle, held her breath, and pulled the trigger.

  The gun hit her in the shoulder with the force of dynamite.

  “Holy hell!” she yelled, and looked down to make sure her arm was still attached to her body. Her ears were ringing as she blinked a few times. This was definitely no BB gun.

  She shook it off, and peered through the scope at the target. At the very top right-hand corner, there was a hole smaller than she would have expected after experiencing the force of the gun.

  “I hit the target,” she said proudly. “Barely, but I hit it.”

  Garrett appeared vaguely pleased. “Maybe they didn’t give those marksman awards out to all the kids,” he said. From a drawer in the table he produced something similar to a pair of headphones and handed it to her. “Always wear ear protection. I let you take that first shot without, just so you’d know how loud it is and wouldn’t be taken by surprise in an emergency.”

  She took the headgear. “Okay.”

  “Come get me when you get at least five shots in the center circle, or you run out of bullets, whichever comes first.” He walked away.

  She sighed and fiddled with the knob until the bolt came back and discharged the empty shell casing. She didn’t know how many shells were in the gun, but the box held twenty rounds.

  She slid on the ear protection, repositioned herself, and concentrated.

  “Breathe out right before you shoot,” he called over his shoulder.

  She did as he suggested, and got the hole an inch closer to the innermost circle.

  An hour later, she’d finished rest of the box, and had eight holes in the center of the target. If five was good, eight was better. Right?

  Her shoulder ached like a bitch and her arm was tingling from the repeated shots as she carried the gun up the slope and into the house. She was going to be black and blue for a week. Not that she was complaining. It was a small price to pay for feeling a lot safer.

  Garrett was on his computer when she walked up, showing off the target.

  “Nice,” was all he said. Then he handed her a handgun, a box of rounds, and a new target. “Nine millimeter. Come back when you have ten in the center.”

  When she sighed, he raised a brow, waiting for her to protest.

  Not a chance.

  “Remember to keep your entire thumb away from the slide. It can take it right off.”

  With a curt nod, she turned and left the house to go back down to the range.

  Pissing him off was not an option. He was the only person she could trust at the moment, and she wasn’t going to lose him simply because she couldn’t check her attitude and follow instructions.

  She pinned the new target to the fence and stood holding the smaller gun like she’d seen in cop movies, remembering his warning about her thumb.

  The gun didn’t kick as much as the rifle, but it took her a few tries hit the target.

  Finally, she had ten in the center with only two bullets to go.

  She walked into the house with the empty box, the gun, and the target. She didn’t expect him to be impressed, so she wasn’t too disappointed when he glanced over the target qu
ickly.

  “Here.” He handed her the rifle. “I cleaned it. Take it back. When you get home, I’ll make dinner.” He said it as if the task would be as easy as retrieving the mail from the mailbox.

  “It’s dark,” she said, glancing over at the window. Not to mention she was already starving. It had been a long day. “Can I take a flashlight?”

  He bent and looked up through the large windows. “The moon’s nearly full. You won’t need a flashlight. Hurry up, I’m hungry.”

  She swallowed nervously as he handed her the rifle. Okay, then. Instead of begging him to reconsider, she turned and strode out the door.

  She could do this.

  Chapter Twenty

  As Garrett had said, the moon was almost full. But it only made the woods more frightening. The moonlight cast strange and eerie shadows across the already menacing terrain.

  Everything looked like something else. Something drooling and snarling…

  Sam understood irrational fear. But that didn’t make it any easier to picture a showdown with a snake or a bear…or to take a stroll through the woods at night while carrying a loaded rifle.

  “Get it together, girl,” she told herself sternly. “There’s nothing out here. And you have a frickin’ gun.”

  With that, she climbed over the railing and scurried up the side of the hill onto the flat section of trail.

  “Turn left at the arrow. Turn left at the arrow,” she murmured.

  The moonlight was shining toward her, illuminating the opposite sides of the trees. So damned helpful. It took about six passes before she finally felt her way to the arrow, groping every damned tree along the way.

  When she turned off the path and into the woods for real, she froze. There were sounds. Things were moving. Wolves? Bears?

  Howe’s henchmen?

  She ducked behind a tree and listened. And listened.

  Nothing. Just the leaves rustling, and a few crickets. And her vivid imagination.

  She got up and continued. She found the tree that was down. Up close, she noticed that it hadn’t fallen from natural causes. It was clear someone had deliberately chopped it down with an ax and left it lying there.