Deception Lake Read online

  “Blue Ridge Infantry. Self-styled patriotic militia, but that’s a crock.” She grimaced. “They play at their little war games, but they really do it for the money. Cortland figured out how to bring together the interests of three pretty disparate groups of people. There are the anarchists, including hacktivists like the guys whose plot I uncovered. There are the pot growers and meth mechanics who run the drug trade here in these mountains. And there’s the Blue Ridge Infantry, who sold their soul to Cortland’s organization as the muscle.”

  “That’s a pretty complex organization to run.”

  “From what I’ve learned about Cortland since his death, he was strong-willed and charismatic,” she continued around bites of her sandwich. “People liked him. Listened to what he had to say. He was also very, very ruthless—while he could be generous with those who did his bidding and acted with complete loyalty, he was swift to punish those who strayed. And his punishments were brutal. People feared his wrath. It gave him a great deal of power.”

  Her next bite of the turkey sandwich left a smear of mustard in the corner of her mouth. Jack couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and wiping it away with the pad of his thumb.

  The air between them superheated in the span of a heartbeat.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, pulling his hand away.

  Except he wasn’t. He wasn’t sorry at all, especially when she reached across the space between them and curled her fingers in the front of his shirt, tugging him back to her.

  “Where you goin’, cowboy?” she asked in a soft Texas twang that sent shivers up and down his spine.

  “You know what a bad idea this is, right?” He didn’t hear much regret in his own voice, but he thought someone needed to say the words.

  “See, that’s the thing.” Her words were little more than a soft, hot breath against the edge of his jaw. “Bad ideas are my catnip.”

  He flattened his hand against her spine, tugging her body even closer. “And how’s that worked out for you so far?”

  “Hope springs eternal.” She punctuated the whisper with a fiery kiss that was pure temptation.

  For a breathless eternity, everything around them seemed to disappear into a vortex of sweet, hot pleasure, nothing existing beyond the feel of her lips against his, the brush of her tongue demanding entry, the thud of her pulse beneath his thumb when he closed his hand around her neck to pull her even closer.

  A faint dinging noise filtered through the haze of desire, and suddenly she pulled away from him, robbing him of her heat and her touch. He opened his eyes and found her gazing at the computer screen. A small blue dialogue box had popped up on the laptop’s screen.

  There were six words written there: raindrops keep falling on my head.

  Jack looked from the screen to Mallory. Her eyes were bright with excitement, her kiss-stung lips curving at the corners.

  “What does that mean?” he asked.

  Her only answer was to put her fingers to the keyboard and type in a single word: Helsinki.

  “Helsinki?” he asked. “What the hell does all that mean?”

  She turned those bright eyes on him, and he felt something crack open somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. “It means we found him,” she answered, her smile spreading as surely as the heat flooding through him as he looked into her vibrant eyes. “We’ve found Endrex.”

  “And that’s good?” he asked, not feeling quite as exuberant. After all, they still didn’t know what color hat her hacker friend was wearing these days, did they?

  “Better than not finding him, right?” But even as she turned back to the computer, her smile began to fade.

  “It could be a trap.”

  The smile disappeared altogether. “I know. But I’m sick of this limbo. I’m sick of having to pick up stakes and run all the time.”

  “Four years ago, you didn’t know anything about Endrex’s involvement in this domestic terror attack, did you?” he asked, wondering why the question hadn’t dawned on him before. “You told me you stumbled onto the potential Endrex connection two years ago. After you were already here in Tennessee, right?”

  She nodded slowly, not looking at him.

  “But Mara was murdered four years ago. And you think the killers mistook her for you.”

  Her head swiveled toward him, her gaze not quite lifting to meet his. “Right.”

  “Her death had nothing to do with what we’re looking into now, did it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But—”

  Those blue eyes snapped up, wide and scared, to meet his gaze. “I know it wasn’t Endrex who killed her. I’m pretty sure it was Carlos.”

  “The gunrunner?”

  She nodded. “Maybe not Carlos himself, but someone connected to him. When I turned witness against him, he swore he’d make me pay. So I went underground for a long time. And then—”

  “And then?” he prodded when she fell silent, worrying her lower lip between her teeth.

  “And then Mara called me. She said she needed to hear my voice, and I could tell by the sound of hers she was upset.”

  “That would have been around the time...” He couldn’t finish the thought.

  She did it for him. “It was right after you left Amarillo.”

  Guilt twisted his gut. “I thought you said I didn’t break her heart.”

  “You didn’t. She broke her own.”

  He pushed his hand through his hair, not understanding. “What does that even mean?”

  A soft ding from the computer drew their attention to the screen before Mallory could speak. A new message had popped up in the dialogue box. You’re in danger.

  Mallory’s slightly profane confirmation was almost enough to coax a smile from Jack’s lips. But not quite.

  “Helpful fellow, ain’t he?” he asked aloud. “Because we couldn’t figure it out all by ourselves once the bullets started flying.”

  Another message appeared. Campesinos and rednecks—not that different.

  “Campesinos?”

  “It’s a Spanish word for farmers or farm workers—”

  “Hablo español, chica,” he drawled. “Rode bulls across the Southwest for years. I know what the word means. But what’s the message mean?”

  “Campesinos were the lifeblood of FARC.”

  “The Columbian rebels your boyfriend was arming?”

  She shot him a hard look. “My ex-boyfriend. Who was just using me and nearly made me the star of some cautionary movie of the week about the perils of committing crimes in foreign countries with really bad prison systems. And yes, that FARC.”

  “Surely Endrex isn’t suggesting FARC has set up camp here in Tennessee.” Although it wouldn’t be the first time a band of South American terrorists had ended up in the Smoky Mountains, would it? Just a few months ago, Riley and Hannah had been up to their eyeballs in terrorists from the little South American republic of Sanselmo. “Is he?”

  “Not FARC.” Her sober tone sent a little chill up his spine. “I think he’s talking about Carlos. Or someone he sent.”

  “They’ve found you.”

  The dialogue box disappeared suddenly. Mallory released a soft growl of frustration.

  “What does that mean?” Jack asked.

  “He’s closed the connection.”

  “Can you get it back?”

  A few rapid keystrokes later, she shook her head. “The link is dead now. He’s pulled up stakes.”

  Jack had no idea what that meant in terms of cyberspace, but the real-world equivalent gave him the big picture. “So he throws out a cryptic warning and disappears. Again.”

  She nodded slowly. “But maybe it’s not so cryptic.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “A few years ago, there were signs that some of the redneck Mafia running drugs in these hills were trying to connect up with some gunrunners from South America.”

  “What kind of signs? And how do you even know this?”

  “Q
uinn told me about it. Apparently some guy undercover for the FBI infiltrated a family of methamphetamine dealers in northeast Alabama and discovered those meth dealers were in contact with some Peruvian gunrunner. And believe me, if they’re looking at that sort of expansion in Alabama, they’re looking at it here in the Smokies, too.”

  Jack’s brain was on overload. He was tired, he’d slept very little in the past couple of days and he’d eaten about a quarter of his normal daily consumption in the past forty-eight hours. How the hell was he supposed to unravel the Byzantine workings of a hillbilly crime conspiracy when his brain was screaming for three things—food, sleep and sex—and not necessarily in that order?

  Well, food he could handle. His steak sandwich was still sitting, only half-eaten, on a plate in front of him. He grabbed it and downed it in a few bites, ignoring Mallory’s puzzled look.

  “Finish your sandwich,” he said after he swallowed the last bite of his own and washed it down with the cooling coffee. “We can’t do anything much until your buddy contacts you again, even if you’re right about this gunrunning conspiracy. And neither one of us has had much food or sleep in the past two days.”

  Or sex, his bleary brain added silently.

  Still frowning slightly, Mallory reached for her sandwich.

  And another dialogue box popped up in the middle of the computer screen. It was two sets of five-digit numbers.

  Jack’s head started to pound. “Zip codes?”

  “No, just ordinary code,” she answered, a smile in her voice.

  A second later, a set of six numbers, separated into twos by dashes, appeared just below the first set of numbers. Finally four more numbers, grouped into twos and separated by a colon, appeared on a third line.

  “More code?” he asked, closing his eyes and pressing the heel of his hand to his aching forehead.

  Her fingers flying on the keyboard were the only answer she gave. He leaned his head against the padded back of the booth, too drained for curiosity to tempt him back into the hunt. A moment later, she murmured, “He wants to meet.”

  He opened his eyes. “Where?”

  She tapped the set of numbers on the screen. “Lilac Point, tomorrow morning at ten.”

  “That’s what those numbers say?”

  She nodded.

  “How do you know his code?”

  “I cracked it a long time ago. It’s one of my hobbies, remember. Breaking codes. I told you, I have a whole searchable database full of codes I’ve broken.” Her eyes slanted up to meet his, the look on her face somewhere between defiant and apprehensive.

  “You’re so cute when you nerd out,” he said, smiling.

  She grinned at him. “Thank you.”

  His smile faded. “So, where’s this Lilac Point where he wants to meet you tomorrow?”

  She darted another quick look at him. “It’s on Deception Lake. About three miles north of the cabin I was renting.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that. What if it’s a setup?”

  “What if it’s not? What if Endrex has information that could stop this terrorist attack from happening?”

  He didn’t have a good answer, but he sure as hell didn’t want to encourage her to take any more chances with her life. So he remained silent.

  She touched his hand where it lay on the table in front of him, her slim fingers warm against his. “I think we have to risk it, Jack.”

  He blew out a long breath. “Okay. But we need to find somewhere to stay tonight. We need sleep.”

  And sex, his body reminded him. He shoved the inconvenient craving to the back of his mind, where it lurked impatiently.

  “I saw a motel on the way in that looked seedy enough for our needs.”

  Needs that include sex.

  He rubbed his hand fiercely against his forehead. “Right.”

  “Maybe we’ll be able to get two rooms this time.”

  He overruled his body’s protest. “Good idea.”

  She finished the last bite of her sandwich, downed the rest of her coffee and grabbed the jacket she’d folded on the seat beside her. As she shrugged it on, he dug in his wallet for a tip. His cash was starting to run low, he saw with unease. There was probably enough for another night or two in a cheap motel, but after that—

  “You do know why getting two rooms is a good idea, don’t you, Jack?” Mallory leaned close to him, her voice like velvet.

  He stared at her, unable to find his voice over the feral desire roaring through his brain.

  “It’s a good idea,” she whispered, “because we need sleep. Not sex.”

  “Right.”

  She touched his jaw, letting her hand slide slowly down his neck and over his collarbone before her fingertips traced a deliberate path over his breastbone and down to the waistband of his jeans. She hooked her finger in the waistband, just over the button closure, and gave a light tug. “For tonight anyway.”

  She was already out the diner door, leaving the bell over the entrance jangling, before he caught his breath again.

  * * *

  THE MARYVILLE ARMS MOTEL was better on the inside than its faded, shabby exterior had suggested, Mallory discovered when she unlocked the room door and carried her bags inside. The room was small but smelled clean and looked even cleaner, the rugs spotless and recently shampooed. The bedspread was crisply ironed and smelled freshly laundered, as did the sheets beneath. There was even a complementary mint on both bed pillows.

  What there wasn’t, sadly, was a big, strapping, gloriously naked cowboy in her bed.

  She sat on the edge of the bed and fell back, bouncing gently a couple of times before the springy mattress went still. Staring up, she saw the ceiling was spotless white, without a single cobweb in any of the room’s four corners.

  Finally a cheap motel room she wouldn’t mind getting naked in, and she was all alone.

  “Sleep, MJ. Not sex.” She muttered the words aloud to the ceiling.

  The ceiling didn’t respond. And sleep didn’t seem likely to happen any time soon in her keyed-up state.

  Pushing herself up to a sitting position again, she unzipped her backpack and pulled out her laptop. Settling cross-legged on the bed, she turned on the computer and reached into the backpack again, tugging on the hidden compartment where she’d hidden the three flash drives she’d filled with five months’ worth of case notes.

  She inserted the first flash drive into the USB port and had started to pull up the contents window when a message popped up on her screen.

  Don’t trust Jack Drummond.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Morning was still a rosy promise east of the Smoky Mountains when Jack answered the knock on his motel room door and found Mallory standing outside, already dressed in brown jeans and a camouflage jacket over an olive-green sweater. Her feet were clad in sturdy hiking boots and her auburn hair was pulled back from her makeup-free face in a neat, simple ponytail. She had her backpack slung over her shoulders, and her jaw was rigid with gritty determination.

  Her gaze dipped to take in the sight of his bare feet, then rose to the shirt hanging open where he’d shrugged it on before answering the door. She pasted on a smile that was just short of convincing. “Rise and shine, cowboy.”

  Extending his arms to clutch the door frame on either side, Jack sighed. “It’s five-thirty, MJ. The point of trying to get some sleep last night was to, you know, get some sleep.”

  She didn’t wait for him to invite her in, ducking under his arm. “I want to get there well ahead of Endrex.”

  “In case there’s an ambush planned?”

  “Exactly.”

  He closed the door, shutting out the faint light of daybreak and plunging the room into darkness. A second later, Mallory turned on the light by his unmade bed and settled on the edge, looking tense but implacable. Her gaze fixed on the wall across from her, as if she didn’t want to meet his gaze. A queasy sensation wriggled in the pit of his stomach.

  “Did you get any sl
eep?” he asked. She didn’t look as if she had.

  “I got enough.”

  “You were on your computer all night, weren’t you?”

  Her gaze didn’t flicker, but he saw the slightest twitch in the corner of her left eye. “No.”

  Liar, he thought.

  “I need your truck keys to put my duffel in there.” She looked up at him then, her expression neutral. But secrets lurked behind those cobalt-blue eyes, shifty enough to make the wriggles in his stomach turn into knots.

  “I’ll grab it for you before we go,” he said, suddenly convinced the last thing he needed to do was hand over a means of transportation to a woman who’d already shown signs of wanting to run. “Why don’t you go get your other things while I finish getting dressed?”

  “I don’t mind putting it out in the car. I could take your stuff, too—”

  Now he knew she was up to something. “MJ, why do you want my truck keys so badly?”

  “What kind of question is that?” No flinch, no shift in expression. Nothing but that tiny twitch in the corner of her left eye.

  “Being paranoid, I guess.” But he still didn’t hand her the keys. “You still have that Smith & Wesson you pointed at me the first day at your cabin?”

  She shot him a look that suggested he’d just asked the stupidest question in the history of time.

  “Good.” He pulled his own Colt M1911 from his bag and strapped the pancake holster to the waistband of his jeans. “Then we’ll both be armed.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she lifted her gaze to meet his. “You’re allowed to conceal carry in Tennessee?”

  “Yeah. They honor my Wyoming license. Is that a problem?”

  “Of course not.” She sounded utterly sincere.

  But he didn’t believe her.

  “Mallory, are you afraid of me?”

  She looked surprised by the question. A little too surprised. “No. Why would I be?”

  “That was my next question.”

  “I’m not afraid of you.” Grabbing her backpack, she rose from the edge of his bed and nodded at his still-unbuttoned shirt. “Finish dressing. I’ll go get my duffel bag and wait for you at the truck.”

  For someone unafraid of him, she was all of a sudden in one hell of a rush to get out of his motel room.