 
### THE RECORD KEEPER

### Book 4 in the George 'MAC' McClain Series

### WILL DECKER

Copyright 2010 by WILL DECKER

Smashwords Edition

WILL DECKER has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased, or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law, or in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

THE RECORD KEEPER is a work of fiction. The resemblance of any characters to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Names, characters, places, brands, media, situations, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

This eBook may not be re-sold or given away except with written permission from the author or as otherwise permitted through special promotions and programs.

A special thank you to everyone that has made this story possible. My beta reader, my proof reader, and to you the readers. I sincerely hope you enjoy this work of fiction.

Will

More Exciting Stories by Will Decker:

DRIVEN

UNREQUITED LOVE

FIRE BABY

HYBRID KILLERS

The 'HEÄLF' Collection:

MORTALITY REVISITED

CLONE WARS

DAY OF NIGHT

REGENERATIONS

HORSPAW

The 'Mac" Collection:

THE WITNESS

TOXIC RAIN

BETRAYAL

RECORD KEEPER

DEATH IN THE DUNES

WIT-SEC FAIL

SIMPLY PERFECT BINDING 2ND Ed.

If you enjoyed this book, please take a moment to leave a review. Authors starve or eat based on reviews. Thanking you from the pit of my stomach, WILL DECKER

Table of Contents:

Somewhere in Oregon

Epilogue

More by Will Decker

### Somewhere in Central Oregon

"We're just wasting our time," I grumble sourly, watching the red and white bobbin moving slowly along on the current. "There ain't any fish left in this lake."

"We could just take a swim since the fish aren't biting anyway," she seductively purrs, her tongue wiping sensually around the lip of the open beer bottle as she studies me from beneath the broad brim of her woven sunhat.

Looking back into her shades as if able to see through to her baby blues, I remark as if I haven't heard her suggestion, "Isn't that beer getting kind of warm? You've been nursing it all afternoon."

"Not as warm as I feel when I look at you," she says with a smirk, lowering the bottle till it's sitting between her bare thighs, the white string bikini leaving little to the imagination while accenting her darkly tanned skin and firm flesh. She could easily pass for a woman half her age.

Setting my rod down against the gunwale of the little wooden rowboat, I stand up with my bare feet submerged in at least two inches of clear lake water that has seeped in between the rotting planks. Stretching, I pull my T-shirt over my head and drop it on the wooden bench that hasn't shown my ass an ounce of mercy for the past three hours.

Unconsciously, she licks her lips in anticipation while studying my well-muscled and equally tanned bare chest and broad shoulders with open approval and desire.

Without warning, she flips the beer she is holding outward. With a splash, it lands twenty-feet or so from the boat. Pulling herself into an upright sitting position on the wooden plank of a seat, she smiles and carefully removes her sunhat.

"What'd you do that for?" I quickly blurt, slightly irritated that she would so callously litter.

Rising suddenly, her actions almost upsetting the aging little craft, she excitedly cries out, "Whoever finds it is the winner. Loser buys lunch!"

Stepping recklessly up onto the wooden bench of a seat, she plants her right foot on the gunwale and propels herself outward. The force of her thrust against the little boat sends it rocking dangerously away from her. Before I can catch my balance, I'm over the edge and into the water, my entry into the water an awkward flop compared to her graceful dive.

The water is clear except for a small amount of algae. Soon, with the long warm days of summer, the algae will multiply and bloom into a thick green soup unsuited to swimming. But for now, it is warm and wonderful, scintillating against the skin.

With powerful strokes, I pull myself in the general direction of the bottle and also toward Eddy. It isn't necessary for me to surface before swimming swiftly after her. Within seconds, I can make out the bright white of her bikini bottom just a few yards ahead of me. She is pulling with her arms and kicking with her feet as she fights buoyancy to reach the bottom, almost twenty-five feet beneath the surface.

Reaching out, I grab her right foot and pull her back towards the surface. Instinctively, she kicks out at me with her other foot. But it's already too late as I am already abreast of her and swiftly moving past.

The bottom is in sight, but the bottle is nowhere to be seen in the soft layer of chocolate brown silt.

Applying the powerful strength in my arms and upper body, I pull savagely against the liquid barrier until I can push my hands into the soft goo of the bottom. Yet, before I have a chance to sift through the mucky silt, I feel Eddy's hands on my shoulders and then her body sliding past mine as she pulls and pushes against me.

Not ready to surrender so easily, I roll onto my side while reaching around to grab her before she can put any distance between us. My hand slips off her left shoulder and snags in the string top of her bikini. Before I can react and pull my hand clear, the light strap snaps and the skimpy top drifts away.

Mistaking my actions for something less innocent, she spins around in slow motion with her hands outstretched and reaches for the top as her full breasts teasingly taunt me. With the added buoyancy of the water, they are even more inviting than I remembered.

She is about to converge on her wayward top when she suddenly changes direction and dives downward at the bottom. To my chagrin and delight, she reaches into the murky silt and comes up with the prize.

Smiling at me through the rays of sunshine from above, her top all but forgotten for the moment, she pushes off from the bottom with her feet and kicks toward the surface.

Like an idiot, I remain unmoving for another moment while looking off in the direction of her lazily floating top. Glancing upward, I see her break the surface and then turn toward the boat.

With a growing awareness of a need for oxygen, I swiftly chase after her top, coming upon it as it drifts lazily toward the surface. Grasping it, I tuck it into the waist band of my jeans before breaking through the surface and gasping loudly for air.

After making certain that no part of her top is visible beneath my waistband, I turn toward the little wooden rowboat and slowly swim toward. Eddy, I'm glad to note, is holding onto the side while she waits for me. Fortunately it's a large lake and we are relatively far from any other boats; I don't relish the thought of Eddy showing off her pride to the world.

Winning the bet is much more important to her than the loss of her bikini top and she is smiling victoriously as I slowly and defeatedly swim towards her.

"You never had a chance," she says excitedly, purposely holding herself low in the water to conceal her naked breasts.

"You cheated," I argue, reaching up to the gunwale next to her. "You were in the water before I knew it was a race."

"You're just getting slow in your old age," she rebukes.

"Not too slow to catch you now," I smirk, reaching my free arm around her waist and pulling her against me before she can slip away.

Careful not to break it in the boat, she reaches over the side and deposits the bottle on the wooden floor with a dull thunk. "Ah," she says triumphantly. "The sound of victory."

Slipping my other hand loose from the gunnel, I slide it down into the water and around her waist while searching for the side of her neck with my hungry mouth.

To my surprise, she turns her head away, her wet, curly blonde hair tickling my nose. "Wasn't it you that was acting all interested in me just a few minutes ago?" I ask, confused by her sudden change in mood.

"Oh, Mac," she starts, her voice apologetic. "It must have been the water." She pauses a moment before adding, "I'm just not in the mood any longer."

"You'll change your mind when you see where I'm taking you for dinner," I encouragingly tell her, hiding my disappointment while reaching into my pants and producing the bikini top. "Here you go, I can't take you anywhere looking the way you do."

"Hey, what do you mean by that remark?" she fires back, feigning indignation.

"Just that I would have to fight the entire world off to protect your chastity, is all," I flirtingly reply.

"Hold me up a minute, would you please?" she asks, letting go of the boat so she can use both hands to inspect the bikini top.

Keeping her afloat with my right hand placed gently beneath her left arm, I use my left hand to secure us to the little boat. When she continues working with the top for almost a minute, I finally ask, "What seems to be the problem?"

"It tore loose right at the seam and there isn't enough material to tie it together," she replies, frustrated that she isn't able to make it work. And then, having given up on it, she angrily tosses it into the bottom of the boat.

Reaching up and over the side, I locate my T-shirt on the seat and grab it, offering it to her. "Here, wear this, you obviously have more need of it than I do."

With a simple thank you, she takes the proffered shirt and pulls it over her head. Despite being way too large, the wet fabric clings to her wet skin and further highlights her large pink nipples. To my amazement, the wet shirt only makes me desire her more, not less, and I have a hard time taking my eyes off her.

"Put your eyes back in your head," she says disgustedly, pulling herself up and climbing back into the boat with a little assistance from me in the way of a push on her well-shaped derriere.

Landing on the wooden plank seat, she looks back disapprovingly at me and says, "That wasn't necessary."

"Sorry," I mumble humbly, momentarily chastised by her condescending demeanor as I climb into the boat unassisted while she leans away to keep the boat balanced.

Eddy has never showed me this side of her before and I'm sure what to make of it. Something is clearly bothering her, and whatever it is, it came on her very sudden like. Maybe later, when she's dry and comfortable and has a little food in her tummy, she'll be more open to explaining her behavior. Until then, however, I'll just give her some space and try not to upset her anymore than she already is.

### **1**

The ride back to the dock in the little rowboat goes smoothly enough. Neither of us speaks more than ten words all told, and then they are all with regard to the poor fishing or the wonderful weather.

As we pull up to the dock, the kid that I'd rented the boat from comes running out of the bait shop. He appears to be all of 12 years old wearing a dirty t-shirt and cutoff jeans with a pair of worn out sneakers that were once white in an earlier life and no socks. For a white kid, his skin is tanned almost black with sun streaks in dark chestnut hair. He glances only briefly at Eddy before taking the lead rope and tying it off to the dock. Before he can weasel any more money out of me, I advise him of the increasing amount of water his boat is taking on. A bit shamefaced at first, he still accepts my money without an offer of refund or discount, which I wasn't really expecting.

The rent comes to thirty-two dollars with the fishing tackle and bait. I give him two twenties and watch as he smiles briefly before running up the dock and disappearing into the bait shop. I'm not foolish enough to expect him to return with my change. Just as I'm well aware of the fact that he knew the boat was leaking badly before he rented it out to us. But so long as it returns each day and he gets his rental money, he has no intentions of doing anything about it.

The motel is less than a block from the docks and it takes us less than five minutes to reach our room. After freshening up and putting on some clean clothes appropriate to going out to eat; basically clean jeans and a fresh T-shirt, we casually stroll through the historic part of town, checking out the antiquity shops and novelty stores. Unlike a lot of coastal towns, the video arcade industry hasn't found this little hamlet yet, and for that reason alone, it's still a nice stroll.

We have almost reached the far end of town and the sun is turning all shades of pinks and oranges in the western sky when we come upon the place that I have in mind. It's a surf and turf type restaurant leaning heavily on the surf motif, probably because of its proximity to the lake. "This place comes highly recommended," I comment while we wait just inside the doors to be seated.

The dining room is large, the far side lined with windows overlooking the lake, but dimly lit in an attempt at creating atmosphere. The construction reminds me of a Swiss Chalet the way the walls and ceiling are white planking accented by heavier, dark timber beams. The tables and chairs are also constructed of a dark heavy timber to match the beams.

Without asking us if we have a preference, the young girl smiles brightly and then leads us to a table for two on the far side of the spacious room. As we draw nearer, I am even more impressed with the magnificent view overlooking the lake. After pulling out Eddy's chair for her to sit, I take up mine opposite and facing her. Because the restaurant is built on tall peers, we are sitting up high above the water line, which accents the perception of the view, giving it an almost surreal appearance. If we hadn't just rowed a boat out there, one might believe we were looking at a painting.

The young hostesses smile is genuine as she advises us that the special tonight is Catfish, grilled lightly and seasoned with a hint of garlic and a twist of lemon. Before I can thank her for the splendid seating and inquire as to the occasion for her selection, she adds, "Your waitress will be with you shortly. Can I bring you something to drink while you wait?"

Eddy casts me a questioning look before speaking, "Excuse me."

"Yes?" the young girl spiritedly inquires, her face clearly exhibiting her eagerness to please as she turns toward Eddy whom is looking at me. "If you know what you'd like, I can take your order now and give it to the waitress."

"Yes, I do," Eddy replies. "But first I'd like to know why we are at one of the nicest tables in the establishment. Surely, you don't treat all your walk-in patronage this kindly."

"I'm sorry?" she replies, her face perplexed. "I'm afraid I don't understand. Is there a problem with this table? If you would prefer another table, I'd be glad to move you," she quickly and obligingly adds as she sweeps the room with a wave of her hand to indicate that we can have any of the empty tables that we wish.

The evening dinner crowd hasn't started arriving yet. But without a doubt, the place is going to get busy and there's a large sign at the hostess station clearly stating that walk-ins may be required to wait as reservations take priority.

Eddy's demeanor is not typical of her generally easy-going manner, and I am again finding myself wondering as to what is going on with her. Although I have to admit that I too was wondering why we were being treated to one of the nicest tables in the place, my curiosity wasn't enough to question it. And normally, Eddy would have simply accepted it in stride also. If anything, she might have mentioned it to me in private later, after the hostess departed, maybe saying something about our good fortune or mistaken identity and then laughing it off as if we had gotten away with something.

Instead, her voice sounding a bit hostile, Eddy dismisses the offer. "I'm not complaining about the table, Miss. It's more than adequate. I was just wondering if there is a special reason that you placed us here and not somewhere off to the side and out of the way, if you get my drift."

Eddy's words and the manner in which she delivers them have a profound effect on the young girl as her face falls and she appears on the verge of tears. "I'm very sorry, Mam, I was just doing what I thought was expected of me."

A bright crimson shade rises up from beneath her collar and flushes her cheeks as she nervously chokes on her next words; the young hostess suddenly appears as a small trapped animal about to be devoured by a lioness. My heart goes out to her as she is unable to continue, her mind at a loss for words and her throat tight with anxiety.

Before the situation can deteriorate further, I jump in to rescue her with a simple, straightforward question that shouldn't require any degree of thought, "Miss, who asked you to seat us here and when was the reservation made?"

No one could have known we were coming here. We didn't even know ourselves until we actually arrived that this was indeed where we were going to eat.

The young hostess closes her eyes tightly and takes a deep breath, exaggeratedly swallowing to clear her throat before speaking while her arms are crossed in front of her breasts in a typically defensive pose.

When she again opens her eyes, I notice the swelling moisture of tears ringing them. "It's okay, Miss," Eddy starts, her tone no longer harsh, but more conciliatory. "It wasn't my intention to upset you. It's just that, well, we were wondering why you were giving us such special treatment. This is obviously among the finest restaurants in town, and I'm certain that your customers generally make reservations just to get a table in here, even in the off season. So I have to ask, what makes us special?"

"But," she starts, visibly searching for the right words to continue. "You do have reservations. Or, at least they are reservations of a sort."

"Please, do explain, Miss," I encourage her, my curiosity now piqued.

Before she starts, she takes another deep breath and ungraciously clears her throat. "I received a call around two this afternoon, right after I arrived for work and opened the phone line for incoming reservations for the evening. A gentleman called, stating that he wanted the best table in the house, preferably with a view." She pauses for a moment to take another breath before continuing. "When I ask his name, he said that I should just keep an eye out for a good looking couple in denim jeans and sneakers. The man will have on a sky blue T-shirt and the woman a plaid blue and white blouse."

"Good looking couple," I softly reiterate for Eddy's sake, and then fall conspicuously silent when she chastises me with one of her looks.

Nervous, oblivious of the exchange that just took place between Eddy and I, our young hostess looks out at the calming tranquility of the lake as a small motor boat cruises by with a man and his young son aboard. They are just returning from a long day of fishing and racing against the looming darkness.

Continuing of her own accord, she says, "I informed him that we were going to be filled by seven-thirty to which he quickly explained that money was of no object, just so long as I made it happen." She pauses for a moment before adding, "He sounded very forceful on the phone, almost threatening." She takes another deep breath before hesitantly adding, "I should have told my boss immediately."

"Why didn't you?" I ask while carefully studying her face for a reaction.

"The money," she replies with a tinge of guilt. "I'm working my way through school and I really need the money."

"Would you recognize his voice again if you heard it?" I asked, and then had another thought. "It wasn't my voice, was it?"

"Oh no!" she hurriedly blurts. And then, as if to explain herself, she smiles at me and says, "You have a soft, gentle voice; what my mother would call a caring voice. His was harsh, uncaring, almost on the verge of being mean." She blushes slightly before continuing, "I suspected immediately that the reservation wasn't for him. And then, when you came in, I knew immediately my suspicions were correct."

"I'll take that as a compliment," I smile, giving Eddy a _told-you-so_ look. It also doesn't escape Eddy's notice that the hostess referred to me in the singular. "So, if he didn't give you his name, how did he pay, or didn't he? And was the reservation just for two, or should we be expecting a third party?"

I asked the latter question, even though I knew the answer before she replied simply because she placed us at a table for two.

"Just for two," she quickly replies, her nervousness slowly dissipating. "He gave me a credit card number for payment. If there's a limit on it, I'm not aware of it. He covered your meals, drinks, and a more than generous tip for all the hired help. He made of point of making sure that even the busboy wasn't overlooked."

"It would seem to me, we have a very generous benefactor, Mac," Eddy calmly remarks, no traces of her hostility of just a moment before.

"Yeah, and someone that makes a point of assuring that no one is overlooked by his generosity, even the lowly table cleaner, can't be all bad," I add with an outward smile. Inwardly, my brain is feverishly running over everything that has happened since we arrived in town. Yet, no matter the smallest details, I keep coming up empty.

Before I can say anything more, Eddy pipes up. "Since drinks are on the house, bring us a bottle of your finest West Indies rum and a small decanter of molasses, if you would please."

"Yes, Mam," she says, and then turns hurriedly away, overtly relieved to be free of any further duty-bound obligation to us.

"What's going on, Mac?" Eddy whispers, looking suspiciously after the hostess as she disappears through double swinging batwing doors leading into the kitchen prep area. "We don't know anyone in this town."

"It would appear that we've got a mystery on our hands," I calmly remark, suddenly anxious for the rum that will be delivered in short order.

The look on Eddy's face suddenly changes and I realize immediately that she is still harboring suspicions of me setting this up.

"No, Eddy, I didn't have anything to do with this. I am in the dark the same as you. Gospel," I add, my voice dripping with sincerity.

Although the situation is strange, it doesn't strike me as dangerous. No one from my past has the finesse or class to fix us up with a wonderful meal in a nice restaurant just to kill us after the fact. The type of thugs that I've dealt with would just put a bullet in the back of my head and dance on my corpse for good measure.

No, more than likely this is someone that wants to thank us for a past deed or is about to ask us for a good deed in the near future. Either way, I've a gut feeling it's going to become evident soon enough.

"Someone not only figured out that this is the restaurant we would be drawn to, but also how we would be dressed. How do you figure that one out, Mac?"

"The restaurant is a no-brainer. Unless we picked up some junk food on our stroll back to the hotel, which you have to admit isn't exactly our style, this is the only establishment that serves liquor within walking distance of the lake and the motel. But what gets me is, we hadn't even returned the rowboat by the time our benefactor was making reservations for us and yet, he knew what we would be wearing, right down to your blouse and my T-shirt?"

Reading my thoughts, Eddy finishes for me. "He had to be in our room to know what we'd brought along in the way of clothing, and based on the forecast temperature this evening, figured out what would be appropriate."

"Even I don't know myself that well," I grumble under my breath as the waiter heads across the room toward us with a tray holding two menus, two glasses, a miniature decanter of a thick dark liquid, and a fifth of West Indies rum.

Following close on his heels is another waiter carrying a tray with a covered loaf of freshly baked bread, a large patter of hand-churned butter and two glasses of ice water on one hand with a stack of dishes, silverware, and napkins on the other. Their stride is second nature as if they've done this their entire lives.

The first man, dressed identical to the second in black slacks, white shirt, and black tuxedo, leans over the table as he elegantly unloads the tray with his free hand.

After setting a glass and a menu before each of us, he politely asks if we would like him to serve the rum or if our preference is to do so ourselves.

"We'll be fine, thank you," I acknowledge, my impatience for them to be gone so I can indulge in the rum growing by the second.

He bows and steps aside to allow the second man access to the table. While the second man sets out the plates and silverware with a learned deftness and grace, I take note of other patrons as they arrive for the evening business. With regularity indicative of a prospering business, the hostess moves from her station to the tables, seats the arriving guests and then returning to her station to start the process all over again.

When the second waiter or maitre de finishes setting our places, he says, "I'll return when you're ready to order." Then he bows curtly, a bit overdone in my humble opinion, and follows the first waiter back to the kitchen area.

Noticing my studious attention to the new arrivals, Eddy asks, "Do you think our benefactor might be among the other guests this evening?"

"I think it's a very good possibility," I resignedly concur, turning back to face her. If our benefactor wishes to make his presence known, he will contact us. If not, we won't know him from any of the others that frequent this place.

The setting sun is casting soft hues of reds and oranges through the plate glass window. The effect is causing her skin to glow. "You look beautiful tonight, Eddy."

"Do you love me, Mac?"

The question comes out of nowhere and the light from the window dissipates as if on cue from some all-knowing being. Momentarily taken aback, I unromantically blurt, "Of course, I do."

"Even though I didn't give you what you obviously wanted out on the lake earlier?"

"I'd like to believe that our relationship is more than just sex, Eddy," I exasperatedly retort beneath my breath, purposely keeping my voice low so as not to draw attention to our table while trying desperately to figure out where this conversation is going. Already, there are people sitting on the tables to either side of ours.

"We haven't worked in more than three months, since moving in together," she continues, her voice equally subdued as she leans forward. "There has to be more to our relationship than fishing trips, rum, sex, county fairs, and going out to eat."

"Of course there's more to our relationship than just having a selfishly good time," I reply, clearly on the defensive in this conversation and having a hard time keeping my anger in check.

And then, it suddenly dawns on me like a load of bricks hitting me from 10 floors up. Eddy wants to take our relationship to the next level. Marriage, children, and a permanent commitment maybe. Or at the least, definitely something more than what we are currently sharing?

So the big question I have to answer is, am I ready for something more? Because if I'm truthful with myself, I have to admit that I'm rather enjoying our current relationship.

"I understand now why you have been acting differently lately," I say in a pacifying tone of voice, treading softly for fear of upsetting her by sounding condescending. "You need something more from me, don't you?"

"Yes, Mac," she softly replies, suddenly on the verge of tears. She is struggling with her thoughts and I can do nothing but wait silently for her to straighten them out and verbalize what she wants from me. Or more importantly, what she feels she needs from me.

Using the moment of silence, I pour us each a generous portion of rum before taking a second to add a couple of drops from the small decanter into each. From experimentation, Eddy and I both discovered that we found our rum even more enticing when doctored with a few drops of molasses. Since rum is distilled from molasses, adding a couple of drops back into it seems to return some of the fine flavor that is removed in the distilling process. Of course, we only indulge in this little extra treat when it is convenient.

Without giving it any thought, I slowly stir my drink with the tip of my right pinky while Eddy's gaze drops down as if deeply studying hers, unable to look me in the eye.

"I'm afraid, Mac," she finally whispers, her voice a bit unsteady with emotion.

"There is nothing to be afraid of, Eddy," I quickly reassure her. "You know I love you with all my heart. That's not going to change. But you have to talk to me. I'm not psychic. You have to tell me what's going on," I gently plead.

"You know how I feel about you Mac. And I believe that I know how you feel about me," she whispers emotionally, taking a breath before she can continue. "And yet, it scares the Hell out of me to tell you this." She pauses for a moment, taking a swallow of her drink before subconsciously swiping her right hand across her forehead as if wiping away sweat, though the restaurant is neither hot nor cold.

"Relax, Eddy, it's not that bad," I say, trying to assuage her fears and concerns. My heart reaches out to her, the stress she currently finds herself under having an acute effect on me also.

Forcing a smile, she raises her eyes to mine, and says, "One of the things that first drew me to you was your independent nature. You were like a pillar of strength in a field of peasants." She chuckles softly at the recollection of her memory. "It was impossible for me to resist you. You were unlike any other man I'd ever met. Even though you are extremely independent, you have a soft side, an unprotected side that allowed me in. You opened your heart to me and for that I am forever grateful. I've seen you do so for others, too. But you only allow them in so far, and while I have come further than anyone else, I can't help but wonder and fear if I have come as far as I can with you."

"You can't be sure of that," I protest without any real conviction.

"You don't want it to be true anymore than I do, Mac. But we both know it is so. It's been three months, Mac; I think you would have proposed by now if you were capable." She pauses to take another swallow of her drink, tiny drops of molasses having settled out in the bottom like a lava lamp, going unnoticed.

With a sense of rising fear and panic, I lamely ask, "What if I proposed to you now? Would you have me as your husband, your eternal spouse?"

"Mac, be serious," she laughs, neither realizing my mounting anxiety nor taking me serious.

As my anxiety passes and the calming effects of the rum settle in, my thoughts turn more rational. "So where do we go from here?" I calmly ask of her while forming my own plans in the back of my mind. She has come to mean too much to me to let her go without a fight. She may not take me serious now, but she will eventually when she notices that I don't give up on us.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a lone man entering through the front doors. He pauses briefly at the hostess station, his eyes furtively scanning the entire room before coming to rest on a party of five near the kitchen. He exchanges a minimum of words with the hostess before heading toward the table unescorted.

"What did you see?" Eddy asks, following my eyes across the room.

"Oh, nothing," I reply, turning back to face her.

Seeing the man take up a seat with the others, she interprets my thoughts and says, "Yeah, I saw him too. False alarm, though. Huh?"

"Yeah," I hesitantly concur, my disappointment evident. "So, where do we go from here?" I reiterate.

"We've been playing domesticated man and woman for almost three months," Eddy starts, her voice dripping with her own version of disappointment and boredom. "We haven't done anything constructive in all that time except have sex, drink rum, and mess up hotel rooms." She hesitates a moment before continuing. After taking a deep breath and summoning up the necessary courage to continue, she says, "There has to be more to it than just this."

"Are you trying to tell me that I'm boring you then? Is that what this is all about?" I fire back, my feelings bruised and my anger briefly flaring.

"I didn't say that, Mac!" she hisses just as angrily beneath her breath. And then, speaking more for her benefit than mine, she says, "I knew this wasn't going to go well. I never should have started it."

"I'm sorry, Eddy, I didn't mean to be short with you. I apologize. Please, do go on," I add before throwing back my drink and reaching for the bottle.

As she openly glances around to see if we are drawing unwanted attention to our table, I pour myself another, noticing that she hasn't touched hers since taking her original sip. Surely she doesn't plan to use my drinking against me.

Sensing that she is about to say something, I quickly cut her off, "Eddy, it's not the words you spoke so much as the way you spoke them. If hanging around with me is too blasé for you, maybe I should go back to Sammy's. I'm sure my room over the bar is still available."

"Mac, knock it off!" she says, this time drawing attention from the tables nearest to us as a few heads look disapprovingly in our general direction.

For a long moment, we sit in silence, each studying the other. There is no doubt that neither of us is sure we really want to head down this road when a well-dressed man in his mid to late sixties enters the restaurant. He is sporting a full head of hair and perfectly groomed goatee. In addition, his suit is custom tailored and in good nick. Here's a man of money and influence.

Eddy, following my glance, is about to comment when a second man enters. This one is much younger, possibly in his early to mid-thirties with a muscular build and handsome features. He's dressed in faded jeans and a T-shirt, both items of clothing appearing to have recently been laundered, yet slightly thread bare from use. He's holding a key fob in his right hand with a car key dangling from it.

The older gentleman is standing before the hostess station as she hurries back from having just seated another couple. The place is almost full as the sound of voices have slowly grown to a low rumble. The younger man stands behind and slightly to the side of the older gentleman. There is no doubt that they are together, but not as friends or associates.

"He has an armed driver or body guard," Eddy whispers, her eyes furtively studying the two men.

"And that bulge in the front of the younger man's pants isn't all manhood," I add with a smirk.

A lesser experienced eye wouldn't have noticed the concealed weapon. However, when you make your living protecting others, you notice things that others overlook. If you don't, you don't survive long in this business.

"Who do you think he is?" Eddy whispers without taking her eyes from him.

"I think we're about to find out," I reply with an audible sigh of relief, as the hostess turns in our direction and starts toward us.

She barely takes two steps when the older man reaches out and touches her shoulder to garner her attention. Stopping, she turns to the side so he can speak into her ear. Only a few words are spoken before she glances back in our direction. She is clearly torn by indecision about what to do next and then slowly returns to her station, leaving the elderly man and his body guard to continue on their own toward us.

Before they reach us, Eddy says just loud enough for me to hear, "This conversation isn't over, Mac."

"I know," I whisper beneath my breath as I slowly rise to meet our guests while Eddy remains seated.

If there is going to be trouble, I don't want to be caught at a disadvantage. To this point, there isn't anything in either of their demeanors to indicate trouble, yet one can never be too prepared.

### **2**

"Good evening, Mr. McClain," the elder of the two says as they draw nearer. "And to you too, Miss Lotto," he graciously adds, nodding his head and smiling in her direction before turning back to face me.

It doesn't escape my attention that he doesn't offer his hand and I can respect that. Instead, he keeps them held loosely together in front of his waist indicating neutrality. His body language indicates neither an openness nor a defensiveness.

His shadow takes up a stance approximately five-feet behind and to the side of his boss, his hands also folded together in front of his waist, his eyes having moved from me to furtively scanning the room. If I were to venture a guess, I would peg him as ex-U.S. Marshal's Service simply because old habits die hard. But does that make his employer ex-government also or does he just recruit from the federal government?

"You seem to have us at a disadvantage, Mr....," I start, expecting him to finish with his name. Protocol doesn't require me to acknowledge his employ, nor does the elderly man expect me to.

"It's not important," he finishes. "What is important is that you enjoy your meal here tonight, because starting tomorrow, there is something I need you to do for me."

"No beating around the bush, huh?" I lightly quip; his expression doesn't change, not even as much as a batted eye.

Continuing as if he hadn't heard me, his tone remaining flat and onerous, he says, "You will be adequately compensated." He glances quickly in Eddy's direction and says, "Both of you." Before I can say anything, he adds, "I've also taken the liberty of squaring away your room at the motel."

"That's very kind of you, but what if we're busy?" I impishly inquire, purposely trying to evoke an emotional response from the man so I can gauge him better.

Acknowledging me this time, he tiresomely states, "You haven't worked in more than three months and you have no prospects lined up."

His voice carries no hint of sarcasm or derision. He is simply stating facts, and yet his words have a way of stinging.

Humbled, I start to say, "Well, now that you put it like that..."

But Eddy quickly cuts me off. "What do you need from us? It appears to me that you already have resources at your disposal," she adds, nodding toward his body guard.

This time his body language speaks volumes if you know what you're looking for. The gentleman part of him turns toward Eddy when she speaks, but then the business man in him just as quickly dismisses her simply because she is female, and he turns back to face me. Beneath that finely tailored suit and good manners is a male chauvinist, and there is no doubt in my mind that Eddy picked up on it even before I did.

"Like the lady said," I say with determination, suddenly disliking the man despite his generosity. "What do you need from us?"

### **3**

The man is not an idiot, and he picks up on the sudden change of tone in my voice, quickly realizing that he made a crucial negotiating error. Turning back toward Eddy, he says with emotion stemming from regret or self-chastisement, "I am sorry, Miss Lotto. It was rude of me to dismiss you so out of hand. It won't happen again."

Throwing me a glance, Eddy acknowledges his apology and then repeats her question. "Like I said, what do you need us for when you apparently have private resources already available to you?"

This time, the man turns slightly to acknowledge his body guard before speaking. "Mark, my personal assistant, is invaluable to me. But he is not an expert in everything that I need done and hence, I am required to seek out experts as necessary."

"Fair enough ..."

I barely begin, when Eddy cuts me off again. "Now that we've established that you are not in need of personal protection, maybe you can enlighten us to your true needs," she continues, using a tone of voice that reeks of a mixture of snobbish anger.

"Gladly, but this is neither the time nor the place. I will be at your room tomorrow morn at 9: AM sharp, if that is alright with the both of you," he says, exaggeratedly including Eddy. "Now, if you will excuse me. Until then. Please enjoy the hospitality."

Before either of us can say anymore, he turns and makes a hasty retreat from the restaurant, his employ close on his heels while leaving Eddy and I a bit dumbfounded by the whole experience.

"So, what do you make of that?" I ask, looking across the table at her.

"I think we might want to take advantage and enjoy this evening. It might be our last off the clock for awhile," she says with a smile, taking a sip from her glass.

"Eddy," I slowly begin, suddenly determined that we should return to our conversation of earlier so that we can put it behind us for now.

"Not tonight, Mac," she softly interrupts, having read my thoughts and deciding that our relationship is strong enough that it will hold for a while longer. "Let's just enjoy tonight and when the time is right, we'll pick up where we left off."

With a sense of relief mixed with frustration, I quickly determine that she is probably right. If I didn't have a problem with our relationship before she brought it up, why should I now?

"Then tonight we shall just enjoy our benefactor's generosity and tomorrow will bring what tomorrow brings. Is that fair enough?"

"Fair enough," she concurs, gently tapping her glass against mine in a toast of agreement.

### **4**

All the while we were engaged with the elderly man, the waiter had kept his distance. But the moment he sees the two men depart, he comes flitting gracefully to our table with his pad and pen at the ready.

"Are you ready to order," he asks, already showing signs of wear from the full evening crowd despite the earliness of the hour.

My initial reaction is to order the most expensive items on the menu just to get a reaction out of our benefactor. But I quickly disregard the notion, realizing that he probably has people who manage his accounts and deal with the day to day business for him anyway.

When I glance at Eddy, she gives me a simple nod. "We'll just have the special, please," I inform the waiter.

"And for dessert?" he patiently inquires.

Eddy quickly asks if we can wait till we've finished our meal to decide on dessert or not.

"Absolutely," he replies with a smile, not letting the fact that he has already been compensated for his services get in the way of his usual professionalism.

"Thank you," I nod, handing him the menus.

We sit in silence for a moment while staring out at the lake when I notice a boat with a single red light moving along the edge of the water near to the shore. "Looks like someone didn't get back before dark," I casually remark.

"Maybe they were having better luck fishing than we had," Eddy snidely remarks.

Without asking, I top up her glass with rum and then stir it with the sugar spoon. "You didn't need to do that," she says distractedly, her thoughts miles away as she continues watching after the moving light out on the lake, her expression appearing almost longing with desire.

Taking a large swallow and savoring the warmth of it as it rolls down my throat and into the pit of my stomach, I too follow the single point of light in the dark, my thoughts hard to follow as they bounce between Eddy and our next job.

However, since Eddy made it quite clear she isn't ready to continue discussing our future at this time, I make a point of forcing those thoughts to the back of my mind. Instead, I consider what lies in store for us tomorrow, the highlight of which is the forthcoming meeting with our as of yet unknown benefactor.

When the slowly moving light finally blinks out behind a larger boat or some other obstacle that we can't see in the darkness, we turn back to face each other and notice for the first time that the tables on either side of ours have different people sitting at them.

"Where do you think he's from?" Eddy suddenly asks.

It isn't necessary for her to explain of whom she is inquiring. "Based on his accent and dress, I'm thinking Chicago or Detroit. Somewhere upper Midwest."

"His accent?" Eddy blurts incredulously. "Did you even listen to him; he didn't have an accent, Mac! In fact, he didn't have any inflections in his voice at all!"

"Sure he did," I gently protest. "He was just trying not to have an accent and in that, he failed," I continue my argument. "Now his body guard, that was easy," I smile indulgently.

"His body guard didn't even speak," Eddy hisses under her breath exasperatedly.

"He didn't need to," I smugly gloat. "Everything about him screamed West Virginia." I pause, self-satisfied for the moment. And then, feeling a little humility, modify my assessment slightly, "Okay, let me just say that he is definitely from the East coast, somewhere between North Carolina and Maine."

"Okay, I'll bite, why West Virginia?" she finally asks, smiling sheepishly.

"Naval background before he joined the Secret Service." Before she can argue, I add, "Some habits never die."

When she is about to argue further, the second waiter returns with a tray balanced precariously on his left hand, freeing his right to place the dishes before us. When he finishes, he politely inquires if we desire anything else.

"Not at this time, thank you," I casually remark, dismissing him.

"It looks and smells scrumptious," Eddy remarks, inhaling deeply of the scent emanating from her plate.

Smiling fondly at her, I remark, "You're pretty scrumptious yourself. In fact, you look much more appetizing than anything they could serve here."

"You probably say that to all the women you meet," she retorts dismissively while smiling coyly across the table at me.

The catfish is served with a side of fried rice and a small bowl of gumbo. Everything is seasoned to perfection, the flavors co-mingling like good friends.

"It tastes even better than it smells," I comment between bites, noticing that Eddy is enjoying it every bit as much as I am. "Now I understand why they do such a thriving business."

"We need to add this to our list of places to return," Eddy adds, taking a sip from her drink.

"Consider it done," I concur, not even slightly surprised to see her swiping bread across her plate and then carrying the motion into her bowl so as not to miss even a single drop.

"Are you up to dessert?" I inquire when she picks up her napkin from her lap and wipes at the corners of her mouth.

"Honestly, Mac, if I had any room left, I think I'd just order another special. That was the best meal we've had in a long time," she replies a bit breathlessly.

"Well, if you're not up to dessert, we could start working our way back to our room. I noticed a little tavern about halfway back that advertized hard liquor, if you're interested," I casually suggest. "Maybe we could stop and grab us a nightcap?"

"If they let us have this bottle, we could just head straight for our room," she counters with a wink.

"It may be paid for, but I'm sure they don't have an off-sale license," I dispiritedly avow. "But I'll ask anyway."

Catching the hostess's attention, I signal for our check. Although we were informed that everything had been paid for, there is still the small matter of our contribution regarding a tip. To simply leave would show poor etiquette on our part.

Smiling, she asks if there is anything we need.

"Yes, do you have a check for us?" I smile back. The evening has been long and arduous for her and the other staff and it is showing in the stress lines around her eyes and mouth. I have no doubt that the situation involving Eddy and I contributed to that stress. For a hostess in such a busy establishment, she appears rather fragile.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I thought I explained to you already that everything has been taken care of," she politely reminds me.

"Yes, so you have. But I hope you also understand that we won't feel right if we leave without at least acknowledging you and all the others on staff that have brought such a wonderful meal and dining experience together for us," I explain while fishing my wallet out of my jeans.

"Forgive me, sir, but the gentleman was very explicit, we are not to accept any other offer on your behalf. But I will gladly let the rest of the staff know that you were pleased with everything. Thank you very kindly. Good night," she adds with finality, showing us a much more steely side of her.

"Before we go then, let me ask you if there is a problem with us taking what remains in this fine bottle of rum with us."

"I am so sorry, but our license won't allow it," she says with sincere regret. And then her face alights, and she says, "But there is nothing preventing you from taking your glasses with you."

"Thank you," I smile at her before she turns and strides back to her station.

"It really isn't necessary, Mac," Eddy remarks a bit disappointedly as I top up our glasses. "We can live one night without alcohol, can't we?"

With the glasses filled to brimming, I put the bottle to my lips and take a long swallow before answering, "Whew, that is good stuff," I breathlessly spout, returning the now almost-empty bottle back to the table.

"You're a pig," Eddy whispers under her breath as she rises from the table and heads hurriedly toward the exit as if embarrassed to be seen associating with me.

"All men are pigs," I call after her, hurrying to catch up. As I past the hostess station, I pause briefly to give her a wink and with a smile, I slip a twenty into her hand for the glasses. It hadn't escaped my notice that Eddy is also carrying her glass with her.

Even as I continue on past her, the hostess smiles obligingly while weakly protesting the proffered money, "Really, this isn't necessary."

"You've earned it, dear," I call over my shoulder as the doors swing closed in front of me and I barely catch a glimpse of Eddy's shapely rear disappearing into the darker shadows as she hurries off to the left. She isn't mad at me so much as she is disappointed in me.

A small amount of her disappointment might be stemming from her own lack of discipline, as she learned shortly after our last case that I'm not the only one having a hard time leaving the rum behind.

### **5**

The night air is fresh and clean, a warm breeze blowing off the land and flowing out over the lake. It takes me only a couple of skips and a jump to overtake Eddy.

"You're not going to lose me that easily," I tease, glancing around at the shadows lining the street.

By now, all the small shops are closed and dark, the only lights on the street coming from dim lighting over the restaurant and an occasional street lamp that is more decoration than functional.

Approximately half way back to the hotel is a pub with neon signs both above the walk and in the windows. The door has been jarred open and a blue haze is drifting out from a combination of grilling meat and smoking tobacco, though the use of the latter is supposedly prohibited within public establishments.

Sipping down my drink to avoid unnecessarily spilling it, I ask Eddy is she wants to stop at the pub.

"Why?" she asks defeatedly. But before I can answer, she explains herself. "They don't serve rum, we'll leave stinking of stale cigarettes and cigars, and when we get back to the motel we'll have to bag our clothing and take showers. If it's all the same to you, I don't want to smell like a stale cigar when we negotiate at our meeting in the morning," she adds with finality.

As we pass the pub on the opposite side of the street, I use the dim neon light reaching us to assess the remaining liquor in my glass. As if reading my thoughts, Eddy says, "Here, you can have mine. I'd rather not wake up with a hangover either."

Relatively immune to hangovers, I gladly accept her glass with my free hand and delightedly note that she has hardly touched it. "Thank you," I comment sincerely, tipping some of mine into her glass and then finishing my glass off with an exaggerated flourish before carefully setting the empty glass down on the curb where someone will find it.

We continue on to the hotel in relative silence. If she is upset with me when we reach our room, I am not aware of it. It isn't uncommon for us to go without speaking for long periods of time and I assume this is just one of those times.

Closing the door behind me, I take one last look about the parking lot below and make a mental note of a dark sedan parked near the entrance in the shadows with two men in the front seat smoking cigarettes, the glow visible through the front windshield. On the dash are two paper coffee cups confirming any doubts that we are under surveillance. They may have followed us from the restaurant or they may have been sitting in the parking lot awaiting our return. In either case, it doesn't seem overly important as I'm confident they are working for our soon to be employer.

Stepping away from the closed door, I go over to the window and check them out again, assuring myself that they're indeed content with simply watching us.

"What is it?" Eddy asks, dropping her purse on the bed and walking toward me, her hips swaying seductively.

"Two guys in a dark sedan are watching the place. I just wanted to verify that they're only there to keep an eye on us and nothing more," I casually remark.

Taking a sip of my drink, I turn away from the window. Eddy, trusting explicitly in my judgment and assessment, has turned back toward the bed and retrieved her purse before continuing on to the bathroom. "I'm going to brush my teeth and hit the rack," she states matter-of-factly, leaving the door open behind her.

Having lived exclusively with her for the past three months, I learned a while back that just because she has left the door open, doesn't mean I'm invited to share the room with her. Dropping into a plush chair next to the TV stand, I resign myself to waiting while nursing the last of my drink.

### **6**

Within a few minutes, she returns to the room wearing only a bra with her pants and blouse folded neatly over her right arm and her purse in her left hand. "It's all yours," she says, dropping her purse on the bed and continuing on to the closet with her clothes.

She is a beautiful sight that sets my pulse to quicken. Her nearly naked body is firm and lithesome. Her breasts are full with large pink nipples pressing against the silky fabric holding them at bay. I can't seem to take my eyes off her as I quietly study her over the rim of my glass. Though I don't intend for it to happen, I slowly grow aware of my awakening manhood.

Sensing my eyes on her, she pauses just shy of the closet door. Expecting her to turn around and chastise me again for being a man, I am slightly surprised when instead she suddenly continues forward and opens the closet door and proceeds with hanging up her clothes.

From the closet, her back still turned to me, she asks, "Unless you intend on sleeping in that chair tonight, you might consider getting ready for bed."

Her voice is soft, almost conciliatory in nature. I recognize it immediately as the tone of voice she used to use when she is getting ready to treat me especially nice and I bounce up out of the chair while ripping off my T-shirt.

Dropping it on the chair behind me, I just as quickly undo my belt while unzipping my pants in the process. Skipping hurriedly across the room while trying frantically to kick free of them, my socks get caught up in a bunch within the confines of the pant legs and then the whole affair comes loose and drops freely to the floor just as I reach her. She is turning away from the closet and I take her in my arms, pressing my lips over hers, my tongue searching hungrily for hers.

Caught off guard, she instantly pushes me away with her hands against my bare chest while gasping for breath. "What's the matter with you?" she angrily demands, holding me at arm's length.

At first, I am confused by her reaction, but then I quickly realize the mistake I'd made interpreting more into her words than she'd intended and I am overcome with shame and humiliation.

"I'm sorry," I splutter, taking a step back. "I misunderstood you. I was mistaken. I promise you, it won't happen again."

Turning back to where my jeans lay bunched up on the floor, I slowly stoop down and retrieve them, all the while feeling foolish and humiliated for behaving like such a damn jerk. Above all else, I harbor a deep, almost religious respect for women, even if there are times when it doesn't appear that way.

As I straighten up, Eddy slips her hands around my waist, the firmness of her ample breasts pressing softly against my back. "I'm sorry, Mac," she whispers, her breath warm as it caresses the back of my neck.

Suddenly, her forehead falls resignedly against my upper back and her hold slips slightly as she defeatedly moans, "I'm so sorry. Really, I am. I just don't know what's going on with me lately."

"You don't have to apologize," I gently respond.

"I've been making your life a living Hell lately."

"You've been doing no such thing," I argue, while wanting desperately to turn around and take her in my arms and comfort her. Instead, I simply stand tall and steady for her to continue leaning against, believing that is what she needs.

"Yes, I have," she argues, squeezing my middle tighter, her fingers digging into the soft flesh of my belly. "You deserve someone that will be available when you have needs, not someone that gives you a hard time whenever you have a drink or desire female companionship."

Unable to resist, I teasingly remark, "Well, at least you're aware of the fact that I desire you."

Her fingers slide down to my navel where they play hide and seek for a moment, the sensation reminding me how horny I am.

Dropping the jeans on the floor at my feet, I slowly turn to face her, my hands reaching around her shoulders and pulling her close to me as her hands rise slowly to my face and guide my mouth to hers. We kiss long and hard, the passion between us quickly sparking into a life of its own as the world surrounding us is all but forgotten.

When she finally pulls her mouth from mine, she again apologizes for the way she's been acting as of late. "I just haven't felt like myself for awhile and it's not your fault, Mac."

Gently, I say, "Shut up, woman."

Placing my hands on either side of her face, I tenderly guide our mouths back together, my tongue searching, tasting her, fueling her desire.

This time, she doesn't resist my advances and I slowly guide her back toward the bed, her hands now resting on my hips as if we are dancing. As we float across the room, her breasts brushing softly against my chest, I grow acutely aware of her nipples standing firmly in defiance of the surrounding supple flesh.

Gently, I force her backwards over the bed, my hands lowering her easily to the soft fabric of the comforter. When she brings up her feet and pushes herself further up on the bed, I lower myself down beside her. Reaching out to caress her breasts with my left hand, I roll first one nipple between my thumb and forefinger and then the other while my right hand slides beneath her head and cradles it delicately.

Lying on our sides facing each other, I kiss her softly, my tongue hungrily exploring while our breaths growing quicker and shallower with each thunderous beat of our hearts. Her right hand slides down the front of my belly and tenderly grasps my swollen penus. Running her hand softly along its length, pausing to hover over the tip, her touch sends shivers up and down the full length of my body. Aware that she is bringing me dangerously close to a climax, she carefully guides the tip in between her thighs.

Moaning softly, she adjusts her pelvis and raises her right knee slightly to more easily accommodate my large, swollen manhood. "Ooh Mac," she sighs deeply, pressing it against her moist flesh before taking me into her warm belly.

At first, her body seems almost too hot, the drive of her lust even slightly painful to my tender organ. But in the heat of the moment, I don't give it a second thought as my own pleasure blossoms foremost in my mind.

My mouth slips away from her probing tongue, sliding down the side of her throat in search of her breasts. Her skin tastes salty, her flesh hot and wonton beside me. Her hands course roughly through my thick mane of dark hair, pausing to sensually massage my scalp while her back arches with the desire to place her breasts within easy reach of my hungry mouth.

Placing my mouth over her right breast, I suckle like a baby with my teeth nibbling tenderly on the rock hard nipple. When I slip my mouth off in search of her other breast, she stops me with her hands and guides me back to the right, moaning huskily, "Don't stop. Please, don't ever stop."

Writhing to draw more of me into her, I take her lead and roll over on top of her. Quivering uncontrollably, she wraps her legs around me and plants her heels in the small of my back. With the strength of her legs, she pulls me tighter against her, taking all of me into her secret place.

Hot and heavy, her breath washes over my head and down my back. We are both sweating profusely as I feel my first climax mounting. Grunting like a rutting bull, I drive against her soft flesh, my mind obsessed with only one goal; one flaming desire to reach that place of ecstasy.

Together, our passion reaches its pinnacle and then with acute ferocity drops us into its depths, leaving us drained and sweaty on the top of the sheets like a discarded wad of cheap gum; all the flavor and promise of just a short time earlier having been spent in a matter of seconds.

Begrudgingly, even a bit saddened that it is over so quickly, I roll off of her, the dry sheet cool against my sweat slickened body. Eddy remains motionless and silent. Almost hesitantly, I look over at her and see that she is silently crying.

Concerned, I roll onto my side to face her, propping myself up on my right elbow, "Eddy, what's wrong?"

"It just reminded me how nothing lasts forever," she whispers softly, her eyes staring at the ceiling.

Placing a hand on the side of her face, I gently force her to look at me. Tenderly, I kiss her on the forehead and then tell her, "That's not true, Eddy. My love for you is eternal. Nothing and no one will ever change that."

"Oh Mac," she bursts out crying, reaching her arms behind my head and pulling me close to her. "I love you so much."

We lay in that position holding on to each other for a long time into the night. Neither of us stirring from the bed, not even to turn out the light. While we lie in each other's arms, many thoughts go through my mind regarding Eddy and her strange behavior as of late. Something unfamiliar is happening to her. But is it normal, or should I be concerned?

For the moment, she seems fine. Yet, her behavior is anything but normal for Eddy. Could it be something as simple as living with a man fulltime? Or is it something more substantial, something deeper, something in her psyche?

Because we are both exceptionally fit for our ages, it's hard to imagine that it could be something physically serious. And yet, there is the distinct possibility that Eddy may be going through the change. While I am at the far end of forty and Eddy several years my junior, younger women than she have started menopause.

It seems like just last week we were discussing having children and now, heaven forbid, I am carrying on a private conversation with myself about the possibility of Eddy entering menopause. Maybe I'm the one that needs to get a grip.

Without a doubt, I need to do more research into this before I say anything to Eddy. Maybe, when this next job is over, I can give Gina Lott down in Napa Valley a call. It's been a while since I've spoken with either Gina or her husband Greg, but that isn't unusual for me. In fact, I haven't been in touch with them since they helped me out on a witness protection case. Yet, I have no doubts they'll be forgiving of my long absence and if anyone can give me advice on such a delicate matter, it will be Gina. Maybe when this next job is over, I can come up with an excuse for the two of us to pay them a visit. That would be even better yet. Gina will love Eddy.

### **7**

At some point during the night, Eddy dozes off. Her slow, steady breaths and occasional grunt alerting me better than any alarm clock could have. Carefully, I slip from the bed and turn out the single overhead light. In the dark, I pick up my drink and head toward the front window overlooking the parking lot.

Using care not to flap the drapes, it comes as no surprise when I see the same sedan and two men still sitting out there. The driver's head is tilted off at an uncomfortable angle suggesting that he might be sleeping while the passenger is still smoking cigarettes, his smoke billowing out the open side window.

A new thought suddenly occurs to me, one that should have manifested the moment I saw them parked out there. It's very possible that they're not out there to keep an eye on Eddy and me. But rather, they're sitting out there keeping an eye out for our future employer. If that's the case, it can only mean they're government agents and our future boss is involved in something of great interest to the feds.

Finishing my drink, I set the glass down next to the phone and head for the bathroom. As I pass the bed I glance over and note that Eddy hasn't stirred.

The shower runs hot and I take the opportunity to shave a week's worth of stubble from my face. Feeling refreshed, I return to the front room and notice that a hint of daylight is already peeping in past the drapes. Eddy stirs, turning heavy lidded eyes in my direction.

"What are you doing up already?" she mumbles while propping herself up on her elbows to get a better look at me.

Picking up my discarded clothes from the night before, I casually remark, "Just woke and decided I needed a shave and a shower. Sorry if I disturbed you."

Blinking back sleep, she squints momentarily and then smiles. "You shaved?"

"You sound surprised."

"I suppose I shouldn't be, I guess. We do have a meeting this morning, after all," she relents. Pulling the top sheet around her naked body in an attempt at modesty, she adds, "But then, when did you start caring about the way people see you?"

Winking at her, I acknowledge the sheet draped around her with a nod, "And when did you start being the modest lady?"

"It must come with age and maturity," she flippantly remarks as she heads toward the closet. "We are growing older now, aren't we?"

Before I can come up with a fitting retort, she grabs some fresh clothes from the closet and scurries into the bathroom, quickly pulling the door shut behind her.

"Women," I grumble affectionately beneath my breath. "They do keep a man on his toes."

There is a breakfast bar in the hotel lounge and I briefly wonder if I should take this opportunity to fetch us a couple of fresh coffees and maybe even a bite to eat. After a moment's contemplation, I opt for the coffee figuring food can wait until later.

Yelling softly through the bathroom door, I let Eddy know that I'll return shortly. When I step out on the landing, the first thing I notice is the absence of the dark colored sedan. "Must be a changing of the guard," I mumble under my breath.

It goes without saying that if I noticed the surveillance, so has our benefactor and it will be a mute point to bring it to his attention. However, it does make me wonder if we really want to work for someone that may not be on the right side of the law. If I have to call in a favor while on his employ, it might raise a few questions that could be difficult to answer. It never dawns on me that my contacts might even refuse a request from me for help altogether.

The buffet is complimentary for the overnight guests and after grabbing a couple of empty mugs and an air-pot of hot coffee, I head back to the room while studying the parking area in search of the former surveillance teams' replacements. To my surprise, none of the parked vehicles appear to be occupied. All the vehicles in the lot could be assigned to respective rooms based on their locations.

Of course, that doesn't mean the new team hasn't set themselves up in a room in the hotel, though that makes little sense unless their target is also staying here and I wasn't left with that impression last night.

Because my hands are both full, I tap lightly against the room door with my foot, hoping Eddy has finished in the bathroom and can hear me and open the door so I don't have to set anything down.

To my relief, she opens the door, already dressed in jeans and a light denim shirt. "Oh, thank God," she says, reaching for the air-pot of coffee to relieve my burden. "I'm dying for a cup of Joe."

"What's the time?" I ask, having forgotten to check while I was in the lobby and knowing Eddy would have looked at her cell phone by now just to check her messages, which are few and far between for such a popular person.

"Almost eight," she quickly replies, heading toward the small counter. Setting the pot down and waiting for me to fill the cups before continuing, she says in a serious tone, "We should probably discuss what we know about him and why he would need our services."

"We could," I casually agree, taking my coffee and heading toward the overstuffed chair as she heads for the bed. "But at this point, I think it would all be little more than conjecture on our part. We can discuss what I've learned since last night and try to see where it might fit into things. But even that will only be more conjecture," I state matter-of-factly.

"What more do we know today than we knew last night?" she asks, her interest piqued. And then, out of the blue asks, "What were you up to last night after I fell asleep?"

With a mischievous smile, I consider making my exploits sound like more than they really were. But I don't need to make things up to impress Eddy; she has drawn her conclusions of me a long time ago and they aren't going to change anytime soon.

Instead, I just give her the facts as I know them with no embellishments. When I finish, she says, "We still can't rule out the possibility that we're under surveillance, even though it seems more likely they were here to watch out for our new client."

"We've been here almost a week, Eddy. If someone was keeping an eye on us, I think we would have picked up on it before last night," I surmise. "That's not to say that we won't be under surveillance after our meeting this morning with Mr. Mysterious, though," I half begrudgingly, half jokingly concede.

### **8**

Nine O'clock straight up there is a soft knock on the door. "He's punctual if nothing else," I snidely comment, pulling myself from the overstuffed chair and heading toward the door.

Eddy, meanwhile, remains on the far side of the bed. Her thirty-two auto tucked beneath a pillow not far from her reach while my magnum lies on the floor beneath the TV stand where it is well concealed from every possible angle in the room and yet, where I can reach it in a hurry by diving to the floor.

With a last glance over my shoulder toward Eddy, I pull open the door and look past our two guests at the parking lot beyond. Understanding my actions for what they are, Mark, the body guard, casually remarks as he follows his boss past me and into the room, "They moved down to the novelty shop at the north end of the building."

Although I have a strong desire to inquire what the surveillance is all about, I hold my tongue. If they wanted us to know because it involves us and what they need from us, I am certain they will bring us up to speed. If it doesn't involve us, then we don't need to know anymore than we already do.

I simply nod in acknowledgement and push the door shut behind them, casually remarking, "Good morning, it looks like we're in for more of the same wonderful weather that we've been experiencing all week."

Neither respond. Not even a nod. Instead, when they are halfway into the room, they stop, and after a quick glance around to assure themselves that we are alone, turn back to face me. Eddy is all but forgotten on the far side of the bed until she says, "Would either of you care for a cup of coffee?"

Mark glances in her direction with an affirmative nod and appreciative smile while his elderly boss simply grunts and dismisses her with a slight wave of his hand.

After pouring the young bodyguard a cup and offering him cream or sugar to which he declines, she steps around the bed and hands it to him with a tenuous smile. He smiles back before casually stepping off to one side and taking up a stance near the TV that puts him between the door and his boss. He tentatively tests the heat of the coffee before setting the cup down next to my empty glass from the night before. It doesn't escape his notice.

"Since I don't know your name and you obviously have no intentions of sharing it with us, how 'bout we just call you Mr. X for the time being?" I start, trying to sound light.

"I transferred your fee into your account this morning," he says, ignoring my attempt at levity. "I'm sure you won't have a problem with the amount."

"I'll take your word for it," I drily reply, realizing for the second time in the same number of meetings that the man standing before me is all business with absolutely no appreciation for levity.

"Here," he says, pulling a folded slip of paper from his jacket pocket and handing it to me. "The name on that paper is that of a person that has gone missing. There is also a link to a cache of information regarding them." He pauses to make eye contact with me after I unfold the paper. "I'm going to assume you know how to use the internet. This person has worked for me for many years before suddenly disappearing. I want them back."

"It might help if we knew in what capacity this person worked for you," I start, only to be abruptly chastised by the tone of his voice.

"I already explained to you that there's a link on that slip that will take you to a cache of information regarding this person. You should find everything you need to know there." He takes a step toward the door and then pauses momentarily to add, "We will not be in contact again. If you cannot accomplish what I ask before the monies run out, then I will move on to other means and you are released from any future obligations to me. At that time, I would appreciate it if you would destroy any information regarding your search activities and forget you ever worked for me. Also, please do not try finding me and do not attempt to contact me unless you have positive results to report. If or when you find this person, you will contact me through the means explained on the link that I have provided you and I will take it from there. Your services will have been performed at that point and you may keep any of the remaining retainer as your bonus. Good day, Mr. McClain."

When he reaches the door, he stops and stands aside for Mark to open it and exit first. Only as he is crossing the threshold does he turn back and nod acknowledgement toward Eddy.

The door has barely closed when Eddy heatedly fumes, "What a chauvinistic pig. I absolutely refuse to work for that ass!"

"You don't have to, you work for me," I casually remark, picking up the phone receiver and dialing my bank account before entering the access numbers. Within a minute I have the information that I desire.

My comment has only fueled her anger further and not just at our mysterious employer. "I'm an independent contractor in case you've forgotten!" she heatedly states, her face turning redder by the minute.

"Fine, then I would like to hire you," I grin while retrieving my magnum from beneath the bureau. Before she can continue her tirade, I calmly suggest, "Come on, let's go get us some breakfast, I'm ravenous."

"I can't imagine why," she hisses under her breath, her venomous gaze slicing through me.

### **9**

When we leave the hotel, the link address on the slip of paper having been put to memory before placing in Eddy's trust, we study the surrounding area for anything suspicious or out of place. A small motorboat is heading out on the lake, a cloud of blue exhaust hiding its occupants.

"Did you have any place in particular in mind?" Eddy casually inquires of me, her anger temporarily on hold.

It never ceases to amaze me how she can turn her emotions off and on with the ease of a water spigot. Although I've been known to do it myself on occasion, it is rare and generally not for long.

Eddy, on the other hand, has the practice down to an art. She can and has maintained peace with me for more than a week at a stretch. All the while loving me, cooking and cleaning up after me, and all the while seething inside because of something I unthinkingly did or did not do.

Sooner or later though, her anger resurfaces and when it does it comes back with a vengeance. Of course, this might be a trait of most women, when I think about it.

"Well, since I picked the restaurant last night, maybe you can select where we eat this morning," I just as casually reply. And then, before she can say anything, I quickly add, "But if we can find a place with internet service too, that would really be helpful."

"That's going to narrow down our choices," she grumbles, her stride taking on purpose as she turns up the sidewalk leading into the historic district.

It doesn't escape my notice that her purse is heavier than it was the night before as it swings from her left elbow in rhythm to her gait. Even though we haven't changed our behavior and still appear to be nothing more than an old married couple on vacation, everything about us has changed. Unlike yesterday, today we are on the job.

We walk into the historic district side by side, our hands close but not quite touching. Although we have a purpose, we act casual and stop every now and then to study something that catches our eye in a storefront window before moving on again.

When we are more than halfway back to the restaurant where we'd eaten the night before, Eddy takes my hand and pulls me to the left and up a narrow side street leading away from the lake.

Looking ahead, I immediately see our destination across the street and about halfway up the block on our right. It is an older two story Victorian style home with a large, open front porch sporting outdoor tables and chairs. The sign out front is correspondingly white like the building with green stenciling to match the house's trim color. Beneath the larger words 'Espresso', it says 'Wi-Fi Computers Available'.

We head across the deserted street and climb the steps to the front porch. As we continue on through the large wood and etched-glass doors, the warm, moist air escaping past us is redolent with the smell of coffee and freshly baked pastries. Glancing around, I notice several tables scattered about with a long wood counter to the rear that's blocking the opening leading into the kitchen proper.

Most of the original architecture has been maintained while adapting the business to the building. A heavyset woman in her mid to late forties glances out from the kitchen door, a black hairnet pulled tightly over her mix of blonde and gray hair, saying, "Please, just take a seat and I'll be right with you."

"Thanks," Eddy calls back to her departing head.

Heading toward a table with a laptop sitting open on it, I comment softly beneath my breath, "That woman is approximately my age."

Eddy's response is nothing more than a stern, chastising glare as she takes the chair directly in front of the laptop.

Not wanting to miss anything, I pull up a chair next to hers so that I can follow along. Eddy has the search screen up and is typing the address for the link when the lady returns with a green order pad and pen, the front of her apron splashed with a combination of flour, shortening, and pastry fillings.

"What would you like this morning?" she asks almost too cheerfully, either thrilled to have a customer or simply ecstatic because she enjoys what she does. I almost envy her.

"Two large coffees would be nice," I reply with a toothy grin.

Eddy's knee strikes mine as she realizes I am being duplicitous with the poor woman. "Do you offer regular breakfast fare?" Eddy asks, smiling politely.

"Well," the lady hesitates, her expression turning to disappointment at the possible loss of revenue. "I offer a wide variety of coffees and pastries, but I don't normally do anything beyond that," she sadly confesses.

Although I can be a real ass, my heart goes out to this woman and her lack of business, though it's obvious that she is sincerely trying. "Would you care to make an exception this morning?" I ask, glancing around at the empty room.

Eddy's knee strikes against mine again that is followed by a stern look of disapproval. "This isn't a restaurant, dear," she hisses beneath her breath.

"We would be glad to make it worth your while," I smile at her, blatantly ignoring Eddy.

At first hesitantly, and then more sincerely, the woman smiles back at me and then says, "Sure, I would be glad to. You look like you could use a little home cooking," she adds with a wink.

"Mam, I sure could," I smile back at her, sensing Eddy fuming beside me but not daring to look at her.

With a bounce in her step that wasn't there a moment earlier, the lady returns to her kitchen, immediately setting off a cacophony of banging pots and pans.

Turning back to the laptop, Eddy whispers under her breath, "I don't believe you some days."

"Do you really feel like nothing more than a cup of coffee and a bear claw or some such?"

Distractedly, she mumbles, "No."

"What did you find?" I ask, my interest suddenly piqued by the change of tone in her voice.

"Check this out," she simply states, turning the laptop so the screen more directly faces me.

Scanning the page displayed on the screen, the first thing I take note of is the name, _Jane Domingo_.

"Who's Jane Domingo?" I softly exhale, continuing to read the rest of the information on the screen.

"I think," Eddy starts, her voice all business. "He is a she, and she's a record keeper, or was a record keeper, for the man that hired us and that we're supposed to find."

"He or she disappeared from a suburb of San Francisco after returning to his or her motel room for the evening," I start, mouthing the highlights of the information to better store it in my mind. "Approximately sixty years of age, slender of build, dishwater grey, shoulder-length hair. Only requires glasses for reading purposes."

"The first thing we need to do is determine the sex of our quarry," Eddy states, turning the laptop back to face her. "We'll start by going to the motel where he or she was last seen and speak with the employs. Someone ought to remember something."

"Yes, boss," I tease.

At just that moment, our host returns with two large plates. Setting one before each of us, she apologetically states, "I hope you like what I fixed for you." Smiling at me, she adds, "I haven't cooked like this since before my husband left and that's been a few years now."

"It not only looks delicious, it smells delicious," I smile back, not even looking at the plate of food before me.

Blushing, she folds her hands in front of her ample breasts as if self conscious of their size and says, "I'll get you some silverware and a warmer for your coffee. I wouldn't want you to eat with your hands."

Smiling back at her, I sweetly reply, "No, we wouldn't want that, would we?"

Giggling as if I'd said something really funny, she hurriedly retreats to the kitchen, only to return directly with two large mugs of steaming coffee and a handful of silverware. I am slightly surprised that the silverware matches, since silverware isn't generally supplied with coffee and pastries.

"Thank you," Eddy quickly states. When the lady seems hesitant to depart, almost as if waiting for an invitation, Eddy dismissively adds, "If we need anything else, we'll let you know."

As if jarred from a stupor, she blushes again before quickly turning back to the kitchen in retreat. "You didn't have to be so hard on her," I softly whisper, noticing for the first time the huge amounts of hash browned potatoes, bacon, scrambled eggs, and toast heaped on the plates. "Damn, do I look emaciated?" I happily remark.

Having finished my plate about the same time as Eddy puts her fork down, leaving half of her plate untouched, I reach over and grab her plate and replace it with mine. "You're a pig," Eddy drily remarks, turning her attention back to the laptop.

"What can I say, men are pigs," I joke, quickly clearing the food off her plate.

No doubt having watched us from the kitchen, our host comes trotting out with two more, smaller plates, each displaying a Boston cream-filled delight.

"These are my specialty, I hope you like them," she says, placing one before each of us before retrieving the dirty plates and returning to the kitchen.

"I think you hurt her feelings, Eddy." I comment, studying the rich desert setting before me.

"I have no doubt you will more than compensate her for my rudeness," she replies. "Listen to this," she suddenly adds, summarizing from the screen. "Jane Domingo holds a law degree from Harvard in addition to a doctorate in business philosophy from Berkley. "She, and the key word here is she, was arrested under racketeering charges several years ago and defended herself at trial. After winning herself an acquittal, she sued the federal government and won herself a large settlement."

"Sounds like one Hell of a woman," I comment.

"Sounds to me like she's made herself more than a few enemies," Eddy adds, clearly impressed by the woman's feats.

"It also sounds like a woman that might find employment with a company that has few qualms about bending the rules or worse," I comment. And then, "Are you ready to get started?"

"Ready when you are," she quickly replies, erasing her search history and all other traces of where we were on line.

While Eddy steps out on the porch to wait for me, I saunter up to the counter and ring the little bell setting next to the cash register while fishing out my credit card.

Smiling broadly, the lady comes scurrying out of the kitchen. "Was everything okay?"

"You didn't notice any leftovers, did you?" I smile back.

Handing her the card, she scans it and then looks questioningly at me. "Will a hundred cover our breakfasts?" I calmly inquire, studying the racks of fresh pastries going untouched. Before she can answer, I say, "Make it two hundred, and throw in a dozen of those," pointing at the bear claws.

Pressing the buttons to make the deposit to her account, she remarks, "You're a very generous man. Thank you."

"There's just one other thing, would it be asking too much to have you deliver those to the motel down at the end of the street? The help has been very obliging and I think they'll appreciate something sweet."

Smiling, she hands back my card, saying, "That won't be any problem at all. Thank you again."

"Oh, you're more than welcome. I haven't had a breakfast like that since I was a kid." With a wink, I say, "You take care now."

"Thank you, you do the same," she says, her eyes unable to hide her disappointment at my departure.

### **10**

It's no secret that I'm an ass, despite Eddy constantly referring to me as a pig. But despite my generally obnoxious behavior, I do have feelings and am capable of empathy for others. I just know how to turn the feelings off when it's convenient.

If we return to this little burg a year or more from now, the depressed woman with the coffee shop will probably be gone and some other poor fool will have taken her place, this time selling leather goods or some such out of the building while living upstairs.

Why doesn't she have any business? I don't know. Maybe it's because she is just a few feet too far off the main drag. Or maybe her prices are just a bit too high for the locals. Or it might be something as simple as not having any extra money for advertising, leaving her business at the sole discretion of foot traffic.

But whatever becomes of her little business, today, I like to think I gave her a boost, mentally if not so much financially. And if that's big-headed of me, so be it.

Eddy and I hurry back to the hotel, barely uttering a word the entire way. In less than five minutes, we are packed and heading out of town in the rental car. Our first destination is Eddy's little place on the central coast of Oregon.

"We'll get what we need from your place in Florence and then we'll head south on one-oh-one. Do you want to turn in this car and take your old beater, or do you think we should hang on to it a while longer?" I ask, my foot heavy on the gas pedal as we cruise along exceeding the speed limit by more than fifteen miles per hour.

"We can make better time with this," she replies distractedly, her eyes studying the notes she'd scribbled on the sheet of paper with Jane's information link. Looking up, she asks, "Why do you suppose he made a point of referring to her as a man?"

I'd been mulling the same question over since leaving the coffee shop this morning and I still hadn't come up with anything that made concrete sense of it. "If you think back on what he said exactly, he never actually made any reference as to whether this person was male or female, and that might have been for the body guard's benefit. But now that we know we're looking for a woman, I'm thinking she worked secretly for him, unbeknownst to any of his colleagues," I venture. "You know, like someone to go over the books for him because he didn't trust his regular accountants."

"That's not bad. It definitely makes sense if he was indeed keeping her secret from everyone in his organization, including his bodyguard," Eddy nods in agreement. "But I have a feeling there's more to it than simply someone looking out for him. I think this Jane Domingo was his true accountant who kept the legit set of books for him while his regular accountants kept up a set of bogus books for the benefit of nosey Internal Revenue investigators. Kind of a double duty to keep him out of trouble with the IRS while giving him true accounts of his business."

"If that's the case, then someone figured out what was going on and that someone has taken her. But whether she is being interrogated by a competing mob family, a higher up in the organization who feels he is being ripped off, or the federal government in an attempt to turn her into giving State's evidence against his organization, it's not going to be easy getting her back."

"If the feds have her, we don't have a chance," Eddy flatly remarks. "And if that's the case, do we even want to?"

"There is always a chance," I smile across the seat at her, silently thinking of my many contacts in the justice department and debating which might be the most effective in garnering the right information for this job. "And having accepted his money, I guess it would go to say that we want to." I pause for a moment while we overtake a pickup truck with a bed full of yard debris, and then add, "We're not giving the money back."

I've been doing this kind of work for many years. Originally on behalf of the United States Government and then later for myself. In all that time, I've had the opportunity to perform many favors for high ranking public officials that couldn't otherwise go through their normal channels due to the nature of the work required.

In addition to having a reputation for keeping my mouth shut, my particular skill set has set me apart in this business and I've never let a customer down. Because of this, there remain many satisfied customers out there that still owe me, more than one of which will be more than willing to tell me what I need to know if it means settling the debt for all time.

But that is assuming one of them knows what I need to know. If the federal government isn't behind her disappearance, then no one can help us but us. And of course, my friends.

"I see the wheels turning in your head, Mac. What are you thinking?" Eddy asks, having folded the sheet of paper and returned it to a secure place on her body.

"When we get to your place, I need to make a few phone calls," I distractedly reply, my attention divided between the road before us and the road behind us.

Following my eyes in the rearview mirror, Eddy twists around in her seat and looks through the rear window. "How long have they been following us?"

"I didn't notice them until we got away from town and the traffic thinned out." I pause for a moment before adding, "There's a roadside rest up ahead on the right, I'll pull in and see if they follow or keep going."

"And if they follow us in?"

"You slip into the driver's seat and I'll slip around the outhouse and come up on their flank. When you see me make my move, cut them off with the car in a way that distracts them, if you know what I mean."

"I think I can manage that," she smiles, turning back around.

"Good, because here we go," I say under my breath, slowing down and pulling into the rest stop.

The parking area is littered with debris and sticks from the many tall fir trees surrounding the lot and building. The building itself, a concrete structure, is in desperate need of paint, the door around the right side labeled for men and that on the far side labeled for women, both covered in graffiti and shot through with bullet holes.

Because the entrances are around to the side and protected by windbreaks, it will be easy for me to slip into the woods unnoticed, even if they are watching closely.

"They're not stopping, Mac. They're going right on by," Eddy says, twisted sideways in her seat for a better view.

"They sure slowed down, though," I state, my suspicions confirmed that they were indeed tailing us.

"They'll be waiting up the road for us," Eddy says, refastening her seatbelt.

"Sure they will," I concur. "But they probably don't realize we're on to them."

"How does that help us?" she asks, looking questioningly at me.

"I have an idea, but I think we'll have to do without stopping by your place, since I'm sure they know about it," I reply, looking across at her. "Is there anything at your place that we can't possibly do without?"

"You know I travel light," she sternly replies, her feelings slightly bruised by mistaking my question for an insinuation that she can't roll with the punches and needs to be coddled.

Winking at her, I proudly admit, "Yes, I know you do. You're a remarkable woman, Eddy."

"And it took you how long to draw that conclusion?" she smiles back, realizing that I wasn't questioning her toughness or ability to adapt on the fly, both sources of pride to her.

### **11**

Backing out of the spot in front of the restroom, I yank the lever into drive and stomp on the accelerator. Leaving a clutter of litter and debris blowing around the lot in our back draft, we hit the road at a high rate of speed.

The road is narrow and winding with many patched potholes in need of attention. The suspension in the rental is soft, taking in the uneven road with ease while causing some serious lean in the corners.

"Keep a close eye out for them, Eddy. If we're lucky, they'll be waiting beyond our turnoff and have to double back to pick our trail. If they aren't familiar with this area, we might even lose them in the woods," I inform her, unable to keep the hope out of my voice.

"I have no idea where you're taking us Mac."

"Just hang on, you'll see," I smile.

When I come to the branching road on the left, I'm actually a bit disappointed to note that the county has recently erected a new sign post, making it stand out despite its lack of use.

"In this time of economic woes, I can't believe the county still has enough extra money in its coffers to waste on signposting old roads that don't see any traffic. Except for a few old fishermen and elk hunters, I wouldn't have thought anyone uses this anymore, much less even knows about it. It's not as if it really goes anywhere," I openly complain, pulling the wheel around and dropping down a slight grade before hanging a hard left onto a recently graded stretch of gravel road.

"Looks to me like it's still being well maintained for a rarely used back road," Eddy teases, smiling indulgently at me.

We are both feeling a measured amount of relief since reaching the turnoff before running into the men tailing us. At the least, they will wait long enough for us to go past. Only when we fail to appear, will they realize we're on to them. And then, they'll have to backtrack to the rest stop and take up our trail from there. All of this equates to lost time for them and more time to put some distance between them and us, possibly even losing them in the maze of back roads that are just up ahead.

"Where does this road go?" Eddy asks, her eyes studying the road ahead while her right hand rests on the dash as if bracing for an impact. "I thought I was pretty familiar with this part of Oregon, but I can't say as I've ever been up this way before." She pauses for a moment while the sedan dips into a low spot and then quickly climbs out. To our right and running parallel with the road is a shallow river, the sky gleaming off its tranquil surface. "It does lead somewhere, right?"

"It's going to get a lot rougher before it gets any better, but yes, it does lead somewhere, Eddy." I pause for a moment, studying the road and wondering just how much use it's been seeing lately. "Are you familiar with the Smith River?"

"Sure, doesn't it tie in with the Umpqua somewhere near the coast?" she answers, twisting around to study the road behind us for a moment.

"If we don't get lost, we should be able to get there from here," I inform her.

"Are we going straight to San Francisco then, or are we going to detour by your place?" she asks, turning back around to face forward after satisfying herself that we don't have a visible tail any longer.

"I haven't decided yet," I truthfully admit. "The detour would let us pick up some extra firepower that might work to our advantage later on. But I'm not sure the extra time we'll spend detouring from one-oh-one will justify it."

"Let's just assume we won't need any more firepower than we have with us," Eddy says with finality. And then resignedly adds, "We can buy more ammunition along the way, if you think we'll need it."

"Since we don't even know what we're going to run into, we have no way of knowing what we'll need in the way of other gear either," I concede, sensing a hesitation in her toward beefing up our arsenal. I can't really blame her for wanting a non-violent job. There comes a time in everyone's life when you need to take a step back and let the young bucks carry on. Maybe this is our time. "We'll just roll with this one and play it by ear."

As we climb in elevation, the temperature drops and the weather turns wet and blustery. Fortunately, it's in the middle of summer so there is little chance of encountering snow. When we come to the first split in the road, I stop the sedan and jump out.

"Where are you going?" Eddy asks, throwing open her door as if to follow me.

"Stay put!" I call out over the back of the sedan as I leap down into the ditch where there is a sign indicating a trailhead up ahead and how many miles distant.

Putting my heavily muscled back and arms to use, I wrench the signpost first one way and then the other, worrying it until it loosens enough to pull up and out of the ground. With a heave, I fling it far out over the bank and smile with satisfaction when it clears the brush and lands out of sight.

Breathing heavily from the exertion, I run around the sedan and jump back into the driver's seat. Without hesitation, I pull the shift lever into drive and back up until I am facing down the road to the right. Slamming on the accelerator, I churn up the gravel, leaving an obvious sign of our passing.

"What are you doing?" Eddy demands, sitting up on the seat and twisting around to look out the rear window as if expecting to see the men in the SUV in hot pursuit. "You're leaving obvious tracks of our passing," she further berates me.

Slowing down, I put the sedan in reverse and slowly back up the road being careful not to drive over my freshly churned skid marks until we are beyond the junction. Then carefully, I accelerate without churning up the gravel as we go up the left hand branch.

"What was that all about?" Eddy asks, sitting back down in the seat, her eyes studying my profile.

"They'll see our tracks heading to the right and hopefully, if they're unfamiliar with this area, go that way," I calmly explain, slowly picking up speed. "Look, we're going to be hitting some pretty undeveloped roads up ahead, probably nothing more than little used logging roads. You might want to make yourself comfortable and catch some shuteye."

"It's the middle of the afternoon!" she quickly protests.

"It'll by dark by the time we reach the highway again," I continue, ignoring her little outburst. "We'll stop at the first convenience store we come to and pick up some coffee and food and anything else that might come in handy and then you can drive the first shift while I catch some shuteye."

"Sure," she agrees as understanding sinks in. "But I don't need to sleep now."

"Your call," I softly remark.

"Mac, you know my body doesn't work like yours. I can't just sleep when it's convenient and store up rest for when I need it like you do. I can, however, stay awake if it's required and catch my shuteye when it's convenient. Can you work with that?" she asks determinedly.

"Eddy, we have worked together and lived together for quite a while now," I start, trying not to sound condescending. "I think I know you well enough to trust your judgment. If you don't feel like sleeping yet, then don't. It isn't necessary for you to explain yourself to me."

"Thank you," she triumphantly replies, staring ahead through the windshield.

### **12**

The next few hours are passed in silence as the sky slowly turns more ominous with the oncoming of night. The rain is intermittent as comes down hard and blustery one minute and then just howling wind the next. Within the hour it will be completely dark.

"With this wind howling the way it is, there's a good chance we'll come across blow-down on the road," I comment, glancing over at Eddy.

She jerks awake, and I wish I had noticed that she was sleeping before I spoke, because I would have preferred not disturbing her.

"Going to be dark soon," she mumbles sleepily.

"Sorry if I woke you," I apologize.

"It was the rhythm of the wipers, I guess," she says defensively. "I see it's still raining."

"Yeah, I was just thinking that with this wind, there's a good chance the road will be blocked up ahead from fallen trees or limbs," I explain.

"Any sign of our friends?" she asks, knowing that I would have awakened her if there was, but making conversation for the sake of it.

"Not yet," I reply, glancing over at her. Even in the dim twilight, she looks beautiful to me. "There should be a clearing up ahead that will give us a good view down the mountain behind us, if memory serves me right."

"Considering your home is quite a distance south of here, you seem pretty knowledgeable of the area," she accuses, almost as if I have something to hide.

Her mood seems testy, at the least and confrontational at the worst. I decide it's probably best that I don't state the facts as they truly are. Instead, I determine that it is probably more prudent to simply gloss over the matter with a little white lie.

The truth of the matter is much more complicated. Almost all of my Oregon, Washington, and northern California and Nevada geographical knowledge stems from studying what were once classified aerial shots taken from still classified satellites. But if I tell her that, it will only raise more questions and although I trust Eddy explicitly, there are some things that I simply cannot divulge, even to her. Giving her details of my past will only raise new questions and for her safety as well as my good reputation, it is better that she not know what I was originally doing in this area, even if it was for our government.

"I used to come camping up here when I first moved to Oregon, before finding Sammy's Hideout." I pause for a moment while she waits for me to continue. "In a way, you might say these are my old stomping grounds."

When she doesn't press the issue, I take a moment to deal with my guilt at having lied to her. Although I justify it by telling myself that it is for her own good, it goes against my better judgment. Eddy and I have a strict policy of openness. We've never kept secrets from each other which makes this the first. Does this mean the next lie will come easier than the last and the one after that even easier still, and so forth?

No more lies! In the future Eddy gets the truth. She deserves that much from me. And when things settle down, I'll make a point of telling her about my past, the real past and not the glossed over edition.

The light is fading fast and the potholes are now filled with water making them not only more treacherous for the soft suspension of the sedan, but they're also becoming harder to see and avoid. When the frame suddenly bottoms out with a hard crunching jolt, Eddy jokingly remarks, "I'm sure glad we rented this in your name."

"Cute," I reply, momentarily feigning anger. Changing the subject, I comment, "If I had known we weren't going to make it into town, I would have at least picked up a thermos of coffee."

"And I thought you were the proverbial boy scout," she chides, her smile lighting up her face. "You're going to need the lights pretty soon," she adds, staring through the windshield.

"Yeah, I've been thinking about that. The sooner I turn on the lights, the sooner we make ourselves visible. If possible, I'd like to check our back trail first."

"Then you'd better find that wide spot in the road you mentioned earlier," she beleaguers.

The words have no sooner left her mouth, than the brush falls away to either side of the road. Off to our right about 20 feet is a darker spot against the dark ground that's approximately the size of a campfire. Beyond it is a sheer wall of lighter brown clay going almost straight up into the sky. To our left is a shear drop off, the farther hills barely outlined against the cloud-darkened sky.

Having broken out of the shelter of the trees, the wind gusts suddenly rock the vehicle as it whips horrendously across the exposed clearing. Fortunately, the rain has slacked off for the time being and I can extricate myself from the sedan without getting drenched.

"Where are you going?" Eddy calls above the roar of the wind.

"To relieve myself," I call back, letting the wind mercilessly slam the door shut.

Walking toward the edge of the clearing and the sheer drop-off to the valley floor far below, I study where the road that we just came up should be. Even though most of it is protected from sight by tall fir trees, headlights coming up it should occasionally peak through and give away the location of any pursuing vehicles.

After five minutes of standing on the edge, my right side buffeted by the howling wind, I become aware of Eddy's presence next to me. She is holding her blouse closed at the throat against the ravaging wind, her curly blonde hair whipping wildly. "See anything?" she shouts, her gaze following mine.

"Nothing. Let's get out of this hurricane before you get blown over the edge," I call back, taking her gently by the left arm and guiding her back toward the sedan.

Once back inside the relative comfort of the vehicle, I reach up and behind my head and remove the bulb from the courtesy light. "Should have thought of this sooner," I chastise myself, placing the bulb in the ashtray.

"Can we get going now?" Eddy asks. And then to quantify her question, adds, "I don't like sitting here out in the open. I know it's not rational, but I can't help feel like we're going to get blown over the edge."

"Sure."

When I turn the key in the ignition, however, instead of the engine roaring to life, our ears are met only with the sound of metal grinding against metal.

"That doesn't sound good," Eddy tentatively remarks.

For good measure, I turn the key several more times in quick succession, but to no avail. Each turn of the key is simply accompanied by the sound of grinding metal. "The starter must have been damaged when she bottomed out," I think out loud.

Looking over her shoulder out the rear window, Eddy says, "Eventually, they'll figure out which way we've come."

"Yep. And when they do, we'll just swap vehicles with them," I matter-of-factly comment. "Come on, let's get everything out of it that we might need or want," I add, pushing the door open. As an afterthought, I retrieve the bulb from the ashtray and return it to the courtesy light, immediately illuminating the interior.

Under the front seat, I extract a first aid kit and my three-fifty-seven magnum, still in the shoulder holster. After strapping it on, I go around to the trunk and flip it open.

With the dome light on, I search through the bags looking for a warm jacket for Eddy and anything else that might fit me.

Near the bottom of a sports bag, I come across her plaid jacket, the one she'd been wearing for morning walks along the beach.

As I pull it free from amongst the other clothing, Eddy steps around the side of the vehicle. "Here," I yell against the raging wind, handing her the jacket and noticing that she has tucked the thirty-two into her waistband.

Eddy has a thing about holsters; she claims they're too masculine for women. Instead, she normally carries her weapon in her purse or tucked into her waistband. It doesn't matter how I try to convince her otherwise. The woman is set in her ways.

While she slips the red plaid jacket on, I dig through the scattered clothing until I come across a heavy, green-plaid lumberjack's shirt. Slipping it on, I instantly notice an increased level of comfort, not to mention the way the magnum disappears beneath the loose fit of it.

We're both already wearing the best shoes we have with us, the only other footwear left in the trunk being rubber thongs for wearing in the water.

Glancing over the scattered articles in the trunk, I loudly ask Eddy if there is anything else she needs. When she shakes her head, I slam the trunk and head around to the driver's side where I'd left the first aid kit resting on the front seat. Eddy follows me around the side of the car so I hand her the kit, knowing it will only encumber me if I have to move fast.

Taking a moment, I quickly devise a plan of action that will keep Eddy and me together as long as possible. Since we haven't seen any sign of our pursuers, we have no idea as to how long we may be lying in wait for them. One thing is certain however, and that is we can't hide in the vehicle if we intend to surprise them.

Since they have no idea that our vehicle is disabled, there's a good chance they'll assume we've stopped to catch some shuteye. If their job is just to tail us and report our location, they might hold off and watch us from concealment. If their job is more than simply tailing us, they'll try sneaking up on the vehicle to catch us off guard. Either way, we'll be waiting for them.

### **13**

Leading the way back to the edge of the clearing with Eddy's hand held in mine, I gingerly step off the muddy gravel of the roadbed and into the darkness while carefully feeling before me with my right foot. Releasing my grip on Eddy's hand so as not to drag her down with me if I miss my footing, we have barely gone ten feet into the brush and tall weeds when we hear a motor roaring above the howl of the wind.

Eddy, reaching out and grabbing me by the shirt to get my attention, calls out above the sound of the whipping wind, "They're almost here!"

Although I am momentarily taken aback by their close proximity so suddenly, I am also relieved by the fact that we won't have to wait through the night for them to show.

"They've been driving without their headlights," I call back, knowing she'd understand. "Stay here till they pass and then back me up. Don't get involved unless I need your help," I sternly advise her, my voice barely audible over the wind. "After I get their vehicle, I'll wait for you on the far side of the clearing. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she yells back.

Within moments, the sound of the engine becomes regular, no longer fading in and out from distance and the howl of the wind. After climbing the last gradual grade to the clearing, it slows way down and then when it's just past us, it comes to a complete stop as they see our sedan sitting off to the right and just ahead of them.

To my surprise, they don't waste a moment's hesitation in deciding what to do. Instead, the vehicle has barely come to a complete stop when both doors open and two men wearing calf-length trench coats topped with fedoras jump out, immediately striding forward with purpose and authority toward our abandoned sedan.

Moving with even more speed, I bolt from the edge of the clearing, setting my feet down with the grace of a mountain cat while swiftly closing the distance between me and the driver. As I pass their SUV, I pause only long enough to see that it's empty before I signal for Eddy to get behind the wheel. A slight change of plan, but it isn't necessary for me to instruct her to clear it beforehand on the off chance there are more than just the two of them, or to explain my change of plans.

In the final seconds before I reach the driver of the SUV, a cloud opens up above us, adding a torrential downpour of water to the whipping winds. What had been limited visibility instantly drops to zero visibility.

For some unknown reason, the driver turns around at the last second, possibly some sixth sense alerting him to danger. My well-aimed blow to the back of his head becomes a glancing blow to the side of his head and face, his ear disintegrating beneath the impact of the butt of my magnum before the force travels downward, shattering his jawbone.

Stunned and in extreme pain, I am surprised when he still has the where-with-all to retaliate and brings his nine-millimeter around to bear on me.

At this point, I would normally have broken his right arm and disabled him before taking him out. But something stops me. Something doesn't feel right and the feeling has nothing to do with killing a man without warning when he is holding a weapon on me.

Taking a huge gamble, I instead rest the magnum firmly against the side of his injured head and shout in his good ear to drop his weapon. It's a huge gamble. If he pulls the trigger, we both die.

To my immense relief, he hesitates and his right arm slowly loses its strength and determination. Reaching forward, I yank the weapon from his hand and insert it in the back of my waistband.

"Turn around and call your partner over," I command, my head almost next to his as I keep the magnum pressed firmly against the side of his face.

The rain is whipping the rain with enough force to sting exposed skin while washing away the blood from his mashed ear as fast as it flows. Instead of shouting out to his partner however, he leans forward and spits out a mouthful of blood and mucous. His jaw is too damaged to work correctly and he cannot vocalize loud enough to be heard.

Moving quickly, I frisk along his back and under his arm pits. When I reach down to his ankles, I find another weapon strapped to the inside of his leg. Removing it, I tuck this one also in my rear waistband.

Satisfied that he's now unarmed, I turn him roughly in the direction of our rented sedan and yell into his good ear for him to move forward and get into the driver's seat.

Before he even starts to move, I hurry around the back side of the broken down sedan just as the man on that side reaches for the door knob, his nine-millimeter held at the ready. It's no surprise that he's assuming Eddy and I are probably asleep in the vehicle and in the rain and dark, he has no idea that his partner has been compromised.

But when his partner opens the driver's door and the courtesy light comes on, brightly illuminating the interior, the man immediately realizes his mistake and spins around, his reflexes quick for his size.

With the light from the interior of the sedan more than sufficient to illuminate me and the gun in my hand leveled at his chest, he hesitates with his own weapon still pointed into the interior of the sedan.

"Do it and you're a dead man," I calmly yell at him, my voice loud enough to be heard over the roar of the wind and the sound of the rain slapping against the metal roof of the sedan.

At just that moment, the headlights come on the SUV behind me and blind the man. "Carefully, place it on the roof of the car and then reach down with your left hand and get your backup out. Slowly!" I shout when he tries to put me between the glare of the headlights and his eyes so he can make me out. "Place it next to your automatic," I shout again as he brings up a small revolver. When he lays it on the roof of the sedan next to his automatic, I yell at him, "Now, get in the passenger's seat next to your partner."

"You'll never get away with this," he says loudly as he does precisely what I ask of him.

"Surely you aren't suggesting that I should kill you now while I have the drop on you, are you?" I tease, relieved that he didn't try anything with his backup gun before placing it on the roof next to his service weapon. Despite watching him closely, in the wind and rain, he might have tried something stupid. But he didn't.

Angered and frustrated, he viciously pulls the door shut. Stepping forward, I retrieve his weapons and then turn back toward the SUV and signal for Eddy to pick me up. Everything hasn't gone exactly as I'd intended, but no one was seriously injured and we're back on the move.

When Eddy pulls up next to me, I instinctively go to the driver's door and pull it open. "I'm driving," she quickly protests.

"Okay," I casually acknowledge before scurrying around the back of the vehicle and climbing in through the passenger door. After shaking my head of hair to stop the water from running down into my eyes, I ask of her as she pulls forward, "Did you get a chance to check out the vehicle?"

"Not much in the way of supplies," she says, her face tinted green from the glow of the dash lights. "There are several extra clips of ammunition for a nine-millimeter, a thermos of coffee, some stale minced-meat sandwiches, and another first aid kit. Did you want to leave them ours so he can at least tend to his head?" she asks, having seen the condition of the one in the driver's seat when he got into the sedan.

"You're too kind, Eddy. But what the hay. Sure, hand it to me and we'll leave it with them. Maybe they won't take it so hard if they ever catch up to us in the future," I add with a wink.

Smiling back, she hands me the first aid kit that we'd removed from the rented sedan instead of the larger government issued one in the SUV.

When she pulls up alongside of them, I jump out and pull the door open on the driver's side and hand the man sitting there the first aid kit. "Here, no hard feelings I hope."

Stepping back, I leave the door open so the interior light remains on. Until we are safely away, I don't intend on taking any more chances than I already have.

Stepping spritely, I turn back to the SUV and grab the chicken bar and pull myself in. At the same time, Eddy steps down hard on the gas pedal and the engine races to life, the rear end fishtailing and kicking up mud as we propel forward into the dark.

### **14**

When the interior light of the sedan blinks out in the distance and becomes lost from site, Eddy finally slows the SUV down to a safer pace for the road and conditions.

"Thank you," Eddy says, breaking the silence.

"You're welcome," I reply, and then ask, "What did I do?"

"You didn't kill them," she simply states.

"I had my reasons," I add, though she doesn't ask. "I don't think they were thugs."

"I could have told you that the first time we saw them out on the highway," she says condescendingly.

"And you didn't feel that information was worth sharing with me?" I blurt exasperatedly.

"You used to work with them Mac. You of all people should be able to recognize a fed when you see one," she snaps back.

At that moment, the front end dips into a deep pothole, jarring the steering wheel to the left and causing her to erratically correct. "Watch the road," I remark without thinking.

Slamming on the brakes and bringing the SUV to a sliding stop, she looks over at me, her eyes blazing, "Do you want to drive?"

"I'm sorry, Eddy, I wasn't trying to be critical of your driving," I meekly mouth, the rain beating incessantly against the windshield. After a long moment of hearing only the wind and rain beating against the SUV, I finally turn and meet Eddy's gaze before saying, "Eddy, this isn't the right time or place, but it's pretty obvious that something is going on with you." I pause for a moment, uncertainty making it difficult to find the next words. "Believe me, Eddy, I've been trying to figure out what the problem is. But I have to confess, I'm drawing a complete blank. So before we go any further, let's get it out in the open where we can fix it and move on."

"You pompous asshole!" she indignantly cries out, her voice climbing several octaves as her anger adds fuel to her already heated temper. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe the problem has something to do with you? Or is that too unthinkable for you?" Turning back to face forward, she mumbles angrily beneath her breath, "Sometimes you are an insufferable asshole, Mac."

"Okay, I'll admit that sometimes I can be a little difficult to be around. But this funk you're in has been going on for some time now. You can't put it all on me," I argue defensively.

Her anger suddenly dissipates and tears well up in her eyes. With both hands, she grips the steering wheel, her knuckles white from the exertion. Before I know what I'm doing, I slide across the seat and take her in my arms, trying desperately to sooth and console her. Seeing her hurting hurts me worse than driving a dagger into my vitals, and I know firsthand what that feels like.

"Eddy, please," I beg, holding her tightly against me. "I'm sorry, really, I am." The last thing I ever wanted or expected was for her to break down in tears. "If you tell me what I've done, I'll correct it. If I've been acting different lately, I'll change. Just tell me what I need to do," I plead with her.

Gently, she pushes away from my embrace and wipes at her eyes with the back of her hands. "I'm sorry, Mac, but you're right, this is neither the time nor the place." With renewed determination, she pulls the gear shift into drive and slowly depresses the accelerator while simultaneously reaching down and pulling the transfer case into four-wheel drive.

Unable to take my eyes from her, I watch in amazement as she smoothly transforms back to the Eddy of old. The take-charge Eddy that brims with confidence. The Eddy I fell in love with.

Sliding back to the passenger's side of the front bench seat, I slowly pull my eyes from her and turn them to the glove box, suddenly curious of its contents. "Did you check this out?" I casually remark, pressing the release button.

Eddy glances over intermittently while keeping her attention on the road ahead, which is little more than a single lane trail pockmarked with gullies and potholes, the brush almost touching both sides of the SUV simultaneously.

"No, I barely took a moment to verify there wasn't someone hiding behind the back seat before jumping in. That's when I came across the first aid kit and spare ammo. The thermos and sandwiches were just lying here on the front seat," she says, her own curiosity piqued as a result of mine.

"It might have regular Oregon plates on it, but it's not a rental," I comment as the lid falls open.

The first thing I see is a sheaf of papers, the topmost being the vehicle's registration. Glancing at it, I make a mental note of the legal owner, a pharmaceutical company. "Delay Pharmaceutical is on the registration and insurance card. Probably a dummy corporation for undercover work," I inform her while digging deeper into the papers. No matter what I find, it won't change the fact that it's a federal vehicle.

Most of the papers are receipts for oil changes, tire rotations, and other sundry maintenance. Beneath the papers, I come across an opened box of thirty-two caliber bullets. "Looks like we have your ammo covered," I comment, setting the ammunition on the seat between us next to the thermos and sandwiches.

"Their backup pieces were both thirty-two revolvers," Eddy says, not taking her eyes off the road ahead of us. "It only goes to figure they would carry spare ammunition."

In the very bottom of the compartment I come across a tire gauge, a miniature screwdriver set, paper clips, and a small piece of paper with ragged edges that was obviously torn from a larger sheet. Holding it under the light emanating from the glove box, I notice a handwritten address on it. The address however is not complete. It's simply a street name and number with no state.

Glancing over, Eddy sees me studying the torn slip of paper and asks, "What did you find?"

"What appears to be an address, I believe. Two-twenty-one B Street."

"Why would someone keep Sherlock Holmes's address in their glove box?" Eddy asks, scrunching up her face.

"It's only Holmes's address if the B refers to Baker and the city and country is London, England," I remind her. "There are many cities in this country that use letters of the alphabet for street names, both big cities as well as smaller towns."

"Okay, it's probably not Holmes's address. But what is an address doing in the bottom of the glove box? Even if we knew which state and city it belonged to, what does it mean?"

After studying the paper for a moment, a wild idea comes to mind. "Hear me out before you tell me what you think," I say, glancing toward Eddy in the dark. The dash lights are casting a soft greenish glow that adds a surreal essence to her blonde hair. "You remind me of one of those sexy wood nymphs that flitter through the forests at night in search of men to seduce," I tell her, momentarily distracted by her beauty.

"You're not really expecting me to tell you what I think about that, are you?" she asks, incredulous.

"No," I quickly confess. "I was just taken aback for a moment there."

Grabbing the thermos, she shoves it at me without taking her eyes from the road and commandingly says, "Here, drink some coffee, you need to stay focused."

Screwing the lid off, I secretly hope that whoever brought the thermos along had a penchant for rum and that I would delightfully find the contents to have originated somewhere in the West Indies. But as luck would have it, the thermos contains nothing more than a lukewarm brew of rich dark coffee. After taking a sip, I hand the opened container to Eddy, who grabs a quick swallow and then hands it back.

While I talk, I refit the lid to the thermos and place it back on the seat between us. "The men that were so kind as to loan us their vehicle are agents of the federal government. They received written instructions, which probably included tailing us wherever we go. If and only if, we get too close to this address are they to do more than observe." I pause for a moment, studying Eddy in the dim light of the dash. When she doesn't say anything, I add, "If we had taken the time to search them more thoroughly, I believe we would have found the rest of the instructions that were attached to this little piece of paper."

"Why tear off just the address and nothing more? And of all the places to hide it, why the glove box?" Eddy asks, glancing at me between thoughts.

"Because," I start, my voice resounding of authority from experience. "If they become compromised, we would only find a set of simple instructions which brings us no closer to our target than before." Smiling at her, though I doubt she can see me, I continue, "They had no way of knowing that we would be commandeering their vehicle and with it, the only piece of the puzzle holding any value for us."

"That's a stretch Mac and you know it," she says, weakly criticizing my theory. She pauses while steering around a particularly sharp curve, the lower side completely immersed under several inches of standing water. As we come out the far side, she continues, "Even if I give your theory credence Mac, we might make the assumption that the address is in California, but that doesn't tell us which city. And now that they're aware the information is compromised, will they move her?" And then, before I can respond to her barrage of questions, she hits me with the biggy. "If what you say is true, and don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that I disagree with you, but how do you explain them trying to get the drop on us back there if they're only supposed to keep us under surveillance?"

"All good points, especially that last one," I dismally agree. "I guess that's all the more reason to make haste."

"How much farther till we reach the Smith?" she asks, referring to the paved road that runs adjacent to the Smith River while tenderly pushing down a little harder on the gas pedal.

"Two hours if the road isn't blocked. Want to try one of these sandwiches, or wait till we reach civilization?"

"Lay one on me," she says, easing back on the accelerator as she realizes how the roughness of the ride increases dramatically with the smallest amount of increase in speed.

### **15**

Carefully, I remove the sandwiches from their cellophane wrap and give them a sniff test before handing her one and keeping the other for myself. Eating in silence, we slowly cover the last legs of the detour. To our good fortune, we don't encounter any obstacles too treacherous for the SUV to surmount. In several places, mud and debris have washed down from the hillsides and covered the road in several inches of thick muck.

Having washed down the sandwiches with the last of the coffee and made ourselves comfortable, it is with some surprise and delight when we come across a road sign, the first we've encountered for many long miles.

"We must be close," I comment. Within a quarter of a mile, we approach a sign that says stop ahead. "That'll be the paved road leading back to one-oh-one. It's only about ten miles now."

"If those two goons back there called ahead, there's a good possibility that there are more of them waiting somewhere up ahead," Eddy states, visibly growing more alert as she straightens herself up in the seat and checks the location of her weapon for the umpteenth time.

"I'll be disappointed if there isn't someone waiting to pick up our tail," I calmly reply. "Until we get close to Holmes's address, I don't think we need to worry about being interfered with again though," I confidently add.

"Sometimes you scare me, Mac," she says, stepping lightly on the brakes as the wet pavement ahead reflects back off the headlights.

Once on the pavement, Eddy shifts out of four-wheel drive and picks up the pace, her speed on the straighter stretches of road topping eighty miles-per-hour. All the way to one-oh-one, we never pass an oncoming vehicle, nor do we overtake any vehicles. The road is completely deserted with only an occasional light shining through a window from the few dwellings near enough to the road to be visible.

We are still several miles from the main highway running up and down the Pacific coast when we see flashing yellow lights in the distance. Slowing down, Eddy nervously asks, "What do you think's going on?"

"Me think's we are about to see why we haven't come across any other traffic," I calmly reply.

Sure enough as we draw closer, it quickly becomes apparent that the road was closed prior to our arrival due to a mudslide. The heavy equipment on the scene has just finished clearing a single lane and allowed the first of the waiting vehicles from the oncoming side to pass through. To my surprise, we are the only vehicle waiting to get through from this side.

As the first vehicle in the procession draws abreast of us, I notice that it is an old red and white Ford pickup truck. Next, an impatient Jeep Liberty quickly pulls into our lane and passes the beat up old pickup.

The third and second to last vehicle to go past us is a large, dark colored SUV, very similar to the one we are currently riding in.

"Check it out, Eddy. Now we know why there wasn't anyone waiting for us when we came out of the woods," I confidently remark.

As the fourth and final vehicle passes us, the flagger turns his sign and indicates for us to use the oncoming lane. Twisting around in the seat, I keep my eyes on the tail lights of the dark SUV, knowing that if they turn around, they've not only been in contact with their counterparts up on the mountain, but that they also recognized this vehicle.

Eddy speaks first, her eyes flitting between the rearview mirror and the road ahead. "They're staying on the tail of the old pickup truck," she says anxiously.

"They probably haven't been in touch with their comrades since the other guys turned off the main road to follow us into the mountains. Standard protocol would have dictated they contact their supervisor at that time and advise him of our change in route," I acknowledge. "If they were in contact after that, those guys would know by now that we've commandeered one of their vehicles and to be on the lookout for it. Since they passed us without batting an eye, there's a good chance they won't know they've lost us until they find their buds sitting in our rental at the top of the mountain."

"I never thought of checking, but cell phone coverage is probably non-existent up there and they weren't wearing handheld radios," Eddy adds on a high note, the elation of getting away with something giving her a momentary rush.

"Don't get too excited," I solemnly advise. "Remember, they have the advantage of knowing where we're going. We don't even know where we're going."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right about that," she agrees, her voice sounding deflated. "All they have to do is sit and wait along one-oh-one for us to pass and they're back on our tail."

With the road work behind us, we quickly arrive at the intersection with the Pacific Coast Highway, or 101 as most people prefer to call it. Within minutes of hanging a left onto the highway and heading south, we are passing through the downtown section of a small coastal community.

"Pull into the station on the right up ahead. That one just beyond the light. We'll fuel this beast up and pick up some necessities in the store," I quickly suggest as we approach the intersection so Eddy has time to pull over into the right-hand lane.

The vehicle has barely come to a complete stop in front of the fuel pump when Eddy says, "You get us fueled and I'll hit the store." As I slip out the door, she calls out over her shoulder, already heading across the tarmac toward the store before I can cut her off at the rear of the vehicle, "You get to drive the next leg."

"Sure, you pick up what we need and I'll just hang out here and take care of the gas," I mumble under my breath, her receding figure already beyond hearing.

I am still gazing after her retreating figure when I'm startled by the sudden appearance of the gas jockey. Stepping up beside me, his eyes also studying the swing of Eddy's backside, he lewdly comments, "Sweet."

Turning on him, he takes an involuntary step back. "Sorry, dude," he humbly apologizes with obvious fear in his eyes.

Suddenly regretting turning on him, since he is little more than a young boy with hormones checking out a beautiful woman, I nod in acknowledgement of his apology and lightly say, "After you get your eyeballs back in their sockets, fill it with regular. She'll pay inside."

"Yes sir," he quickly replies, scurrying to his job.

Climbing into the driver's seat, I wait in silence for her return. When the fuel is finished and she still hasn't arrived, I fire up the SUV and back it up to the store. In the rearview mirror, I can see her at the counter paying for her purchases.

Before climbing into the front, she stops and opens the rear door on the passenger's side and tosses in three bags full of items while holding a fourth in her hand. "Did you leave anything behind?" I tease as she climbs into the passenger's seat.

"Nothing essential," she smiles back.

### **16**

We head out of town with our destination San Francisco. Yet, we haven't gone far, when an idea strikes me. "I think we might want to consider a little side detour on the way south."

Turning toward me, an accusatory expression on her face, she says, "You want to go by Sammy's so you can pick up your stash of rum, don't you?"

Before I can tell her the real reason for wanting to go by Sammy's and my one room apartment above the bar that he is still hopefully holding for me, she disappointedly adds, "I can't believe you, Mac. Sometimes, you can be a real disappointment."

Trying to keep the atmosphere from disintegrating further, I jokingly reply, "I hadn't thought about it, but that isn't a bad idea either."

Turning away from the window, she looks back at me with hopeful eyes. "Okay, I'm sorry for that," she humbly apologizes. "If you had wanted alcohol, we would have stopped at that liquor store on the highway back there."

Although I am sincerely dying for a glass of rum to rejuvenate me, I suddenly don't feel comfortable sharing that thought with her. Which brings up another thought; how much our relationship has and is changing. And I for one ain't so sure I'm caring much for the direction it's headed.

"So, if we aren't going to your place to pick up a stash of rum, what is this little detour you mentioned?" she asks, dragging me from my thoughts.

Still disturbed by my latest revelation concerning our relationship, I distractedly reply, "The chopper. I thought we might stay under their radar if we ditched the highway and took to the air."

"That's not a bad idea," she smiles. "It'll be just like old times."

"Yeah, just like old times," I lie, forcing a smile.

We ride on in silence, the sun slowly forcing its way through the overcast sky. The wind has calmed somewhat and the rain just an occasional sprinkle. Now that we're on the coast, we can call it typical coastal weather.

After a long time, I turn to Eddy and ask her what-all she bought. "I picked up a variety of healthy foods and bottled water so we aren't eating just chips and sodas," she starts, placing the bag from between her feet to her lap. "Thought you might like these," she says, pulling out a box of granola bars. "They have peanut butter in them and I know how much you like peanut butter."

"Yeah, I love peanut butter," I confess, adding under my breath, "On bread."

"What was that?"

"Great! I love peanut butter," I repeat a little louder.

"Would you like one now?" she cheerfully inquires while sifting through the contents of the bag.

"Maybe later, thanks."

"I also picked up paper towels, tooth brushes and toothpaste, mouthwash, soap, and other hygienic items. You know, stuff you never would have considered," she adds with a smirk.

"What about those bags?" I ask, indicating the three bags she set on the rear seat.

"Oh, I picked up one of those little stoves and a couple of bottles of propane, some instant coffee and an assortment of teas." I begin to ask what she intends on heating the water in when she adds, "And a kettle that we can use for both heating water and soup, which I also picked up several cans of."

Genuinely proud of her, I humbly admit, "Yes, you're right, I wouldn't have thought of half that stuff."

"I picked up some other things too, but that's the gist of it," she proudly smiles back.

"We'll pick up fresh clothes when we get to my place," I add. "Weight shouldn't be a factor," I include as an afterthought, glancing at the bags on the rear seat.

When we come to the junction heading east, away from the coast and into the hilly country of the coastal mountain range, Eddy asks, "Will we be able to make up this lost time with the helicopter?"

"And then some," I easily reply, confident that we can cut our time to San Francisco in half by flying. "I do have one stop planned on the way besides fueling," I admit to her, knowing she is probably going to object.

"Where's that?" she asks inquisitively.

"Napa Valley, just east of San Fran," I tell her, not offering any more information as to why, and not sure I want to tell her the whole truth.

"Who do you know there?" she persists.

"Some friends of mine," I say, still undecided about how much of the truth she really needs to know. "They've helped me out in the past. We have history together," I add, hoping it's enough to satisfy her curiosity.

"What do they do?"

"Excuse me?" I stutter, not sure what she means by the question.

"You know, what do they do for a living? Do they grow grapes and produce wine?" she asks, genuinely curious about them.

"They do," I concede, glancing over at her as if to ask, "Are you satisfied?" When she simply returns my gaze, I add, "They're also attorneys with their own practice in San Francisco. They're names are Gregg and Gina Lott. They're good people, you'll like them."

Smiling mischievously, she says, "I'm sure I will."

"What does that look mean?" I press her, smiling uncertainly.

Reaching across the seat and resting her left hand on my leg, she smiles coyly, saying, "If they're friends of yours, I'm sure that I'll like them."

Meeting her gaze, I quickly realize she's serious and not just leading me on.

The small towns come and go and before long, we are on the last stretch of road leading to Sammy's when Eddy suddenly asks, "So, the old guy that hired us, who do you think he is?"

Before I can respond, she continues, voicing her thoughts as they come to mind. "Maybe he's the kingpin behind the entire Northwest drug cartel. You know, human trafficking, meth production, racketeering, he probably runs it all."

"I hate to rain on your parade," I start, smiling across at her. "More than likely he's just some mid-level management guy, taking orders from someone he doesn't even know." After a long pause, while she digests this new thought, I add, "I've met the type before, Eddy. They all think they're the only ones that matter and without them the organization can't run. But surprise, surprise, they're just another gear in the mighty machinery that is dragging this wonderful nation down."

"You sound bitter, Mac," Eddy says conciliatorily.

"Yeah, I probably do," I sourly agree. "Our mystery benefactor is probably an accountant in a respectable firm that doesn't even know what his clients do for money, just that he has a large client list that pays well and on time. And if one of these clients should ask a favor of you, how do you say no without risking losing their business, which by now is almost your entire portfolio of income, if you know what I mean."

"I think I'm beginning to understand," she softly whispers, her words barely audible. "Even if you prove that his clients are murderers, extortionist, or worse, odds are he will never see the inside of a jail cell, despite his intricate involvement."

"Exactly," I concur. "There are only a few that actually get their hands dirty and those are the ones we go after."

"But what does that accomplish?" she asks, frustrated. "They just hire more thugs to replace those that are in prison or killed." She takes a deep breath and says, "It all seems rather hopeless."

"I could use that for an excuse for leaving my last job in homicide, but that wouldn't be entirely true," I confess. "The truth is, one day I woke up and decided that I could do more if my hands weren't tied by the rules imposed on law officers, even law abiding citizens for that matter. Moreover, I like the feeling of satisfaction I get from seeing the faces of the people that I help directly."

"Then how do you feel about working for the bad guys when you know it's the feds that are holding our subject?"

"Just because they're feds, Eddy, doesn't make them the good guys," I smirk, weakly dodging her blatant accusation.

The road is narrow and winding, following closely along the banks of the South Fork River. Although the sun was trying to break out earlier in the morning, by high noon we are back in heavy cloud cover.

"Thankfully there isn't any wind," I think aloud, studying the sky ahead and south of us through the windshield. Speaking up, I add, "Weight shouldn't be a problem, but let's not pack things we don't need."

"Never do," Eddy flatly replies, seemingly lost in her thoughts.

### **17**

Driving into the parking lot of the tavern, I'm relieved to note that the only vehicles in sight are Larry's little tin top and Sammy's step van. Without slowing, I continue past the front and down a weed-covered lane to an old woodshed. Stopping outside of it, I inform Eddy that I'll just be a minute.

When she opens the passenger's door, I ask her where she's going. "I'll meet you in the bar."

"Sure," I agree, slightly perplexed. "Tell Sammy to give you the key to my room."

Instead of acknowledging me, she sets off for the bar less than two-hundred feet back up the dirt lane. I shake my head while following her progress. The fine fit of those tight-fitting jeans and the sway of her hips causing an ache in my own jeans. And yet, I can't help but think if I had known she wanted to get out at the bar, I would have dropped her off.

"Women," I mouth with frustration as I turn away and duck into the woodshed.

Inside, hiding beneath a heavy military grade tarp is my old motorcycle. Custom frame, extended frontend, adorned with custom graphics on the tank mixed with lots of chromed accessories, she's a beauty to behold.

Kneeling by the leather saddlebags, I undo the clasps and scrounge inside before coming up with a spare box of ammunition for the magnum and a few personal items that might come in handy later.

One of the neat things about this secluded hideout in the south-central Oregon woods is that there is cell service. I can only attribute this fact to the proximity of the college up the road. Among the items in my saddlebags that I retrieve is a disposable cell phone just for emergency use that hasn't been activated yet.

After spending a couple of minutes activating it, I place a few calls that take less than five minutes all told, and then return remove the batteries from it before returning it to the saddlebag. On the way out of the woodshed, I pause for a moment to study the sawn logs stacked haphazardly along either side wall. Reaching out, I pull one loose and retrieve the bottle of West Indies rum hidden there. With reverence, I dust it off and add it to the few other items I'm carrying.

When I reach the SUV, I open the rear hatch and find the bag that contains the jack and lug wrench. It's a heavy black plastic and should hold together well. I place the loose items in it and add it to the other bags still resting on the back seat before driving around to the back of the tavern where the little bird is tethered.

After stashing the spare ammo and rum in a special compartment on the little bird, I add the weapons and ammunition that we took off the agents. That is, except for the nine-millimeter that Eddy still has, which I will get from her later.

With everything out of the SUV, I pull it to the far side of the clearing and back it into the brush, almost obliterating it from sight. With no front plates to give it away as a government vehicle, it should remain there until I can deal with returning it at a later date. Then I hurriedly make my way to the pub.

Although I haven't been here for three months or so, it feels as if I'd never left. With the familiarity of family, I stride through the side door, expecting to find the room empty except for Sammy, who is usually playing solitaire at the bar when he's not serving drinks or sweeping the floor.

"Hey old friend!" Larry yells out from the bar where he is sitting beside Eddy and across from Sammy, all three of them drinking from an open bottle on the counter. "We were just debating who was going to go looking for you; getting slow in your old age."

"Well, if you had been chosen, we'd all be out looking for you next," I taunt him back, genuinely glad to see him.

I immediately notice that there are four glasses on the bar, all with varying levels of rum in them. I assume the only full one must be mine.

"Then we'd all be lost," he teases, stepping away from his stool and walking toward me with outstretched arms.

We heartily embrace, truly glad to be in each other's company again. "Actually, I'd just as soon leave you in the woods and spend my time entertaining this fine young woman that came wondering in here all on her own," he says, turning back to his perch while throwing Eddy a conciliatory wink.

Reaching across the bar, I exchange a handshake with Sammy. "Good to have you back," he says with a broken toothed smile while pushing the full glass of rum toward me.

Taking a seat on the stool next to Eddy so as to put her between Larry and me, I lift the glass to my lips and take a long sip, savoring the sweet heat all the way to the pit of my stomach.

"A toast," Larry says, raising his glass in front of Eddy. "Let's raise one to the reunion of old friends and fresh adventures."

"Here, here, but careful who you refer to as old," I joke, clinking my glass with the others.

Sammy, smiling broadly with the fellowship of good friends gathered together, lifts the bottle of rum and tilts it first toward my glass, then Eddy's, and then Larry's before refilling his own. "It is so good to see you guys again," he says with sincere conviction.

Teasingly, Larry retorts, "Don't bullshit us, Sammy. You're just hoping we'll give you a little rent money before we disappear into the wind again."

While Eddy and I laugh, Sammy feigns injury to his feelings, saying, "Hey, that's not fair." And then, playing along in the spirit, adds, "But now that you bring it up, there is that little matter of storage fees."

Although Larry is the same height as me and also of muscular, athletic build, unlike me, he is clean shaven, his dark hair cropped short in a military style. Although women have found us equally attractive, Larry has always attracted the more sophisticated type, the professional business woman. The type that's heavy on the makeup and hair, stylish clothes, a veneer as hard as nails, yet soft and approachable underneath, almost to the point of being fragile, in need of a strong protector.

Meanwhile, I seem to attract the more rough-and-ready type. The ones with unkempt hair, minimum makeup, blue jeans, tight, and an attitude to match.

Yet, although he attracts the gentler of the species, that doesn't mean he isn't attracted to the same women that are attracted to me and that includes Eddy. Because we are the best of friends with no secrets between us, we both know that nothing would ever happen between Eddy and him, despite their constant flirting.

Since I first introduced them, they have become the best of friends and as such, find teasing me very entertaining which is what they seem to be leading up to now. Although I have no doubts that Eddy is initiating it due to her recent irritation with me for reasons that I have yet to comprehend, it still irritates me and they both know it.

Seeing Eddy's left hand on Larry's right thigh, I jokingly remind them that I am sitting right here. Acting suddenly self-conscious, Eddy turns slightly on her stool and asks while feigning befuddlement, "Did I miss something?"

Finishing my glass of rum before answering, I say with strained calm, "I know you two are glad to see each other, but really, we're on the clock and don't have time for socializing right now. If you don't mind bringing Larry up to speed, I'm going to run up to my room and gather a few things together." Suddenly realizing that Larry may have been using my chopper during my extended absence, I add as an afterthought, "Do you know if my little bird has been serviced lately and how much fuel she has on board?"

"Funny you should ask," Larry starts, a devilish smirk on his face as he too sees off the last of the rum in his glass. When Sammy offers to refill it for him, he casually waves the offer off and says, "Thanks Sammy, but I'm going to be in the air soon and we sure don't want the FFA coming down on my ass for flying under the influence. Or would that be for flying under the weather?"

Sammy gives Eddy and me a questioning look, to which we both nod in the negative. With a flourish, he sees off his own glass and then collects the empty glasses from in front of each of us and adds them to the soapy water in the sink under the bar. "I'll put a fresh pot of Joe on for you all," he says with a smile, and then jokingly adds as he turns away, "I'll just put it on your tab along with some sandwiches. You guys look like you could use something to eat."

"Thanks, Sammy," Eddy acknowledges, while Larry pivots on his stool until he's facing Eddy, though looking past her at me.

"Both birds are serviced, fueled, and ready to go," Larry states, still smiling. "Last week, a strange feeling came over me. I could feel something shaping up in my bones and I strongly suspected it would involve you and the birds. So, just as a precaution, since you know we live by our instincts, I saw to both of them."

"You are an intuitive fellow," I smirk, sliding off my stool. "Eddy will bring you up to speed. And before you ask, yes, we have been paid, and well, just don't ask where the money came from."

### **18**

When I open the door to my long neglected room, the first whiff of air to strike me carries a lingering scent that combined with the view out the window before me makes me nostalgic for days gone by. It is definitely the pad of a single male.

To my surprise, the bed is made and then I remember that the last one to leave this room was Eddy. She must have straightened up while I carried our suitcases down to the car.

If I breathe deeply, I can still detect her womanly scent in the room, probably emanating from the bedding. Though it was straightened, it's not fresh. The blinds are pulled back and the light coming in is tinted grey from the heavy cloud cover, casting faint shadows on the floor and walls. Instinctively, I flip the light switch on before proceeding deeper into the room.

Off to my right is a free standing claw foot bathtub. Next to it and cordoned off with a free standing wall panel is the commode. To my left, an armoire is setting against the far wall, a low dresser to the right of the armoire. Straight ahead of me sits the bed and beyond it, a row of small-paned windows overlooking the rear yard.

Stepping between the bed and the armoire, I go to the windows and look out. Down below, and less than twenty-feet from the rear of the building, rests the two helicopters, the cockpit hatch standing open on mine as I'd left it. Beyond the choppers is a grass clearing stretching almost one-hundred feet before ending abruptly at the tree line. Since leaving here with Eddy around three months prior, it doesn't appear that anyone has mowed the clearing and the grass is looking long and neglected.

Turning to the dresser, I pull out the top left drawer and reach up underneath it. My fingers brush across an envelope taped securely to the bottom side that contains several hundred dollars in small bills. None of the serial numbers are synchronous. If I needed other documentation, such as passports or state identification, I could also come up with that in this room. But for the job presently before us, I don't think such items will be necessary.

Next, I approach the armoire and while taking care not to scratch or scuff the finish, I move several pairs of shoes and some boxes of old photos and whatnot out onto the floor before lifting out a false bottom.

Arranged in order of caliber, a Browning fully automatic rifle rests on the top while next in place is a .223 caliber military assault rifle, also fully automatic. Below these is an assortment of handguns followed by a display of weaponry that includes a broad assortment of knives; everything from survival knives to throwing knives to a Swiss Army pocket knife. Some are in sheaths while others are just lying loosely in the bottom.

By the time I seal up the armoire, I am outfitted for combat and yet, my outward appearance hasn't changed to the inexperienced eye.

Going on the assumption that we aren't going to need heavy firepower for this assignment, I opt for several knives while also relieving myself of the extra nine-millimeter and thirty-two that we'd taken off the special agents.

Putting everything together in a leather satchel, I take one last look around the room and then head out. I pause just long enough at the door to secure it in such a manner that I will know the next time I come whether anyone else has entered or not in my absence. Sammy knows enough about my business to know better than to go in there unless he is asked to. And besides, I trust Sammy. If he needs to enter this room in my absence, he will let me know the minute I return.

When I reenter the lounge down below, I notice that Eddy and Larry have moved from the bar and taken up residence at one of the many empty tables surrounding the dance floor. A fresh pot of coffee and a platter of sandwiches is setting on the table between them while steaming mugs set before them.

Approaching the table, they both look up, their eyes instantly focusing on the satchel in my right hand. "Coffee's on," Larry says. "Grab a mug off the bar and we'll fill you up."

Swerving toward the bar, Sammy hands me an empty mug and then returns to his task of wiping the bar top with a dry rag. Although it is well past noon, there are no other patrons and probably won't be until early evening, if then.

Sammy doesn't have to rely on paying customers to keep his doors open, however. When Sammy's came on the market, Larry and I contacted him. We were aware that he was looking for a place to settle down, a place where people wouldn't ask questions regarding his past. With his newfound wealth, which is another story unto itself, Sammy jumped at the opportunity to buy the place. Of course, I don't have to explain that his real name isn't Sammy, either. But that has to do with the other story also. And while one day the details of that story are bound to come out, that day isn't today.

Dropping the satchel on the plank floor next to an empty chair, I drop into the seat while Eddy fills my mug with steaming brew.

Looking across the table at Larry, I ask, "Eddy fill you in?"

"Yeah, but I still have a few questions that she can't answer," he pauses to sip at his coffee before continuing. "Such as, where in San Francisco do you plan on setting down with the chopper, for one?"

Without hesitation, I reply, "I thought we'd go straight to Greg and Gina's, kind of work from there until we get the lay of things."

"Yeah, Eddy mentioned something about that. But are you sure it's wise bringing in outsiders when we're not sure who we'll be dealing with?" Larry presses, clearly concerned that we might be placing ourselves in a touchy situation with the feds and that he doesn't feel right dragging friends into such an unstable mix.

Although I share his concerns, I don't want to let on and possibly be perceived as being weak or indecisive. "We aren't going to kill any federal agents, if that's what's bothering you," I solidly affirm.

"You know that's not what's bothering me," he quickly snaps back.

Sighing heavily, I lean forward, placing my elbows on the table while my hands surround the warm mug. Conspiratorially, I confess, "I don't like the idea of getting our friends involved in something that might be construed as an act of lawlessness anymore than you do. And if there isn't any need to drag them into it, I don't intend on doing so. However, with that said, we need a base from which to survey the lay of the land so to speak, and if we should find ourselves in need of legal counsel, it will be right at hand. Is there something wrong with my logic?"

Both Larry and Eddy sit in silence for a long moment and then Larry speaks up first. "Just as long as we keep them at an arm's length from this, I guess it'll be alright." His gaze rises from the table to meet mine as he adds with a smile, "I'd kinda like to see how they're doing anyway. That Gina sure can cook."

"Good. I'm glad you feel that way because they're looking forward to seeing your ugly old mug again too," I confess. "Even more so, they're really looking forward to meeting you, Eddy."

### **19**

After brushing up a few more details and outlining our route into California, we load the last of the supplies we might need between the two birds and say our goodbyes to Sammy.

"Thanks for everything, Sammy. It was so good seeing you again," Eddy warmly states, embracing him.

"I assure you, Eddy, the pleasure was all mine."

"You can take your grubby paws off my woman anytime now," I grumble good-naturedly. Shaking his hand, I thank him again for everything, including the thermoses of coffee and sacks of sandwiches that he made while we were working on a preliminary plan of attack.

No sooner has the side door to the tavern swung shut and we're walking toward the little choppers than Eddy says, "I think I'll fly with Larry, if you don't mind."

"I'd be honored to have you for my stewardess," Larry quickly pipes up, giving me a sidelong glance.

"Co-pilot, ass," she just as quickly fires back.

"Either way, I'd appreciate the inflight entertainment," he smirks, again glancing furtively over his shoulder to see my reaction.

To both of their surprise, I calmly state, "You two kids have fun. Just don't look to me to pick up the pieces when you crash."

Feigning anger, Eddy spins on me and slaps my left arm, demanding, "Are you suggesting that flying with me is a handicap?"

"Always has been for me," I casually reply, knowing that my calm attitude is getting under her skin faster than anything I could say. What she doesn't know is that I have no intentions of flying alone. But I will make that known only if she insists on carrying out her little charade right up to the point of takeoff.

"You're both a pair of asses!" she cries out, a touch of real anger in her voice. "I don't think I want to fly with either of you." Larry and I exchange a mutual wink and almost start laughing when Eddy says, "I'm sure Sammy wouldn't object to my company if I decide to stay here."

I almost tell her that she can use my room in my absence, but decide that we've pushed the issue far enough and it's time to get down to business. Instead, I apologize and tell her that I was really looking forward to spending some time in the air with her.

"You're just saying that now because you don't trust Sammy as much as you do Larry," she teases, swinging her hips as she steps out in front of Larry and me.

"Yeah, there might be some truth in that. But I do trust you and I'm being dead serious when I say that I was looking forward to spending some air time with you," I sincerely confess.

"Yeah," Larry drawls. "My little bird is probably over weight as it is. Sorry Eddy."

Swinging her hips even more exaggeratedly, Eddy snaps back, "So now you're telling me that I'm too fat to fly with you! Well! Since you feel that way about it, I'll just stay with my man and you can continue flying solo." She takes a breath and then with a smirk, adds, "Kind of the story of your life, ain't it?"

"Ouch," Larry winces, feigning hurt pride.

Pulling open the hatch for Eddy, I remind Larry that our first stop will be just north of the California border at a little airstrip near Cave Junction. Then I stash the satchel in the compartment behind the seats and walk around the small bird, giving it a final check while Eddy straps herself into the passenger's seat.

When I get to the rear of the bird, I notice Larry is almost finished with his walk around and head over to him. Shaking his hand, I again thank him for coming along. "We'll see you on the ground at the Cave," he says lightly, climbing in.

As I start to walk away, he calls out, "Don't worry if I'm a little behind you. I've got a little personal business to wrap up on the way."

"Any problems, you just call," I advise him, my tone serious.

"Woman business," he yells back with a grin, pulling the hatch shut.

Finishing my preflight check, I climb into the cockpit and strap myself in. Eddy, watching as the rotors on Larry's little bird slowly pick up speed, asks, "What was that about?"

"He's got some personal business to see to on the way south," I distractedly reply, studying the gauges before me. "He might be a little late. We'll continue on from the Cave without him if he's too late." As an afterthought, I add, "He knows where to find us."

Turning toward me, she presses the issue, "What kind of business?"

"Nothing serious, I'm sure," I reply while simultaneously pulling back on the control stick and throttle. "Something about a woman," I shout over the increasing whine of the small turbine as the little bird sheds its restraints and gently lifts off.

With practiced ease, I work the rudders, slowly turning the nose toward the clearing and increasing our ground speed while keeping a close eye on the gauges. Within seconds, we have climbed out of the clearing and Sammy's is lost in the trees behind us. Paying attention to detail, I put us on a course heading for Cave Junction and our first refueling stop. With a good tail wind, we might not need fuel again before reaching the Lott's in Napa Valley, but we'll refuel anyway just in case we need the little birds again before we get another chance to.

The first few moments of flight are always the most thrilling, unless of course someone is shooting at you. That's an entirely different matter altogether. As the ground drops away beneath and the only thing ahead is clear sky, there's a sense of freedom unlike any other I've ever felt. And every passenger I've ever taken up with me has experienced this same euphoric sensation, no matter how many times they've gone up before.

When I finally pull my eyes away from the cloud laden sky ahead and the lush forest below, I glance over at Eddy and recognize the same look of awe in her eyes.

"It's something, isn't it?" I say.

When she looks back at me, smiling and nodding, I indicate for her to put the radio headset on. Turning the dial on the radio, I speak into the microphone and ask if she can hear me okay. Before she can answer, Larry speaks up, "We going on a three way here?"

"Get your mind out of the gutter," Eddy berates him. "It's bad enough I have to put up with one of you on a fulltime basis. Not sure I can or want to deal with the two of you at the same time."

A smile is lighting up her face and reflected in the tone of her voice. Seeing her happy and carefree lifts my spirits and I am suddenly assailed with optimism about what is to come.

"Hey you two, keep it clean up here, this isn't a restricted frequency, after all," Larry chastises her, his voice also infected with elation.

"Alright fuddy-duddy, I promise we'll keep it off the air, but not necessarily out of the air," I reply, winking at Eddy.

"I'm beginning to understand what you have to put up with, Eddy," Larry sighs heavily into the mic.

"The cross I have to bear, I guess," Eddy quips back.

"Okay, Mac," Larry says, his voice losing its former gaiety. "I'll be breaking southwest from your heading here. If I haven't caught up to you by the time you're ready to get back in the air, I'll tie up with you at ultimate destination."

"Roger that, good buddy. Over and out," I reply.

Reaching forward, I flip a toggle on the radio that takes it off open broadcast while keeping the connection open between Eddy and me. We purposely avoided mentioning our destinations as there are no doubt many ears listening to the airwaves, and nothing to be gained by giving away additional information.

Smiling inwardly, Eddy says, "I didn't know Larry had a lady friend." And then she quickly corrects herself, "I meant to say, I didn't know he had a _steady_ lady friend."

"Larry's a man of many mysteries. Kind of like me," I reply, smiling playfully.

"How long till we reach Cave Junction?" she asks, changing the subject, her gaze now studying the threatening colors coming through the clouds off to the west.

"We should be there right around sunset," I reply, studying the gauges between glances into the surrounding sky for other small aircraft. With an altitude of just twenty-five hundred feet, there is little chance of encountering other aircraft. Most small planes fly at a minimum of five-thousand feet. "If we're lucky and my calculations are correct, we might still have a few minutes of daylight in which to land."

"How long will it take to refuel?" she asks, still studying the horizon to the west.

"If we push it, we can be back in the air within a half an hour," I reply. And then ask her, "Why the twenty questions? Is there somewhere else you have to be?"

"I was just thinking about Jane Domingo and what we're going to do when we find her," Eddy slowly replies. "We can't just kidnap her away from the feds if they have her in protective custody. And even more importantly, if we do whisk her away from the feds, we can't just turn her over to the mob." She pauses a long second before adding, "They'll probably kill her if they get her back just to make sure she can never testify against them."

"You're absolutely correct," I agree.

"So, what can we do?" she asks, turning back to look at me with her big blue eyes. "Mac?"

"Yeah."

"Why did we take this job? No matter how I slice it, I don't see a happy turnout for either Jane Domingo or us."

"We took this job because if we hadn't, someone with less scruples would have. And if they're asked to take it one step further, would they?" I reply with determination. "I can't let that happen. If taking this mission saves just one life, it's worth the risk."

"So what you're saying is, you're willing to turn on the people that hired you?" she asks, incredulous. "I don't believe you'd risk your reputation like that. And I find it even harder to believe that you would put your friend Larry and me in harm's way without asking us first. Because even if we see this to a positive outcome, if you turn against the mob after taking their money, they'll take it back in spades. You know that and I know that."

"You said that, not me," I smile beguilingly.

"You're a conundrum, Mac. If you do what you were paid to do, you could be putting a woman's life at risk," she argues. "And if you don't, you are running the risk of losing the fine reputation you have of being a man of your word, which in this business is almost the same as suicide. At the least, it will be career suicide."

With sincerity, I reply, "Maybe it's time for a career change."

"Mac, what would you do if not this?" Eddy asks with equal sincerity.

"Well, to be honest with you, I've never given it much thought," I start, my thoughts turning inward.

"Well, this isn't the time to start thinking such thoughts," she snaps, giving me a stern look. "You'll think of something or some way to pull this off. You always do."

"I sure wish I had your confidence," I tease, smiling back at her.

### **20**

We fly on in silence for a while, each mulling over this last conversation. Eddy, no doubt, trying to figure out how she's going to save me from myself while I'm trying to figure out how I'm going to save everyone, myself included.

As the sun sinks closer to the horizon, Eddy is the first to break the silence, asking, "How long before we reach the Cave?"

"We're about fifteen minutes out. Are you getting hungry?"

"How'd you guess?" she replies, looking away from the window.

"My own stomach is growling relentlessly," I say, meeting her gaze. "There's a small restaurant at the airfield that serves up good wholesome food. We'll have something to eat while we wait on Larry."

"Sounds great."

Within a few minutes, the view before us changes. While the sky is still lit from scattered rays of sunshine sneaking in beneath the cloud layer, the ground below grows gradually darker, longer shadows throwing their dark influence over the earth with increasing swiftness.

Before the strip of asphalt comes into view, the sun dips below the horizon, taking its grandeur with it and leaving nothing behind but a black void. Off in the distance, we can just make out the long rows of runway lights. Near to them are the lights of several small businesses.

Studying the sky above and behind us for aircraft and not seeing any, I double check our coordinates before setting a direct course for the GPS coordinates as designated for VTOL aircraft at this field.

"What are you doing?" Eddy asks, watching while I enter the ground coordinates into the GPS unit.

"Since we don't need the runway for take offs or landings, we get to use the pad closest to the fueling station. To find it in the dark, all I have to do is enter the exact coordinates into the GPS and it will guide us right to it. Pretty slick, huh?"

"How did you know the correct coordinates?" she asks, looking ahead through the windscreen as the air field draws closer and more details are quickly coming into view.

"I cheated; I checked the FAA manual for all small airfields before leaving Sammy's place. It's full of tidbits of useful information," I grin.

As we draw closer, I can make out the fuel pumping station and the large circle painted on the asphalt just a short distance from it with a still smaller circle in the middle.

"Oh, I see it," Eddy suddenly exclaims, pointing ahead toward the well-lit bulls-eye on the ground.

Within a matter of minutes, we are safely on the ground with the little bird centered over the bulls-eye. Climbing out, we stretch our legs and slowly move toward the fueling station where two men in grimy coveralls and baseball caps are working on pumping fuel into a twin engine Cessna.

The man up on the ladder adjacent to the wing acknowledges us with a nod of his head while maintaining a secure hold with both hands on the hose while his partner steadies it at the base of the ladder. "We'll be right with you," he calls down. "If you want, we'll call over to the café when she's ready."

"We'd appreciate that," I say. And then, after giving him a once-over and liking what I see, I add, "Would you mind checking all the fluids and hydraulic systems too while you're at it? That is, if you've got the time."

"Sure thing," he calls back.

"Thanks."

As we follow the sidewalk away from the fuel pumps and head toward the café, the mechanic calls out, "I recommend the biscuits and gravy. Just tell Sally I sent you, the names Decker."

Turning around, I throw him a salutary wave and yell my thanks. "We'll do that."

"Yum, biscuits and gravy. Sounds good," Eddy says, picking up the pace a fraction.

"It does, doesn't it?" I agree, skipping a step to keep up with her.

The restaurant is located almost a quarter of a mile from the pumps, probably for safety concerns. But it is a well lighted and well maintained walkway that sees a lot of use. Before we are a quarter of the way there, we encounter a small group of men in suits coming our way. Since the walkway is wide and accommodating, we pass them comfortably, Eddy and I both eavesdropping on their conversations for a brief moment. Old habits and all.

The man in the lead wearing a dark, pinstripe suit with blood red tie appears to be in charge while the other three men are clearly subservient to him. He is also doing most of the talking and it appears that he is not happy with their performance this last month. There is no doubting that he feels it's due to his own strong showing that the company is still afloat.

"Talk about your egotistical blowhards," Eddy whispers with a conspiratorial chuckle.

"If not for the miraculous deeds of some, the world would come to a screeching halt," I add in the same tone.

We pass several more people before reaching the restaurant, but hear nothing of interest being said between any of them.

The restaurant itself faces out on the main runway, a long narrow building taking maximum advantage of the view with large panes of glass running the entire length. Just inside the windows is a row of red, vinyl covered booths. They're nothing fancy, but very practical as far as upkeep and serviceability.

As we step through the glass door, a middle-aged woman with her hair tied up, wearing an apron and carrying a large tray covered with plates heaping with food on one hand while carrying two steaming mugs of coffee with the other calls out, "Take a seat and make yourself at home, I'll be right with ya."

"Thanks," I reply, following Eddy toward an empty booth. "That must be Sally," I whisper softly.

Because we're on the job, Eddy takes the farther seat while I take the nearer, making it possible for each to watch the other's back. As I slide closer to the window to be directly across from Eddy, I notice her intently studying the waitress.

Following her eyes, I see a woman roughly Eddy's age, maybe a few years her senior, but definitely not more than five. There is a hidden beauty in her features, something that a small amount of rest, relaxation, and makeup could easily bring back to the surface. Yet, despite her tired and worn appearance, she seems genuinely happy doing what she does as she jokes with first one customer before turning another amorous male customer aside with a gentle tongue lashing. It is all part of her world, one that she has come to not only accept, but also to excel in. She is at home in this atmosphere of cooking odors and cigarette smoke. There is no doubt that she's content with her lot.

Looking back at Eddy, I'm reminded of how lucky I am. For a man of my years and social ineptitude, what does a woman with Eddy's beauty and grace see in me?

Sure, there are days when I feel confident, even full of myself. But as the years go by, they are fewer and farther between. Reality is an unforgiving judge. Some days, I have a hard time even liking myself. I can't imagine how Eddy puts up with me.

When the woman steps up to our booth, two coffee mugs of steaming brew in one hand and a pair of menus and silverware in the other, Eddy says, "You must be Sally."

"So the mirror reminds me every morning," she says brightly, placing equal items before each of us, a loose strand of hair dangling down the side of her face.

"Decker said we should have the biscuits and gravy," Eddy continues with a smile of empathy. It's getting late in the day and no doubt close to the end of her shift. I would be surprised if her feet and calves aren't killing her and yet, she is pleasant to the point of appearing eager to serve.

"That's the only thing Decker ever eats," she laughs. "It's a small wonder that he don't recommend it to everyone."

"Well, it sounds wonderful, if it's not a problem," I say, almost feeling sorry for her.

"No problem at all. And thank you, it'll be right up," she says, scratching hurriedly on her order pad while simultaneously turning toward the kitchen counter.

"Decker has a thing for her," I nonchalantly remark, my eyes following her for a moment.

"She might be married to the cook," Eddy replies a bit tentatively, her eyes studying the heavy set man in the greasy apron behind the kitchen counter as he places two plates up for the waitress.

"I'm not saying she isn't," I reply a bit defensively. "I'm just saying that Decker has a thing for her."

"Okay, I'll bite. How do you know Decker has a thing for Sally?"

"The biscuits and gravy," I say with finality.

Quizzically, Eddy studies me for a long moment before saying, "I don't get it."

"Okay, let me explain," I reply, keeping my voice low and an eye out for Sally so she doesn't accidentally overhear me. "Sally told us that he only eats biscuits and gravy. Moreover, he recommends the biscuits and gravy to everyone that stops by," I start, as if speaking to a slow student. "He does that, because he knows that order puts the least amount of work on the waitress. She doesn't have to add any condiments such as butter pats, jelly, or special requests. You don't ask for your gravy over easy, do you?" I explain. "It's just set on the plate and returned to the table. No muss, no fuss."

"That's a stretch even for you, Mac. But okay, I'll buy into it. He's clearly concerned for her," Eddy concedes, taking a swig of coffee.

The walkway leads along the entire front of the building so everyone coming and going has to pass before the windows. Just as Sally brings us each a heaping plate of biscuits buried in a dark, rich gravy, I notice two men coming along the walkway toward the restaurant.

"Thank you," Eddy graciously remarks, studying the food being set before her.

"I'll be back in a minute to refresh your coffee."

"Thank you," Eddy again replies.

"Eddy, I think we might have company," I softly mouth, my eyes studying the approaching men.

Eddy follows my line of sight, turning slightly to look over her left shoulder. After memorizing their appearance, she turns back and asks, "What makes them special? Quite a few men have come and gone since we arrived."

"They didn't come from the airfield," I calmly reply, continuing to study them. "They cut across the clearing between the walkway and the parking area. Not a big deal during the day, but who cuts across unknown ground in the dark?"

Signaling Sally over with a brief wave of my hand, I casually ask of her, "Is there an easy way to get from the car parking area to the café?"

"Sure," she answers, rising to her full height and turning to her right, away from the direction that the men were approaching from. "There's a walkway that leads around this end of the building and straight to the front lot. All the townsfolk come in that way."

"Is it well marked, you know, easy to find if you're from out of town?" I continue, before adding, "I know these questions may sound a tad odd, but we're expecting someone from town to meet up with us here and we just want to make sure they haven't gotten lost."

"No problem," she smiles. "I'm sure they'll find their way around. It's well posted. If they can find the airfield, they'll find the restaurant."

"Thank you," I say, looking down at my plate for the first time. "This looks and smells delicious."

"I hope you enjoy."

As Sally turns away, the door opens and the two men enter. They pause just inside the door for a moment to study the interior as well as the patrons before proceeding forward to the bar.

"They're carrying," Eddy softly informs me, since my back is toward them.

"It might be coincidence, but I don't believe in coincidences," I reply, turning slightly to get my own look at them close up.

### **21**

Glancing around, I notice at the far end of the building from the entrance is a narrow hall with a sign above it indicating pay phones and restrooms. "Keep an eye on them while I head to the restroom. See just how interested in me they are, will you?"

Rising, I step out in the aisle running between the booths and the stools lining the lunch counter. Walking slowly, I work my way toward the hallway at the far end. Even before I am halfway there, I realize that it isn't necessary for Eddy to tell me what I already know as the small hairs are standing on the back of my neck.

After quickly washing my hands in the restroom, I slowly return to the booth while carefully keeping my eyes averted from the two men. It doesn't escape my notice that they're doing the same to me. It's a game of cat and mouse and all the players have been identified.

Taking my seat, Eddy says, "Eat up, I think we got our tail back." Before I can remark, she says while lifting another forkful to her mouth, "This is really good stuff."

After making quick work of my own plate, I heartily agree with her. When Sally comes by with the pot of coffee, I slip her a fifty dollar bill and softly ask her for a favor. When she leans close, I explain to her what we need.

Smiling, she slips the bill into her apron pocket and straightens up, politely asking if we would care for dessert.

Patting my stomach, I decline. "No, thank you, but if you could give us the check please."

"Certainly," she says, retrieving her order pad from her other apron pocket and tearing off the sheet with our order on it. "Here you go."

"Here," I say, handing her a twenty. "Keep the change."

"Thank you. You two have a safe flight tonight."

With that, she turns and retreats toward the kitchen, passing the two men at the lunch counter as she does.

"Excuse me," one of them says, aware that we've paid our bill and are readying to leave.

"I'll be with you in a moment," Sally says, heading through the batwing doors leading into the kitchen.

"As soon as she comes out, get up and make for the door," I advise Eddy.

If we tried to leave while the waitress is unavailable to them, they will simply drop money on the counter and get up. But if they request a bill, she will have an opportunity to keep them preoccupied while we make a run for the helicopter. In a moment, we'll see if Sally wins an Oscar award or not and whether my fifty spot is worth it.

With a tray of clean glasses in each hand, she exits the kitchen and works her way slowly along the lunch counter toward the far end. As she passes the two men, one of them calls for her attention. Again, she informs them that she'll be right with them. As she passes parallel to us, she winks, indicating that she is about to engage them.

Setting down the trays of glasses, she turns back toward the two men while simultaneously pulling out her order pad. "Are you guys ready?" she asks, acting as if she is readying herself to take their order.

"Just the check, please," the nearer of the two states, his voice slightly agitated.

While Sally attempts to engage them in conversation, first describing the wonderful pies they offer in case they're not up to a full meal, Eddy and I slip past them, moving swiftly through the doors and down the steps to the walkway.

"This way," I command, leading her off to the right instead of toward the fueling station.

The walkway to the parking area is well lit and as soon as we step out around the end of the building into the parking lot, my eyes search for the vehicle that the two men must have arrived in.

Not to be disappointed, I see a lone sedan parked at the far end of the lot where it is closer to the fuel pumps. When they arrived, they expected us to still be on the tarmac and not in the café, explaining why they approached from the direction they did.

"Come on," I say, taking her by the hand and setting off at a hurried jog across the ten-plus acre parking lot.

Between breaths, Eddy asks, "How did they find us so fast?"

"Process of elimination," I breathlessly reply. "When they didn't overtake us on the road, they quickly put two and two together and figured out that we must have found another route. If they did any background on us at all, they know about Sammy's and the chopper. Based on the limited range of the little bird, it only made sense that we would be stopping somewhere along the way to refuel." After taking a few deep breaths, I add, "They do have the advantage of knowing where we're headed, so they probably have agents checking all the small airfields with fueling facilities between Oregon and San Francisco."

Short of breath from talking and running, we reach the sole vehicle at the far end of the lot. Leaning against the side of it for support, I turn to look back along the way we'd come. It comes as no surprise when I see the agents rounding the corner of the building.

"Here they come. Sally kept them preoccupied longer than I would have expected," I remark.

Eddy turns and looks in the same direction as me. Although the lot is lit by overhead sodium bulbs on tall poles, at this end of the lot they are fewer and farther between, leaving us in mixed shadows. Because they can't see us, they move at a more casual pace while studying the few vehicles closer to them as they work their way toward us.

"Now what?" Eddy asks, having caught her breath.

Slipping out my Buck knife, I slash the rear and front tires on the driver's side of the vehicle, facing away from the approaching agents. "Why did you do that?" Eddy asks.

"Because we are going to make a run for the bird and I don't want them to have the advantage of running us down with the car," I inform her while studying the movements of the agents. "Get ready to make a break for it the next time they step between vehicles."

Because the agents believe we are hiding among the parked cars nearer the café, they are inspecting each one, taking their time working their way toward us. When they disappear for a moment between a minivan and an SUV, I grab Eddy by the hand and set off on a straight line toward the helipad at a dead run. Hopefully, they won't notice us moving through the shadows until we've covered enough distance that we have time to start the bird and get airborne before they can overtake us.

To my dismay, I hear one of them shout out, ordering us to halt almost immediately after leaving out from their sedan. But we are committed to this plan of action and their shouts only spur us to greater speed.

We reach the tarmac and the fuel station office at almost the same time the agents reach their vehicle. "Pay the man, Eddy," I breathless command her while continuing on to the helipad and the waiting bird.

Good fortune shines down on us as I hurriedly climb in and secure the harness while flipping switches. Taking a brief second to check on our pursuers while waiting for Eddy, I notice the interior of their sedan awash with light. Just as I had expected they would do, they did. Instead of continuing on foot and overtaking us before we could possibly get airborne, they stopped at the sedan with the intent of driving across the open field to overtake us.

By the time they got in, started the vehicle and put it in drive only to discover that both tires on the driver's side were sitting on their rims, several long moments were lost.

With the rotors turning, the whine of the engine picking up speed, Eddy suddenly appears in the open hatch on the passenger's side. Her feet are barely off the ground when I work the rudders and the joystick, tilting the little bird enough to start her moving along the asphalt.

Glancing over my shoulder, I see the two agents running toward us across the open field, each carrying a dark object in their right hand that can only be a weapon.

Slowly, almost too slowly, we skim along the surface of the tarmac with the nose pitched forward in an attempt to build up speed. It's a dangerous maneuver at best and yet necessary considering the circumstances. If the landing gear snags the least little thing, we will flip onto our back in a heartbeat, destroying the little bird and possibly killing the both of us.

These thoughts and more are going through my mind as I wait for the rotor speed to climb enough to give us sufficient lift. Working with methodical precision that can only come from hand's on experience and a natural affinity with the little bird, I adjust back the angle of forward attack which has the effect of increasing our lift.

Glancing over my left shoulder, I see the men break out of the tall grass and onto the tarmac. To my surprise, Decker steps out of the fueling office and gets in their way, causing them to slow down and sidestep around him. It amounts to fractions of a second, but it is fractions of time that we desperately need.

Something catches out of the corner of my eye and I look down, surprised to see a shower of sparks radiating out from the landing skids as the one on my side drags across the smooth asphalt surface. Looking back up and toward our pursuers, I see they have stopped giving chase. While one is leaning forward with his hands on his knees to catch his breath, the other is sighting along his weapon toward us.

Glancing at the gauges, I quickly debate if I can risk a lift off or if the little bird will simply stall and crash back to earth. It doesn't seem likely that they would fire their weapons at us. But the time to make a decision is upon us.

With time running at hyper-speed, each decision seeming to take an eternity to make, everything is actually happening in fractions of seconds and I look back at the two agents just in time to see Decker, clad in his dirty coveralls, crash against the man sighting along his weapon.

The time for indecision is over and I pull back on the stick, giving lift to the little bird. Looking over at Eddy, I see her hurriedly strapping into her harness. With a settling in the pit of my stomach, we climb into the night sky. There is a slight vibration of resistance thrumming through the controls and rattling deep within the bones of my body. I have no doubt that Eddy feels it too.

"Whew!" I whistle, letting the helicopter find its wings as I ease back on our rate of climb.

Within a few minutes, we are at one-thousand-feet and cruising right along. Letting go of the controls for a moment, I tighten the straps of my harness. To my surprise, Eddy has retrieved a bottle in a brown paper sack and is twisting the top off.

Turning toward me, she says, "I think we could both use a shot, don't you?"

"No arguments there," I acknowledge, accepting the proffered bottle. After taking a long swig, I hand the bottle back. "Thank you, I needed that."

She takes a swallow and puts the cap back on before saying, "Yeah, me too."

"They've probably already notified air authority to track us, possibly even to force us down," I start, my voice calmed by the rum. "Keep your eyes open for lights in the sky."

"Why don't you turn yours off so they can't see us?" she asks, trying to be helpful.

"We'll only make ourselves invisible to other small craft that don't have onboard radar," I enlighten her.

### **22**

We fly on in silence for a short while when Eddy slowly turns to face me and asks, "Shouldn't we warn Larry before he flies into a hornet's nest?"

"Larry knows that if he is more than fifteen minutes behind us, he will need to use another airfield to refuel," I reply while glancing in the skies above and behind us. To explain myself, I add, "We've been doing this for quite a while now, he knows the routine."

After an indeterminate period of time in which we both keep cocking our heads first in one direction and then another, I finally break the silence. "There isn't any point in hiding because they know where we're headed and can pretty well guesstimate our route. Still, I feel we have to hide or they might not let us get to our destination. At this point, they only know that we are ultimately headed for San Francisco. There is still a good chance they don't know about Greg and Gina," I say, outlining my dilemma for Eddy so that she can give me her input.

"Then it's imperative that we deviate enough from our route to lose any pursuit they may have put in the air so we don't lead them to your friends," she determinedly states. After a moment, she asks, "Can we fly under their radar? Or is that just something they do in the movies?"

"I've flown under radar at night in the past. It's not something we want to do if it's at all avoidable," I tell her, gladdened by her initiative. "I think deviating from our route, however, is a good idea, especially since there's a good chance they're not aware of our contacts in Napa Valley."

Although my first instinct is to veer west and head back toward the coast, probably even dropping low out over the ocean and following the shoreline south, I just as quickly dismiss the idea. If we veer that way, we will be forced to traverse San Francisco air space in order to cut back to Napa Valley. Even without a covert air search for us, any and all aircraft are monitored within the vicinity of major population areas.

Instead, I gently work the rudders and adjust our heading toward Mount Shasta and points beyond. No one will expect us to veer that far eastward. In fact, I'm not sure I really care for the idea of entering treacherous mountain passes and the unpredictable weather that comes with them. This is a very small aircraft which makes it very vulnerable to unstable weather and air currents.

Common sense dictates that we should stay on our present course and take our chances with the feds. Or, if we're going to lose our pursuers, we should turn westward and head out to sea, an approach that keeps coming back as an option even though I've already dismissed it.

"Let's hope they give us credit for having a little common sense and don't consider us foolish enough to take such a small aircraft into the mountains," I mumble aloud, unaware that Eddy has also put her headset on and can hear my every breath.

With uncharacteristic timidity, Eddy whispers, "Is it really foolhardy of us to go this way?"

"We'll be fine," I calmly reply, taken aback by her overt concern for our safety. "It's the time we're losing that bothers me. Every extra minute we spend in ducking pursuit puts us an extra minute behind our objective. Eventually, our mysterious benefactor is liable to consider the possibility that we either failed or simply took his money and ran, either of which could have catastrophic results for Miss Domingo."

"But if the feds have her, won't she be safe?" Eddy asks, for the moment preoccupied with something other than the flight ahead.

"If you recall, our job is simply to locate her and bring her safely to a secure rendezvous. At that point we'll be allowed to leave of our own accord or they'll just kill us to guarantee our silence," I explain to her. "Either way, they realize we're not cold-blooded killers or they would have simply hired us to eliminate her."

"If they've hired a killer to eliminate her, then it only makes sense they will use the same killer to eliminate us too, since we will be a threat just knowing what we know," she softly breathes as if realizing for the first time the predicament we're in.

"Somehow, we need to find a way to protect Miss Domingo so that she can testify while at the same time avoiding getting ourselves arrested, or worse," I elucidate, trying to make it sound simpler than it actually is. "And while we're doing that, we also have to keep our benefactor convinced that we have his best interest at heart and are earning the monies that we've already been paid. And we've been paid quite well, I might add."

"No doubt there are transparent copies of that transaction already on their way to the authorities," she angrily adds.

"I have no doubt that is why we're being followed," I grimly concur. "With my background, it's already a foregone conclusion that we're going to San Francisco to eliminate a threat."

"What about your friends in high places?" Eddy smirks, looking over at me. "Can't you convince someone that it isn't what it appears to be?" she adds, her voice suddenly serious again.

"Several years ago that might have worked," I concede. "But now, with my reputation being what it is, my friends in so called high places are more apt not to take my calls."

This latter comment is sad but true. Yet, I am not so foolish that I don't realize I have no one to blame but myself. My friends have been trying to protect me from myself for some time now. But I've been a stubborn cuss, refusing to acknowledge the writing on the wall. In addition, my penchant for rum hasn't helped.

"There's probably a stigma attached to just knowing me."

"I think you underestimate the influence you still carry, Mac," Eddy solemnly states. Feeling the weight of her gaze on me, I purposely concentrate on the limited view through the front windscreen. After a long moment of silence, she asks, "Shouldn't we try to get hold of Larry?"

Distractedly I reply, "He'll be fine. We don't need to worry about him."

"But won't they figure out that he's assisting you and as such, an equal threat?"

"Larry can take care of himself," I remark, wishing she would drop the subject. Since contacting Larry is not an option due to it giving away our positions, her questions make me feel almost as if I am abandoning my friend and leaving him hanging out to dry, so to speak, which angers me. Anyone that knows me at all knows that I would never do anything to jeopardize a friend's safety, even at the risk of my own. "I'm sure they already know that he's working with us," I add with finality, the tone of my voice strongly suggesting that the subject is closed.

"He could be flying into a trap, Mac," she persists, not taking my subtle hints to heart.

"Eddy, if you wanted to fly with Larry, you had your opportunity. However, you opted to fly with me. Now, for the last time, Larry knows the procedure when he's on the job. Contacting him is out of the question. He can take care of himself. This subject is closed, Eddy, so drop it," I firmly command. And then, in a softer tone, add, "Please."

"I know you're right. And I understand why we can't contact him. But that doesn't mean I can't worry about him," she pouts, her gaze dropping to her lap.

After another long moment of silence, she retrieves the brown bag containing the bottle of rum and after unscrewing the cap, hands it over to me. "We should probably be drinking the coffee before it gets too cold," I suggest, unhesitatingly taking the proffered bottle from her before she can withdraw it.

"Yeah, we probably should be drinking coffee," she quietly agrees. "But I need a shot of something stronger and you obviously do to," she quickly adds, watching me tip the bottle to my lips.

### **23**

With the Cave an hour behind us, the lights of Ashland suddenly spring into view.

"We'll be coming up on the interstate shortly," I inform Eddy, startling her out of her thoughts. With a gentle touch on the stick, I adjust our course to a more southerly direction. "We'll just follow the interstate south into California. It'll be a lot quicker and safer than trying to find our way through the mountains in the dark of night."

"How much time are we losing by detouring this far east?"

"Not as much as we would lose if we let the authorities catch us," I quip back, glancing over at her. In the light of the dash, I see her grimace at my attempt to lighten the atmosphere. "We'll make Napa Valley by midmorning, barring any unforeseen problems."

"Can we make it nonstop? Or do we have to stop for fuel again?" she asks, surprising me by her question.

"We'll eat the sandwiches we have packed tonight and find an airstrip with a lounge in the morning for breakfast," I inform her. "You might want to catch some shuteye while you can. If anything changes, I'll wake you."

"I'm fine," she states. "If it's all the same to you, I'd like to help keep watch for other aircraft."

"Your call."

Although the route we've chosen is a challenging one, it is much safer than trying to fly in the dark between mountain peaks. With the limited altitude and climbing ability of the little bird, I am forced to maintain an almost thousand-foot cushion above the hard pack. Because of the way the highway was carved through large rocky outcrops and deep ravines, the shoulders tend to either climb swiftly or drop off into deep valleys.

"I drove through here several times," Eddy suddenly says. "If I remember correctly, there are signs along the highway that state it is patrolled by aircraft."

"Those are just to intimidate people into obeying the speed limits," I nonchalantly reply.

"No they aren't! I would see small planes and helicopters flying overhead all the time," she vehemently argues.

"Maybe that was when the state budgets had more money in them and they could afford the air time," I weakly rebut.

"The states have never had any more money in their coffers," she persists. "And I've never heard of a state with too much money. Or, for that matter, a state that could adequately fund all of their current projects without initiating bond measures and raising taxes."

"That may be true, but I doubt if we'll encounter any bears in the sky tonight," I persist, secretly hoping I'm right, yet beginning to doubt myself.

We follow the interstate from a distance, always on the lookout for high ridges and dangerous obstacles. The intense concentration from flying under these circumstances is beginning to tax my nerves and strain my eyes when a blinking light from another aircraft suddenly appears directly ahead of us.

"There! What's that?" Eddy suddenly cries out, noticing the light at the same instant as me.

"It appears to be a small airplane," I calmly reply while reaching for the radio and adjusting the scan mode to pick up any radio traffic that might be coming from the unidentified aircraft.

When the small craft suddenly dips out of sight, I realize immediately that it is also following the interstate, but at a much lower altitude than us and directly atop the ribbon of asphalt.

Before leaning back into the seat, I flip off our running lights. Because of our altitude, we are above and behind the newly discovered aircraft. Yet, at our present speed, we are quickly overtaking it.

"It's a bear in the sky, isn't it?" Eddy demands, sounding vindicated.

"It's flying low and slow enough to be just that," I absently agree, my mind quickly assessing our options.

Glancing to our right and out to the west, I am surprised when I can see stars almost to the horizon. Of all the good luck in the world, we just so happen to be passing an adjoining valley to the mountain pass.

Without giving it any further thought, I trounce the rudders and shift the cyclic stick to the hard right. The little bird responds immediately, banking over to the right and changing direction as the sudden change in G-forces presses us deeper into our seats.

As soon as the nose comes around to the west, I pull back on the cyclic stick and adjust for a gradual climb. Since we've been flying blind, we can only guess at our exact location.

"Where are we going?" Eddy asks after catching her breath from the sudden rush of adrenaline.

"Sorry for not giving you any warning, but we can't afford to be overtaking a California Highway Patrol Aircraft when we don't even have a flight plan," I inform her, while keeping a watchful eye on the altimeter.

Just as quickly as the window to the west opened, it just as quickly closes. Up currents and fog banks move swiftly through the mountain passes and as such, our visibility drops back to zero in less than a minute. No sane man would fly through fog and dark with zero visibility and only an altimeter for information. But for someone to fly with zero visibility through mountain passes is the equivalent of a death wish.

"Do you know where we're going?" Eddy asks, straining to see into the inky blackness surrounding us.

"Well, we can't overtake the airplane and we risk being spotted if we continue following it. Eventually, some ground trooper is going to notice us and inform the bear in the sky that he has a tail. Or he's going to turn around at some point per his flight plan and find us lolly-gagging along behind. Neither of which is a good thing," I explain, not sure how to tell her that I haven't figured out anymore than that.

"How far can you go without being able to see anything?" she asks, glancing in my direction.

"As long as we maintain this heading and climb, we shouldn't run into anything," I say, studying the slowly rising altimeter. "Problem is, this isn't taking us any closer to Napa Valley or San Francisco," I sigh, glad to get it off my chest and out in the open. If she wants to think I'm an idiot, so be it.

"Can we turn back at some point and reconnect with the interstate far enough ahead of the bear that he doesn't see us?" she asks, finding the situation too serious to waste energy berating me. "Or do we stay on this course until we come out over the ocean?"

"During daylight hours with reasonable visibility, reconnecting with the interstate further south wouldn't be a problem. But in the middle of the night with fog banks, swirling clouds, up currents, and unpredictable rises in the land, that's almost suicide," I argue. "We could be a tree ornament before we even have a chance to react."

"I'm not so stupid to believe we can continue flying west until we reach the ocean," she states. "Is there any possibility we can set down for the night and wait for daybreak?"

"Can you see the ground?" I irritably grumble. "We don't know if we're flying over a smooth plateau or a thick forest of hundred-foot fir trees. If we drop down, there's no telling what we'll drop into." I pause for a moment for effect before adding, "This altimeter only tells me how high above sea level we are, it doesn't tell me how far above solid ground we are. There could be a solid rock out cropping dead ahead and we have no way of seeing it before we run into it." I pause for a moment before adding, "I'm not saying these things to scare you Eddy. I just want you to be aware of what we're up against here."

"Then what are our options, Mac?" she angrily demands with no sign of fear in her voice, only frustration.

Glancing at the altimeter, I realize that we're at almost four-thousand-feet above sea level. The highest peak in this area is less than five-thousand-feet. If we can avoid the peaks, we should be fine.

"Hang on," I mouth into the mic while simultaneously working the stick and rudders to bring us around onto a due south heading.

When she levels back out, I ask Eddy to find the map and pinpoint the higher peaks to the south of Cave Junction. After retrieving the satchel containing all my flight and service records from its secured location between the seats, she says, "I'm going to need some light."

After flipping a toggle to bring on the cockpit lights, she begins rifling through the papers, being careful not to let any fall out. Impatiently, I look over at her when she suddenly pulls out a tattered old map.

"Here we go," she says triumphantly, setting the satchel down by her feet. Unfolding the map on her lap, she pores over it for a long moment before asking, "Can you pinpoint where we are? Or should I just take a guess?"

After doing some quick calculations in my head, I look over at the map and find my bearings. "If I had to guess, I would say that we must be somewhere in this area," I tell her, reaching out and indicating a general area on the map with my right index finger. "Just point out the higher peaks above four-thousand-feet to the south of that area," I ask of her, looking back at the gauges for a moment.

"There's a whole mess of mountain peaks just south of us," she exasperatedly spouts, her frustration spilling forth.

"I just need to know about the next one that we'll encounter so we can avoid it," I calmly reply while trying not to let her see my own frustration, when an idea comes to me. "Hold that map over here where I can see it," I suddenly command. When she does as instructed, I look not for mountain elevations, but rather for rivers.

When I see what I'm looking for, I point to it with my right index finger while mouthing excitedly, "Right there! All we have to do is find it and follow it back to the interstate. If we're quick enough, we should come out well ahead of that plane following the interstate."

When she realizes that I'm indicating a river, she asks, "How do you propose we find a river when we can't see our hands in front of our faces?"

"We look for fishing cabins," I calmly state. "The last time I came through here, I noticed a lot of cabins built along the river. Several of them will be occupied and it's still early enough that some of the people in them will be up, which means we should see their lights."

"You can't be serious?" she exclaims, looking hard at me in the light of the cockpit.

"I'm dead serious, Eddy. It's our only chance of reaching Napa Valley by morning and not being discovered."

"I like taking our chances with the highway patrol better," she argues, though her voice carries little conviction.

"Do you trust me, Eddy?"

"You know I do, Mac."

"Then keep your eyes peeled," I suggest, putting the cockpit in darkness.

"Mac?"

"Yes."

"Would you like a drink?"

"I'd love one, Eddy."

### **24**

We fly on in silence and absolute darkness for almost thirty long and uneventful minutes when Eddy suddenly calls out, "Down there. I saw something sparkle for a moment as if reflected off glass."

Without a word, I adjust our course to circle back in the direction Eddy is indicating. We are at four-thousand-feet above sea level in an area with peaks ranging well above that. Even if Eddy wasn't imagining what she saw, it will be dangerous navigating the course of a river in the dark of night without putting on the running lights. Hell, even with the lights on, it's going to be dangerous.

After circling back over the area with only silence from Eddy, I ask, "Are you sure you saw something?"

Hesitantly she replies, her voice clouded with doubt, "I would have sworn I saw a light down there."

We have made an almost three-hundred-sixty degree turn when she suddenly calls out, her voice triumphant, "There it is! Right there, Mac."

Tilting the angle of the rotor, I bring up the rear of the small bird and aim the nose slightly downward while reducing thrust to the rotor. Sure enough, directly ahead of us is a dim light.

With our air speed abruptly reduced, I increase lift to the rotors in preparation of hovering. Although the altimeter indicates that we are still above three-thousand-feet, the light below us is less than one-thousand-feet distant.

Because it fades in and out occasionally, I maneuver slowly to the right, trying to come out from behind the trees that lie between it and us without running into any other trees. When it shines brightly with no obstructions, I ease way back on the throttle and slowly proceed dead ahead with caution.

As we draw within five-hundred-feet of the light, we can make out the reflection off the moving water and Eddy realizes that's what she originally saw from the sky.

Slowly, we continue on past the cabin, now close enough to make out the silhouette of a man in the window as he tries to see what is making so much noise in the otherwise pristine wilderness. We are flying approximately one-hundred-feet above the river, but have no idea where the banks are or where the next turn is. We could fly head on into a stand of trees if we don't find another point of light to get our bearings soon.

Pulling up on the stick, I increase rotor speed and climb one hundred-feet. It isn't much and does nothing toward increasing our safety, but psychologically, it works wonders.

We are moving at approximately forty MPH when Eddy suddenly calls out. "There, another light."

It would seem by the sudden appearance of the light that the sound of our little engine is carrying ahead of us and waking people that were asleep in their cabins along the river.

With smooth deftness, I adjust our course and continue on, keeping the next light just off to our left. As we pass, the light is suddenly extinguished. Someone is trying to see what we are and their light made that impossible.

But we are already beyond the cabin and the light is no longer needed.

Soon, several more lights appear. This time, one of them is a sodium type yard light casting a long, yellowish glow out on the water and for the first time, we can see just how wide the river is.

To our good fortune, the river is much wider and deeper appearing than I would have guessed and I immediately increase our ground speed.

The farther east we go, the more populated with cabins it becomes, even though the river itself appears to be growing narrower and swifter between its banks. With sweat soaking my shirt and dripping from my brow, it is with a great deal of relief that we come upon a highway overpass consisting of concrete and lit with overhead lights.

"That has to be the interstate," I proudly exclaim, adjusting our course and settling in approximately five-hundred-feet above the asphalt.

With the interstate in sight below us and no sign of other aircraft, I turn on our running lights and trim the rotors to conserve fuel while increasing our forward speed.

"I love you, Mac. And I trust you implicitly. But promise me, we will never have to do that again," Eddy sighs, her own forehead slick with perspiration from the stress.

"I promise," I quickly concur. "If you want to catch some shuteye, it should be fairly easy going for a while. We'll have to deviate from the highway when we near Sacramento, but that won't be for several hours."

"I'd rather stay up and keep you company, if you don't mind," she replies, glancing over at me with a smile. "Are you hungry?"

With the waning of adrenalin, my appetite comes on with a vengeance at the thought of food. "Ravenous."

"Good, then you won't have a problem with these stale sandwiches," she laughs, opening up a paper sack and withdrawing several cellophane-wrapped sandwiches along with a couple of single-serving bags of chips.

Treating me like a child, Eddy tears off bite-sized pieces from the sandwiches and directs them to my mouth after carefully pushing the microphone out of the way. After each piece, she drops several crushed chips onto my eagerly awaiting tongue. Then she bites off some for herself and starts the process all over. When the first two sandwiches are gone, having been equally divided between us, she fishes out a thermos and pours cold coffee into the cap which serves as a cup.

"You'll have to manage this one on your own," she says, handing me the cup. "Don't worry, it won't scald you," she jokes.

Taking a large swallow, I hand her the empty cup saying, "Ah, the memories. It almost feels as if we're back home."

"Are you insinuating that I serve you cold coffee at home?" she asks indignantly. "Well, I hope you have a good memory, because you won't be served any more coffee by me and definitely not in bed."

"Oh, I'm sorry, was that you?" I tease, only to find myself fending off her flailing arms.

They are weak attempts, landing lightly on my right arm. After a moment, she falls back into her seat, exhausted, and says, "I'm sorry, Mac."

Concerned, I ask, "What have you to be sorry for?"

She starts off, her voice heavy with fatigue. I assume it is only the after effects from the adrenaline combined with the late hour and no sleep the night before. "I know you were only teasing and yet, I felt an actual pang of jealousy. That's not like me. It goes against my nature to feel possessive of another's affections."

"You know you don't have anything to worry about in that department. If I'm anything, it's loyal," I solemnly reply.

Her voice almost a whisper, she says, "I know that, Mac. And yet, sometimes it really bothers me to see the way other women look at you and talk to you." She pauses for a moment before adding, "Like that waitress at the café."

"She was being nice to both of us, Eddy," I lamely argue. "We both owe her a debt of gratitude."

"Sure, we both owe her. But it was only because of you that she did what she did," Eddy snaps back, her voice climbing an octave with the sudden onset of anger.

Aware that this conversation isn't going anywhere productive, I attempt to change it before it gets out of hand. "How do you feel about taking the controls while I catch a little shuteye?"

"Don't try changing the subject on me, I'm not finished yet!"

Taking my eyes off the lights dotting the highway, I study Eddy for a long moment, her eyes glaring back at me and burning holes in my very being. With Mount Shasta on our left and Mount Eddy on my right, we blow over Weed and Dunsmuir without breaking stride.

"All right, I'm all ears. Are you finally going to tell me what's been going on with you for the past six weeks or so? Why you've been acting so crazy for no reason?" I fire back, my own anger and frustration rising.

"What's been going on with me?" she cries out, her voice full of indignation.

"Yes, what's been going on with you," I reply, my voice unnecessarily loud.

Suddenly, she crosses her arms on her chest and plants herself solidly in the seat, her gaze braced forward. "I'm going to catch some shuteye before I say something we both regret," she says with steely finality.

Though I desperately desire to know what has been bothering her, I've seen her determination before and know that she has said all she is ready to say. Any further attempts to get her to speak will only raise her ire more.

Turning my gaze back toward the lights ahead, I mumble softly under my breath, "Goodnight."

### **25**

The next few hours pass in relative silence. Because the interstate has dispersed lights along it for emergency purposes, following it is easy. At an altitude of approximately five-hundred feet above the hard pack, we are safely clear of any manmade obstacles. So long as I keep the pavement directly below us, there is also little chance of encountering rocky outcroppings or ridges. With the throttle pushed into maximum cruise range, we are moving along at a little over one-hundred and twenty miles-per-hour ground speed. Yet, even at such a high rate of speed, we overtake very few vehicles on the highway below.

When the southern horizon slowly begins to glow from the lights of Redding, I allow myself a deep sigh of relief. With Redding ahead, we are coming out of the mountains and entering more hospitable terrain. Still, I cannot let my guard down as the country has many hills and some high peaks that still need looking out for.

Climbing slowly to an altitude that puts us well above any danger while possibly increasing our chances of showing up on the radar screens of the local airports, I adjust our course slightly to the west and opt for a more direct flight to Napa Valley. It is just past midnight and we still have many more hours in the air ahead of us, but the worst part of the trip is over.

As the little bird slowly climbs, Eddy suddenly stirs as the changing barometric pressure in the cabin alerts her to wakefulness. "Where are we?" she mumbles softly while rubbing her eyes and trying to focus them outside the windscreen. And then, her voice stronger, asks, "Isn't that the highway over there?"

"Good morning, Sunshine," I smile at her, glad to have her company after the last few hours of silence. "Yeah, that would be the interstate," I say, confirming her suspicions. "We're clear of the worst now and we can make better time cutting across country. Besides, if we continue due south, we're going to need clearance for the airport at Redding."

"What time is it?" she asks, wriggling around in the seat until she finds a comfortable spot and settles back in.

"Little after midnight," I reply.

"I think my legs have fallen asleep," she says, covering her mouth with her hand as she yawns. Twisting some more in her seat, she hesitantly admits, "I don't think I can make it till morning, Mac. My body hurts all over from being scrunched up in this seat for so long already."

"Tell you what," I start, sympathizing with her pain as my own body is screaming for relief. It's a subtle reminder that we are not as young as we once were. "The interstate veers slightly to the west as it works its way south. We'll continue running parallel to it till we get closer to Napa Valley. Once we clear Redding's air space, I'll correct our course and make for Red Bluff. There's a small airfield there where we can refuel and hopefully find some food and hot coffee. Or, at the least, some hot coffee," I amend. "Can you manage another hour?"

"Sounds wonderful," she says. "I think I'll manage." After a moment, she adds, "Ooh, just the thought of hot coffee and I can already smell it."

With a slight tilt to the left, I adjust the cyclic stick and adjust our course to where we can still see the lights along the highway as well as the glow on the horizon emanating from the lights of Redding.

Slowly, the glow on the horizon shifts farther and farther to our left with a few small businesses and street lights stretching out to us and beyond. Despite all the lights, the roads are deserted. The feeling coming from them is one of despair and loneliness. Yet, come daybreak, these same roads will be bustling with commuters making their daily treks to work and other unknown places of importance.

Though I have watched this scene unfold many times in my life, I have never been an attendee of the ritual and can only relate my feelings as that of an observer. Of course, that doesn't mean that I haven't imagined what it must be like to live in suburbia with a wife and kids, commuting to work every morning to earn a paycheck and then commuting back home in the evening only to start the process all over again the next day, and the day after that, and so on.

Most people find comfort in routine. I find monotony. They say people are creatures of habit. I say dogs are creatures of habit. It's the spontaneity of life that keeps it interesting and ultimately, keeps me going.

It's been my observation that most people never realize how resilient and resourceful they can be because they are never tested. That can be a good thing, meaning that life has blessed them with all good things. Or that can be a bad thing, because they never realize their true potential as a human being. They never get the opportunity to explore the depths of their passion under fire or discover the true strength of their convictions. It is my opinion that these poor souls are missing out on the sweetest rewards that life has to offer. But that is just my opinion. And as we all know, opinions are like assholes, we all have one.

With the glow from Redding dropping farther and farther to our rear, we slowly notice a weaker glow on the horizon south of us. "That must be Red Bluff," I inform Eddy. "Can you find the airfield on the map and give me the coordinates?" I ask, flipping on the overhead cockpit lights.

In the harsh glare of the halogens, Eddy's face appears tired and drawn, bordering on haggard and my heart goes out to her. It hurts me inwardly to see her so fatigued.

After a moment, she gives me the coordinates of the airfield from the aerial map and I adjust our course accordingly.

Though the minutes feel like hours, we eventually sight the running lights adorning the small airfield. "There she is. Straight ahead," I declare.

Off to the left of the runway is a fuel depot. As we draw closer, I see the helipad marked with a large 'X' next to the fuel depot. With our destination in sight, I adjust our course to come in perpendicular to the air strip and make a careful study of the night sky for any other inbound aircraft. For the moment, we appear to be the only bird in the vicinity.

"Not much traffic tonight," Eddy comments, anxious to be on the ground.

"Situated as close to Redding as it is, I would imagine most traffic flies in and out of the larger airport," I casually remark in response to her comment.

Setting the little bird on the pad, I quickly shut down the engine and release my safety harness, noticing that Eddy is already out of hers and climbing out the open hatch. The night air is redolent of aviation gas and oil due to our proximity to the fuel tanks.

Because it is late, no one comes out of the fuel hut to assist us. Studying it for a moment, I notice that the interior remains dark, giving the impression that it is deserted. However, I feel confident that someone is inside, probably asleep, and they just didn't hear us land.

"Wait by the chopper," I instruct Eddy as she comes around the front of the cockpit, the expression on her face a mixture of relief and confusion as she also expected that we would be greeted by a gas jockey. "I'll check the shack and see if I can wake anyone up."

Leaving Eddy standing by the open hatch on the cockpit, I stroll over to the fuel hut, all the while expecting someone to emerge at any moment. When I reach the door and the lights are still dark, I wrap my knuckles loudly against the smooth surface of the wood and take a step back in anticipation of waking someone. Only silence comes from within.

Turning back toward the chopper and Eddy, I suddenly decide to take matters into my own hands. "Let's get her fueled and then see if we can find someone to pay and get us that cup of Joe," I call to her.

There is a café on the far side of the fuel hut across the tarmac, but the windows are dark and a closed sign is hanging prominently in the door.

After finding the power switch for the pumps and turning it on, I locate the hose reel and roll it over to the little bird, unwinding it as I go. By the time I reach the chopper, Eddy has the fuel hatch open and is waiting patiently for me before asking, "You know Mac, if everything was dark like the cafe, I wouldn't give it much thought. But why are all the lights on when no one is around?"

I lock the nozzle into the fuel spout and clip on the spark arrestor wire before pulling the flow lever. Immediately, fuel can be heard running through the hose and into the fuel tank. "Maybe they keep it lit at night in the event of an emergency landing," I say, looking around the deserted field.

While the pump pushes fuel into the little bird, I check the oil level in the oil reservoir as well as the hydraulics and mechanical linkages. When I find everything is as it should be, I shut off the fuel and return the hose and reel to where I found it.

Standing by the little bird, Eddy asks, "How do we pay if we can't find anyone?"

"Good question," I reply.

At just that moment, a vehicle turns off a narrow dirt road leading onto the tarmac, its headlights swinging around and coming to land directly on Eddy and me. "Looks like someone is expecting to be paid," I calmly remark.

When it draws closer, my heart sinks. On the door of the sedan is the unmistakable emblem of a large golden badge and on the rear quarter panel in black lettering are the numerals nine-one-one. Of all the people I was hoping to arrive, the local law dogs wasn't one of them.

As the vehicle passes the fuel hut and heads straight at us, the officer behind the wheel blips his siren so that it makes two small _whoops_ while simultaneously flashing his headlights. With Eddy standing to my left, I casually lean against the open hatch and try my damnedest not to look threatening. It isn't necessary for me to instruct Eddy not to disclose our mission. Nor is it necessary for me to disclose that I am certain this officer has no idea that the feds are looking for us. Eddy is a smart cookie and already knows these things.

The vehicle stops less than twenty-feet from us, but the officer leaves his lights on while slowly stepping out. With his left hand placed over the butt of his service revolver, he clears with dispatch and tosses the radio mic back inside where it lands on the front seat.

Stepping cautiously out from behind the open door, he takes a few steps forward before saying, "Good evening folks. Would you mind getting out your identification and paperwork?" Almost as an afterthought, he adds, "Oh, and I'll need to see a pilot's license too."

He stands almost as tall as me at six-foot-three. But he is easily a hundred pounds heavier, most of which is clinging in rolls around his mid-section. His uniform is typical of any county sheriff's department; an off brown with yellow trim, a campaign hat, and a large silver star on his chest. Since this area is almost all rural farming country, he is probably the most authority around for miles. Of course, with the interstate running through the county, there are probably a few state troopers on patrol if he ever needs backup, which is probably rare.

"Sure thing," I obligingly respond, not wanting to alert him to anything suspicious.

Since he is probably out of the loop with the feds, I feel confident that it is safe to give him our real names and addresses. By the time the feds figure out that we came through here, it won't matter much one way or the other anyhow.

After handing him everything that he requested, I ask of him, "We pumped our own fuel. Do you have any idea who we need to pay? We tried the hut and also noticed that the restaurant is closed and there isn't a phone number to call, not even for emergencies."

"We'll take care of that in a minute," he says, taking our papers and returning to his car.

Leaving the door standing open, he plops down in the front seat and picks up the microphone. Within a few minutes of speaking with his dispatch, of which only a few words were audible, he climbs out of his vehicle and slowly lumbers back toward us.

"Here you go folks," he says a bit breathlessly, handing us our papers back. Smiling as if he has just been victorious in deterring a terrorist attack, he apologetically says, "One can't be too careful these days."

Not wanting to appear demeaning toward him, I return his smile and agree whole heartedly, "No, with everything going on in this world today, you can never be too careful." I pause a moment, noticing him studying Eddy with less than a fatherly eye and then gently remind him, "You were going to tell us how we need to pay for our fuel."

Tearing his eyes off Eddy, he looks back at me and smiling conciliatorily says, "Oh yeah, there is that little matter of gas you took, isn't there?"

I almost reminded him that we weren't going to take anything, but quickly checked my response before it became vocal and irretrievable. Instead, I humbly agree with him. "Yes, we would like to pay for it, if we could."

"How many gallons did you take?" he asks, retrieving a pen and pad from his shirt pocket.

Although I know the figure to be less, I say, "Twenty gallons."

He scribbles a few notes on his pad and looks up, a sly grin on his face. "What say we call it an even hundred and let it go at that?"

"That'll be fine," I smile back, knowing full well that the air field will never see a dime of my money. "Is there any place around here where we can get a hot cup of coffee?" I ask, trying to sound calmer than I feel.

"Well," he says, taking my money and slipping it into his front shirt pocket with his notepad. "If you had a way of getting into town there's a place or two that stays open all night." He looks around as if trying to locate a vehicle before saying, "But it appears to me, you're on foot. And that's an awful long walk."

"It's okay," Eddy pipes up, realizing that the officer doesn't want us talking to anyone before we leave and possibly exposing his little midnight shenanigans. "I think we still have a thermos in the chopper," she adds with a forced smile.

"Yes, we'll be fine," I agree, smiling broadly. "Thank you for your hospitality, sir. We'll be on our way now."

"Yeah, that's probably best," he agrees, leering at Eddy again.

The man's degenerate attitude in addition to the very real possibility that he is stealing from the air field is beginning to get under my skin. It takes all of my willpower to keep myself in check. But we have enough on our plate already. Giving into my desire to teach this pig some manners will only have a negative overall effect on our current mission's chances for success.

With great restraint, I say, "You have a good night, officer."

Pleased with himself and his night's profits, he simply smiles in response and retreats to his cruiser. Putting the vehicle in drive, he slowly rolls past us, giving Eddy a final once over before turning sharply and accelerating across the tarmac and back the way from which he originally came.

"He gave me the creeps," Eddy says, hugging her arms across her breasts.

"Come on; let's get out of here before he decides he wants to look you over again. The last thing we need is to be arrested tonight by some lecherous lardy ass with nothing better to do than study you behind bars," I firmly state while driving out the frustration that is threatening to overwhelm my better judgment and make me do something I regret later.

### **26**

Once we're airborne, Eddy fishes out the second thermos of cold coffee, saying, "It's not exactly what I had in mind, but oh well."

"You know, I wouldn't normally suggest this, but how's 'bout doctoring that up with a little something?"

With a questioning look on her face, Eddy turns to study me for a moment before asking, "Are you feeling okay, Mac? I can't remember you ever sullying a perfectly good bottle of rum with anything."

"You're right," I slowly concede. "Just give me the bottle and I'll chase it with the coffee."

"Are you sure that's a good idea? You haven't had any sleep for going on two days now," she halfheartedly protests while retrieving the bottle.

"We have enough fuel to make it to Greg and Gina's now without having to refuel again," I reply, trying to justify my decision. "In addition, the terrain ahead is much more hospitable to low altitude flight and we have the highway off to our left for guidance. I could almost finish this flight in my sleep."

"If it's all the same, I'd just as soon you didn't," she retorts, handing me the opened bottle of rum.

"Thanks," I sincerely remark, taking the bottle from her hand and placing it to my eager lips. When I go to hand it back, her fingers linger lightly on mine for a moment and I feel certain that she is about to say something when she suddenly grasps the bottle and takes a long swallow before replacing the cap.

After a long while of silence broken only by the hum of the engine, Eddy says, "Can you believe that fat ass back there? I can only imagine what it must be like to live under his authority."

"Something tells me he rules his county with an iron fist. If it's good for him, it's law and to Hell with the rest of you." I take a breath and force myself to relax, just the thought of him is enough to cause my grip to tighten on the controls. "I've met law officials like him before. But usually they lived and ruled in third world countries, not here in the states."

"I've met men like him before too," Eddy says, her voice taking on a dreamy quality as she travels back into her memories. "They're not always in law enforcement, though quite a few seem to gravitate into that field out of a desire for power. They don't understand that they're supposed to work for the people and not rule them." She pauses for a moment as if waiting for me to say something. When I remain quiet, waiting for her to continue, she contemptuously adds, "He looked at me as if I were nothing more than a piece of meat."

In an attempt to lighten her mood, I teasingly say, "Ahh, but USDA prime for sure."

"Shut up, Mac! That's not cute."

"Sorry," I quietly mouth, humbled by her words. Considering all that had just transpired, they were rather unfeeling on my part and I wished that I could take them back.

The next few hours pass in relative silence between us. It is coming up on oh-four-hundred and we have just passed Williams to our east. Within two hours we should be at our destination.

Glancing over at Eddy, I see her eyes flutter open. She straightens in her seat and looks over at me, meeting my gaze. In her eyes I recognize regret mixed with lingering anger.

Before she can say anything, I start, "I'm sorry, Eddy. It was very callous of me to make such a remark considering the circumstances."

The anger in her eyes quickly dissipates, the regret mixing with a longing. "Don't worry about it. I was just in a touchy mood, I guess," she says, making a feeble attempt for an excuse for being angry with me. Her words are followed by a moment of silence that swiftly grows uncomfortable. Changing the subject, she asks, "How much farther?"

"We should be touching down by oh-six-hundred, less than two hours," I quickly reply, relieved to change the subject.

"I know you told me about Greg and Gina before, but tell me more," she inquires, her voice sounding more like the Eddy of old.

"Well, I think I told you that they have a vineyard in Napa Valley," I start.

"Yep, we already covered that. And also, that they're attorneys and that you've worked with them in the past," she reminds me. Then her voice changes into interrogation mode, a tone I recognize from having worked with her before. "What you haven't told me is what kind of work they did for you."

Before I can respond, she adds, "I have no doubts that you find the services of attorneys useful on frequent occasions. But something tells me that is not the type of work they performed for you, or as you stated, 'with' you."

"If you remember correctly, I said we were friends. That doesn't necessarily mean we had business dealings of the type you are referring. It is possible after all that considering the type of work I do, I was in their employment and not the other way around," I inform her.

"Oh, that just makes them that much more interesting. I can hardly wait to meet them and hear what they have to say about you," she teases, her smile washing away the fatigue and warming my heart.

"They can hardly wait to meet you, too," I confess, not having shared any of my earlier conversation with them prior to now.

"You never told me that I was discussed when you called," she says testily.

"It was only natural that Gina would ask about you," I state, going on the defensive. "It is not in my nature to stay with a woman for as long as we've been together, unless of course that woman is something extremely special. So it's only logical that they would want to know all about you." In a softer voice, I continue, "They worry about me, even if we don't stay in touch like most friends do. And because I have been with someone for as long as we've been together, they are not only happy for me, but also curious."

"I hope they aren't disappointed," she says, looking straight ahead.

"They aren't going to judge you, Eddy. It's enough for them to know that I'm happy being with you." I take a moment, and then add, "If for any reason there was something about you that they didn't like, we would be the last to know out of respect for our friendship. But trust me Eddy, that won't be the case. When they meet you, they'll love you as much as I do and I'm sure you'll like them too."

In all the time that I have known Eddy, I have never seen her doubting herself. This change in her is just a bit unnerving. She is usually brimming over with confidence and bravado. There is never a question in her mind with regard to her worth or her motives.

Forcing a smile, she looks in my direction with obvious concern in her eyes and uncertainty on her face. Again, I find myself wanting to change the subject. "If we weren't so close, I'd suggest breaking out the last of the sandwiches. I'm ravenous."

This time when she smiles at me, her smile is genuine and not forced. "You're always ravenous."

"Yeah, but not always for food," I smirk.

"You're an animal," she says, relaxing.

"How many times do I have to tell you, I'm a man and men are dogs?"

Without a word, she undoes her harness and leans over the console separating us. Pushing my headset back on my head, she plants her lips on mine and gives me a warm, moist kiss. When my tongue slips between her lips, she doesn't fight it. Planting her left hand on my right shoulder, her right hand rests firmly on my left thigh for support. Our kiss becomes wet and sensuous, her tongue exploring deeper as it teases and tickles playfully.

When her lips slide down the stubble on my face and her tongue slips into my left ear, I grow aware of her heated breath warming the side of my neck only a fraction of a second before her hand slips from my left thigh, groping for the bulging manhood in my jeans.

Letting go of the controls, I start worrying the top button of her shirt and slowly undo first one and then another, expecting her to stop me at any moment.

Reaching through the front of her open shirt, I grasp the full firmness of her breasts and tenderly roll the hardening nipples between my index fingers and thumbs. My touch elicits a sharp intake of breath from her.

With a voice husky with emotion, she breathes into my ear, "Can we set this bird down for a moment?"

Looking past her blonde curls, I make a quick assessment of the gauges and our status. Her right hand finds my belt and undoes the buckle, before she pushes herself higher above the console, her breasts now firmly in my face. Without hesitation, I suckle her right nipple in my mouth and gently nibble on it, acutely aware of her rapidly increasing breaths.

The air is cool in the cockpit of the little bird despite the small radiator core and fan. My hands are still cold despite the few moments wrapped around her warm breasts, and when I slip them around her in search of the small of her back, she involuntarily sucks in a deep breath and arches her back, momentarily pulling away from me.

"This isn't going to work," I huskily whisper, surprised at the sound of my own voice. "We have no idea what we're flying over, so setting down for a quickie is out of the question."

"Then you better keep an eye on your flying," she lustily whispers back, her mouth finding my ear and nibbling on it.

Using her right hand to work down the zipper of my jeans, she tenderly manipulates my engorged penus until it springs free. With hands of silk, she gently strokes its entire length, all the while moaning softly in my ear with desire. I want so badly to set down and show her how much I miss her and yet, I realize in the back of my mind that's not an option.

Moving my hands around to the front of her jeans, I quickly undo the clasps securing them and then push them down below her hips. She is kneeling on her seat, her hiking boots pressed against the hatch while she leans precariously over the console separating us. There is no way for her to safely climb over the display of instruments and knobs and I cannot get to her from my side without risking the control of the chopper.

With her pants bunched up just above her knees and her breasts swaying deliciously before my face in synch with the motion of the chopper, I reach out with an open mouth and gently clamp down with my teeth, eliciting another small gasp from her. My manhood is out and standing erect in my lap, like her breasts, it too is swaying in synch with the motion of the little chopper as it eagerly awaits satisfaction. And yet, we have gone as far as the little bird will allow us, our passions frustrated by its confining design.

Still, she is determined that I will not be dissatisfied or disappointed.

With steeled determination, I pull her shirt back down over her shoulders and gently force her back into her seat. She silently returns my gaze with questioning eyes, her expression sad and confused by what appears to be an act of rejection on my part. Her lips are swollen and puffy with passion and unspent heat. Though I know she isn't aware of how delicious she looks, this pouty appearance of hers is irresistible and I start to reach for her.

To my surprise, she puts up her hands to hold me at bay. "No," she says weakly. "You are right. This is neither the time nor the place." Her voice grows stronger with determination as she continues, "We are on a mission and we cannot allow ourselves these distractions."

Though it pains me to say so, I must agree with her. "Yes. As usual you are right. It is not fair to those that are depending on us. Soon, I promise you though, we will pick up where we left off."

This latter comment brings a smile to her face and she suddenly leans over the console and plants a sloppy wet kiss with her pouty lips on my right cheek. Before settling back, she straightens my headset with a tender touch, all the while smiling broadly.

Smiling back at her, I watch as she buttons up her shirt and secures the harness. Glancing over at me, she grins crookedly and says, "Don't forget about chubby. We don't want him catching cold."

Embarrassedly, I force my manhood back in my pants and pull up the zip. "Thanks," I say a bit sheepishly. "I can't imagine the looks on their faces had I climbed out with everyone looking on and my manhood on display for all to see."

"Baby," she says sweetly. "You have nothing to be ashamed of."

### **27**

Soon after we put ourselves back together, so to speak, I adjust our course slightly westward, away from the highway. Within the hour, the vineyards draw into view and then the hacienda itself.

"There it is," I inform Eddy, pointing toward the southwest. The light is just beginning to spread across the valley, the shadows long and fuzzy in the early morning mist blowing in off the distant ocean.

"It's beautiful," she whispers in awe. "Is this all theirs?"

"Well, not all of it," I explain. "Some of it belongs to their neighbors, while some of it they lease. But even so, it is quite an operation and their wines are highly acclaimed the world over."

"Why does that not surprise me?" she says to herself, smiling happily in anticipation.

Although I love my friends dearly, I aim the little bird toward the makeshift helipad located off the veranda on the back side of the main house with mixed emotions. Insofar as friends go, a man couldn't ask for better and yet, I am filled with trepidation, a growing anxiety toward seeing them again after more than three months of zero communication except for a phone call asking for their help.

Once we land and introductions have been made, I know full well that I will relax in the folds of their warm hospitality and feel as if we'd never been apart. But until that moment, I worry about many things, not the least of which is how they will accept Eddy.

Glancing over at Eddy and seeing her look forward with unabashed eagerness, I realize my worries are unsubstantiated and yet, I can't help that they exist.

With a skilled hand on the controls, I reduce airspeed and drop our altitude to just above four-hundred feet above hard pack. Anything less than four-hundred feet puts us in the Deadman's Curve. We would be too low to counter rotate for a dead stick landing and yet high enough to die in the crash.

As we fly over the hacienda, I see Greg and Gina exit the back doors and take up positions on the edge of the veranda, eagerly awaiting us.

In a matter of minutes, we are on the ground and the rotors have come to a stop. Greg reaches the small bird even before I can get unstrapped and he yanks the hatch open as if an excited child.

"Damn it, Mac, it's good to see you," he cries out, throwing an arm around my shoulders while I'm still in the seat. Looking past me, he sees Eddy for the first time and immediately backs away and hurries around the front to the far side of the cockpit, reaching Eddy just in time to extend a hand and help her to the ground. "You are much more beautiful than even Larry gave you credit for," he blurts, unable to take his eyes off her.

Self consciously, Eddy takes her hand back, saying, "Thank you. But you are being much too kind."

"Gina, come here!" Greg calls out, taking Eddy by the elbow and leading her back around the front of the cockpit. "Gina, look at this beautiful creature Mac has been keeping to himself," he says excitedly, not letting go of her elbow for fear she might get away from him.

Gina, however, is too preoccupied to notice at first, her arms wrapped tightly around my midsection as we stand embracing just outside the chopper.

When she finally releases her hold on me, she takes a step back, her hands lightly holding mine and gives me a studious onceover. Smiling with delight, she gives her assessment, "You look well Mac. Just as handsome as ever, even if you have softened a little around the middle."

Smiling back, my earlier trepidation all but forgotten, I respond, "You have always been the honest one, Gina. But please don't take anything from me when I say that you are just as lovely as I remember, if not more."

"Enough with you two already," Greg chides, still holding tightly to Eddy as he stands behind her, softly pushing her forward toward Gina.

Self-consciously, Eddy stands silently before him while looking toward me for help. "Gina, I would like you to meet someone very special to me," I start, relieved when Gina turns excitedly toward Eddy, her hands slipping from mine. "This is Eddy."

"Yes, of course you are dear," Gina says, taking a step forward and reaching out to her.

"It's nice to meet you," Eddy says, her voice steady as she subconsciously sizes up Gina. "I've heard so much about you." And then quickly adds, "Both of you."

"Well, I hope it wasn't all bad," Greg chimes in, stepping around to stand beside them.

"Oh no. Everything I've heard is all good," Eddy graciously acknowledges. "Although I have to admit, there are many questions regarding Mac that I hope I get the opportunity to ask," she says, smiling mischievously in my direction.

"Unfortunately, we don't have much time for small talk," I hesitantly remark.

"Then we'll make time," Gina pipes up, liking the interaction that she sees between Eddy and me. "Come on, let's go inside. It will only take a minute for me to whip up some breakfast. You two probably haven't had a decent meal in days."

"That really isn't necessary," I argue, suddenly fearful of letting Eddy and Gina have any time together. There's no telling what tidbits of information Gina might spill about me.

"Oh don't be silly," Gina quickly argues. "Come on, Eddy. You can help me in the kitchen if you're feeling up to it. I've got a pot of coffee on if Greg didn't drink it all."

"I'd be happy to help," Eddy replies, taking Gina's outstretched hand while throwing me a smirk over her shoulder.

Glancing at Greg and then back toward the two retreating women, I mumble just loud enough for him to hear, "I'm not sure this is such a good idea, Greg."

Smiling broadly at my discomfort as he finds it entertaining, he says, "They'll be alright. Gina won't tell her anything that might come back to bite you." When he notices me visibly relax at this statement, he quickly adds, "At least not intentionally."

Giving him a playful slap on the shoulder, being careful not to strike his soft flesh too hard, I say, "Did I ever tell you what an ass you can be?"

Putting his left hand on his right shoulder where I had gently slapped him, he winces exaggeratedly and replies, "Careful there, stud. I'm not as tough as I once was."

"You do mean ever was, don't you?" I tease. When he smiles back, I grin at him and give him a brotherly hug. "Come on, give me a hand with a couple of things."

Between the two of us, we pack in my spare weapons, ammunition, briefcase with maps and papers, and the empty thermoses. I leave the hidden bottle of rum for later.

When we reach the dining room just off the kitchen, we can hear the women in the other room talking animatedly, their words broken repeatedly with outbursts of laughter. "Sounds like they made friends," I grumble sourly to Greg.

"Just set it all on the table for now," Greg instructs me when I glance about for somewhere to lay our burden.

At just that moment, Eddy enters with an armload of dishes and mugs. "Not on the table, boys; you need to find somewhere else to play. We'll be eating in a few minutes."

When I give her a sour look, she simply smiles back at me, the fatigue of the last few days already gone from her face. In fact, she looks almost radiant and I suddenly remember our unfinished business in the helicopter.

While Greg leads the way to his study, Eddy sets the table and retreats to the kitchen to resume her banter with Gina. After placing everything on his desk, I continue holding onto the briefcase, returning to the dining room with it in hand.

Taking up seats next to each other at a table that has chairs for eight, three on each side and one at each end, I place the case on the table and click the hasps. As I'm about to open it, Eddy comes in with a carafe of steaming black coffee, the aroma enough to make my head spin with anticipation.

Greg, studying Eddy as she pours the coffee into our mugs, says, "You are a vision of beauty."

"The flattery is nice," Eddy informs him. "But I would have given you coffee anyway."

Before Greg can continue, and possibly say something he'll later regret, I nudge his leg with mine and say, "Thanks, Eddy."

Throwing me a knowing wink, Eddy twirls like a high school cheerleader and heads back into the kitchen, Greg's eyes following her all the way.

"If you can put your eyes back in their sockets, there's something I'd like to show you," I say, finding his attraction toward Eddy both humorous and flattering. He is like the envious brother, but only until Gina puts him in his place, and that will surely happen after we leave. If I weren't such an ass, I'd probably feel sorry for him.

His relationship with Gina is secure. If ever there were two people more perfectly matched, I'm not aware of it. Yet, I have no doubt she will make his life a living hell after we leave, if for no other reason than the entertainment value in it.

Gina is a beautiful woman in her own right and Greg is well aware of it which makes me wonder if his actions toward Eddy are little more than his way of letting me know that I have done well and Eddy meets with his approval.

### **28**

"What do you have there?" he asks, looking intently at the papers that I've removed from the briefcase.

Placing the first page of our notes in front of him, I say, "Jane Domingo, accountant for the mob."

While he reads my notes, he asks questions for verification. "You believe she was responsible for keeping a true set of books while the IRS was provided a cooked set, thus allowing them to collect and launder millions of dollars without anyone's knowledge?"

"That's just a theory at this time, but one we're leaning toward," I clarify. "What we do believe for certain is that she's in federal custody awaiting trial of someone high up in the business hierarchy. At that time she'll give state's evidence and then depending on her deal with the feds, most likely be whisked away into witness protection."

"Okay, I'll bite," he says, continuing to pore over the rest of my notes. "Let's assume you're correct. Where do you fit into this? It appears the feds already have their witness and they're keeping her safe."

"We're not working for the feds," I matter-of-factly state, studying his reaction to my words.

He lets out a long sigh and then hesitantly states, more than asks, "If you're not working for the feds, then you must be working for the mob."

"We believe that part to be correct also."

With a jerk, he cocks his head toward me, his expression a mixture of bewilderment and disbelief as he asks incredulously, "You believe?"

"Yes, that is what we believe," Eddy reiterates, stepping briskly into the room with a large skillet of hash browns held out before her, a pot holder in each hand to protect her from the hot metal.

As she sets it down on a clay hotplate resting on the table, Gina enters behind her with another skillet, this one full of scrambled eggs and diced bacon. Seeing the briefcase setting on the table and the sheets of paper scattered in front of us, she sternly commands, "Put that away until after breakfast. We have a lot of catching up to do and we will not be interrupted by work."

"Yes, Mam," I acknowledge, feeling chastised by her tone of voice.

"Go ahead, take a seat Eddy," she says kindly. And then adds over her shoulder as she turns back toward the kitchen, "Go ahead and start without me, I'll be right back with the toast."

"I can give you a hand," Eddy quickly pipes up, starting to rise from her seat.

"Stay put, dear. I'll only be a minute."

True to her word, we had barely placed hot food on our plates when Gina returns with a platter full of golden brown toast. In her free hand, she's carrying a jelly jar and a butter boat. "Here we go." When she sees that we've all helped ourselves in her absence, she jokingly remarks, "I hope you all left me some."

"Gina, you are one of the best damned cooks I know. If you set anything from your kitchen in front of me, you better have made extra if you want anyone else to get some, yourself included," I say, winking across the table at her.

"As much as I'd like to believe that's true, unfortunately, I know you too well, Mac. From what I hear, you'll eat anything that's placed in front of you, and it doesn't matter whose kitchen it comes from or if it even came from a kitchen," she retorts, smiling back at me.

Glancing at Eddy, I suddenly figure out where she obtained this bit of information about me, as Eddy quickly looks down at her plate and studies her food with a keen interest. "I can't imagine where you might have heard something so vulgar about me," I say, feigning bruised feelings. "But seriously, Gina, this is delicious and we are truly grateful to you and would like to thank you for your hospitality."

"You don't need to thank us," she says, dismissing me with a slight wave of her right hand. "You're considered family here, even if you can't make the time to call us now and then and let us know how you're doing."

This latter remark was aimed at making me feel guilty and it didn't miss the mark. She was referring to the time before my last job with Eddy when I went on a non-ending drinking binge and dropped out of touch with everyone. It was only with thanks to Eddy that I pulled myself out of that tailspin. Yet, Larry made a point of keeping our friends informed of what was happening, even if there wasn't anything they could really do. Until I was ready to help myself, there was no helping me.

Or so I believed at the time. It took Eddy's unselfish love and devotion to open my eyes to the reality of what I was doing to myself. And for that, I will never be able to thank her enough, even if it isn't my thanks that she wants.

Something is going on with her and one of my reasons for stopping over here is to have a few minutes alone with Gina. Maybe another woman's viewpoint and understanding can shed some light on what is going on with her. If it were any other woman, I would simply move on. But Eddy isn't just another woman. Eddy is special, in more ways than I can describe. I knew she was my soul mate even before she did what she did for me.

"I'm sorry for that, Gina. It was never my intention to distance myself from you guys," I lie, knowing full well that was exactly what I intentionally did.

But at that time I was under the influence of alcohol and I justify this lie by convincing myself that this is neither the time nor the place to explain what was going on with me back then. Someday, I silently swear, I will explain it all to them. In the meantime, there is no point in hurting their feelings anymore than they already have been.

"It's okay," she says, her voice serious. "Larry would have told us if there was anything going on that we could help with."

I can see the hurt in her eyes, though she hides it very well with a smile. "It won't happen again," Eddy suddenly pipes up. "Not as long as I'm around."

Tenderly, Gina rests her right hand on Eddy's left arm and says, "Thank you, my dear. You have no idea how good that makes me feel."

Now it's my turn to study the food on my plate.

### **29**

In awkward silence, we eat the wonderful food that Gina was kind enough to prepare for us. While Eddy and Gina clear the table, I ask Greg if he's had any word from Larry.

"I haven't heard from him since he left Sammy's," Greg replies. "I was sure he was going to get here before you guys," he adds, looking for my reassurance.

"He had to make a slight detour on the way here, something to do with a woman," I offer, setting his mind at ease.

Chuckling, Greg says, "Of course, what else is there for you single guys? One of these days you'll see the error of your ways and settle down with a good woman and really begin enjoying life the way it was meant to be enjoyed," he adds, studying my face for a reaction. When I don't give him one, but instead just reach for my briefcase as if I haven't heard him, he persists, "You know, you could do a lot worse than Eddy."

Realizing that ignoring him isn't going to make him stop, I set the briefcase on the table and turn to face him. "Greg, I'm going to tell you this because I truly value you as a friend. But then we're done talking about it, Okay?"

Smiling like he just got away with something, he quickly agrees to my terms, whether he intends on abiding by them or not.

"Eddy is an exceptional woman. She makes me feel like no other woman ever has. Someday, I may decide to settle down with a woman and I can see that woman being Eddy. But that day isn't today. Today, I have a job to do." I pause for a moment to catch my breath before adding, "Are you ready to lend a hand now or are you still more interested in my love life?

Reaching for the sheaf of notepaper, he asks, "Where were we?"

"I'd just told you who we were working for on this job."

"No, that's not quite correct," he says, his voice serious. "You had just told me that you weren't working for the feds and that it might be for a family run business. Please, Mac, tell me it isn't the mob and that I just misunderstood you, because if it's money you need, all you have to do is ask. We've been consulting on several cases lately that could use someone with your talents. I can make a call and have you working this afternoon."

"I don't need money, Greg. And I have employment, remember?"

"You can't be serious?"

"Greg, if Eddy and I don't find this woman for the mob, they'll only resort to sending someone else. And that someone else won't have the same intentions in mind for her that Eddy and I do. Do you understand what I'm telling you, Greg? If Eddy and I don't do this thing, that poor woman is certainly going to die," I add with emphasis.

"I'm sure the feds have an iron curtain around her Mac," Greg argues, not liking the thought that his sovereignty isn't all powerful when it needs to be. "She'll be safe as long as they need her to testify."

"I know how much you need to believe that Greg, but I'm not willing to be so naïve. If they are willing to pay me what they did just to find her, then they can just as simply hire a squad of assassins to make the problem go away." I pause for a moment before continuing. "They obviously aren't ready to kill her. My belief is that she has information they need and until they get that information from her, she's relatively safe. More than likely, she has the real set of books or she has them stashed somewhere for insurance. Even as we sit here drinking coffee discussing this, I have no doubts that the mob is working other angles to get what they want, possibly even through bribery or coercion of federal agents."

Slumping back in his chair, Greg begrudgingly concedes, "As much as I hate to admit it, I'm not as naïve as you seem to think. If you remember correctly, I was involved in that job where a federal judge stooped to killing a witness in cold blood and taking out a contract on innocent people to make it go away." He pauses for a moment before saying, "I may not have seen all the horrific things that you have, Mac, but I've seen my share of callous disregard for human pain and suffering. I was a prosecutor once, remember?"

"Yes, I know you've seen more than the average person and much more than anyone should have to be subjected to. I apologize for calling you naïve or even thinking such a thought," I say with sincerity.

"It's all right," he softly acknowledges. "So," he starts with a shake of his head as if throwing out some old memories and starting afresh. "What's your plan? How are you going to handle this so that you don't get yourself arrested or worse and still manage to keep this Jane Domingo safe? And even if you manage to secret her away from the feds, what then? Surely, you're not going to fulfill your obligations with your mysterious employers and turn her over to them. If you do that you might just as well kill her yourself. At least that way you can be certain that she doesn't suffer unnecessarily."

"That's why we're here, Greg. I was hoping you might be able to shed a little light on my dilemma and guide us in the right direction," I say, smiling at him.

"More coffee?" Eddy asks, bringing in a fresh carafe.

"Would love some," Greg answers, his eyes hungrily studying her fine figure and golden complexion as he holds his cup out across the table.

"Yeah," I distractedly reply, studying my own notes. "That sounds good."

When his cup is full, he quickly says thank you while watching her fill mine. "Put your eyes back in their sockets, Greg. You're acting worse than a pubescent boy," I grumble, irritated not so much by the fact that he's ogling my woman, but because he isn't devoting all of his attention to my problem.

"Don't pay any attention to him, Greg," Eddy rebuffs me. "I think it's very flattering that you find me attractive. He's just jealous."

"Not as jealous as _I'm_ going to be if you two don't cool your jets," Gina says, feigning anger as she walks in with a plate stacked high with pastries. "Something to make my coffee a little more palatable," she quips, setting the plate down on the table and taking her seat.

"Thanks, Gina" I start. And then with a smirk, add, "For the donuts, too."

"You're welcome," she knowingly smiles back.

Eddy and Greg simultaneously clear their throats and turn their heads away. Both are equally abashed by Gina's remark and avert their eyes from each other as well as Gina and me.

His composure momentarily rattled, Greg asks, "Where were we?"

"You were about to offer Eddy and I the use of one of your SUV's, preferably something small and maneuverable like the Liberty," I say, grinning broadly at Gina.

"Of course," Greg stutters, looking hesitantly across the table at his wife.

Gina returns my grin with one of her own before turning fiery eyes on her husband and saying, "You can use the old pickup until they return." Looking back at me, she adds with a broad grin, "Use it as long as you need."

"Thanks, Gina," I say, noticing that Eddy is holding back, keeping her thoughts to herself for fear of alienating Gina.

Because Eddy has just met Greg and Gina, she isn't fully aware of their devotion and loyalty to their friends except as I described them to her. Seeing them acting this way toward each other is normal for them. But to a newcomer, it appears almost as if there is a rift between them, a genuine anger that appears almost as resentment.

Yet, I know them well enough to realize that this is just their way. Greg will flirt with Eddy and then appear embarrassed by Gina having caught him. Meanwhile, Gina will become my ally, using Greg's angst to elicit favors from him on my behalf. It is just their way and nothing more. There aren't two people more in love or devoted to each other than Greg and Gina and I'd stake my life on that.

Softly, Greg asks, "Is there anything else you need?"

"A few hours sleep, if you don't mind."

"Of course, Mac," Gina pipes up. "You can use the same guest room that you did the last time you were here." She takes a breath and adds with a hurt tone in her voice, "Although it's been a while since you're last visit, we've kept it ready just the same."

"Oh Gina," Greg grumbles good-naturedly, unable to restrain himself any longer. "Never mind her. We keep it ready all the time. One never knows when one will have unexpected guests."

"Thank you just the same," Eddy says softly, glancing cautiously around the table as if expecting to be pounced on.

There's a long moment of silence while we each sip gingerly at our mugs of coffee. Gina is the first to break it, addressing Eddy. "We are truly glad to meet you," she starts. "Mac has been in need of a good woman in his life for many years. I think you might be that one."

Now it's my turn to blush, but Eddy beats me to it. Momentarily stunned by Gina's brash assessment of her, she hesitantly replies with a simple, "Thank you," before noticing my discomfort and breaking out in laughter.

With her laughter, the seriousness of the moment is shattered and the sense of tension leaves the room. "You've got your hands full, Eddy," Gina continues, her voice light hearted. "But I think you'll do just fine."

"Just keep him on a short leash," Greg chimes in, his face belying the relief he's feeling.

### **30**

After a few more minutes of small talk, in which Eddy lets loose with a few details describing her background, Greg turns the subject back to the problem at hand. "So, all you really know is that this record keeper is being kept in a safe-house somewhere in or near San Francisco, according to your notes."

"Correct," I reply. "It isn't much to go on, but if they had anymore, they wouldn't need us."

"I'll make a few calls on your behalf, Mac. But because of the circumstances, I doubt if any of my contacts will divulge anything, even if they know of anything," Greg offers, his voice not giving up much hope of success.

"Thanks Greg, we appreciate all the help you can give us on this one. Meanwhile, I've made a few calls of my own," I continue. "I've got a few contacts out there that still owe me. Maybe we'll get lucky and something'll come back."

"Come on Eddy," Gina says, setting her empty mug on the table. "I'll show you to your room. Mac can catch up in a minute. I'm sure he and Greg still have more to go over that doesn't need our attention."

Although I can tell by Eddy's body language that she is reluctant to leave during the discussion of the upcoming mission, she doesn't want to offend Gina.

"Go ahead, Eddy. I'll be along shortly," I encourage her, hoping to snatch a moment alone with Gina sometime in the near future.

With the small amount of information that Eddy and I have to share with Greg, there is little that we can do at this point except prepare for the unexpected. "Come on," Greg says, rising stiffly from the table. "Let's get the Liberty packed for your trip."

Gathering up the papers and returning them to the briefcase, I pause long enough to retrieve an armload of weapons and ammunition from our stash in Greg's study before hurrying to overtake him as he heads out through a side door that leads through a mudroom and beyond it to an oversized, attached garage.

Greg pauses just long enough to flip on the overhead fluorescent lights before continuing on to the second vehicle from the door, a little silver Liberty with a roof rack and oversized tires.

As he approaches it, the rear hatch automatically opens. Depositing his burden through the rear hatch, he turns and takes some of my load and places that in the rear also. "Gina will fix you up with food and beverages before you go," he says, studying the number of weapons that we're taking and the boxes of ammunition. "You must be planning on starting a war."

"Just being prepared," I reply with a smirk. "One can never predict what one may be up against and where the mob is involved, well, you get the idea."

"Yeah, unfortunately, I do," he grimly concurs.

Closing the hatch, we return to the dining room to find Gina removing the untouched pastries and empty coffee mugs. "I told Mac that you would take care of provisions in the way of food and beverages," Greg informs her retreating figure.

"It's already covered," she calls back softly over her shoulder.

Thanks for everything, Greg," I solemnly acknowledge.

"No problem. Just stay safe and return more often. Gina worries about you, you know," he says gently, the two of us standing before the table facing the kitchen with our hands in our pockets.

"Yeah, that reminds me," I start, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. "I need a few minutes alone with her, if you don't mind."

"No, no. You go right ahead," he says goodheartedly. "I've got a ton of work to catch up on yet before I head off to bed. I'll see you off later."

"Thanks again, Greg."

"No problem," he says, heading toward his study.

### **31**

When I enter the kitchen, Gina is busy at the sink washing dishes from our late breakfast. Stepping up to the strainer beside her, I retrieve the towel from its holder and begin drying.

"Are we practicing being a domestic?" she smiles, handing me a freshly washed plate.

Taking it from her, I keep my voice low, saying, "I'd like to talk with you about something. That is, if it's alright with you."

She pauses for a moment to glance at me, a knowing smirk on her face, and then returns to the dishes in the sink. "You can tell me anything, Mac. I think of you as family. You know that."

"Thank you for that. I'm sure you know I feel the same way about you and Greg." When I pause to study her face for a moment, she glances back at me before quickly turning her attention back to the dishes.

"You've got you one Hell of a woman there, Mac," she says, scrubbing harder than necessary on a pot.

"Yeah, that's part of the problem."

"I figured as much," she says while continuing to scrub at the bottom of a pan. "You've never felt this way about a woman before and you're not sure how to deal with it. Am I right?"

"Partly, but there's more to it than just that," I confess, finding it extremely easy to talk with her.

"Of course there is," she says, flipping the pot over. "There always is, Mac."

Hesitantly, I explain how Eddy used to be when we first met and how lately she seems to be irritable all the time, or distant as if trying to drive a wedge between us.

"It's as if she's trying to distance herself from me," I slowly finish.

Pulling the drain on the sink, Gina dries her hands and grabs a couple of mugs from the mug tree on the counter. "Sit," she commands, placing the two mugs on the kitchen table.

While I do as instructed, she retrieves the almost empty carafe of coffee from the element and finishes it off evenly between our two cups. The liquid is black and overcooked, but neither of us really cares.

Dropping onto the chair next to mine, she twists around to face me, her legs side-saddle with her knees pressed against my left leg. Placing her hands on my left thigh, she asks, "How long have you and Eddy been exclusive, Mac?"

"Little over three months, I suppose," I reply, not sure where she is headed, but willing to follow her lead without hesitation. Gina is the only female friend that I have that I haven't felt a sexual desire for or taken to my bed. Gina is my friend's wife and for that reason alone I would never allow such a thing to happen. It's irrelevant that she's considerably older than me. She is still a fine looking woman that turns men's heads when she walks by.

"The two of you made love together much longer ago than that," she says almost accusingly. "Even though you have only been exclusive to each other for the last three months, the two of you have a history together." She pauses for a moment before confessing to the source of her information, "Larry keeps in touch, even if you don't."

When I start to protest, she quickly cuts me off. "I'm sure that will change now that Eddy is a constant in your life."

We each take a sip of the black liquid and then simultaneously grimace and put the cups back on the table, chuckling together. "That probably wasn't such a good idea," she laughs. After a moment, she asks in a serious tone, "Where do you see this relationship going, Mac?"

"What do you mean?" I reply, confused. "I'm afraid I don't understand. I thought we would just keep going like it has been. You know, kind of playing it by ear, going with the flow. Or at least, that's what I used to think until she started acting different. Now, I'm not sure what I'm doing."

"If you're not sure what you're doing, then what kind of message are you sending Eddy?" she suddenly demands. And before I can reply, she says, "Your relationship with Eddy has to have direction, Mac. Women need that when they're in a relationship with a man they love. They need a definite goal or ultimate destination to strive toward."

"Okay, if I understand you correctly, what you're telling me is that Eddy wants to know where our relationship is headed," I begin, not certain I'm caring much for where this conversation is headed.

"She needs you to take your relationship with her to the next level, Mac."

Hesitantly, I ask, "What you're saying is, she needs me to propose to her, to make a permanent commitment, if I understand you right?"

Her voice stern, she says, "That, or get off the bus Mac and let her go."

"I'm not sure I'm ready for that kind of commitment, Gina," I solemnly reply, looking down at my hands. "And I know I'm not ready to get off the bus."

"I've known Eddy less than a day and yet, I feel I've known her much longer," she says. "Of course, Larry has been a precious soul in giving us all the details about you two."

"Yeah, Larry's got some explaining to do about that," I grumble moodily.

If what Gina is telling me is true, and I have a sinking feeling it is, then I have a major decision to make, and soon. Am I ready to commit solely to Eddy, to spend the rest of my life with only her? And if I can't, can I stand the thought of living without her?

"Why hasn't she said anything to me? And is that why her emotions are all over the place?" I ask, still confused.

"Probably because she doesn't want to pressure you into something. She wants it to be your decision and only your decision," she replies.

We sit in silence for a long moment, Gina looking at me with concern in her eyes, when Greg suddenly comes through from the dining room. Seeing our mugs of coffee sitting on the table, he instantly perks up, saying, "Oh good, there's still coffee on."

"It's all gone," Gina quickly informs him, rising from her chair and moving toward the sink.

"You're more than welcome to mine," I offer with a mischievous smile. "I haven't touched it."

He looks suspiciously at me for a moment and then turns toward Gina, saying, "Nah, I've had more than my share already today. Too much caffeine in my system and I won't sleep right for days."

"Your call," I casually remark, rising to my feet. "Thank you both for everything," I say, turning in their direction to see them standing next to each other at the sink. They make a beautiful couple, extremely comfortable together. "I'm going to catch a little shut eye before we hit the road."

When I hesitate, not sure how to express my deep gratitude to them for all they've done and are doing, Gina quickly says, "Go on. If there's anything you need, just ask or help yourself. You're family here, Mac."

"Thanks," I say, turning to leave. Stopping in the doorway leading to the dining room, I turn back to face them and say, "You know I feel the same toward you guys."

They smile in response, Greg wrapping his arm around Gina's shoulder. Turning, I head through the dining room and down the hall to the guest bedroom. When I enter, I see Eddy curled up in the fetal position beneath a light layer of sheets, the comforter having been carefully folded and set aside on the bureau.

Throwing off my clothes, I slip under the sheets behind her, sliding my arms around her shoulders and pulling her close to me. She sleepily mumbles something incoherent and presses her body in tighter against mine, the soft and silky touch of her skin against me causing my heart to beat faster.

There is the fragrant scent of cinnamon in her hair and I nuzzle softly at the back of her neck, inhaling deeply of the fragrance and filling my nostrils with her. To my amazement, she presses her firm buttocks harder against my groin, the blood already beginning to flow into my manhood.

Slowly, my hand slides down the side of her left arm, luxuriating in the smoothness of her skin. A soft moan flows from between her lips as my hand slides deftly over her left breast, finding the nipple with my index finger and thumb. Tenderly, I caress the softness out of it, exhilarated by its transformation into a rock hard pebble.

Cupping her left breast with my left hand, I move my legs against her and am pleased when she cooperatively squirms to accommodate me.

Sliding my hand down the length of her torso and over her flat, firm tummy, I find her love-nest moist with anticipation. Gently, I touch her tender nub, eliciting another moan from between her lovely lips. Moving with increasing deliberation, she reaches behind and between our cuddling bodies and guides my manhood into her while simultaneously posturing her hips.

As my engorged member fills her wanton cavity, her hands clamp down on mine while her face burrows into the pillow to muffle her cries of passion. "Oh babe," she says breathlessly, turning her face to the side and gasping for air. "Oh, you bastard. God, I love the way you fill me."

Another long moan escapes her lips as she drives her body against mine.

Moving against her, our rhythm causing the springs in the bed to cry out, I don't hold back. Within minutes of entering her, I let myself go.

When she feels my manhood deflating, she quickly rolls away from me, her own fire still burning brightly. Turning toward me, her face questioning my unusually early release, she lustily asks, "What's wrong? I know you can do better."

With the familiarity of lovers, she reaches for my shrinking manhood, taking it softly within her grasp. "No, Eddy. We need to get our rest. Already, we've been up more than forty-eight hours," I remind her.

Though I try to will it into submission, the touch of her hand is more than I can resist and I feel my penus growing within her grasp, the fire within her already rekindling the flickering flame of my own.

Within moments, she is on top of me, riding me with all the passion of two intertwined souls. The heat of the moment grows wild and uncontrolled, the bed moving violently beneath us. Our wild gyrations and actions causing it to thump loudly against the wall at the headboard.

This time, I hold back and give in to her demanding body only when she is ready for me, begging for release.

Like a drunken sailor, her entire body exhausted and hung over, she limply rolls off me, our sweat covered bodies soaking the rumpled sheet beneath us.

Naked, her head propped on the pillow so she can better see me, she says between breaths, "We're horrible guests."

"We have kind of made a mess of things, haven't we?" I whisper, looking around at the damp, rumpled bedding.

With a mischievous grin, she asks, "Do you think they heard us?"

"Nah, they're probably too busy making their own noise," I quietly joke.

"Mac!" she teasingly scolds. And then says, "I'm so embarrassed. I can't believe I let you do that to me in someone else's house. You should be ashamed of yourself. I won't be able to look them in the eye without wondering what they must be thinking of me."

"You forget, Eddy," I softly laugh. "I've been their friend for many years. Trust me when I say there is nothing I can do that will embarrass me or them. In fact, they would be disappointed at anything less."

Playfully slapping my shoulder, she says, "You're a dog!"

Pulling her close and kissing her firmly on the lips, I savor the moment we are sharing, knowing full well that she will be embarrassed when the time comes for us to leave this room. And despite what I told her about my friendship with Greg and Gina, I will be embarrassed also.

As we slowly separate, I whisper, "Get some sleep. We've got a long couple of days ahead of us."

"Yes, love," she whispers in reply, a smile on her face as her eyes slowly droop shut.

### **32**

It's been three hours precisely when I awaken, my eyes still closed while I listen to the soft noises emanating from the interior of the house. Lying next to me, her naked body covered with a single thin veil of cotton, the outline of her shapely body causing me pause, is Eddy. Her breathing is deep and regular and it pains me to have to wake her.

Pushing myself up on one elbow, I reach out to shake her. But my hand stops just shy of her shoulder, unable to disturb her heavenly peace. Silently, I study her features. She appears as if an angel at rest. She is by far the most beautiful woman that I've ever had the sweet pleasure of knowing intimately.

And yet, I am torn. Our relationship has reached a crossroads and I must soon decide which road to travel. Will it be the road that ends with us together, our frail old bodies in rocking chairs as we discuss the weather? Or will it be the road that ends with me in a cold and lonely grave, killed by some young upstart trying to prove he's a deadlier man. While Eddy goes on to find an educated man of means, a man that treats her well enough, but minus the passion only the two of us can generate.

Clearly, I cannot provide her with a mansion on the hill and a life of luxury. But I can and want to give her more love filled passion and devotion than any other man alive.

Yet, she deserves more than just a devoted man that loves her more than life itself. She deserves so much more than I will ever be able to give her.

Gently, I touch her shoulder, saying, "Eddy. Eddy, it's time to go."

When she stirs, it is to subconsciously lick at her lips and then noisily swallow, her body stretching dreamily beneath the cotton sheet.

"Is it that time already?" she grumbles sleepily, opening her eyes and kicking off the sheet.

The sensual allure that pervaded my senses while studying her supine form through the thin cotton fabric is replaced by the reality of a beautiful woman and I immediately feel a tightening in my groin.

"Yes, sleepyhead," I tell her, while leaning down and kissing her tenderly on the forehead.

"Do I have time for a shower?"

"You can join me," I smirk. "It'll save time."

"Why don't I believe that," she retorts, smiling knowingly.

"Seriously, if we intend on showering, we need to get on and get done," I advise her, my tone turning serious.

As she heads toward the connected bathroom, I follow close on her heels, resisting the temptation to reach out and pull her naked body up against mine. Just the thought of her smooth, firm flesh against me causes an unwanted erection. But there is no helping it and there is no time for it, either.

Reaching the shower ahead of me, she reaches in and turns on the tap to allow the water to warm before we enter. Turning, her eyes go instantly to my manhood, taking in its swollen state. "Seriously, Mac, we don't have time," she firmly states as if I needed reminding.

"I can't help the way my body reacts to you," I solemnly admit. "But I promise you, nothing will come of it."

She starts to remark, but then stops and turns back to the shower, testing the water with her hand before entering. From within, she says, "Grab a bar of soap, will ya?"

Taking the bar from the holder next to the sink, I quickly step in and slide the door shut behind me. Being a guestroom, the shower is serviceable, but not overly large. For the two of us to be in it at the same time, we are forced to stand almost against each other. With each turn of my body, my manhood brushes up against her, sometimes touching her in sensitive places. Each time, she quickly turns away and accuses me of getting amorous.

After a quick wash just to rinse off the cobwebs of sleep, we are back in the bedroom and putting on fresh clothes, when Eddy asks, "Do we need to take extra clothing with?"

"Pack an overnight bag and leave the rest," I absently instruct her, suddenly realizing that all we have with us in the way of fresh clothing is now on our backs. "That was stupid," I confess, gathering my thoughts. "If you think you might need fresh clothes, I'm sure Gina would be glad to loan you something."

"I was just checking to see where your thoughts were at," she also confesses. "You seem a bit distracted and I wanted to make sure your mind is on the mission and not something else."

Since I am certain that she is referring to my mind being on sex and not our relationship, I simply state, "We need to get a move on."

### **33**

After taking a moment to pull the bedding from the bed, we then add it to the pile of our dirty clothes at the foot. "Gina will have someone clean up after us, I'm sure," I say, making a mental note to compensate her somehow for the trouble.

We are heading toward the door when Eddy suddenly stops and asks, "Do you think they heard us earlier?"

Shrugging, I nonchalantly reply, "Even if they did, I promise you, they won't say anything about it. They're not that uncouth."

Although she doesn't appear convinced, she continues on, leading the way back to the kitchen. Upon entering the kitchen, we are greeted by a loud, booming voice, "There're the lovebirds!"

Larry has caught up with us and is sitting at the small kitchen table with Greg having a cup of coffee and working on the leftover pastries from earlier. From his greeting and the smirk on his face, there is no doubt remaining that Greg and Gina overheard our love making activities and already shared as much with him.

"Larry, glad you could make it before we left," I say, giving him a warning with my eyes.

Rising, he steps around the table and grabs Eddy in a constricting embrace, saying, "It's good to see you again so soon. You're always a pleasure on these bloodshot old eyes."

Momentarily taken aback by his overzealous greeting, Eddy firmly places her hands on his chest and tilts her head back, saying, "I'm glad to see you too."

Not sure whether I am having a moment of jealousy or not, I take Eddy by the shoulders and gently pull her away from him while softly admonishing him for trying to steal my woman. It is not intended with any serious overtones, yet I feel my ire rise unintentionally.

Releasing her, he steps back around the table, his smile stretching across the entirety of his face now. There is no doubt in my mind that he felt my rising irritation at his behavior and is getting way too much enjoyment out of it.

My own behavior is uncharacteristic of me though and everyone in the room quickly grows subdued, the light hearted banter gone, including Larry's smile.

Guiding Eddy to the nearest chair, I step past her and grab a couple of mugs from the mug tree along with the carafe from the element. Pouring us each a cup, I refill Greg's and Larry's at the same time. My voice serious, I inquire of them, "Did anyone turn up anything since we last spoke?"

"My contacts were able to tell me about a pending case that sounds like it might be our baby," Greg answers, smiling tightly. "The details aren't much more than what we already know, unfortunately."

"It's a start," I praise him. "At least we now have some confirmation of what we only suspected earlier."

Taking the last empty seat next to Larry, I turn toward him and ask, "Did you get your personal business taken care of?"

Smiling mischievously again, he replies, "I did."

"Good for you," I remark a bit coolly.

"I also got an address for you to check out," he says. And then adds with a smirk, "That is, if you're interested."

Even Greg is caught off guard by this information, asking incredulously, "Where did you get an address from? All federal safe house locations are strictly confidential, on a need-to-know basis. Even when I was a prosecutor, I wasn't given that type of information."

"Well then," Larry drawls exaggeratedly, "I guess it's a good thing I'm not a prosecutor."

"Seriously, Larry, you have the address of the safe house where they're holding our lady?"

"I have the address where they were holding our lady last night. Of course, once word gets out that it's been compromised, I have no doubt they will move her, if they haven't already," he says, no longer any hint of his previous drawl.

Rising with a sense of urgency, I say, "Then we need to get moving."

"Am I riding with you two?" Larry asks, looking teasingly across the table at Eddy.

"Where are we headed?" I ask, ignoring both his question and his manners.

"Little town west of San Fran," he calmly replies, not taking his eyes off Eddy. "Here," he says, looking toward me as he pushes a slip of paper across the table toward me.

Glancing at the paper, I see a street address followed by the name Brentwood. "You ride with us as far as Fairfield. We'll pick you up a rental there and split up."

This time it is Greg's turn to be mischievous. "Why don't you use one of our vehicles? Gina won't need her sedan for a few days," he says, his voice low. "And if she does, she can use the old flatbed out behind the utility shop."

Eddy looks at him, and true to her gender, jumps in on behalf of Gina. "I can't believe you, Greg."

Larry, unaware that Gina has loaned Eddy and me Greg's Liberty, doesn't know what to make of our actions regarding Greg's generous offer. Perplexed, he asks, "Did I miss something? If you're sure it's alright with Gina, I think that would be wonderful."

Finding the humor in it, I agree with Larry. "If you're sure it's not going to be a problem, that's really kind of you."

"No problem at all," Greg says with a smirk.

"Where's Gina? I can't believe you, Greg," Eddy says indignantly.

"She'll be back in a minute," he says, physically restraining himself from laughing by wrapping his arms around his middle. "She'll be really disappointed to have missed your departure," he adds, chuckling despite his efforts.

At just that moment, Gina walks into the kitchen, a dusty bottle of wine in each hand. Smiling, she says, "I'm glad I made it back in time. It would appear rude of me to not see our guests off."

Greg visibly shrinks in his chair, inwardly wishing he could hide under the table while Larry says, "Thanks, Gina."

"Oh, you're more than welcome, but this is for your return," she says, holding up the aged magnums of port.

"No, no, I mean for letting me use your sedan," Larry clarifies. "Greg was kind enough to suggest we use your sedan instead of a rental." When she flinches, Larry tentatively asks, "There isn't a problem, is there?"

Being the perfect hostess, she quickly catches herself and says, "Oh no, none at all. Greg was right in offering it to you."

Eddy, sensing the unease, says, "If you need it, Gina, it really isn't a problem picking up a rental on the way."

"No, no, not at all," she quickly states, moving hurriedly past the table and to the counter next to the sink. Taking a breath, she swings open the fridge door and retrieves two large brown bags. "Here," she says, turning around to face us and sounding like her old self again. "There's one for each of you. It isn't anything fancy, but it'll save you from having to stop along the way for food."

Rising, I step toward her, holding my arms out for an embrace. She doesn't resist and I take the opportunity to whisper in her ear, "Thanks, Gina."

Giving me a peck on the cheek, she whispers back, "Take good care of her. You know you don't deserve her."

Stepping back, I throw her a conspiratorial wink and jokingly admit, "Yeah, I know."

Eddy rises and reaches out to shake hands with Gina, who takes her hand and then pulls her into a warm embrace. It doesn't escape my notice that they also whisper something softly between them before stepping apart.

Not wanting to miss out, Greg takes the opportunity to also wish Eddy the best of luck and partake of an embrace. Moving around the table while Larry and Gina are embracing, Greg doesn't even bother with extending a hand. Instead, he reaches out for her arm as she moves toward the dining room and pulls her in close. In her ear, loud enough for all to hear, he says, "If that galoot doesn't treat you right, you just let me know. He may have a little size on me, but I have superior age and wisdom and we know how that stacks up."

"Yeah," Gina sarcastically remarks. "And we all know how you stack up. Like a pile in the bottom of the commode after too much bran."

"Oh woman, you're just jealous," he quips, laughing at her insult.

"Yeah, and you just remember that," she teases.

With Eddy in the lead followed by Larry and me, we take the brown bags and head through the mudroom and out to the garage.

"The keys are in them," Greg says, stepping aside after passing through the door into the garage and pressing the large bay door remote buttons.

As the doors slowly and mechanically rise to the ceiling, revealing the winding drive leading down to the main road, I turn back to Greg and Gina, happy to see them standing next to each other with their respective arms around the other.

Seeing my smile, Greg simply says, "What? You don't think we actually get mad at each other anymore, do you?"

Instead of replying, I simply smile and wave my hand before turning toward the Liberty. Eddy is already in the driver's seat, a plume of cold exhaust puffing out the tailpipe. In the next vehicle, a Chevy Malibu, is Larry, the engine running. As I climb into the passenger's seat, Larry backs out of the garage and gives the horn a quick toot.

While I strap in, Eddy puts the vehicle in reverse and does likewise, gently tapping the horn and waving toward Greg and Gina. Within minutes, we are on the highway headed south.

### **34**

It isn't necessary for us to keep Larry in sight as we have already agreed upon a place near our destination to meet up. Thanks to Greg and Gina, our only stop along the way will be for fuel. Barring anything unexpected, we should be there by ten A.M.

"No one rolled on you," Eddy suddenly says out of the blue.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Larry worked his contacts and came up with an address," she states matter-of-factly. "Since the feds know who you are, what's to stop them from finding out where you might head if you had business in the San Francisco area. I'm only guessing here, but I think a lot of people in the government that you refer to as contacts also know about Greg and Gina and yet, not a single agent showed up at their door while we were there."

"That's a good point," I thoughtfully reply. "Trust me when I say the people in high places are merely contacts and not loyal friends like Greg and Gina. No one that I can think of owes me that kind of loyalty."

"Then they knew all along where to pick up our trail," Eddy says, putting sound to what I am almost afraid to even think.

"They have enough on us to pick us up and haul our asses in and yet, they let us continue," I wonder aloud. "While I thought we were being so cunning, they were only toying with us," I add, my voice belying my mounting anger.

Bewildered, Eddy asks, "But what use do they have for us?"

"The only thing I can imagine," I start, weighing my conjecture for validity before finishing. "Is that they think we know something they don't."

"And if they give us enough rope, we'll lead them to the information," Eddy says, finishing the thought.

Picking up the thread, I add, "And the only information we might have that they don't have is, who our contact within the organization is?"

"But we don't even have that," Eddy spouts, almost laughing.

"I'm glad you find this humorous," I softly scold her. "With the witness in their protection, they have an airtight legal case against the mob for white collar crimes," I wonder aloud. "They evidently want more."

"They want the family's henchmen," Eddy says, smiling again.

"Yep, they want to put the entire organization in a place where they can't do any more harm."

"What happens when they discover we don't know any more than they do?"

"Probably pull us in, lock us up, and throw away the key for meddling in a federal investigation," I smile at her.

Taking her eyes off the road for a second, she looks across at me and places her right hand on my nearer thigh, saying, "Maybe they'll lock us in the same cell together and give us life terms."

Without thinking, I stupidly blurt, "Sounds too much like marriage to me."

Before I can correct myself, she jerks her hand back as if from a flame, her eyes burning holes through the windshield in front of her. The set of her jaw warns me that I'm treading on some very thin ice. If I learned anything from my talk with Gina, this is the one topic I should have avoided at all costs until I was ready to breach it.

"That didn't come out right, Eddy," I say meekly, studying her profile.

"You sure?" she angrily replies through gritted teeth. "Because to me, it didn't sound like you were stuttering."

"You know what I mean," I weakly protest.

"Yeah, I know exactly what you mean," she starts, her hands gripping the steering wheel with white knuckle intensity. "I'm good enough for a fun time or a steady piece of ass. But God forbid you would ever consider marrying me."

As the last words slip from her mouth, her hands begin shaking on the wheel and tears form in the corners of her eyes. Her forehead creases sharply and she squints against the onslaught of tears.

"Pull over, Eddy," I softly advise.

"Why, so you can have another quickie?" she snaps, her voice cracking with emotion.

Although this isn't the time or place for such a conversation, I can't sit here looking on while she is in such pain and turmoil. Because of my attachment to her, her pain is as real to me as it is to her.

Again, I plead with her, "Pull over, Eddy."

When I reach out and place my hand on her shoulder, she pulls away from me as if I'm infected with the plague. "Just leave me the fuck alone, I don't feel like pulling over. We have nothing to say to each other."

Torn with a mixture of guilt and relief, I settle back into the uncomfortable seat and stare forward, watching the white lines disappearing beneath the front of the car while unable to bring myself to say the words that would make everything alright.

After an hour of excruciating silence, I glance over and notice that we are getting low on fuel. Although I realize Eddy must also be aware of it, I softly inform her of my observation.

Jerkily, she glances down from the road ahead of us and notices the fuel gauge for the first time, or so it appears. In silence, she continues on until we approach a large truck stop. Slowing, she steers the Liberty down the off ramp and into the automotive side of the huge complex.

When a nice young man comes over to assist her, she smiles at him in a teasing manner, making a show of enjoying his unabashed interest in her good looks and shapely figure. If her intention is to make me jealous, she is doing a bang-up job of it.

Sensuously, she leans against the side of the Liberty while watching the young man top up the fuel tank as if it is the most fascinating thing in the world. I consider stepping out of the vehicle and making my presence known, but quickly decide against it. If she wants to flirt with younger men to make me jealous or prove something, then so be it. But I'll be damned if I'm going to give her the satisfaction of knowing that it's having an effect on me.

When she climbs back into the Liberty, there is a sensuous smile pushing out her lips that is intended for the young stud as he moseys back to his eighteen wheeler. With every few steps he takes, he turns and glances back over his left shoulder to see if she is still following him with her eyes. Out of fear of saying something inappropriate about her adolescent behavior, I bite down on my tongue until I sense the coppery taste of blood

Ignoring me completely, she fires up the Liberty and makes a detour past the nose of his rig so she can wave flirtatiously before heading back out onto the highway. As we're heading down the on ramp and picking up speed, I can hear the blare of air horns from back at the truck stop.

"You made quite an impression on that young kid," I nonchalantly acknowledge.

"He wasn't that much younger than me, you're just a lot older," she calmly states. Before I can respond, she asks, "Is it true, when you hit a certain age, everyone begins to look like a kid to ya?"

My first reaction is to retaliate with an age related remark aimed at her, since she isn't a spring chicken herself, despite how fine she looks. But I realize in time to avoid that pitfall and instead remain silent, my attention focusing on the road ahead.

### **35**

When I finally say something, it is only to ask her if she would like a break from the driving.

"I'm fine."

Barring anything unexpected or us getting lost, we should be meeting up with Larry in less than half an hour. Reaching around the bucket seat and into the back, I fish out a brown paper sack from among the stuff scattered on the floor. With it setting on my lap, I wriggle around in the seat, trying to bring some circulation back to my numb ass and legs.

"What's your problem?" Eddy inquires, more out of a need to break the silence than any genuine concern for my discomfort.

"This seat is like sitting on a rock ledge that's barely large enough for a man of my size," I grumble irritably.

Watching me unscrew the cap from the bottle of rum in the brown bag, she asks, "Is that such a good idea? We'll be there soon."

"I need something to calm my scattered thoughts so I can focus," I drily remark before putting the bottle to my lips and tilting my head back to swallow. Since she is driving, I reseal the cap and drop it back on the floorboards behind my seat without offering it to her.

"You have nice friends, Mac," she says, taking me aback with the sudden change of subject matter. "They care about you, ya know."

"I care about them too," I hesitantly reply, unsure where this conversation is going.

"What do you give them in exchange for everything they give you?" she asks, her pointed question definitely leading somewhere that I feel certain I would rather not be going.

Yet, I must say something. "I am a loyal friend. They know that if they ever need anything, all they have to do is ask."

"Have they ever asked?"

Defensively, I snap back, "You don't know anything about our history!"

Calmly, she states, "In other words, they have never asked you for anything and yet, from what I've gathered, you make it a regular point of putting them out."

Her voice may have been calm and controlled, but her words bit deep. "Okay, I admit, I'm a lousy friend. But I've never put their lives in danger and I always make a point of paying them back." I pause for a moment, before adding, "I have done some work for them in the past, for what that's worth."

"And they probably paid you the going rate, even though they could have hired any private investigator to do the same work," she vindictively replies, not giving me any quarter.

We ride on in silence for a few minutes when she suddenly says, "I'm seeing a side of you that I'm not sure I care for, Mac."

"I didn't just change, Eddy," I weakly protest.

"I know. And that means you probably never will," she adds, her voice ringing of disappointment.

Her assessment of me hurts. Not because it isn't true, but because it's coming from her.

### **36**

The traffic is increasingly heavier the closer we get to San Francisco and it takes all of Eddy's attention just to maneuver through the maze of highways and side roads leading to the residential area containing the safe house.

When we find the street, we park a block and a half south of the address. Larry isn't anywhere to be seen, yet he should have been here ahead of us.

As if reading my thoughts, Eddy says, "Where's Larry? He should have been here by now."

"Let's do a drive by and get a layout of the building and neighborhood," I suggest, not answering her question regarding Larry. Since I agree with her that Larry should have been here already, I would only be speculating on his whereabouts anyway.

Putting the vehicle in drive, we slowly cruise down the street and past the address Larry provided us. It's a middle income structure in a middle income neighborhood. There is a single car parked in the driveway, the two-car garage door down. I make the assumption that there are probably two more vehicles in the garage.

The house is a two story painted white with wood siding and green trim. The front door is at the end of the driveway, located to the left of the garage door. There is very little in the way of shrubs or brush to offer concealment. Well manicured front lawn with a solid wood fence enclosing the rear yard.

"It might as well be a fortress," I mumble under my breath. "And we can't wait for dark, either. Circle around the block and park on the connecting street to the south," I advise her while subconsciously repositioning the magnum in my shoulder holster. Touching my weapon for reassurance is a habit that will give me away some day when someone is looking for something that stands out. And although I realize the consequences could prove disastrous, I can't seem to break the habit. A card player would call it my ' _tell_ '.

As we pull up to the curb and park, a Malibu pulls up behind us and the driver gets out. He walks up beside the Liberty and slips into the rear seat, his feet trampling the loose items scattered on the floor.

"There's only one approach," he says, confirming my assessment of the place.

"Do you want to play the electrician or the plumber today?" I ask of him, making the assumption that he's going to take the lead.

"Why don't you just play the party clown?" Eddy snaps at me.

While Larry raises a questioning eyebrow in response to her attitude, I ignore her anger and simply ask instead, "Do you have a better plan?"

"What are the odds they know all of the neighbors around here?" she asks, her tone serious. "Except for their dossier files, they've probably never laid eyes on any of them," she says, answering her own question. "There's a good chance their suspicions won't be raised by a neighboring housewife stopping by to borrow a cup of sugar, a part that I can play extremely well when confronting middle-aged males," she adds with a smirk.

"It's too dangerous," I argue, genuinely concerned for her safety. "We don't even know how many are in the house."

"Let's not also forget, they are probably aware that we must be near, even if they don't know that we have the exact address yet," Larry adds from behind us. "They're sure to be on their guard."

"Yeah, and we can't just shoot them. They're federal agents, after all," I tease, trying to lighten the mood.

"No one is going to shoot anyone," Eddy firmly states, her voice serious.

Larry asks, "Did you see anything suspicious when you checked out the neighborhood?"

"If they're waiting for us, it isn't in disguised vans or unmarked cars," I casually reply.

"They're not waiting for us, because they don't know we're here yet," Eddy states, trying to convince herself even more so than Larry or me. "By the time they figure out that we knew where to go, we'll be gone," she adds with finality. And then, in a softer tone, "That is, if we quit arguing about it and just do it."

"She's right, Mac," Larry agrees from behind us, rolling the bagged bottle of rum around in his hands after discovering it among the items under his feet. Screwing off the cap, he asks, "You mind?"

"No, help yourself," I say with a quick glance over my shoulder.

"You two are impossible!" Eddy berates.

"Ah, but that's why you love us so," Larry says, screwing the cap back on the bottle.

Throwing open the door, Eddy quickly slides out before I can stop her. "What are you doing?" I ask, immediately concerned.

Turning to face back into the open window of her door, she says with finality, "You two go ahead and have your fun. I'll walk it from here. Just be ready to move when you see me come out the door with the woman."

Before either Larry or I can make a move without drawing attention to us, she is marching purposely down the sidewalk, her hips swinging defiantly from side to side. Opening the rear door, Larry says, "You really do have a handful of woman there, my friend. I'll approach from the far side. Stay vigilante."

Moving quickly, I jump out of the Liberty and race around the front to get in the driver's seat. By the time I get the vehicle started, Larry has done a ' _U-turn_ ' with the Malibu and is heading around the block to get set up on the far side.

Moving up to the intersection, I lower the passenger's side window and watch Eddy from my position lined up with the sidewalk, admiring the exaggerated sway of her hips and the firm set of her back. She really is a fine looking woman, if you know what I mean.

When she steps off the sidewalk and starts up the driveway, I cautiously pull out into the street and roll slowly in her direction. When I am less than fifty-feet from the driveway, I pull over and wait. My view of the front door from here is only slightly obstructed by the sedan parked in the driveway.

Eddy has rung the doorbell and is patiently waiting for someone to answer. It seems to take forever before I notice evidence of occupancy. In the second story window overlooking the drive, a curtain shifts ever so slightly and then falls back into place. Clearly, someone just acknowledged the person at the door. Now it boils down to whether they perceive her as a threat to their security or an innocent neighbor that just happened to find herself short of an ingredient in the middle of baking something.

Having performed many operations where I'd been in charge of looking out for another person's safety, I can assure you that almost without fail, every knock on the door is considered suspicious at best.

Larry, meanwhile, is parked a little farther up the street and just north of the address. He has no view of the front door from his side, but he does have a view into the back yard and can warn me if someone is attempting to approach the front door from my blind side.

When the door opens, it is only a few inches, obviously restricted by the safety chain. There isn't any light emanating from within and the face remains too far from the entrance to make out from my position on the street. Frustratingly, I can't even tell if it is male or female.

I would like to give Larry a signal to let him know that it's going down, but I can't risk it without possibly tipping our hand to the person at the door or the person watching from the second floor.

Suddenly, the door swings inward. Unhesitating, Eddy follows it in. Though I strain to see into the shadowy interior to catch a glimpse of the person that admitted her, I am unable. And then as quickly as the door opened, it swings shut, cutting her off from sight.

Though I don't like this latest development, it doesn't mean anything has gone wrong. It just means that Eddy is playing her part well enough to have gained entry. She is a smart, capable individual and it's important that I sit tight and trust in her.

The seconds turn to minutes and I fidget restlessly in the seat, growing increasingly concerned with each tick of the clock. It doesn't take long for me to begin questioning myself, wondering why I had allowed her to enter on her own. This second-guessing will accomplish nothing more than being a distraction that I can ill afford and I need to put it to rest. Yet, I am unable.

Although Eddy isn't the first female operative that I've worked with, she is the first female that I've been this emotionally attached to. If it was any other woman that had just entered the dwelling, I would be concerned, but not this anxious.

When I see Larry slowly get out of his car and look around, I realize that I'm not the only one growing concerned. Because we are on a residential street with very few vehicles parked along the curb during business hours on a weekday as most of the neighborhood residents have gone to work, it is extremely difficult to blend in. By now, some suspicious neighbor might have already reported us to the local police.

Watching Larry, I realize that he is working his way across the street and toward the rear of the residence. Crossing the sidewalk, he unhesitatingly cuts across the neighbor's side yard, moving swiftly and surely, a plan growing more substantial in his mind with each advancing step. There's no doubt he's expecting me to read his thoughts and act accordingly.

I can't help but think that if we had planned this better, we would have approached the place dressed as utility workers, maybe even taking the time to commandeer a utility truck to help with our cover. But I quickly remind myself that we didn't have time for anything other than a straightforward assault and that Eddy is a true professional. If she runs into trouble, somehow she will let us know.

So what is Larry's plan? What does he expect me to do? Should I sit tight and be ready to drive? Or should I leave the vehicle and create a distraction in the front?

With the Liberty running, I pull it into drive and step on the accelerator. For a little V-6, I am impressed with the quick response.

Pulling into the drive, I slam on the brakes and come to a halt directly behind the dark blue sedan. Leaving the engine running, I hurriedly bail out while reaching for my survival knife in the leather sheathe strapped above my right ankle. Stooping, I slash the left rear tire and then proceed to the front of the vehicle. Turning toward the front door entrance, the knife held at the ready, I throw open the storm door and raise my foot to kick in the interior door.

At just that moment, the door swings inward and a woman dressed in gray slacks and matching blouse wearing Eddy's windbreaker takes a frenzied step toward me. Directly behind her, I see Eddy.

Startled by my sudden appearance, my foot raised to kick out and the large survival knife held menacingly, the woman stops in her tracks and gasps loudly, her left hand shooting to her mouth in surprise.

Dropping my foot, I reach out and take her by the arm that she has raised to her mouth, noticing that she is carrying a bound black book in her other hand. As I pull her toward me, Eddy pushes from behind and together we move her quickly to the rear door of the Liberty.

"Strap in," I command, guiding her into the vehicle so that she doesn't bang her head on the door jamb before swinging the door shut behind her. "We were beginning to wonder what happened to you," I say to Eddy, giving her arm a gentle squeeze before turning back to the driver's door.

"Where's Larry?" she asks as she throws herself into the passenger's seat and pulls the door shut behind her.

"Last I saw of him, he was heading around to the backyard," I reply, backing recklessly down the drive and out into the street without stopping.

"We can't just leave him," she argues, looking frantically back up toward the house.

"Is anyone still moving in the dwelling?" I ask, unable to grasp the cause for her concern for Larry. And then, though I believed we all knew enough not to seriously injure any of the agents, I had to ask, "You didn't kill anyone, did you?"

Stunned by my question, her head whips around to face me, "You know damned well that wasn't in the cards!"

"Sorry," I meekly reply, chastised by her outburst. "You're absolutely correct. I didn't need to ask."

"Where are you taking me?" asks the woman in the rear seat. "I'm afraid, I don't understand this at all."

Eddy turns and says, "Like I told you inside the house, we are taking you somewhere safe."

"But I thought I was safe," she asks, more than states. "Weren't those men government agents?"

"Yes, they were," Eddy calmly states, trying not to alarm or upset the woman anymore than she already is.

When we reach the first intersection, I turn right at a high rate of speed, the tires squealing in anguish against the asphalt. In the rearview mirror, I see blue and red flashing lights, still several blocks distant.

Continuing straight ahead, I slow down so as not to attract unwanted attention and keep my eyes on the flashing lights. Only when they turn up the street that we just vacated do I take a deep breath, realizing for the first time that I'd been holding it in.

### **37**

Eddy is sitting facing ahead, her thoughts drifting from one topic to the next when she suddenly states, "We could have at least warned him."

Realizing that she is still concerned for Larry, I pull out my cell phone and press his speed-dial number. It rings once before Larry answers. "Hold on," I say, putting him on the speaker. "Hey Larry, could you let Eddy know you're okay?" I ask loudly, holding the phone in her direction.

"I'm fine, Eddy," he says with a chuckle. "Sorry if I gave you cause for alarm, but we were getting a little concerned for you." I'm turning the phone back to talk to him, when he adds, "Nice work in the house, by the way."

"You went in?" she gasps, surprised.

"Of course," he replies, surprised that she is surprised. "Mac would never forgive me if I hadn't," he adds, still chuckling. And then, the unexpected, "Look out to your right, Eddy."

When she does as he asks, she sees the Malibu sitting in the intersection we are passing through with Larry behind the wheel, a huge grin on his face as he waves at us with his right hand while holding up the cell phone in his left.

Grabbing the phone out of my hand, Eddy hisses into it, "You ass!" and then flips it shut.

Unable to control myself, I break out laughing. When she turns her fiery eyes on me, I simply say, "I told you he can take care of himself. But I'm sure he's touched by your concern."

"You're both a couple of asses!" she hisses, looking in the side mirror to see him following us.

The lady in the back seat, further confused by this repertoire, says, "I'm afraid I don't understand what is happening."

"It's okay, Mam," I tell her, studying her face in the rearview mirror. She is a fine looking woman in her early sixties, just a touch of gray in her reddish-brown, shoulder-length hair. Tall, slender of build, the first hint of dark circles beneath her eyes from the strain of late. "We're going to take you somewhere safe until we can iron this out."

"Who are you people?" she persists, her voice sounding more authoritative as she realizes we intend her no harm.

Just to keep her off balance for the time being, I respond, "We were hired by your boss to find you and return you to him."

When her face goes pale, I realize I didn't need to shock her quite so extremely. Yet, the upside to her reaction is we now know she is aware of what will happen to her if they find her. Feeling guilty, I try setting her mind at ease by sharing some conversation with her, essentially taking her mind off the subject of her former employer. "What's the book you're carrying?"

Eddy answers for her, "That's the book with all the company records. The real company records," she adds for emphasis.

In my mind, I think, "So that's the book that this is all about. With that book and that woman, we could write our own ticket." Without realizing that I've started speaking aloud, I continue, "I can't believe we were able to just walk in and snatch you out from under the government's watchful eye without a fuss." And then a new thought comes to mind. "Shouldn't they have taken that book into evidence?"

"First off, you didn't just walk in, I did," Eddy corrects me. "And no, they don't know she has the book, only that she kept everything in her head."

"It was too easy, Eddy," I continue, still thinking out loud.

"Why, because I did it without your help?" she indignantly demands. When I start to explain that my thoughts have nothing to do with her or her abilities, she raises her hand indicating for me to stop speaking. "Enough already, Mac! You don't need to explain how much more superior you are to me because I'm just a woman and I haven't been all over the world fighting overwhelming forces of evil on every front with nothing more than my bare hands."

Smiling at her anger and frustration, I teasingly ask, "Is that how you see me? I'm really flattered by that depiction, Eddy. Maybe I should have you write my memoirs."

"How about I write your obituary?" she angrily snaps back.

"Calm down, Eddy," I gently reply while reaching across and placing my right hand on her thigh. "If I didn't have such deep respect for you and your abilities, I never would have allowed you to enter that house on your own."

"You couldn't have stopped me if you tried," she grumbles softly, her resolve to be angry with me losing substance.

"No, you're probably right," I concede, relieved to see her regaining her composure. "But please, let me finish this time before you jump to any conclusions. You've witnessed firsthand how the feds handle witness protection. You know that it isn't easy to locate safe houses and tougher still to breach them. And yet, they let you stroll in without a struggle."

"Can't you just admit that I'm good?" she says, her voice remaining calm.

"I have Eddy. But you're interrupting again."

"Sorry."

"How many were in the house?" I ask before continuing.

"Two," she states, glancing in the side mirror to see that Larry is still on our tail.

"And let me ask this again, why does she have that book with her? Shouldn't it be locked up in an evidence vault somewhere?"

"No one has ever asked me for it," says the lady from the rear seat.

"I'm certain that someone has requested the book, unfortunately, the request never quite made it all the way to you," I slowly reply, realizing for the first time the true depth of the corruption. Barely audible, I say to Eddy, "Maybe you should have shot them and done the world a favor."

Finally understanding blooms in her mind and she softly states, "They were expecting someone from the organization to show up. That's why they let me in."

"And there were only two men guarding such a valuable witness," I add. After a moment of silence, I say, "It's a good thing for Miss Domingo here that it was us that got the job."

"If they knew where she was all along, why didn't they just have her taken care of by their own thugs?" Eddy asks, perplexed.

"Because they can't afford for it to look like an inside job," I reply. "Raised suspicions could disrupt their entire network of spies and moles throughout the federal government, very likely igniting a huge internal investigation that could possibly expose their entire network. It's much simpler and safer using an outside source that is connected just enough to cause plausibility.

"Moreover, I am almost one-hundred percent certain that the source that provided Larry with the address of the safe house has already been compromised. He is probably already under investigation and yet, he has nothing to do with the crime family being prosecuted. Furthermore, the monies that we were paid have probably already been traced to my bank account and it wouldn't surprise me in the least to learn that they originated from an offshore bank, more than likely from somewhere in the Cayman Islands.

"In short, Eddy, we were set up from the get-go. We were only hired to draw the attention away from them and their organization." I pause to take a deep breath and let out some of my anger and frustration. Nothing pisses me off more than being used. "Since the dirty agents already know who we are, they will pin the abduction on us while adding their own distorted spin to it. When they catch up to us, all they have to do is make it look like an apprehension gone bad.

"To make certain no one will contradict their story, you can bet they'll want us all dead, including the witness," I solemnly add.

"This was a setup from the very beginning, Mac," Eddy whispers. "That address in the glove box of the SUV was put there for our benefit on the off chance we couldn't find her."

"Eddy, I think you're getting the idea now."

### **38**

On the assumption that we're being tailed, we forego finding a motel and instead, seek out a busy café just off the main highway.

What we find is a small mom and pop restaurant just a block and a half off the main drag. It's shortly after the busiest time of the day, yet enough people are still coming and going for us to blend in.

To our good fortune, a car is pulling out of the parking spot directly across the street from the place as we pull up. Slipping into the spot as the other car pulls out, we watch as Larry slowly drives by, finding a place almost a half block farther down the street.

We exit the Liberty and scurry across the street, bypassing the two metal tables sitting empty on the sidewalk.

When we enter, our nostrils are assailed with a multitude of aromas, the strongest of which is definitely frying bacon and onions. Eddy is in the lead with Jane between us. Without hesitating, she heads to an empty booth situated along the front windows located almost halfway down the length of the restaurant and offering a view out on to the street.

Acting casual, we sit down and reach for the menus setting on the table in a wire holder that also holds the salt and pepper dispensers. When Jane goes to the farther bench, Eddy slips into the nearer, putting her back to the door. I take up the empty part of the booth next to Jane and across from Eddy so that I can keep an eye on the door. Within minutes of our arrival and before the waitress comes by to take our order, Larry arrives and takes up the empty part of the booth next to Eddy.

The lunch counter has more than a dozen people sitting at it, most of them having finished with their lunches and working on cups of coffee or dessert. There is a light exchange of banter between the regulars. There are almost as many seats already vacated as there are occupied seats, some still sporting dirty dishes and leftovers before them.

Larry starts to say something at the same time I see the waitress heading our way. With a subtle nod of my head, he quickly checks himself.

"Good morning, folks," she says, placing mugs and silverware before each of us, as well as an air-pot of coffee in the center of the table. Before I can correct her and let her know that it's already past noon, she goes, "Oh, I'm sorry, it's already afternoon, isn't it? Are you guys ready to order?"

She is wearing a white skirt and blouse with a red and white plaid apron. Tall and thin with her hair tied up neatly in a bun at the back of her head. If I had to guess her age, I would put her in her early twenties and probably working her way through college.

"Is it too late to order breakfast?" I ask, smiling at her.

"We serve breakfast all day," she says brightly, smiling at us with her pen held at the ready. "Dad's a breakfast eater too. He's the cook and owner of the place."

"Bacon, eggs up and running, with a side of hash browns," I say, smiling up at her while watching the street out of the corner of my eye as two dark SUVs slowly cruise by. When her gaze turns toward Jane, I ask her where the restrooms and payphones are. She answers with a nod of her head in the direction opposite the entrance while stating they are at the end of the aisle. I then inquire if there's a rear exit.

"I'm sorry, sir, but the only rear exit is through the kitchen and customers aren't allowed in there," she says apologetically.

"That's okay, thank you," I reply, noting that Larry and Eddy have also noticed the SUVs as they cruise past the restaurant.

Everyone orders the same thing, though in truth, none of us have an appetite any longer. When the waitress leaves with our order, I ask Larry to check out the restroom. "See if there is a window or other means of getting out that way if we have to."

"Be right back," he says, heading toward the restroom.

When the waitress returns with our plates of food and Larry still hasn't returned, I begin to grow concerned. As I'm about to get up and investigate his delay, Eddy meets my gaze and gives me a subtle nod of the head, indicating that he's returning.

After he is seated, I ask him what took him so long. "There's a window in the women's facing a side street. It can be used if necessary, but it'll be a tight fit."

"It took you almost five minutes to learn that?" Eddy asks.

"Not quite. I also made a couple of calls on the payphone, just in case they're tracking our cell phones."

All this while, Jane has been sitting quietly, keeping her thoughts and concerns to herself, when suddenly she says, "I'd like to make a phone call, if it's alright."

"That's probably not a good idea," I start to explain, when Eddy suddenly speaks over me.

"Who would you like to call?" she asks, ignoring my furrowed brow.

"My son. He was supposed to visit me this coming weekend. I need to let him know that I'm not going to be home," she says, looking pleadingly toward Eddy.

"I don't see any harm in that," Eddy says, giving me a frustrated look.

"You go with her," I command, slipping out of the booth to let Jane out.

As Jane heads down the aisle, I grab Eddy firmly by the arm and whisper in her ear, "Listen closely to who she calls and what she says."

When I release her, she hurries to catch up with Jane, not acknowledging my comment in any way.

"Who'd you call?" I ask, dropping back into the booth.

"Greg," he says, and then waits for me to comment. When I don't, he continues, "We need his help, Mac." Before I can argue with him, he says, "He's going to meet us in Fairfield and take Jane off our hands so we can work freely to get to the bottom of this." He hesitates a moment before adding, "He's going to bring Gina and a hired hand to collect the vehicles so we can switch to something anonymous. Now that we have Jane, we're fair game to be eliminated. It's time to drop off their radar and turn the game back on them."

"Who else did you call?"

"My contact that gave us the address in Brentwood," he says softly before taking a sip from his coffee. "I only felt that I should warn him about what's going on."

"Are you sure you can trust him?" I ask, topping up my own mug with the black liquid.

"I was careful not to give him any more information than was necessary. If he's in on it, so be it. But if he isn't, then he deserved to know that he's being set up."

"Fair enough," I respond, sipping at my coffee. "So, did Greg mention where they're going to take Jane for safe keeping?"

"He made a point of not giving me any details for obvious reasons. But he did let me know that he was going to contact his friends in the Marshal's Service and bring them up to speed," he says, watching for Eddy and Jane to return. Then, leaning across the table and speaking softly, he adds, "He's also going to let his friends in the Justice Department know what's going on so they'll be standing by."

"We can't just take a step back and let this go, Larry," I argue, concerned that he's trying to take this out of our hands before we can see it through to the end.

"We're not doing anything of the sort," he declares. "However, Greg is confident that until we come up with substantial evidence of corruption, we don't have anything beyond a tax evasion case, which might even get dismissed when it becomes known that the key witness was kidnapped from protective custody."

"In other words," I confess disheartened, "we may have already given them enough to have the case thrown out, even if we surrender Jane and her book over to legit authorities."

"Well, I'm sure Greg's contacts aren't involved in the corruption, so at the least, we have that going for us," he concedes, sitting back in his seat as Eddy and Jane return.

### **39**

In silence, we pick at the food on our plates and nurse the coffee. In the meantime, the restaurant slowly clears out, the lunch crowd being replaced by a few early afternoon students getting out of class and grabbing a booth to drink tea and study.

"Why haven't they come after us?" Eddy suddenly asks, referring to the two SUVs that cruised by earlier.

"They're down the block awaiting orders, more than likely," Larry nonchalantly explains.

"Then what are we waiting for?" she persists.

"We have to give Greg and Gina time to reach Fairfield before we do anything. And then, before we make contact with them, we need to lose those guys outside. If we lose them too soon, they might find us again before we can safely pass Jane over to Greg and Gina," he explains. "Because no one in the agency knows they're bad, they have the distinct advantage of being able to use both legit as well as corrupt resources to do their bidding. Once we lose them, it will only be a matter of time before they pick up our trail again. And if they do, Jane can no longer be with us. Our timing has to be perfect."

Eddy is about to say something regarding Larry's explanation, when I tip my head toward her, alerting her to the arrival of our waitress.

"Okay folks," she says with a smile as she strides up to our booth to collect the dirty dishes. The tone of her voice and the lack of a coffee pot a clear indication to us that she feels our welcome is over. "Can I get you anything else before you leave?"

Pushing a twenty across the table toward her, I softly ask, "Would another thermos of coffee be out of the question?"

Her eyes light up at the sight of the money as she quickly states, "I'll be right back."

Turning, she sweeps up the money with her free hand and quickly tucks it away in her apron pocket. Because we never use credit cards while on the job for obvious reasons, I have a thick wad of cash in my pant pocket as I am sure Eddy and Larry do likewise. The twenty is a very small investment to buy us much needed time.

We all realize that when we leave this restaurant, there is a very high probability that the corrupt agents outside will take that opportunity to make their move. They may either attempt to arrest us outright, or simply shoot us down. Until we go through those doors and return to the street, there is no telling what might happen.

When the waitress returns, she brings the check and sets it on the table next to me before refilling each of our cups from the fresh thermos. "Thank you, miss," I smile at her, placing two more twenty's on top of the check and pushing it back toward her. "Keep the change."

Smiling back at Mac, she takes the check with the cash and graciously thanks him. "You are much too kind, thank you."

When she has retreated back to the kitchen, Eddy asks, "How long do you think we need to wait here?"

"Another hour if we can get away with it," I inform her with a hesitant grin.

"In that case, I hope there's more where those last twenties came from, because I'm not sure they're going to let us sit here that much longer, even if you are a generous tipper," Eddy states.

Glancing around, I comment, "Yeah, it seems like the lunch crowd barely clears out and the afternoon college crowd starts filing in."

No one says anything for a long while and then Jane breaks the silence with a doubtful question, "What's going to happen to me?"

"We're going to protect you until you can testify against your boss," Eddy says encouragingly.

"I never should have said anything to anyone," she whimpers, her voice full of regrets. "For years, I just went to work and did my job. No one ever questioned me. I was paid well. I got weekends off to visit my son," she hesitates for a moment before adding, "And now, now I have nothing to look forward to. They told me that if they're successful, I will be put in witness protection and moved far across the country, someplace where no one knows me. How will I see my son then?"

"It'll be alright," Eddy consoles her, reaching across the table to gently touch her hand. "Maybe, you can convince them that your son needs to accompany you."

"Oh, he would never do that," she strongly protests. "He has a very important job in the city. He would never consider giving that up." She hesitates, before adding, "And I could never ask that of him."

"You might be surprised at what a son will do for his mother," Larry encouragingly adds.

She smiles at him and says, "I am sure he loves me as much as I love him, but he has his own life to live, not mine."

Eddy smiles encouragingly at her a while longer before looking down to her coffee. Meanwhile, Larry and I are sitting silently watching the cars go by and the influx of new guests, giving each one a thorough scrutinizing.

After more than forty-five minutes have passed, the waitress starts looking anxiously in our direction, the number of available booths having been depleted by the afternoon rush of students.

Eddy, following my gaze, also notices the looks from the waitress. "I think we've used up your good will Mac."

"Yeah, I think it's time we hit the road," I agree, pouring the last of the now lukewarm coffee down my throat before rising.

"Sit tight a minute, Mac," Larry says softly, indicating for me to return to my seat while he gets up. "Let me head out first and retrieve the sedan since I'm parked farther up the street and will make a more tempting target. It should only take me a minute to get there and bring the car around the block. When you see me coming up the street, step out in front of me and hurry across to the Liberty."

"We'll be waiting in the eaves," I smile up at him.

I keep an eye on him until he passes the window, at which point, Eddy takes over. When he crosses the street and gets into the sedan, Eddy nods and we file out of the booth, heading toward the front door. There is a small foyer just inside the entrance that is crowded with students waiting for available seating. We blend into the crowd while slowly working our way toward the door.

As two young students enter, we can see Larry's sedan approaching. Pushing through the doors, we take up a position directly under the overhanging awning and wait for him to draw closer. The street is busy, dictating his speed. When he is the next vehicle to pass, we grab Jane by each arm and scurry out into the street.

With the Liberty only a few feet distant, Eddy takes Jane and guides her into the rear seat, pushing her across it and then following in after her. I, meanwhile, climb into the driver's seat and fit the key into the ignition, bringing the motor to life in an instant.

Because the cars behind Larry feel he should be moving, horns blare to life, the anxious sounds echoing down the street. Stepping on the accelerator, I swerve out into the street and pick up speed. It takes Larry only a second to get turned around and catch up to us. If we have a problem losing a tail, it will be up to Larry to make the problem go away while we make the rendezvous with Greg and Gina.

At the second intersection from the restaurant, I swing left, taking the first of what will become many evasive actions. After two blocks, I suddenly hang a left down a residential street and then at the next block, make a hard right and head back toward the business section of town.

We keep this up for several miles while continuing to look over our shoulders in search of a tail. When we don't see the SUVs as expected, I mention the possibility to Eddy that they may be following us from the sky and her eyes immediately peer upward through the side window. After a moment, she takes out her cell phone and calls Larry to bring him up to speed.

Birds in the sky present a whole `nother set of problems when it comes to losing them. The first and easiest way of which is hoping they run low on fuel and have to leave off.

But that aside, the next thing to remember is that birds are restricted to certain airspace, which on the surface appears boundless. In reality, there are many places that a bird cannot fly, or if they do, can't see the ground beneath them anyways.

Tree-lined residential neighborhoods are one of these types of places. The bird can fly over, but they have no idea in which direction you are traveling on the ground beneath the foliage. My personal favorite is coming back out on the same road that you entered. Surprisingly, few pilots expect that. Most will go directly to the far end of the wooded area and wait.

Another place they can't follow you is into tunnels. Unfortunately, tunnels generally only have an entrance and an exit. If the pilot in the air has ground backup, a tunnel is nothing more than a trap.

Since we don't need to lose a tail in the sky just yet, all we have to do is lead it in an erroneous direction until it needs to return for fuel and then we beat feet for our destination.

But first, we have to have an eye on the bird in the sky, and with their far reaching telephoto cameras that is much easier said than done.

When Eddy's cell rings, I immediately realize from her behavior that it's Larry calling back. After a few quick words, she hangs up and says over my shoulder, "Larry said we have a possible bird in the sky and to work our way over to the interstate and head north as if you've lost all sign of being tailed. He feels that the pilot will use the small airfield outside Fairfield to refuel and then resume looking for us on the highway, making the assumption that we're taking Jane all the way back to Oregon. By the time they figure it out, we should have handed off Jane and swapped into unmarked vehicles."

"Sounds like a good plan," I agree, turning onto a surface street that will lead us to the nearest north bound onramp. "We just act as if we're confident we lost their tail and let their confidence do them in."

### **40**

Traffic is heavy on the interchange into San Francisco and the trip north proceeds at an agonizing pace. If there is any blessing in this, it's that the bird in the sky is consuming fuel at a horrendous rate and will have to abandon us even sooner than I had first anticipated.

We get our first glimpse of the chopper when we turn onto the six-eighty heading east and north. Because of the heavy air traffic in this area due to our proximity to Oakland, our tail is forced to fly according to air traffic rules and not necessarily along the highway.

When the bird suddenly breaks off and heads due west toward the largest airport in the vicinity, we realize that our plan is working. With our route looking fairly straight forward to them, they quickly jumped to the conclusion that we are indeed heading toward I-5 and Oregon.

Eddy's cell phone rings and I hear Eddy agree to something before quickly cutting off the call. "Larry says we're in the window of opportunity and have to make it quick. They probably have agents waiting along the interstate to intercept us," she says to the back of my head.

"By the time they realize we're not going as far as I-5, we should have made the meet with Greg and Gina and be untraceable," I comment encouragingly.

Stepping on the accelerator, I push the little Liberty right up to the speed limit and then a little more, swerving from lane to lane when necessary to avoid the onramps and slower moving vehicles. Glancing in my rearview mirror, I notice Larry is only inches off our rear bumper to prevent anyone cutting in between us.

With a sigh of relief, I see the Fairfield exit and deftly slide into the near lane while watching carefully in the mirrors for any other vehicles making the same sudden lane change.

Nothing stands out from the normal flow of traffic and I ease back on the gas, sliding quickly off the highway and into a business district lined with fast food joints and strip malls.

"Up there," Eddy suddenly says, her voice dripping with excitement and anticipation as she points past my head to indicate a used car lot on our left that also deals with rental units.

As I slide into the center turn lane, she cries out excitedly, "There they are!"

Standing alongside an old beat up red and white Ford pickup are Greg, Gina, one of their longtime employs of Latino descent, and a short fat man in a dark blue suit and matching tie. This latter individual looked overly warm and uncomfortable for the bright sunlight and afternoon heat.

Pulling in past the old Ford, Larry slides in on our right and we all jump out, acutely aware that we have very little time in which to make this happen.

"Greg, Gina, Jesus, good to see you again," I cheerfully acknowledge them, making a point of not appearing hurried or distressed while I shake their hands.

Larry and Eddy do the same while Jane stands a foot or so off to the side, feigning interest in one of the used vehicles for sale. "Jane, you remember Greg and Gina?" Eddy says, drawing her into our little circle.

"Of course," Gina says, taking her by the hands and feigning old friendship.

"How you doing?" I socially inquire of the sweaty man in the suit.

"Fine, fine," he says, extending a business card. "Jack Arndt, I work here. If you have any questions, please, just give me a shout." Turning to Gina, he says, "I'll be just inside the office finishing up the paperwork whenever you're ready."

"Thanks, Jack," Gina smiles at him. "I'll be right in."

When he is back in the office with the door closed to save his precious air conditioning, Greg indicates two vehicles parked along the curb by the entrance and says, "We got you and Eddy the black Liberty and Larry the red Chevy Tracker setting beside it. I hope they work for you. We'll take the Liberty and Malibu and park them in the long term parking back at the airport. If they're discovered, it'll take them forever to figure out that you didn't catch a flight." When I look questioningly, at him, he adds, "Don't worry about Jane. We've made arrangements with the U.S. Marshals Service to meet us at the airport. They're going to take her into real protective custody on behalf of a Rico case that a good friend of mine in the Justice Department managed to get opened late last night. In fact, he just informed me a few minutes ago that he secured all the necessary signatures just this morning, so it's all legit."

"You know I trust you Greg, and under any other circumstances, I wouldn't ask this, but these aren't ordinary circumstances, so forgive me for this, can we trust this D.A.?"

"We can trust him, Mac. He's been my mentor for years. We've worked on many sensitive cases together in that time," he replies, his voice even. "If we can't trust him, Mac, than this world isn't worth saving."

"That'll have to be good enough," Eddy says, cutting us off. "We don't have time to discuss semantics, let's get going. Gina, thank you for everything," she adds over her shoulder as she heads to the liberty to gather our meager supplies and transport them to the new Liberty.

"Just call us when you have something we can take to court and put these guys away with," Greg says to her retreating back.

"We'll get you what's needed," I assure him. "I just hope we can flush the whole wad of them out."

"If anyone can, it's you," Gina says, giving me a quick embrace and then stepping back. "The keys are in the ignitions."

"Good to see you again, Jesus," I say, turning and patting Greg on the shoulder as I follow Eddy with the supplies toward the black Liberty. "You know where to meet us," I say to Larry as I pass him.

"On your six," he quips back.

Although I don't watch them, I am sure Larry makes his departure after formally introducing Jane and the book she has secured beneath her arm to Greg and Gina. If they do as he instructs, they will be stopping at a Kinko's and making a copy of the book for safekeeping. One never knows when an insurance policy will come in handy.

### **41**

We pull out on the road and head right, back in the direction we'd just come. When we approach the highway interchange, we continue straight through the intersection and head west across country.

Eddy is the first to speak. "What's the plan?"

"I haven't worked out all the kinks yet, but basically, we find high ground to make a stand and contact our mysterious benefactor and let him know that we have Jane and her ledger. He's probably already wondering why we haven't contacted him to set up a meet, since I have no doubt he is fully aware of what's going on," I finish.

"And where is this high ground that you want to find?" she asks, her voice telling me that she is simply more interested in just talking than real answers. She has worked with me enough to know that I don't always have all the answers until the twelfth hour.

"I'll know it when I see it," I grin at her.

"You do realize that Travis Air Force Base is just over there," she says with a smirk of her own, hitching her thumb over her right shoulder.

"Did you have something in mind?" I inquire, my curiosity piqued by the reference to the air base.

"Just a thought," she replies, her thoughts drifting for a moment. "If your plan were to need a bunch of loyal men in uniform that are committed to protecting their country, what better place could you ask for than a military base?"

"Not sure that I really could use an Air Force base, but your thoughts have given me one of my own," I tell her, studying the late afternoon traffic on the two lane road. "We need to find a place to hole up for a little while."

"Up there," she suddenly says, indicating a run down and abandoned equipment shed less than a hundred feet off to the side of the road. The weathered board fence that once stopped people from reaching it has long since been broken down and driven over repeatedly, most of the wood having become kindling for late night fires. Moreover, judging from the broken beer bottles and debris scattered along the cracked and broken drive leading to the unhinged main doors, a popular hangout for the local youth on Friday nights.

Slowing down, I pull in and drive straight into the shadowy interior of the building, Larry pulling in on our right. Our tires kick up a cloud of dust from the dry ground, the rear of the building sporting enough holes to see the cultivated fields beyond.

"We may go unnoticed for a while, but eventually someone's going to come along and either ask us to leave or call the cops," I state, pushing open the door and stepping out.

Climbing out her side, Eddy argues, "You said you needed a place just long enough to formulate your plan and make a call, not retire."

Stepping around the rear of the Liberty, Larry jokes, "You two sound like an old married couple. Did I miss the wedding?"

Larry's mood is much more carefree than my own. His faith in Greg's contacts are obviously more secure than mine. Now that he doesn't have to worry about Jane's wellbeing, he feels happy go lucky, a trait that I can only envy.

Ignoring his remark, I comment, "Eddy said something that got me thinking."

"Oh good, you do still listen to the voice of reason after all," he jibes.

Again ignoring his banter, I say, "The air base back there is full of men in uniform that are dedicated to protecting their country. All we have to do is figure out how to draw in the corrupt agents and use the honest men in uniforms to take them down."

"What if we start by calling your boss, oh, excuse me, your benefactor? Sorry about that Eddy," he teases.

"Keep it up and you won't have any friends in here," Eddy sneers back at him, feigning anger.

"Continue," I impatiently urge him.

"As I was saying, you call the man and let him know that we have the woman and her ledger. However, there's a little snag. An overzealous lawman pulled you over for speeding and remembered you from somewhere. He is sure it had to do with terrorism and places all three of you under arrest. Because your terrorists, you're not entitled to due process, or so the sheriff believes. Yet, Eddy convinces him to at least let you make your one phone call and this is your one phone call. What do you think so far?"

"I think it's got promise, if a bit thin," I nod.

"I think it's a Hell of an idea," Eddy beams. "But how do we get the men in uniforms to play with us? Oh, and they need to be armed, don't they?" she adds, grinning impishly.

"He'll come on the run, Mac," Larry continues while smiling at Eddy. "He has too. He can't afford for the arresting officer to spread word of his big bust to anyone, or they won't be able to contain all the fall out. In fact, I'm certain that the first thing our mystery man will do is contact the highest ranking man under their control and have that man contact the sheriff. And in order to contact the sheriff, he has to expose himself."

Picking up on Larry's thoughts, I continue, "And to keep himself isolated from the fracas, he'll only contact trusted men in his organization to deal with us."

Eddy, following along and growing more excited by the second, adds, "And of course, his trusted men in such a matter will be only the men that are on the crime family's payroll."

"That's very good, Eddy," Larry smiles proudly at her.

"So, where do we get all the armed men in uniform to round them up when they come to kill us?" she asks, her excitement not waning in the least. "Remember, we're near an airbase, not an army base."

"We still need a place to bring this altogether, too," I dourly admit to her. "But I do agree that we may be on to a plan."

"Yeah, but we don't really need an arresting officer," Larry says. "All we need is a badge number and county."

"That much we have," I grin, thinking of a fat corrupt sheriff patrolling a small airfield along the interstate.

### **42**

"You know," Eddy starts, her voice trying to wrap around the thoughts swirling dizzily in her head. "We probably don't really need an army at all."

"How do you figure?" I ask, studying her with interest.

"We know that the corruption runs deep, but I'm willing to bet it's all in one department, namely, the FBI's field office in San Francisco," she slowly mouths, a smile dawning on her face. "My experience with the FBI is limited, but I do know that they work in field offices and are assigned duties by being placed on task forces. Is it possible that we're dealing with just one regional office? And out of that office, I'm guessing a single task force was put in charge of this crime family. We might be talking about as few as half a dozen men not counting the lead agent that handpicked the recruits for the assignment.

"In fact, if Jane hadn't decided to do the right thing by reporting what was going on to someone outside the task force, it would have been quietly handled from within. The family would have retained the ledger and Jane would have just disappeared or suffered an unfortunate accident on her way home from work.

"Instead of contacting the FBI, however, she went to the District Attorney's Office. Of course, the D.A., realizing the impact such a huge case could have on his career, contacted the FBI for assistance and discovered there already was a task force assigned to the crime family in question. I have no doubt whoever is in charge of these guys couldn't believe his luck when the D.A. contacted him and not someone else.

"Of course, to keep up their appearances, they had to get someone outside their little clique involved, and that's when they recruited us. They need a fall guy Mac and you're it, or so they're planning."

It was a lengthy assumption on Eddy's part, but it sounded much too plausible to be lightly ignored. Although most of my experience involved the justice department, the CIA, the DEA, and mostly the military, I too had enough past contact with the FBI to see the possibility in what eddy said.

Moreover, if Eddy is correct, it means we're dealing with a much smaller number of corrupt federal agents and more in the line of mobsters, which are generally more feral, but much less disciplined. They are also much easier to dispose of.

Larry is the first to digest what Eddy said and starts by agreeing with her assumptions. "It makes good sense, Mac. The District Attorney's Office probably doesn't have a clue as to what's really going on. We've already broken into a federal safe house and kidnapped their key witness. Along with her, we also got the key piece of evidence. When they kill us while resisting arrest, along with Jane who just so happens to get shot by one of our weapons during the exchange of gunfire, they will pin the entire thing on us and neatly sweep it under the rug. No evidence, no case. The D.A. huffs and puffs, but eventually it's back to business as usual. The corrupt FBI agent keeps the D.A. informed on the family until they lose interest altogether." He pauses for a moment and then says, "I think you have one smart cookie there, Mac."

If Larry agreed with her, then there must be something substantial to it. And on first hearing it, I was leaning toward agreeing with her too. But now, for whatever reason, it doesn't feel quite right. I can't help feeling that we're missing something important and I should be arguing with her.

And then again, maybe I'm just having a hard time going along with it because I wasn't the one to think of it. It was Eddy's conjecture, after all, and not mine.

Unable to come up with any logic to dispute her, I begrudgingly give in. "Okay then, we won't need an army after all. Where does that leave us?"

"I think we can do this thing ourselves, just as long as we get the cavalry to arrive on schedule," Larry says. "It won't do us any good to take down all the bad guys with no witnesses. We'll just be blamed for the massacre by the local news media, which I have no doubt the family has contacts within." He hesitates while he searches for an evasive word before saying, "Something like that would go viral within minutes, from what I understand."

"Then we'll need a location that's easily accessible, yet offers some cover and is located in a certain county where a special sheriff presides over," I offer a bit tentatively.

"An abandoned and secluded gold mine with access via logging roads," Larry says with a smile, the siren song of battle beginning to hum deep down in his bones. "The hills north of here are full of just such places."

His anxiety is contagious and I would be lying if I didn't feel a little of the same excitement beginning to course through my veins. Larry and I have one thing in common above all else, we are brothers in arms and warriors to the end.

"How do we go about finding the right mine?" Eddy asks.

"Since we know which county we're going to use, we just have to find a hardware store or sporting goods store that sells county topography maps," I offer.

"Out of state hunters use them all the time," Larry adds, when he sees the perplexed look on Eddy's face. And then, his expression turning a bit sheepish, he adds, "Even I've been known to study one on occasion when I'm in unfamiliar territory."

Winking exaggeratedly, Eddy quips, "I can't imagine you ever being in unfamiliar territory."

"Yeah, yeah," he drawls, easily picking up on the innuendo. "It happens to the best of us."

"It's called expanding your horizons," I chime in, trying to get him off the hook.

Eddy quickly turns on me, saying, "Something you better not be considering anytime soon, Mister!"

Winking at her, I quip, "I like the terrain I'm in just fine."

"Better stay that way," she says softly with an underlying threat.

"Before you two turn all sappy on me, I should point out that we need to find a place before dark so we can get into position under cover of nightfall," Larry says a tad impatiently. "The fewer people see us driving the back roads in the hills, the better. Even though some of these old mines are abandoned, there's still a good chance someone else has moved into them and is working them on the QT. We don't want to ruffle any feathers or inadvertently start a turf war over a simple misunderstanding."

"You got a good point there, Larry," I agree, moving close to Eddy and giving her a peck on the cheek as a peace offering before moving toward the driver's door of the Liberty. "Follow us back to the highway and we'll make tracks north."

"Right with you," he says, throwing Eddy a knowing smile before retreating to his vehicle.

### **43**

Once back on the highway and cruising northward, Eddy breaks the silence. "You're not convinced, are you?"

"What do you mean?" I innocently inquire.

"You don't believe that it's just a single task force and possibly the lead agent in the field office that's corrupt. You think there are more agents involved, possibly even other departments," she says accusingly.

"I'm sure there are cops in every police department in every city that are on the take," I reply, dodging her real question.

"That's not what I mean and you know it," she fires back. "For some reason, you still feel we need an army. You don't believe for one minute that we're going to be confronting a handful of men armed with nothing more than side arms."

"I want to believe you're right about this, but I can't shake my gut feeling that we're going into this unaware of something," I reply in earnest.

"Larry's confident," she argues. "And besides, we'll have backup as soon as we need it."

"We're going to be in the middle of nowhere, Eddy. The nearest backup will be miles away, if they can even find us."

"Well, Larry doesn't seem overly concerned," she persists. "In fact, he seems downright anxious to get this started."

"Of course he is, he doesn't have a woman to watch out for," I stupidly blurt without thinking.

The words have no sooner left my mouth, than I see Eddy go stiff. It's too late to take them back and anything further I say now will only dig me in deeper.

Fuming, she slowly turns in her seat to face me. Flames are dancing in her eyes and her forehead is creased with consternation and fury. Through clenched teeth, she vehemently hisses, "So the truth finally comes out. Deep down inside, you don't think I can take care of myself."

She takes deep, measured breaths, barely able to maintain her control. "All this time, you let me believe that I was your equal. You let me rescue you from the bottom of a bottle of rum when you were absorbed in self-pity and loathing. You let me feel that by saving you, I was doing something worthwhile when in fact, I was just wasting my damned time.

"Well, you can kiss my ass, Buster! When we get where we're going, I'll take my lead from Larry. At least I don't have to worry about him wondering if I can take care of myself."

In a huff, she turns and faces forward, her jaw rigid. There are no words to placate her. Right up until the moment I said what I did, I would have argued otherwise. It even came as a surprise to me that I didn't feel I could leave her alone and that I felt some obligation to watch over her.

Though there isn't anything to be said, I feel that I must say something, I can't leave the situation festering like an open wound. Especially not with such a dangerous situation looming before us. If something were to happen to either of us, I'd never be able to forgive myself for parting like this.

"You misunderstood me, Eddy," I say softly, watching her out of the corner of my eye. "My faith in your abilities has never been a concern of mine. When it comes to fighting, either with weapons or hands, I see you as an equal."

"Bullshit! Don't give me that crap," she hisses. "You've always seen yourself as the dominant one between us. And for what it's worth, that has always been fine with me."

"Then I'm afraid that I don't understand why you're so upset," I sincerely plead.

"Because being dominant and concerned because you care for me, those things I can accept," she replies, her voice losing some of its anger. "You are a man, after all. You have this ingrained thing telling you that it's your God given right to be domineering. You can't help yourself."

"Honestly, I always try to think of you as an equal, Eddy," I say with sincerity. "I can't help that I try to dominate every aspect of our relationship. But if it makes you feel any better, I'll make a point of working on that. I'll try to show more respect for your feelings than I have in the past."

We sit in silence for a long moment, the asphalt rolling away beneath us when I say, "Eddy, if it seems that I don't trust you or have faith in your abilities, it's only because of how much I care for you. If anything were to happen to you, I would never be able to forgive myself. I would always see it as a direct result of not watching out closely enough for you. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

This time when she turns to meet my gaze, I see a warm glow replacing the fire of just moment's prior. No longer is her forehead creased or her jaw rigid. Instead, her expression is soft and glowing with warmth.

Tenderly, I reach across the console and take her hand in mine while smiling warmly at her.

"I'll let you off the hook this time," she says softly, her eyes studying the back of my hand. "But when we get where we're going, don't be hovering over me. You understand where I'm coming from?"

"Completely," I agree. "If it appears elsewise, just remember that I am only concerned because of how much I love you."

Every woman loves to hear how much a man loves her. It's never enough to simply show them, you have to remind them every now and again with words.

Looking up from the back of my hand, she smiles warmly at me while giving it a gentle squeeze before releasing it. Turning in the seat, she fishes around in our bags for a moment before finding what she is looking for. When she faces back to the front, she is holding a thermos.

"That's probably cold," I offer.

Rolling the window down, she unscrews the cap and pours the remaining contents out the window. "I know," she smiles, rolling the window back up. "Just thought I would get it ready for when we pull over in Red Bluff."

"I'm not sure I can hold out that long," I confess.

"You're the driver," she says, hinting that she can only go where I steer the vehicle.

When I see a sign indicating an auto fuel station at the next exit with food and lodging, I decide to take it. There is no telling how long we will be up in the mountains and it suddenly feels important that we get some hot food inside us and stock up on other necessities. As if to justify my decision to pull over, I say to Eddy, "We need some food in our stomachs before we head up into the mountains. None of us really ate our lunch."

"I'm sure Larry couldn't agree more," Eddy concurs while studying the advertisements lining the off ramp. "It looks like there might be a mall less than two miles off to the east."

"Then that's where we'll head. Maybe we can get everything we'll need there," I agree, staying in the right hand turn lane. "We'll fuel up first and let Larry know what our plans are."

### **44**

After fueling the vehicles, we head east on the main route leading through a conglomeration of fast food joints and pawnshops. When we enter the mall parking lot, we are delighted to discover that there's a major chain sporting goods outlet on the far end with a separate entrance.

Parking near the sporting goods' doors, we climb out and march in. Larry takes the lead, heading directly to the firearm's counter where he requests three boxes of ammunition for each of our handguns, a total of nine boxes in addition to a box of high velocity rounds for his fifty caliber Sharps rifle.

The woman behind the counter raises an eyebrow as she places the last box on the counter before him. "Can I see your identification, please?" she asks, her voice belying her suspicions.

Although this is on the border of some pretty wild country where it isn't uncommon for hunters to buy large amounts of ammunition, such occurrences usually only take place during hunting season or right before when everyone is up in the woods sighting in their rifles. This is not hunting season, not even close and hence, he appears suspicious.

"Here you go," he says, smiling his most beguiling smile at her. If I didn't know any better, I might think that my friend is attracted to her. But I quickly dismiss the idea. Like most of our gender, he's just a dog.

Hesitantly, if not a bit nervously, she returns his smile and then glances down at the identification card. Immediately, her expression turns suspicious again as she says, "You're not from California."

"No, I'm not. I'm down here with some friends that have promised to teach me how to use a gold pan. I just figured I would take advantage of the opportunity and get in a little target practice," he says effortlessly, laying on the charm. Then, leaning forward as if to take her into his confidence, he says, "You seem like a woman that enjoys the outdoors, maybe a little hunting and fishing." And then he pulls back and gives her a thorough looking over before correcting himself. "No, I take that back. You look more like the adventurous type, probably larger game. Something more in the way of elk, or even bear." He pauses to study her anew before continuing. "Yeah, I would definitely say you're more into elk or bear. Am I right?" he asks with a wink.

"Why, yes," she says a tad self-consciously. But when he continues giving her 100% of his undivided attention, she continues. "I do enjoy both elk and bear hunting," she says proudly, falling for his charm and ruggedly handsome good looks.

"I'll bet you pack a thirty-aught-six bolt action and a forty-four magnum sidearm," he adds, smiling charmingly across the counter at her. To a casual observer, he almost appears smitten with the young woman. To an experienced observer that is also his closest friend, there is no doubt that Larry is liking what he's seeing across the counter from him.

"Oh no, I could never handle a magnum," she blushes. "But I do use a 30-06. How did you know?" she asks, basking in his attention as all she can see now is him, the other customers standing by the counter have been all but forgotten for the moment.

"My name's Larry," he says smoothly, and then laughs and points at his identification, all but forgotten in her hand, "But of course, you already know that."

"Mine is Lisa, but I probably shouldn't tell you that, it's not exactly store policy," she sheepishly confides while furtively glancing about but not really seeing anything beyond Larry's enticing smile.

"So, Lisa," Larry begins, edging closer over the counter again as if they are in an exclusive conspiracy. "Are there really any abandoned gold mines around these parts where a lonely old man such as myself can still find a few nuggets? Or is that just a tale my friends are using to get me away from civilization for a while?"

Now it's her turn to take a step back and appraise him, though her assessment is already a foregone conclusion. "Oh, indeed there is, Larry," she says, using his name in a familial manner. "In fact, I could probably show you several within just a few hours' drive of here, if you're serious."

Eddy pokes me in the ribs as we stand on the far side of the counter, just out of the clerk's peripheral vision, but watching everything. "He's a dog and I'll tell him so when we get out in the parking lot," she hisses in my ear.

"He's getting us an escort, Eddy," I whisper back. "Someone who is familiar with the area. Let him work."

Mumbling something under her breath that I can't quite make out, but doesn't sound very complimentary toward men in general, she finishes by raising her voice just loud enough for me to hear, "I'm going to run down to the mall deli and pick up some fresh coffee and sandwiches for later. Meet you back at the car?"

"Sounds good," I agree. "I'll stay here and keep him out of trouble."

I begin to move closer to make my presence known, when I suddenly decide to give him his space and instead sit tight and wait. Without Eddy to soften my introduction, I'm liable to scare her off. With Eddy present, she won't feel quite as threatened as she will by just two lone men.

Looking incredulous, Larry replies to her suggestion, "Are you serious? You'd actually do that for me?"

"Well," she drawls, smiling mischievously as she glances around him before locking her big brown eyes on his. "It's completely against store policy, but it's not as if I don't know you, Larry," she grins, holding up his identification.

"Wow, that would be great, Lisa. I don't know how I could ever repay you for your trouble," he blubbers, acting more like an adolescent teen than a mature man.

"We are going gold panning, after all," she says suggestively. "I'm sure you'll share anything you find with me."

"Absolutely," Larry excitedly acknowledges.

"Just one little problem," she says, her voice low and a serious expression pulling her face down.

"What's that?" Larry asks, lowering his voice to match hers while trying to see into her downcast eyes.

"I don't get off for another hour and a half, eight o'clock, when the store closes," she says apologetically.

"That's perfectly fine," Larry says, sounding relieved to discover that it isn't something more insurmountable. "I still have more supplies to pick up anyway. Where can I meet up with you?"

"Here," she says, taking a slip of paper and writing down her address and a phone number. "I put my phone number on it too, just in case you change your mind."

"I promise you, I won't change my mind, Lisa," he says, his voice dripping with sincerity.

"You say that now, but I know how men are," she replies, sincerely wanting to believe him. "Just do me the favor of calling if you do have a change of heart and can't make it."

"I'll see you at eight-fifteen sharp, Lisa. I'll be driving a red Chevy Tracker." Almost as if it's an afterthought, he quickly adds, "There'll be another couple following us in a black Liberty. I'll introduce you to them. They're good people. You'll really like them. I hope that isn't a problem."

At first she seems hesitant and then quickly shakes it off and says with a laugh, "No, no, that'll be fine, so long as I don't have to share my findings with them too."

"Trust me, Lisa, you won't have to share your findings with anyone."

Handing me back my ID, she says, "You can pay for these at the front counter after you pick up the rest of your supplies." And then winking, she adds with a bright smile, "See ya later."

"Count on it."

Moving swiftly to evade being seen by her, I work my way along the rows adjacent to Larry. Just before he reaches the front cashiers, I cut over and intercept him.

Placing a few items on top of the boxes of ammunition cradled in his hands, not the least of which are a couple of county maps, I let him know that I'll meet him out by the vehicles and then continue on past the registers and out through the doors.

### **45**

The sky is turning toward dusk, a few light pinks and oranges tinting the western horizon as I cross the asphalt between the building and our rigs. The parking lot is thinning out as the working stiffs getting off work and stopping on their way home for a few items is slowly diminishing.

To my surprise, Eddy hasn't yet returned from her excursion into the mall proper and the Liberty is sitting empty. For a moment, I pause in front of the vehicle, suddenly undecided if I should wait on her, or head into the mall and try finding her.

My hesitation is only momentary however, before I decide not to go in search of her for fear she will take the gesture in the wrong light and jump to the conclusion that I am being overly protective of her again. Instead, I climb into the driver's seat of the Jeep and put on the radio, absently tuning in a local station that's playing country music.

Within a few moments, Larry exits the store and heads in my direction, the sum of his purchases filling two white plastic sacks. When he sees me sitting by my lonesome in the Liberty, he heads straight for the passenger's side and climbs in, placing the bags on his lap to sort through.

"Here," he says, handing me the ammunition for mine and Eddy's weapons. "Hopefully, we won't need it."

"Amen, Brother," I acknowledge. After placing the boxes of ammo on the rear seat, I ask him what he's thinking, bringing an outsider into our business. "If it comes to a gunfight, we don't need any innocents getting in the way or worse, getting themselves hurt," I admonish him.

"Honestly, I was just fishing for some information. I never expected her to volunteer to take me up in the woods," he argues, a slight grin turning up the corners of his mouth. "I guess I still got it, huh?"

Larry has a lot of positive attributes, as well as his share of negative ones. He's tall, dark, and ruggedly handsome by any account and has the gift of a silver tongue when he chooses to use it. Yet, on the flip side of that coin, he drinks too much, takes unnecessary risks, and is a womanizer at heart. But it is not one of his characteristics to needlessly put another person's life in jeopardy. And the last thing we need right now is having to watch out for another person if the shit hits the fan.

"When we go to pick her up, I want you to just get the information we need and leave her behind," I firmly state. "We're not taking her with us. It's simply too dangerous and with only the three of us, we can't spare anyone to look after her."

To my surprise, he doesn't agree with me and move on. Instead, his body stiffens in the seat and he comes back arguing. "When you brought Eddy into our business, I didn't question either you or your motives. Why are you having such a hard time with me bringing Lisa in?"

"Oh, you're on a first name basis already?" I chide him. "If you remember correctly, I didn't bring Eddy in, she brought herself in."

"And that is exactly what Lisa is doing," he states with more emotion than I expected.

For a long moment, I study his face and then I see what was right before my eyes all along. "You like her. You dog. Well I'll be damned."

"So, what of it?" he angrily mumbles.

"Larry, you haven't known her for all of five minutes and already you're making mental plans for a future with her." He starts to protest and then realizes that I know him too well. "You're attracted to her and you want to spend time with her. I can understand that. It's all well and good. So make plans to see her when we finish up with our business. Don't make plans to include her in our business. At least, not yet," I beg, using a tone of voice with him that I'd never done before.

"Mac, I wish you wouldn't argue with me on this," he softly pleads, a steely determination underlining the softness in his voice.

"I'll tell you what," I finally relent. "We'll put it to a vote. When Eddy gets back, we'll discuss it and then take a vote. But either way it goes, before she comes with us, we all sit down and explain to her exactly what's going on. All the risks, everything. If she still wants to be with you, then I'll lift my protest and support you any way I can. Is that fair enough?"

Smiling from ear to ear like a Cheshire cat and relieved that we've reached a tentative agreement for the time being, he proudly states, "She shoots an aught-six."

"Hopefully, she can hit something smaller than the side of a barn with it," I grumble good-naturedly, a long way from being convinced that we're doing the right thing.

There's still a chance that Eddy won't agree with taking her along, but I realize that's a slim chance at best and Larry knows it. Eddy is big on women being treated equally and if Lisa was a man, there wouldn't be any debate to begin with. In fact, she would be viewed as an asset to the mission, an extra rifle for the team. But she's not a man and whether it's just chivalry on my part or not, I feel a certain responsibility toward the fairer sex.

Handing me a county map, he says, "I picked up two so we can study them on the way up. The more familiar we are with the terrain, the better off we'll be." While unfolding his map on his lap, he asks, "Why is it so important that we do this in this particular county? I know you said something earlier about a corrupt sheriff and all. Is that it?"

While I study the topography outlined on the map, laying it to memory on a broad scale since we aren't sure exactly where we're heading yet, I tell him about the obese sheriff with the greedy palms and lecherous eyes. "Just want to see him get his due, is all."

"That's just like you," he says, not taking his eyes off the map.

Reaching up, I flip on the overhead light. Although the sun hasn't completely faded below the mountainous horizon, long shadows have reached the Liberty making it difficult to read the finer details on the maps.

"What's just like me?" I inquire softly, distracted by the map.

"Mixing pleasure with business," he starts. "It's not enough that we expose the corruption in our government, but for good measure you have to lay it on a sheriff that did little more than rub you the wrong way. He gave Eddy a less than flattering once over and now you have to set things right."

Instead of arguing with him and possibly dragging my relationship with Eddy into it, I take the easy way out and simply agree with him. "Yeah, that's me alright. I'm just a white knight protecting the chastity of my woman."

"I have a confession to make," he says, taking his eyes off the map on his lap and looking over at me.

"Do I need to call a priest?"

Ignoring my flippant remark, he goes on, "I overheard you and Gina having a talk about your relationship with Eddy."

"That's none of your business, Larry," I reply, my voice curt.

"You're absolutely right," he agrees. But not finished, he continues, "She's right, you know. Eddy is looking for something more. And she's hoping you're the one that's going to give it to her."

"So you're a relationship expert now too?"

"Don't be sarcastic, Mac. You're like a brother to me and Eddy has become like a sister. I only want what's best for both of you. But at the same time, I don't want to see you hurting her simply because you're too damned afraid to make a commitment," he says with sincerity.

Under my breath, I grumble, "Why does everyone always feel they know what's best for me?"

"Maybe it's because we all know you so well," he grins.

At just that moment, Eddy comes striding across the parking lot, her eyes looking anxiously in our direction. "She looks for you like a puppy dog for its master," Larry teases. "How can you not want to be with a woman like that?"

His words cut deep into my heart and I find it impossible to argue with him. She's not only the most beautiful creature I've ever laid eyes on, her feelings for me are genuine and deep.

### **46**

When she draws closer she sees Larry sitting in the front seat and automatically goes to the rear door. In her hands, she is carrying three white plastic sacks with several different store logos emblazoned on them.

Dropping onto the seat next to the boxes of ammunition, she carelessly flings the sacks across the seat and excitedly asks of Larry, "Tell me all about her and don't you dare leave out any details?"

Suddenly bashful, Larry simply says, "There really isn't anything to tell."

"Oh come on now," Eddy persists, her enthusiasm overwhelming. "I saw the way she was looking at you. She couldn't take her eyes off you, even before you approached her counter. It was definitely a case of love at first sight."

As if a crack were breaking in his armor, Larry self consciously admits, "She is kind of cute, ain't she?"

"They're on a first name basis," I drily throw in, intentionally fueling the fire. "And she uses an ought-six for big game hunting."

"Wow. I'm impressed. What's her name?" Eddy quickly presses. "Did you get a phone number?"

"He got more than a phone number," I casually remark, thoroughly enjoying his unease as he shifts uncomfortably in the seat. "He even got her address and a date."

"It's not a date!" he blurts, giving me a burning stare.

"A date!" Eddy pipes up excitedly. "You dog," she affectionately adds.

When Larry doesn't say anything, I casually ask him, "Do you want to explain, or should I?"

"Explain what?" Eddy asks, her excitement growing. When neither of us replies, she asks, "You two are up to something, aren't you?"

"I'm going to tell her if you don't," I teasingly threaten him.

"Okay, already," he concedes, absently folding the map as he nervously explains the situation with Lisa and how we had decided to vote on whether she comes along or not.

"Absolutely!" Eddy cries out excitedly. And then, her voice serious, she adds, "But of course, we have to explain the dangers and what she may be called upon to do. But yes, I couldn't agree more."

Now it's my turn to squirm in the seat while Larry gloats. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear he played it the way he did just to ensure Eddy was on his side.

"It's decided then," he drawls, glancing at me with a glint of mischief in his eye.

Wanting to change the subject, I twist in the seat and ask Eddy what's in the bags. As if just remembering that she'd been shopping, she grabs the first of the bags and says with a guilty smirk, "I picked us up enough rations for four people for two days, just in case."

"You were in on this from the start!" I blurt, dumbfounded.

"There wasn't any conspiracy, Mac," Eddy placatingly replies. "Let's just call it a woman's intuition," she adds with an uncharacteristic giggle.

When I turn back and slump defeatedly into the seat, she pulls a white paper sack out of the bag and hands it over my shoulder, "Here, this will make you feel better." Taking the package from her, I instantly recognize the aroma escaping from it. "Broiled, not fried," she proudly states.

Greedily, I pull back the sack and expose the food. "Thanks Eddy," I mutter, sinking my teeth into the delicately prepared beef.

"Here ya go, Larry," she says, handing a similar package to him. "I got you one of the same. I didn't get any more 'cause I didn't think they would be that great cold," she adds, fishing out a deep fried bean burrito for herself. "We can share the curly fries," she says, placing a large basket of them on the console between us, just try not to spill anything on the upholstery. Greg and Gina are responsible for the rig you know.

We eat in silence, the basket of fries between us slowly disappearing. With all the waste paper crushed into a single bag, Larry offers to dispose of it when he goes to his vehicle. "I have bottled water and hot coffee," Eddy offers, fishing into another plastic sack.

"Coffee," Larry says, and then glances at his watch. "We still have half an hour."

"I'm going to run in and find a payphone to call Greg," I suggest. "I'll give him our approximate location and bring him up to speed."

"Good idea," Larry says. And then quickly adds, "Make sure Miss Domingo reached her destination."

"Will do. You want to come with me, Eddy?"

"You go on ahead. I'd like to have a few words with Larry, if it's all the same," she says with a smirk.

Smiling knowingly, I throw her a wink and climb out, heading back the way that Eddy had come instead of using the sporting goods entrance.

Just inside the main mall entrance, I find a bank of payphones, none of which are currently in use. Selecting one farthest from the doors for privacy, I place my call to Greg. Gina answers on the second ring. We keep the conversation brief, exchanging necessary information first. When I hear that everything is going as planned on their end, I give her all the details on our end, including telling her about Lisa. Like me, she is hesitant toward the idea of us bringing along an unknown entity.

"I didn't have a choice, Gina, they overruled me," I explain.

"Well, you guys take care and stay safe," she finally says. "We'll be waiting for your call."

"Thanks Gina. Give my best to Greg."

### **47**

When I get back to the vehicle, Larry climbs out and lets Eddy into the front. "Everything okay?" he asks, holding the door for her.

"Yeah, everything's just fine," I acknowledge, not sharing the fact that I informed Gina about his new girlfriend and that she is very possibly going with us into the mountains. "You ready to go?"

"Just follow me," he replies, closing Eddy's door and turning toward his vehicle.

Climbing into the driver's seat of the Liberty, I can't help but feel that Eddy is giving me a cold shoulder. "Are you upset because I'm not as enthused about taking Larry's new girlfriend with us as you are?" I ask, wanting to get it out in the open so we can put it behind us.

"No," she quickly replies. "But I'll be sure and add that to the list."

"I don't want to argue with you Eddy," I tell her, turning out on the road and falling in behind Larry's red Tracker. "If I did something to upset you, tell me what it is so we can get past it."

"You should know by now, you've discussed our relationship with everyone but me," she angrily replies, her eyes staring straight ahead.

She had me there. Meekly, I reply, "Sorry about that, but I felt we could sit down and talk about it when this job is finished."

"And what if we start another job before you find the time? What then? You going to put it off until that job's done also? And what about the job after that one?" she accuses, her voice betraying the hurt she's feeling inside.

"I promise, Eddy, just as soon as we finish this job, you and I are going to sit down and have a long talk."

Looking broken and small, she sits silently in her seat, watching the growing dusk out the side window. When Larry suddenly turns left across traffic, she glances ahead while carefully averting eye contact with me.

The road he follows takes us through a rundown business district before gradually climbing a steep grade and turning into a rundown residential area.

Glancing left and right, I notice that most of the houses are in dire need of paint with yards in need of mowing. The cars in the driveways also appear old and neglected. I'm about to comment on the abject appearance of the neighborhood when Larry's brake lights come on and he hangs a right turn up an even steeper incline. Off to our right is a panoramic view of the city, already many streetlights and business signs are highlighting the active hubs of the oncoming nightlife.

Within two blocks, the houses begin changing in appearance. No longer do they look unkempt and unloved. But instead, they appear better maintained even if smaller and are beaming with pride of ownership. The transition from one neighborhood in decline to one that is up and coming is striking.

When Larry pulls up a short concrete drive lined with shrubs leading to a single story bungalow with a covered front porch running across the entire front, I pull over on the far side of the street and wait for his signal. The blinds have been pulled on the windows looking out toward the street to keep out prying eyes. But a dim light is burning inside and we see the shadow of someone hurrying toward the door even before Larry gets to it.

Eddy and I sit in silence, watching as he approaches the front door and then knocks. There is a newer little four-wheel drive pickup with a canopy sitting in the drive.

"That must be Lisa's truck," I casually comment, trying to break through the wall of silence that has grown up between us.

"I wouldn't know," she huffily replies.

It isn't much, but it's a start.

The door is answered almost before he finishes knocking and Larry follows her in, closing the door behind him. As soon as he explains to her what's going on, he'll signal for Eddy and me to join him. "I know you don't have a problem bringing her along, but I hope you're not siding with Larry on this just to go against me."

"Larry would never consider bringing her along if he was concerned about her abilities in the least," she argues, her voice strained with emotion.

"Yeah, you're probably right," I concede, not seeing any point in arguing over a foregone conclusion. If Lisa wants to join us, she is going to join us. I've had my say on the subject and now it's time for me to get over it and move on.

"He's taking a long time," Eddy says, looking up at the front of the house.

"Maybe she's got enough sense to realize she doesn't belong with us and he's just getting the information from her," I wistfully remark.

At just that moment, the door opens and Larry comes out carrying a duffle bag and a leather rifle case. "Or maybe he was just helping her get a few things together," Eddy smirks, pushing open the door to get out.

"Smart ass," I hiss, opening the driver's door and following her up the drive.

Larry throws the bag and rifle on the rear seat of the Tracker and says with a lilt of excitement in his voice, "Come on in, I'd like to introduce you to her."

As we approach the front steps of the porch, Lisa comes out with a large brown paper sack supported in front of her ample chest. She has discarded the unflattering store uniform and is wearing snug denim jeans and a flannel shirt beneath a black hoody.

"Here, let me take that for you," Eddy pipes up, stepping past me and relieving Lisa of the package. "I'll just put it with the rest of your stuff in Larry's rig."

"That'd be great," she replies, smiling anxiously. "Then come on in, I brought home a box of muffins and I have the pot on."

"Sounds great," Larry says, throwing me a wink before turning to follow her into the house.

Unlike Eddy, Lisa is a good foot and some shorter than Larry. Her hair is straight brown and falling almost to her shoulders, her eyes a bright, alluring hazel with copper flecks. And although she is a little thick through the thighs and rear-end, it suits her in a very sensual way. She has a very attractive face with an endearing smile that makes you wish she were always happy. I can see why Larry was immediately attracted to her.

Lisa is also the youngest of us. It will surprise me to learn if she is even thirty-five, which brings me to wonder why there isn't already a man in her life. But that's none of my business.

Leading us into the kitchen, she passes a large wooden table with enough chairs for six people. "Pull up a seat," she says, grabbing the pot of coffee off the burner.

Four placemats have been set with plates, mugs, and napkins. Sitting in the center of the table is a large china platter displaying an assortment of muffins, everything from poppy seed to blueberry.

Dragging out a chair for Eddy and then another for me, I casually comment on the nice décor before thanking her for the sweets, saying, "As soon as Eddy catches up, we'll make introductions, if that's alright," I say, smiling pleasantly at her as I drop onto the seat.

"Then I will assume that this is Eddy," she says brightly, looking past me.

Reaching past me, Eddy holds out her hand and cheerfully says, "Yes. That will be me."

"I'm Lisa, Eddy. It's a real pleasure to meet you," she replies, genuinely happy to shake Eddy's hand.

"The pleasure's all mine," Eddy replies with sincerity while affectionately giving her hand a gentle squeeze and meeting her gaze. "Since you've already made the acquaintance of Larry, let me introduce you to Mac," she says, placing her palm on the top of my head like you would a small child.

"Pleasure to meet you, Lisa," I pleasantly remark, ignoring Eddy's demeaning gesture.

While Lisa fills our mugs, Larry says, "I've only given Lisa the highlights of what brings us to this neck of the woods. I've also explained why we need her assistance, which she seems eager to give."

"Did you explain the dangers to her?" I ask, sensing Eddy's posture suddenly grow tense beside me.

"I did," Larry replies, throwing me a warning glance.

"It's alright, Larry," Lisa starts, sitting down across from him and placing a reassuring hand over his as if she's noticed Larry's simmering anger. The gesture draws even Eddy's gaze.

Self-consciously, Lisa withdraws her hand even though Larry made no overt movement to do likewise. If anything, I believe Larry actually liked the contact.

Continuing, Lisa says as her gaze locks with mine, "You don't know me. So let me introduce myself. I spent three tours in the Mid-east as a Marine medic on the frontlines. I've seen my share of bodily damage patching boys back together and praying they last long enough to reach triage. I've heard the sound of bullets snapping over my head more times than I care to remember." She pauses before adding, "For what it's worth, I think I've proven my metal in combat."

"My apologies if my demeanor came across as anything less than respectful to you," I humbly remark.

"I'm not finished," she says, abruptly cutting me off while her eyes still hold my gaze. "Since leaving the military, I've learned to shoot, track, and survive off the land with the best of them. I'm not afraid to spend a night alone in the woods, Mac. And I'm not afraid to shoot back, in case you're wondering."

"Bravo," Eddy states, enjoying watching me squirm in my seat while the heat rises in a red flush up the sides of my neck and into my cheeks. "You and I are going to be great friends, Lisa. Welcome aboard."

"Thanks Eddy. I look forward to being on your team," she says with a knowing smile. "I think we're going to get along just famously too."

### **48**

While this exchange is taking place, it doesn't escape my notice that Larry is sitting silently on the sidelines sipping coffee with a smug grin on his face. It appears to be all he can do to prevent himself breaking out laughing.

After a long moment of silence, during which the three of them seem quite pleased with my continuing discomfort, Larry says almost apologetically, "I didn't think to pick up any aught-six ammunition."

"That's alright," Lisa says with a smile. "I prefer using my own reloads anyway, especially when things get critical. That junk they sell in the stores might be produced on an assembly line by machines, but the powder weights can be all over the place. Some come out hot and high while the next is so lukewarm as to barely find the end of the barrel. If you ask me, that is."

"And target rounds, although much more consistent in performance, are too light for the kind of hunting we do," Larry finished for her.

"My sentiments exactly," she says, smiling across the table at him like a kindred soul.

With her attention no longer focused on me, I feel I should remain quiet for fear of drawing her ire. But being the fool that I am, I am unable to restrain myself and sarcastically remark, "I can't believe it took this long for you two to find each other."

To which Eddy quickly reprimands me on their behalf, "Leave them alone, Mac. I, for one, think it's wonderful that they found each other."

"You would," I grumble good-naturedly while giving her my best lopsided grin.

By this time the sun has gone down and the moon has yet to rise. Looking at Larry, I ask, "Do you want to head up in the dark since we missed our window of daylight, or do you want to wait until morning and do this thing with the light of day?"

Instead of giving me an answer, he looks across the table at Lisa, saying, "You're familiar with the terrain up there, what do you think? Should we get set up in the dark, or would it be better if we wait for daylight?"

She hesitates a moment while studying the table top and then glances furtively at me before answering. It hasn't escaped her that I don't approve of Larry putting this decision on an unknown to the group.

It also hasn't escaped Eddy's notice and she quickly chimes in with her opinion, trying to make it appear that whichever way we go, the decision wasn't completely Lisa's. "I think we should wait for early morning. The Marshal's Service has Miss Domingo under their protective wing so it's not like she's going to come to any harm. The only risk in waiting is the slight possibility that word will get out that we don't actually have Miss Domingo with us any longer. But I really don't think waiting a few hours will make any difference in that respect."

"I can get us up there in the dark right now, or I can do it early in the morning and we take up positions at first light," Lisa says, trying to walk a fine line with me. She isn't so naïve to believe that I will readily accept her based on a short speech. She's been around enough to realize that actions speak louder than words and until she proves herself in action, I will always treat her as an inexperienced liability. It's not a secret that I'm begrudgingly allowing her to come along.

When no one interrupts her, she continues, "Personally, I think we should get a few hours of shuteye and head out around three A.M. It'll take about two hours to reach the mine proper, which has been boarded up for decades, but is vandalized and broken into repeatedly. The Forest Rangers re-secure the boards each spring and by early summer they've been broken into again."

"What's the terrain like surrounding the mine shaft, because personally, I don't think we should actually place anyone in the shaft. We just want them to think that's where we're hiding her," I say, not having decided if we should leave now or later.

"It would seem to me that someone has to be in the shaft to draw them in," Lisa states as if speaking to a slow child.

It's clear to Eddy and Larry that Lisa and I are not going to warm up to each other anytime soon and for that, I am truly sorry. It isn't my intention to treat her coolly. Quite the opposite, actually, if for no other reason than I think she will be good for my friend.

Yet, her domineering and take-charge military personality is rubbing me wrong. I'm still in charge of this operation!

"Putting someone in the shaft is too risky," I firmly state, making it clear that we're not going to discuss that aspect of the mission any further. "A single RPG can take out the shaft and anyone in it."

"I'll take the shaft," Larry suddenly says.

"You're too valuable with the Sharps," I quickly argue, bristling at the thought that he is taking the unknown's side. Turning back to face Lisa, I ask, "Is there a steep bank above or to the side of the shaft where he can set up with the rifle?"

"Yes..." she starts, only to be cut off by Larry.

"Lisa can do the cover with her aught-six," he states emphatically. "I'll take the shaft and use the Sharps for back up."

Angered and frustrated that my best friend is siding against me, I start to rise when I'm suddenly aware of a hand on my shoulder, holding me down. "He's right, Mac. We need someone in the shaft to draw them in. If they sense the shaft is empty, they'll scatter in every direction and we'll never be able to keep them all under control."

Dropping back onto the seat, I stare across the table at Lisa, my anger and frustration almost having gotten the best of me. What they're suggesting makes sense. If there isn't someone to draw them toward the shaft so that it becomes their focal point, they'll splinter in all directions and we'll be scrambling like termites exposed to daylight. Chaos is a good way to get killed in an operation such as this.

On the other hand, if we're going to man the shaft, it should be the least valuable asset we have. Putting our sharpshooter with a high powered rifle in the confines of the shaft is foolish. And since Lisa and Larry both have high powered rifles, Eddy or I should be the one in the shaft.

I'm about to relent and agree to manning the shaft under the condition that I'm the one in it when another realization strikes me. Since I am much more adept at guerrilla warfare in the woods, Eddy should be the one in the shaft. She's not only a close quarter's fighter, she's also the least valuable asset in the field.

That's not going to happen! The person in the shaft will be a sitting duck, intentionally drawing their fire. If they bring anything more powerful than side arms, there is a very real possibility that the person in the shaft could be seriously injured.

I'm about to demand that I be the one in the shaft when Eddy suddenly states as if reading my thoughts, "I'm the least adept in the woods and the least valuable asset to this mission so it only makes sense that I man the shaft."

"Absolutely not!" I blurt out. "If anyone is going to man the shaft, it'll be me," I angrily command.

"Don't be silly, Mac. I'm the logical choice," she says, her hand still on my shoulder. "You're too valuable in the woods and Larry and Lisa can give covering fire from a distance. That leaves me."

"I forbid it," I angrily state, looking at Larry. "We know they're going to come prepared. It will only take a well thrown grenade or rocket to seal off the shaft and it'll be all over for the person inside. I can't allow that to be you, Eddy," I finish, turning to face her.

"They won't bring that kind of armament, Mac. And even if they do, you guys won't let them get near enough to use it," she argues, though I can tell by Larry's silence the decision has already been made.

"Eddy, please," I beg, suddenly fearing for the worst. "I don't like this. I'm getting a bad feeling."

"I'll be fine, Mac," she coos, sliding her hand around my neck and pulling my head against her warm belly. "You guys will look out for me."

### **49**

After a long moment, Eddy takes her seat next to me and the conversation continues. It's decided that we'll stay at Lisa's for the night and get an early start. She has several extra rooms, one of which is set up with a bed for over-nighting relatives.

Lisa shows Eddy and me to the room and then returns to the kitchen where she left Larry sitting at the table. Alone in the room with the door shut behind us, I turn on Eddy. "I don't like it Eddy. It's too damned dangerous."

Taking me in her arms and pulling me tight against her, she softly replies, "This isn't like you Mac. You've never behaved this way before. You want to tell me what's going on with you?"

"When I envision you alone in that mine shaft, I get these horrible images flashing across my mind," I begin.

"You're being irrational, Mac," she says, leading me to the side of the bed. Lowering herself down on the comforter, she takes me by the hands and pulls me down next to her. "Come on, after a few hours rest, you'll see how silly you're behaving."

Turning toward her, I suddenly wonder if maybe I am overreacting a little. It's just that since they decided against my better judgment to bring Lisa along, nothing I have suggested has been agreed to. Is it possible that my perception of things is slipping? That they're seeing the whole picture while I'm seeing just a narrow slice of it?

And yet, in that narrow view, I see Eddy being exposed to extreme dangers and it isn't just me being overly protective of her!

"Come on, honey," she whispers softly, her hands removing my shirt. "Lay down with me and rest. When we wake, everything will be clearer. You'll see that it makes sense this way."

"It might make sense," I begrudgingly concede. "But that doesn't mean the risks outweigh the benefits. There must be another way to approach this. There has to be another way to make them believe that Jane is in the mine shaft besides placing a person in it and using them for bait."

With my shirt removed, Eddy pulls her knees up under her and positions herself behind me, her hands gently working the tense muscles in my upper shoulders and neck.

"I don't deserve this, Eddy," I moan in ecstasy as her fingers squeeze the tenseness out of my muscles.

"You're damned straight, you don't," she teases, pinching extra hard for effect.

"I've lived my life listening to my instincts, Eddy," I start to explain. "When something hasn't felt right, it generally hasn't been right. That's how I feel about this. I don't want you in that mine shaft. It doesn't feel right. Don't ask me to explain it any better than that, because I can't. All I know is, I don't want you in that shaft."

"It'll be alright, Mac," she purrs in my ear, her tongue sliding sensually along the side of my neck.

She leans back for a moment and when she leans forward again, I'm acutely aware of her bare breasts pressing firmly against my bare back as her moist tongue explores my right ear. Nibbling tenderly on the earlobe, she pauses long enough to whisper softly, "Lean back, baby. I'll take care or you."

When I do as she instructs, she reaches over me, her full breasts falling against my face as she works to undo my jeans. Though I am being unusually slow to arouse, the soft flesh of her breasts pressing against my face is more than I can stand and all thoughts of the upcoming mission are chased to the back of my mind as I reach up and guide her hard nipples into my hungry mouth.

Moaning softly with pleasure, she pulls away long enough to force my jeans down below my waist and expose my swollen manhood.

"We should be saving our strength, Eddy," I weakly protest, though I have no intentions of stopping what she has started.

With her hands caressing my manhood, moving slowly up and down, she teasingly replies, "I've never known you to need more than an hour's sleep before a mission."

Although I want to resist, I find myself unable to. Within minutes, I have rolled her over and am on top of her, ravaging her willing body with deep, forceful thrusts. But unlike so many times in the past, I don't take her all the way to satisfying her before letting myself go. Instead, I climax like a boar in rutting season, taking my pleasure with little to no regard for her needs.

Slowly, exhausted and sweating, I roll over onto my side, acutely aware that her needs haven't been met. "What's wrong, Mac?" she asks, concerned, propping herself up on her right elbow.

"I'm tired Eddy and we need to get some rest. Tomorrow is going to be a long day," I protest, unable to meet her gaze, which only increases the frustration and anger that I am feeling toward myself.

Dropping defeatedly onto her back beside me, her voice filled with pain and rejection, she simply says, "Then get some sleep. Three A.M. will come sooner than not."

We are lying crosswise on the bed with our feet hanging over the side, the comforter crumpled beneath us. If she intended for us to really sleep, she would have risen and gotten into bed in the proper manner.

After a long moment of silence, I glance over at her and see her staring soundlessly up at the ceiling. "Do you want to get under the covers?" I ask.

Without looking at me, she jumps to her feet and grabs her clothes. While hurriedly trying to put them on, she says, "You go right ahead, I'll sleep out in the rig."

Her blouse is on, but unbuttoned, as she bends over pulling her jeans up her legs, her bra and panties lying forgotten on the floor.

Bouncing off the bed and landing on my feet, I grab her roughly by the arms and force her face up to mine. With unbridled passion, I press my lips violently against her mouth, unmindful of any pain I might be causing her.

Yet, instead of pushing me away, she throws her arms around me and pulls herself in tight against me, her teeth finding my lips and biting down as the taste of blood further fuels our flaring passion into a raging inferno.

With a strength I didn't know she possessed, she drivingly guides me back onto the bed, stepping out of her jeans as she does. Her hands are pressed firmly against my chest as she climbs on top of me while I frantically pull her blouse free and toss it off to the side.

"You bastard," she hisses through clenched teeth as she roughly mounts my manhood and rides me like a bucking bronco in a rodeo. With wild abandon, she thrusts and gyrates atop me.

The box spring creaks and groans in protest as it's stretched to its limits, our combined weight bucking and heaving violently atop the mattress.

Eddy's breathing is shallow and rapid, her heart pounding profusely as her body experiences multiple orgasms while I hold my own climax held at bay as if to punish her.

When she grows too weak to hold on any longer and limply rolls off my thrashing body, I quickly climb on top of her supine form and continue driving into her, continuing to ravish her weakening body. Only when she cannot take anymore of me and weakly tries pushing me off do I let go, releasing all my pent up anger and frustration in a torrential storm of emotion through my penus.

Completely spent and exhausted, I roll over onto my side so that I'm facing her. Though I should feeling sorry for treating her the way I just did, putting her needs aside and concerning myself with only my own, to my surprise, I'm not. For the first time in a long while, I feel vindicated, refreshed. It's as if a giant weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

"Eddy," I whisper.

"Yes, Mac," she answers, her voice sounding small and humble.

"Thank you."

"I said I'd take care of you," she answers, her voice sounding stronger with each syllable.

"You be careful tomorrow."

"I know what I'm doing, Mac," she replies. "But I have to admit, it's very reassuring knowing you're watching my back."

"Although I want to and will do my damnedest to always be there for you, I don't want you relying on me like that."

Slowly, she rolls up on her elbow and looks back at me. Because I am being as brutally open and honest with her as I know how, this time I can meet her gaze and not have to look away. "It's enough that you give me your best, Mac. I can't ask for anything more and I don't expect anything more."

"That I can promise you Eddy. You will never get anything less than my best," I reply, as she leans down and kisses me tenderly on my bleeding lip. "Now get some rest. Three o'clock will be here before you know it."

### **50**

And three A.M. came around fast with Larry hammering on the bedroom door. Rustling beneath the blankets, I start to rise and then realize that Eddy is wrapped tightly up against my back, our bare skin stuck together from dried perspiration. "Tell him to come back later," she murmurs sleepily.

"We need to get a move on, Eddy," I reply, begrudgingly pulling free of her bare arms and legs.

When Larry doesn't knock a second time, I realize he can hear us shuffling around and I also realize they must have heard us earlier in the night too. And then I imagine they were probably making their own noise all night. Why else did Lisa want to set out early in the morning rather than last night if she wasn't eager to get into the guy's pants?

In our exhausted stupor of earlier, neither of us bothered to turn off the bedside lamp and hence, it is still lit. Rising off the bed, I turn back and look down on Eddy, her sleepy face looking back up at me. Her beauty takes me aback for a moment and I find myself fighting hard to resist the urge to climb back into bed with her.

As if reading my thoughts, she smiles coyly and licks seductively across her upper lip while studying my drooping manhood.

"I'd like to say hold that thought for later, but we can't afford you to be distracted today," I playfully remark, leaning down and kissing her forehead.

While getting dressed, she suddenly turns serious and says, "Mac, are you still concerned about what might happen today?"

"They're bad people Eddy, it's only natural that I should be concerned," I reply, studying her intently as she pulls a black hoody over her head.

"I know," she says hesitantly. "But yesterday, you said your instincts were telling you that we shouldn't man the mine shaft. That if we do, something bad is going to happen. Do you still feel that way?"

For a long moment, I pause, not sure what I feel any longer. Yesterday, the idea of taking along a newbie that we'd never worked with before seemed ludicrously outrageous. And yet today, I see the logic of it. She is familiar with the terrain and knows how to handle a weapon. If what she says is true, she's proven herself under fire before, so to speak.

"Without a doubt, I feel different about several things today than I did yesterday," I start, speaking softly and sincerely. "Although I've come to acknowledge the pluses of bringing Lisa along, I'm still not sure how I feel about you being in the mine shaft and acting as bait to draw in a band of trained killers with only one intent, and that is to kill whoever and whatever is hiding in the mineshaft." I pause for a moment, and then add, "We'll just have to wait and see how I feel when I can lay my eyes on the area."

Ignoring the mess we made of the bedding, we each pause before leaving the room to make a quick perfunctory inspection of our individual weapons. Satisfied that they're clean and fully loaded, we slip them into their respective holsters and pat them into place beneath our clothing.

When we enter the kitchen, Larry and Lisa are sitting at the table, two full mugs of steaming coffee already poured for us. Larry looks up at me with a sheepish grin and says, "You two sleep well?"

When I was younger, I might have been embarrassed by their intimate knowledge of our late night theatrics in a stranger's bedroom. But under the circumstances, I just don't seem to give a damn anymore. We enjoyed something special and if anyone has a problem with that, it's their problem, not ours.

Eddy, on the other hand, is still a little more self-conscious than I and she blushes slightly, unable to make eye contact with either Larry or Lisa.

Lisa, also uncomfortable as our host, quickly changes the subject while giving Larry a warning glance. If I didn't know any better, I would have sworn they'd already been married for a few years. The two of them just seem right together. "The thermoses are filled with hot coffee and I've made bologna sandwiches."

"Yeah," Larry drawls, "We didn't get much sleep either." Lisa is about to hit him upside the head, when he adds, "We've been up preparing food and making sure the vehicles are supplied with everything we might need." And then, his voice further reflecting his pride for Lisa says, "This woman has quite an extensive line of survival equipment and camping gear that she's put at our disposal."

"Thank you, Lisa," I say, sipping at my mug of coffee and fishing a stale poppy seed muffin off the platter from the previous evening.

"I also explained to her that we would cut her in on the payment, since she's taking time from job," Larry states, not expecting an argument nor receiving one.

"That's only fair," I agree. "We'll also make good on any damages or loss to your property."

"Oh, that's quite alright. You don't have to worry about it. I'm not a charity case," she argues, her pride at stake.

"It's okay," Eddy says, speaking her first words since entering the kitchen. "We'll also replace your bedding when this is done," she adds with a timid smile, looking first at Lisa, and then to Larry.

Her comment breaks the ice and for the first time, we appear as a close knit group. Larry chuckles softly as he first meets Eddy's gaze and then looks with an 'I told you so' expression toward Lisa.

"We should probably get going," I suggest, feeling good about our mission for the first time since taking it on. "We'll hold off on making our calls until we can assess the area and decide on a firm plan of action. Greg has the troops standing by just waiting for our word. But even then, they're going to be about three hours out since they're coming from Redding."

"We can't get them standing by any closer?" I ask, concerned about the delay in responding and what it might mean if we run into serious trouble. "It's not as if they don't know approximately where we're going to be."

"According to Greg, his buddy in the justice department isn't exactly too fond of you," Larry explains. "We're lucky that he's even going to have men repositioned to this area for the day. In fact, he's only able to do that because he's called a Homeland Security required training exercise at the last minute."

"How many men can we expect?" Eddy asks, getting to her feet.

"If he hasn't changed his mind altogether, maybe six to ten," Larry replies.

"We could be facing twice that many!" I hastily remind him.

Smiling grimly, he simply remarks as he gets to his feet, "Then we better be prepared to narrow the odds down some."

"But I thought some of them might be federal agents," Lisa says, as if she needs to remind us.

Larry turns to face her before answering. "They're still bad men, Lisa. And for that reason, we have to deal with them as such." He pauses for a moment when she stares back at him, her face drawn tight with concern. "We need to intimidate them into surrendering, if at all possible. Next, we shoot to wound. Only as a last resort do we shoot to kill and then only if it comes down to protecting ourselves."

"This is serious business, Lisa," Eddy says with a somber voice. "No one will think any less of you if you're not up for it and want to back out."

"No, no, I'll be fine," she stutters a bit nervously. "I just need a minute to square it away in my mind. But don't worry, I won't let you down."

"It's not too late if you would prefer just sharing the information with us. Maybe even draw us a map to the mine shaft," Larry says, placing a steady hand on her shoulder.

She takes a deep breath, looks him in the eye and says with a remarkably steady voice, "Okay, I'm better now. You can count on me, really, Larry," she says, pecking him lightly on the cheek.

To Eddy's and my surprise, Larry pulls her close to him and kisses her full on the lips, her body visibly relaxing in his arms as she draws strength and reassurance from the contact.

"We really do need to get going," I casually state, as they slowly separate. Reaching for a second muffin, I let Eddy know that she's going to drive.

### **51**

With Larry driving the rented Tracker and Lisa riding shotgun, Eddy and I follow in the rented Liberty. We have barely left the little city behind when I reach behind the passenger's seat and retrieve the partial bottle of rum.

"Would you care for a sip?" I ask, unscrewing the cap and extending the bottle across the console to her.

After giving me an initial look of surprise, she relents and accepts the proffered bottle, putting it to her lips and taking enough to rinse her mouth.

"Wouldn't do to get pulled over right about now," she comments, handing me back the bottle.

After taking a swallow, I replace the cap and return the bottle to its hiding place behind the passenger's seat. "So," I start. "Do you think they did it?"

"Did what?" Eddy asks, playing coy.

"You know, the double headed monster. Knocking boots. Rocking the house. Getting lucky. You think they did it last night?"

"Really, Mac, is it any of our business?" she replies, looking across at me in the light of the dashboard.

Not willing to let it lie, I persist. "They shared something intimate last night. You could see it in the way they kept looking at each other."

"You're a dog," she says disgustedly. And then, her voice sounding a little more intrigued, adds, "Even if they shared something intimate between them, it's still none of our business."

"So, you agree then, they got lucky last night?" I tease.

"I just said, they shared something intimate last night," she argues exasperatedly with me. "I didn't necessarily say they had sex."

"You saw the way he kissed her and how she melted in his arms," I continue, thoroughly enjoying watching her resist the temptation of lowering herself to my level of disgusting behavior. "Surely, you can't deny seeing that."

Her resistance weakening, she relents, "Yes, I noticed the way she went all mushy in his embrace. But I used to do that when we first met too. It doesn't mean anything. That's the way women are."

"As I recall, you acted like that _after_ we had sex," I say, empathizing the word after.

She grows quiet, staring across the console at me. "Keep your eyes on the road, Eddy," I caution her.

"What's changed between us, Mac?" she suddenly asks, catching me off guard. But before I can answer, she continues, "It seems like the only time we're intimate and honest with each other anymore is when we're having sex."

"Maybe that's why it's called making love," I jest, and then quickly regret making light of it. In a more serious tone, I quickly add, "Relationships are always evolving, Eddy. That doesn't mean they're disintegrating, just changing, like we are. I'm not the same man I was when we first met. And you are definitely a much more beautiful woman than the young girl I swept off her feet,"

"I'm trying to be serious, Mac," she scolds, studying the road ahead.

"I am being serious, Eddy. Before you came into my life, I was nothing more than a good-for-naught bum with a penchant for West Indies rum."

Before I can expound on my statement, Eddy sarcastically asks, "So what's changed?"

"Before I met you, I didn't care that I was a drunken bum. Now I'm trying to do something about it," I somberly reply. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'm trying to be the man you think I am and not the dog that I know I am."

She sits silently mulling over my statement for a long moment before saying, "You do realize, I hope, when I refer to you as a dog, I mean it affectionately and not derogatorily?"

"I know that," I mumble softly, my thoughts torn. Should I take this opportunity to open the conversation that we so desperately need to have? Or should I wait until after the mission when we will have all the time in the world to iron out all the details of our relationship?

"When we finish this job Eddy, we need to take some time together and have a long talk," I start.

"Yes," she says, cutting me off. "But first we need to wrap this up and put some bad guys away."

The manner in which she interrupted me almost suggests that she is as afraid of what I might say as I am afraid of what she might say, and neither of us is ready to deal with it yet. So I have to ask myself, what is she afraid of? Is she afraid that I might be breaking up with her, or that I want our relationship to advance to the next level?

"Absolutely," I heartily agree, studying her profile in the greenish light of the dash while silently wondering what I am going to say to her when we finally have our life-defining conversation.

### **52**

We continue on in silence for a while, the tail lights from Larry's Tracker just a short distance ahead of us.

"According to my map," I start, studying the unfolded county map on my lap in the white light from the halogen map-light. "There should be a gravel road leading off this just a little ways up ahead."

No sooner have the words left my mouth, then Larry's brake lights come on and he signals a left turn.

"Yup, right on target," I cluck, pleased with myself.

The roadbed is dry from the midsummer's heat, all moisture from the spring rains having been sucked out of it long ago and we are quickly enshrouded in a trailing cloud of choking dust being kicked up by the Tracker.

"Drop back a little and let the dust dissipate between us," I suggest while checking to make sure the air vents are closed.

The road continues alongside a series of cultivated fields for more than twenty miles while slowly climbing in altitude until it suddenly makes a hairpin turn to the right and enters into more heavily wooded terrain.

With the heavy foliage, the road also narrows to barely more than wide enough for two vehicles to pass side by side. Our speed is reduced from fifty miles per hour to less than thirty and even slower on many of the tight switchbacks.

Thinking aloud, I say, "At least the dust isn't so bad anymore."

"Did Greg say anything to you or Larry about air support? You know, like maybe a helicopter or two for evacuating the wounded?" she asks, following closely on Larry's bumper.

"No, I don't think it was even considered due to the roughness of the terrain and the heavy tree cover," I comment, silently cursing myself for not having thought of it. With a three plus hour drive down the mountain, any seriously wounded individuals could be dead from loss of blood or complications long before reaching adequate medical facilities. "We'll mention it to Larry before he calls Greg to update him. But I seriously doubt if there will be any clearing large enough for a chopper to set down up there."

Although I am confident that there won't be anywhere on the mountain open enough for a whirly bird to land, not having considered a chopper earlier is just another indication of my mind not being one-hundred percent tuned to the mission at hand. It's about time I put my relationship problems on the back burner and start concentrating on the mission at hand before I get myself or someone dear to me killed.

We haven't traveled many miles as a crow flies when the road narrows down to a single lane trail with only occasional turnouts. When we pass a branch leading off to the right that appears to be the main trail and continue on the lesser traveled path, I actually breathe a sigh of relief. For what we have in mind up here, the last thing we need or want are curious outsiders getting in the way.

"I think she knows what she's doing," Eddy says with a bit of surprise, also relieved when the path we stay on becomes the lesser traveled.

With brush scraping against the sides of the vehicle and potholes testing the limited suspension of the Liberty, we crawl along at little more than a stroll.

"By the time all is said and done, we're going to be less than forty miles from the main road as the crow flies," Eddy says, easing through the potholes with practiced ease. "Yet, we're going to have traveled close to one-hundred-fifteen miles according to the odometer."

"Lots of switchbacks and skirting along ridges will do that," I casually remark, noticing from glimpses of the sky through the trees that it's beginning to grow lighter off to the east. "We must be getting close," I comment, glancing at my watch and noticing that more than two and one-half hours have passed since leaving Lisa's house.

Unfolding the map again, I flip on the map-light and try to pinpoint our position based solely on the twists and turns of the trail. Although it's difficult due to the rocking motion of the Liberty as it rides in and out of potholes and climbs exposed rocks, I finally determine that we are within two miles of the mine shaft's entrance.

"How close are we?" Eddy inquires when I re-fold the map and slip it into my front pocket.

"Not much farther now," I reply, trying to get a feel for the terrain despite the lingering darkness beneath the tree canopy.

As we break out of the denser stand of trees and into a brushier area, I can see a sheer wall of granite shooting straight up into the sky directly ahead of us. "I'm thinking the opening to the mine is straight ahead," I remark, looking anxiously out of the Liberty's windows.

Abruptly the trail ends at a fallen tree. Leading around the left hand side of the decaying behemoth is a foot path that hasn't seen much use in the last year or so.

Larry and Lisa are already out of the Tracker and standing at the rear of it with the hatch open when we pull up beside them. Climbing out, I head to the rear of the Liberty and pop the rear hatch, exposing two tidily done up back packs and some loose camping gear.

### **53**

When Eddy joins me at the open hatch of the Liberty, Lisa says loudly enough for all of our benefits, "The old dredge is northeast of here about a quarter mile. The creek only flows during spring rains and snow melts. It should be dry this time of year, or at least there shouldn't be any flowing water, just puddles in the low spots."

"How far is it to the mine shaft proper?" I ask, pulling gear out of the rear of the Liberty. At this altitude, the air is brisk from the night frost and the ground will remain damp until noon or later.

"About the same distance, straight toward that," she says, pausing to point at the rock face.

With Lisa's help, Larry slips on a full pack and slings his rifle over his shoulder. In addition to a nine-millimeter automatic strapped under his left arm, he is also packing a small thirty-two revolver in an ankle holster concealed beneath his pant leg.

Turning, he says, "I'm going to leave you guys to find a place to hide the vehicles so they aren't readily disabled when the bad guys arrive. It's going to take me all of an hour or so to scale that rock face high enough to give me an advantage with the Sharps, so work accordingly. Any questions before I head out?"

Lisa lifts her pack out of the Tracker, her thirty-eight revolver strapped to her right hip, a large Bowie hunting knife adorning her left. "Can you give me a hand with this?" she asks of Larry.

When he turns toward her, she grabs the front of his jacket and pulls his face down to her, planting her lips on his in a lingering, passionate filled kiss. "Keep an eye on her, Mac," he says over his shoulder, not taking his eyes from her.

"You just keep an eye on all of us," I tell him while giving Eddy another 'I told you so' look to which she simply shakes her head as if to say she can't believe my childish behavior.

"Just a reminder," Larry says, turning to face Eddy and me. "Lisa will be working her way to the far ridge overlooking the dredge at the creek bed. She's familiar with this area and has hunted it in the past. She says there's a good viewpoint on the ridge where she watches elk come down to drink."

"I will have a view of the general area facing this direction, but the shaft opening itself is a blind spot until you're right on top of it," she further explains to us. "You'll see what I mean when you get to it. I've never been up the face, so I can't say what kind of view there is looking down on the shaft proper."

Turning toward Eddy, I ask her again, "Are you sure you want to be in the shaft? With nothing else around here, it's going to be their first and primary destination."

"You know, now that we can see the terrain firsthand, I'm beginning to think you may be right," she agrees, causing even Larry to do a double take. "Instead of trying to corral them out here in the open, maybe we can herd them into the shaft and hold them there until reinforcements arrive."

"The only problem with that," Lisa starts, and then glances first at Larry and then toward me as if seeking permission to voice her opinion before continuing. "The mouth of the shaft is virtually hidden from any of the vantage points around here until you're right on top of it. Even Larry, from up on the face won't be able to contain the front of the shaft."

"Then you and Larry can give us cover fire while we drive them into the shaft," Eddy states with determination. "Once they're inside, it won't take much to hold them there."

"That will work if we're only dealing with side arms and shotguns," I hesitantly project, not wanting to undermine Eddy now that she has decided not to place herself in the mine shaft. After all, it's been my goal to change her mind since we came up with this plan.

"Yeah, what if they bring along some heavy artillery?" Larry asks, playing the devil's advocate. "If they're packing grenades or even automatic weapons of a small caliber, they could easily turn the tables on us."

"That's why we need two mobile herders," Eddy quickly points out. "With one waiting in the rear there," she explains, pointing along the path that brought us here. "We block their retreat and cut them off from their vehicles. With Lisa on the ridge to the east, Larry on the face to the north, and one roving herder to the west, the only course of action for them will be is to seek shelter in the shaft."

"She's right, Larry," I encouragingly state. "If any one of us gets pinned down, another one of us should be in a position to force the shooter to ground. As long as they don't flush Lisa or you from cover, they might be able to work their way out a short distance from the mouth of the shaft, but then they'll come under fire from the two of you," I add for emphasis.

"It makes good sense, Eddy," Lisa agrees, smiling at her. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear she was only agreeing because of their common bond, woman power and all that.

"Then we'll go with it," I state with finality. Pulling out my cell phone, I glance down and cringe. "It seems we have another problem."

Seeing me studying my phone, everyone realizes immediately what that problem is. No cell service! "Damn," I mutter under my breath.

Lisa is the first to break the disheartening moment of silence that follows. "Now what do we do?" she asks, perplexed. "Does one of us have to go back down the mountain and call your friend?"

"Maybe when I get higher up," Larry says encouragingly.

"We can't bank on it," I reply. "We should have a backup plan just in case this whole area is a dead zone." Turning away from the others and planting my right fist on the open tailgate of the Liberty, I again curse under my breath, "Damn! I can't believe I never even thought of watching the damn phone on the way up here. Now we don't even know how far down the mountain we need to go before we're back in cell range."

Though I don't speak my next thoughts aloud, I berate myself again for not having my head in this mission. This is not good and I need to get with the program. It's too late to back out and we're committed now.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Mac," Larry states, sharing my guilt, but also not saying anything about his own distraction. "It'll work out. It always does."

It would be easy to dump some of the blame on him, since he is an equal in this mission. But that's not my style. It's irrelevant whether he's distracted or simply dropped the ball. That doesn't mean I'm any less responsible.

"In case anyone's forgotten, I'm the only one that can make the call to our employer," I flatly state, further infringing any plan that we come up with. "If anyone but me calls him, they'll be tipped off and expecting trouble. We can't take that risk."

When no one says anything for a long moment, I finally come up with the suggestion that Larry work his way up the granite face and get into position while I head back down the mountain until I find a cell signal.

"Once I find cell service, I'll try calling you first. If we make contact, I'll leave the call to Greg for you to make once the bad guys arrive. Then I'll call our employer and let him know that I have Miss Domingo and give him our location with instructions on how to find the mine shaft. If I'm not able to get through to you, I'll wait on the trail until I see them coming. At that point, I'll call Greg and let him know what's happening and to send the cavalry."

"If you wait until you see them coming, you won't barely have time to get back up here before they arrive," Eddy argues, not liking the turn of events.

"So long as I'm far enough ahead of them that they can't see my arrival here, I'll have time to ditch the rig and get set up behind them," I explain. "You'll just have to take the western perimeter in my stead and I'll bring up the rear here."

In a nervous voice just above a whisper, she says, "You know I'm nowhere near as stealthy as you."

It took a lot for her to admit that and for that reason alone, I smile proudly at her and reply encouragingly, "You'll do just fine. The trick is not to let them get too close to your position."

"And if I don't see them until they're right on top of me?" she asks.

"Something tells me, no one gets on top of you that you don't want there," I grin.

In response, she angrily slaps my arm, her eyes confirming her concern.

Instead of pulling out my gear, I check all my weapons and pack extra ammunition in my pockets. Then, I double check the pack and the loose gear to make sure that if I have to pull it in a hurry it's ready to go.

Satisfied, I turn toward Larry and Lisa. Larry has his arm protectively around her shoulders, patiently waiting for me to give the signal for the plan to be set in motion. Lisa, meanwhile, is leaning against him in a very affectionate manner. I can't help but notice how well they fit together.

It comes as a bit of a surprise when Larry asks, "You wouldn't happen to have a touch of that rotgut handy to calm the nerves, would you?"

After throwing a furtive glance in Eddy's direction, I remark a tad suspiciously as I head toward the side door of the Liberty to retrieve the bottle stashed behind the passenger's seat, "Yeah, I think I do." Handing him the bottle, I questioningly comment, "This isn't like you. I'm usually the one to suggest a nerve tranquilizer."

"I got tired of waiting on you," he nervously chuckles, taking the proffered bottle and unscrewing the cap. "Lisa?" he asks, offering her the bottle first.

To my surprise, she accepts the bottle and takes a healthy swig, then immediately begins coughing from the unfamiliar fire churning down her throat and taking her breath away.

Moving quickly, he takes the bottle back from her before she can drop it, chuckling softly at her reaction to the fiery liquid. Then he downs a large swallow and offers it to Eddy. "Would you like some?" he asks, extending the bottle toward her.

I am not surprised when Eddy accepts the proffered bottle and takes a long swallow before handing it back to me. Before returning the cap to it, I see off a fair portion of the remaining liquid, unlike Lisa, savoring the smooth heat all the way into the pit of my stomach.

"We'll save the rest for medicinal purposes," I casually remark, placing the bottle carefully in the back of the Liberty so that it can't roll around and possibly get broken.

"We all know the plan," Larry says, his gaze on Lisa. "So everyone stay safe. We don't take unnecessary chances," he adds with emphasis for Lisa. "We're just drawing them out and rounding them up for law enforcement. No heroics today."

"I'll give you at least an hour before I try calling," I say, turning toward Eddy. "You remember to keep your head down. If you get into trouble, get yourself in a position where Larry can cover you."

"I'll be fine, Mac," she says a bit impatiently, her voice soft and endearing. Embracing me, she tenderly kisses my lips and then whispers softly against my ear, "You just get your ass back here in one piece."

While closing the rear hatch on the Liberty, I casually tease, "I always suspected you were only interested in me for my body," while slapping her playfully across her tight denim clad rump.

As I reach for the driver's door, she grabs me from behind and roughly jerks me around, her lips hungrily searching out mine.

Slowly, our lips lingering softly against each other, she whispers, "Hurry back babe."

Our eyes lock for a moment and then she steps aside and I open the door and climb in.

### **54**

Taking my time, I retrace our tracks back down the mountain, dodging from one obstacle in the road to the next. Without Eddy sitting beside me and keeping me company, the shadowy woods impart a feeling of loneliness and solitude. "Is this how I'm going to feel if Eddy ever leaves me?" I wonder aloud.

"Get back on track!" I scold myself. "Your wondering mind has caused enough problems already!"

With daylight full upon me, I am able to better study the terrain along the road's shoulders, making mental notes of landmarks such as shallow ravines and rocky outcroppings. Although most of this knowledge is too distant from the shaft to be of much use, it gives me a general idea of what the lay of the land is like farther from the road and nearer to the mine shaft.

It takes me almost three-quarters of an hour to reach a point where the cell reception is spotty, but useable. "This will have to do," I mumble to myself, holding the cell phone up so I can read the miniature screen.

Though I'm still in an area of dense forest growth, I'm just beyond the last well-travelled branch. Distractedly, I reprimand myself again for not thinking of questioning Lisa regarding where and what the more heavily traveled fork leads to. It stands to reason that for it to be so well-traveled, it must lead to a popular destination.

Using a turnout on the shoulder, I maneuver the Liberty around until I am facing back up the mountain.

Parked well off the road, I again retrieve the cell phone from where I laid it on the passenger's seat and study the screen for a moment. Hopefully, Larry will answer my first call and I can make my second call to our mysterious employer and return immediately to the shaft, leaving the call to Greg for Larry to make when our guests arrive.

This will give me lots of time to work the terrain immediately surrounding the mine shaft so I can get familiarized with it.

If he doesn't answer, I will call Greg first just to let him know what's going on and our cell phone situation up here. After that, he'll have to sit tight until I call him back and let him know that the bad guys are on their way. At that time, I will also impart any other information that I can glean from observing the bad guy's approach, such as the number of vehicles and anything else that might be of importance.

Taking a deep breath, I press Larry's speed dial number on the keypad and wait.

With each unanswered ring, my hopes slowly dip lower that he was able to achieve cell reception on his climb up the rock face above the mine shaft. Despite the advantage of height that he'll have attained, it's still not enough. The cell phone signal just isn't strong enough to cover the distance, even if it is an unobstructed view.

After six long rings, the recording answers, informing me that he is either out of cell range or otherwise unavailable at this time and if I would care to leave a voice mail message.

Frustrated, I flip the phone shut. Without even realizing what I am doing, I angrily climb out of the Liberty and step around to the rear, throwing the tail gate aside even before the glass hatch can rise out of the way. The first thing I lay my eyes on is the almost depleted bottle of rum.

Reaching in, I retrieve the bottle and screw off the cap, tossing it aside with abandon. Putting the bottle against my lips, I drink long and hard, savoring the smooth burn as it courses down to the pit of my stomach.

After the last few drops trickle into my mouth, I take the bottle by the neck and fling it far into the woods, only half aware of the clinking sound it makes as it strikes the ground.

"What the Hell am I doing here?" I curse out loud. "I have no business being here," I continue grumbling while turning around and planting my ass on the rear carpeting. If I don't get my act together, I'm going to get someone killed, I silently think.

Getting to my feet, I reach back in and retrieve the backpack that Larry and Lisa put together. Slipping it over my shoulder, I close the rear and head back to the driver's door, which I left standing open. Reaching inside, I make sure that the key is in the ignition and then grab the cell phone from where I threw it on the dash.

After closing the door, I set off down the road in the direction of the highway. As I walk briskly along the middle of the road, I double check each one of my weapons for the umpteenth time today. And as the time before, find each one fully loaded and ready, neatly tucked into its holster or sheathe.

When I'm approximately a mile from the Liberty, I step to the side of the road and pull out the cell phone to check reception. Cell reception is actually a little better here than at the place where I left the Liberty parked, so I make one last attempt to reach Larry.

Again, the phone rings until I am offered the opportunity to leave a voice message. Instead of hanging up this time, I opt to leave a message.

"Larry, this is Mac. I realize that you won't receive this message until you come down off the mountain, but there is something that I want you to do for me if things don't go as planned. I want you to tell Eddy how much I love her and that I learned in the short time that we've been apart since leaving her up there on the mountain, just how much she means to me and that I...," I hesitate to take a breath, realizing that I'm rambling and how silly I must sound.

After a moment, I simply finish with, "Just tell her that I love her and that I could do a lot worse than not marrying her. I think she'll know what I mean, everyone else seems to. Thanks, Larry."

Flipping the phone shut, I briefly wonder what possessed me to do that. And then, shrugging it off, I call Greg.

We briefly exchange information and then hang up with the understanding that the next time I call him it will be to send up the troops.

The time has come to call our benefactor.

Once I make this call, there is no going back. The ball will be set in motion for better or worse. "Damn, I could sure use another drink," I grumble, suddenly wondering what Larry and Lisa packed in the way of supplies in the backpack.

Slipping it off my shoulder, I set it down on the gravel surface and loosen the straps. On top are several boxes of ammunition for my different weapons. Two boxes for the magnum and one for the nine-millimeter. There is also a pair of high powered binoculars.

Below the ammunition and binoculars are several grip-lock bags containing bologna sandwiches made with butter, not salad dressing, for better shelf life.

Tucked in beside the sandwiches is a basic first-aid kit in a white plastic container with a Red Cross emblem on the front.

On the other side from the first-aid kit is a metal thermos. Hastily, I fish it out, hoping that the coffee it contains might be spiked.

Almost frantically, I twist off the cup-cover and put the open container beneath my nose and sniff. Just coffee, black.

Slowly, disheartened by the discovery, I return the cap and drop it back into the space left by its extraction only to hear the metal bottom clank against a glass object at the bottom of the pack. Pulling it back out, I slip my hand into the cavity and grasp for the object lying crosswise in the bottom.

The moment my fingers wrap around the object, my heart skips a beat at the familiarity. With great awe and a new feeling of appreciation for Lisa, I lift the bottle in its brown paper wrapper from the backpack and slowly, almost religiously, slide the brown paper down to expose the cap and label.

West Indies rum. I don't know who had the foresight to pick it up or if Lisa keeps a stash of West Indies rum on hand in her house. Either way, it doesn't get any finer.

Breaking the seal while thanking the Gods above, I place the open bottle to my lips and take a long swig, savoring the sweet, fiery liquid. It feels like Christmas in July.

With reverent care, I replace the bottle in the backpack, using the sandwiches to protect it against accidental breakage. Then calmly, I flip open the cell phone and dial the number of our mysterious employer.

"It's McClain," I reply when an unfamiliar voice answers.

"One minute," is the only response, followed by silence.

The voice that comes on next is familiar and I know I am speaking with our mysterious benefactor. "I saw on the news that a woman was abducted from a safe house in San Francisco. Can I assume that was you?"

"You can assume whatever you like," I stoically reply, trying to give the impression that I'm concerned about self-incrimination.

"Is she alive?" he asks, his voice climbing an octave.

"Yes, she is alive and well, just as I promised," I reply, keeping the relief out of my voice at discovering that he doesn't know about our subterfuge yet.

"Where is she? It's imperative that we pick her up immediately," he states, unable to hide the excitement in his voice.

"Therein lies the problem," I begin, slowly reeling him in. "We had a little run-in with a county sheriff...."

"What sheriff? What county?" he blurts uncharacteristically, cutting me off in mid-sentence.

I tell him the county and give him the sheriff's badge number from memory, a feat that comes natural to most current or former members of law enforcement.

"Don't worry about him," he quickly states. "I'll have men dispatched immediately that can deal with the likes of a county sheriff. Where are you? He hasn't arrested you, has he?" Just the thought of his record keeper being arrested with us causes his voice to grow even more anxious. In his anxiety, he is no longer the cool, calm, collected dignitary that made the initial proposal to me. In fact, his voice is almost unrecognizable.

"We're held up in a mine shaft, about three hours east of the interstate in the Lassen National Forest," I quickly inform him, hoping he's too excited to question my cell phone service. "I think the sheriff is calling in reinforcements. We won't be able to hold out much longer."

"Give me the exact directions to your location," he suddenly commands, his phone clicking over to speaker phone.

After I do as he instructs, he says, "You just stay put. I'm sending men to retrieve the package. Under no circumstances are you to let it fall into the Sheriff's hands. Do you understand me? Under no circumstances are you to let her or her goods fall into the Sheriff's hands!"

Feigning naïve ignorance, I questioningly say, "That sounds almost as if you would prefer she be killed before being surrendered."

"Mr. McClain, I have no doubt you took the time to verify the advance to your checking account. We don't make deposits like that lightly. My employers are expecting results in accordance with the fee. Do we understand each other?" he says, his voice suddenly sounding more assured. This is familiar territory for him, this is what he does.

"I think we have a very clear understanding," I reply just as smoothly before adding, "You just send enough men to deal with this. Am I clear?"

The last is almost a challenge to him, egging him to commit more resources than are actually necessary. It's crucial that he use his connections in the bureau and not a bunch of thugs already in his employ if we're going to draw out the corrupt agents. By making him think that we are being pursued by a local sheriff and his posse of deputies, he will hopefully make this the special agent in charge's responsibility to deal with. Especially since it's not uncommon for the FBI to arrive on the scene of a standoff and simply exert their authority over the local constabulary and take over.

This is especially true when the Special Agent in charge of a task force assigned by the director arrives on the scene in person to take command. And since this involves a federal witness in an ongoing investigation, all the players have already been chosen. We just need them to come out on the playing field in the light of day.

### **55**

Flipping the phone shut, I pick up the pack and continue down the road. Although it was dark when we first came up this way, I remember traversing a long stretch of straight road not too far back before passing the last turn off. In the light of day, this stretch of road that I'm thinking of should provide me with an extended view down the mountainside, giving me ample time to contact Greg with all the details of the advancing party and still be able to retreat safely to the Liberty well ahead of them.

This will be especially true if I can block the road behind me and cause them a delay.

Less than five hundred feet farther along the road, I come to a sharp switchback, the lower leg of the road running almost parallel to the upper leg for more than a thousand feet. If I block the road at the point where the two legs first draw close to each other, I can observe the advancing forces and then cut across country to the Liberty while they're busy unblocking the road.

Picking up the pace, even though I feel confident that it will take at least two hours or more before the bad guys arrive, I hurry down the road until I reach the place where the upper leg angles out and away from it while the leg I'm on continues straight for at least a thousand feet or more before disappearing around a bend. This appears to be the straight stretch of road that I remembered from earlier.

Glancing around to see what's available for my scheme, my eyes instantly pounce on an old cedar tree on the high side of the road, its few remaining needles long dead and brown.

After slipping the backpack to the ground on the side of the road, I scramble up the side of the ditch, working my way through the low growing brush until reaching the base of the old tree. To my good fortune, it is rotted through and through. The only thing holding it upright is a young sapling measuring less than three inches in girth.

"Well, old friend," I mouth out loud. "Will you do me the honor of working with me?"

Although the old cedar is long dead and well on its way to decaying into humus, it is still a substantial tree, measuring all of four feet or more at the base.

Skirting it, I imagine how simple it would be to fell it onto the road with a small amount of C-4 explosive. Unfortunately, plastic explosives, or any other explosives for that matter, were not included in the tidy little backpacks that Larry and Lisa prepared. If such items were in the backpack, I would be selecting a living tree that wasn't possibly going to disintegrate upon impact with the surface of the road. Because for all my trouble, there is no guarantee that the dead cedar will remain intact upon impact with the road. There's the real possibility that it will just crumble into bug infested sawdust.

On the back side, I pull out my survival knife and poke the wood of the tree to test it for strength. To my surprise, the wood still has resiliency, resisting the penetration of the knife.

Looking up, I follow the tree, studying the manner in which it is leaning against the small sapling while determining the direction it will fall if the sapling is removed.

Because the cedar is tall enough, it isn't crucial that it fall at a ninety-degree angle to the road; even a forty-five-degree angle will be sufficient to lay the bulk of the old feller on the road and impair traffic.

With that in mind, I casually contemplate what it will take to remove the sapling. Working my way over to it, I decide that it isn't important to take it out low to the ground. In fact, cutting it off anywhere under the six-foot mark will have the desired effect of dislodging the old cedar.

My knife still in my hand, I begin working the blade into the back side of it, cutting through the bark and into the flesh proper. The wood is wet with sap, despite the time of the year and very stringy and resilient, easily resisting my attempts to worry a hold into it.

Putting my knife away, I grab the sapling and vigorously shake it, trying to dislodge the cedar from its grasp through sheer determination. Though the cedar creaks loudly and rocks, it refuses to fall.

Retreating to the road where I'd left the backpack, I pull out the box of nine-millimeter ammunition and dump out half a dozen rounds. Next, I fish out a book of matches from my shirt pocket. Using the knife, I carefully pry the bullets out of their respective casings one at a time, setting them in line on the road so they won't fall over.

Working with a practiced ease that comes from experience and confidence, I fish out a band aid strip and tear one end off. With steady hands, I pour the powder from each of the decapitated rounds into the plastic bandage wrapper.

After tearing the heads off several matches, I add these to the mix and lightly shake it up to distribute the sulfur heads in with the gun powder. Next, I insert a match stick and then twist the end to hold it in place.

Picking up the empty cartridges, I return to the sapling where I previously made my hole. The trick to making my homemade device work will be forcing the gunpowder to ignite in a confined space. If I insert the bandage wrapper into the hole in the sapling, the sap will immediately dampen the powder and sulfur, causing it to sputter out when I try to light it. However, by placing the empty cartridges into the hole first, basically creating an inner metal liner between the bandage wrapper and the damp wood, I can insert it tightly into the hole, leaving just the matchstick protruding.

To make certain that the force of the blast carries in the direction that I desire, I take the lead bullets that I'd removed from the cartridges and gently tap them over the rest of the affair to create directional resistance.

Taking a step back, I study my work for a moment. Satisfied that there isn't any more I can do, I take a couple more steps back from the sapling and pull my magnum out of the shoulder holster.

After taking careful aim at the exposed matchstick, I decide there's a good chance that the bullets pressed into the exposed exterior could fly with a deadly amount of force and take a few more steps back. Only when it becomes apparent that I will have to shoot through brush if I retreat any further from the sapling, do I raise the magnum and let off a quick round.

The sharp bang of the gun is quickly followed by a dull thudding blast. I'm aware of shrapnel cutting through the brush all around me at the same time that something hard strikes me in the upper left part of my chest.

But there isn't time to consider it, as the large cedar slowly sways, its young support having been knocked out from under it. Slowly, as if it has a mind of its own, the old tree begins to move, swaying precariously upon its rotted base, but not toward the road as planned.

Without thinking, I rush at the base of it, striking it full on with my left shoulder like a football linebacker attacking the opposing line, stupidly believing that my strength and momentum alone will be enough to change its downward direction. A jagged pain instantly shoots down my side, causing me to inhale sharply as I stagger back from it, almost falling to the ground.

To my surprise and amazement, it slowly changes course as it picks up speed on its downward crashing course toward the ground. Whether I had anything to do with influencing its fall, or if it was just destiny, I will never know.

What I do know is that the tree fell at a forty-five-degree angle to the road, its length stretching from one side all the way to the other and then some.

And moreover, it didn't disintegrate on impact!

### **56**

As I slip the magnum back into its shoulder holster, the movement makes me aware of a numbing pain down my left side and that my left arm is refusing to cooperate.

Calmly, I glance down at the source of the pain and not seeing any blood, immediately discount the severity of it. I learned a long time ago that if it ain't bleeding, it ain't going to kill ya. Still I wonder what I did to myself, only vaguely aware that something struck me a solid blow when I shot the jerry-rigged charge in the sapling.

Moving stiffly and painfully, a bead of sweat moistening my brow, I work my way around the base of the fallen tree and down the slope to the road. Feeling slightly unbalanced from the effort, I stumble across the road in the direction of the backpack. Attaining it, I drop down on my knees and reach inside to retrieve the bottle of rum. Working with only my right hand, I fumble clumsily to open it and then put it to my lips and take a long, guilt-free swallow, the action feeling justified because of the pain I'm in.

Still on my knees, I set the bottle aside and with my right hand, gingerly reach into my jacket to unbutton my shirt. With the buttons undone, I carefully force the fabric back to expose the flesh of my upper left chest and shoulder. Just above the left nipple is a half-dollar sized blackish mark with dark purplish green striations branching out from it. Though the skin is very tender to the touch, it's fortunately not broken, just severely bruised, the impact having traveled deeply into the flesh.

Tenderly, I press against the area surrounding the dark bruise, checking for any broken bones or torn muscles. Without a doubt, one of the lead bullets that I packed over the homemade charge struck me with quite an impact. I can only imagine the damage it would have done had I not backed up as far as I had.

"This is just further proof that you're head's not in the game," I grumble angrily at myself while grabbing the bottle and taking another swig. "One minute all you can think about is how you're missing your woman like a sappy little school boy with a crush and the next, you almost kill yourself over your own stupid carelessness."

I take another swallow and then set the bottle down, my hand shaking slightly. Reaching into the backpack to retrieve the first aid kit, I continue berating myself. "This was your wakeup call stupid. It's time you get with the program!"

Pulling out the first aid kit, I unsnap the lid and flip it open. Inside is an assortment of stretch bandages and utensils for applying them. There is also a bottle of aspirin and a tube of anti-biotic salve. Folded over the top of everything is a triangular piece of white cotton fabric with three strips of cloth sewn to it to be used as a sling or a tourniquet.

Slipping my jacket off, I proceed to tie my left arm up in the sling. When I finish, I clumsily manage to get my jacket back on and put everything back into the backpack before slinging it over my back.

Rising, I look down the road and then up at the sky, estimating that more than an hour has passed since I placed the last call. Fishing the cell phone out of my jacket pocket, I verify again that I still have service, and then return it to my pocket.

Turning toward the ditch and the steep bank leading up to the base of the fallen tree, I suddenly wonder if I have enough time to simply walk back up the road instead of hiking up the steep, brush covered bank. Before injuring my arm, this thought never would have entered my mind. But faced with maneuvering up rugged terrain versus walking on a relatively smooth surface with one arm in a sling, I have to give it serious consideration.

Feeling confident that I still have an hour or more before anyone will be arriving, I opt to hike up the road, figuring that once I am above the road block, I can hike back down through the woods until I am within view of the road below me. Although this means covering more distance, it is easier terrain and should theoretically take me less time.

With the pack hanging precariously over my right shoulder, I set off at a hurried pace back up the way I'd come from. Each step triggers a sharp pain in my left side and I begin to worry how much effectiveness I've lost.

When my breathing grows labored from the exertion, another pain makes itself evident in my chest with each inhalation of breath. Since I didn't feel anything broken during my initial self-examination, I write it off to bruised ribs, which are nothing more than a painful irritant. If push comes to shove, there isn't anything so wrong with me that it can't be ignored if I can just get past the pain.

By the time I reach the place on the upper road lying directly above the roadblock, my breathing is painful and labored. In addition, a heavy sheen of sweat has broken out on my forehead.

"Damn, you're out of shape," I grumble irritably, unwilling to admit that I might be more seriously injured than I first thought.

Stopping, I drop the pack to the ground, which feels as if it's loaded with rocks, and lower myself down to my knees beside it. Fishing out the bottle of rum, I clumsily twist off the cap and watch befuddled when it slips through my fingers and into the dirt. Scooping it up, I place the bottle in my mouth and the glass neck strikes my front teeth with a loud chinking sound, which echoes even louder inside my head. Ignoring both the sound and the unsteadiness of my hand, I pour in a generous amount of rum and slowly slosh it around to clear the coppery taste that is pervading through my mouth before swallowing it down.

Setting the bottle down against the side of the pack, I pick up the cap from where I dropped it and return it to the bottle. My hand is shaking unsteadily and my vision is clouded with blurry, multi-colored orbs without substance. I squint a few times and they slowly subside.

When I can see clearly again, I drop the bottle into the pack and slowly struggle to my feet, my balance momentarily unsteady. Bending over, I grab the pack and stumble forward, barely able to stop myself from tripping over my own feet as I approach the edge of the road.

Looking down into the brush, I suddenly wonder what I was thinking leaving the Liberty so far up the road. If I had it with me, I could drive down to the roadblock and just wait until they come into view and then drive away. Unfortunately once again, I wasn't thinking clearly.

With the pack held under my right arm, I slowly work my way down the slope, grabbing precariously at limbs and branches to prevent me from losing my footing altogether. When I finally reach a place where I can see the road below me, I drop down on my ass and push the pack around to my lap. My breathing is labored and my entire body feels drenched in a cold sweat.

Gingerly, I reach under my shirt and touch the area where the slug hit me. The flesh feels mushy, as if the muscle has been hammered into submission. It also feels inflamed, though the skin is definitely not broken.

Loosening the sling, I try to raise my left arm. A bolt of pain shoots from my shoulder all the way to my toes and I instantly give up on the effort. Hopefully, with a little time, the pain will lessen.

With my right hand, I give my left hand a firm squeeze and feel a small amount of relief when I feel the sensation in the fingers of my left hand. Because the numbness is slowly dissipating, I must have circulation in it.

Reaching into my jacket pocket, I retrieve the cell phone and check for service. The battery is growing weaker, showing only two out of four bars, but I still have service.

Glancing skyward through the tree tops, I estimate that it is nearing mid-morning and that more than two hours have passed since making my last call. If our hunch is correct, they should be arriving anytime.

To occupy myself, I pull out my magnum and replace the spent cartridge. Next, I pull out a pack of sandwiches and clumsily tear through the saran wrapping with only my right hand. When I take a bite however, it tastes off and I spit it out on the ground and toss the sandwich into the brush.

To wash the taste out of my mouth, I fish out the thermos of coffee and then decide against it, opting for the rum instead.

I have just wedged the bottle between my thighs to ease with removing the cap when I hear the sound of tires crunching on gravel in the distance.

Hurriedly, I return the bottle to the pack and climb to my feet, pushing aside a low limb in order to get a better view of the lower road. Although there is a pair of binoculars in the pack, the distance isn't such that they would be of much use. What I see without them takes the starch out of my knees and I almost drop back to the ground.

Coming at a high rate of speed, a thick plume of dust enshrouding them, is a column of assorted vehicles. It appears as if they are coming in everything from full sized vans to four-wheel drive pickups to regular four door sedans. There has to be at least a dozen vehicles with no way of telling how many men are in each or what kind of armament they're carrying.

"God help us," I mutter under my breath as I reach for the cell phone.

With the number of men they have available to work on the log, I quickly realize that my road block won't slow them but for a few minutes at best and it's going to take me all of that and then some just to reach the Liberty.

"Greg, it's Mac," I say into the phone, my breathing ragged from working my way back through the brush and up to the road. "We need help."

### **57**

Trying to run uphill through brush with one arm in a sling and the other holding a cell phone up to one's mouth with a pack slung loosely over one's shoulder is difficult at best. But through determination and perseverance, I manage to explain the situation to Greg even though I have to repeat most of it several times for his benefit.

Although I don't know the specific numbers, I am confident by the variety of vehicles involved that there is a combination of federal agents and hired help. When I share this information with Greg, he is as surprised as I am as I think we both suspected that it would be one or the other and not both. It clearly confirms the level of their desperation that they are willing to pull out all the stops. Jane Domingo, their ex-record keeper, must have enough on them to bring down the entire organization as well as all of their corrupt government agents.

Before ending the call, I ask him to try placing a call to Larry on the off chance he found a spot with reception. I would have done it myself if I weren't so out of breath or my cell phone's battery was about to expire.

"Thanks Greg, we're counting on you," I finish before hanging up, wondering why I felt it necessary to tell him that. If anyone knew how dire our situation had turned in the last few minutes, he did. And if anyone could be trusted to do everything within their power to assist us, it would be him.

As I break out onto the road, I dimly hear the sound of brakes squealing as the caravan below reaches the fallen tree. This is followed immediately by slamming doors and loud voices. One in particular seems to be shouting commands in a very organized manner. Though I don't know why, I automatically assume that this is the Special Agent in charge and I feel renewed strength flowing into my feet.

With the pack dangling loosely from my right hand, I shuffle hurriedly along the road, frantic to reach the Liberty before they overtake me.

When I am halfway to the Liberty and still no sign of them, hope rises that I will make it in time while the hammering in my chest continues to swell to an almost unbearable level of pain.

Yet, I am convinced that I am not seriously injured and it is only pain. Because I've experienced my share of pain during my life, I know how to overcome it. It is just a matter of ignoring it. I need to raise my state of mind to a heightened level of consciousness and move beyond it.

When I have less than a quarter of the way to go, I am suddenly buffeted by the shockwave from an incendiary device, the sound of the blast echoing only seconds behind the concussion.

They have high explosives!

This new information only makes my feet move faster. When the Liberty suddenly comes into view, I slip my left arm from the sling and while ignoring the pain, reach across for the pack, my feet pounding against the gravel as my breath whistles in and out of my mouth.

If my heart weren't hammering so loudly in my ears, I would have heard the vehicles revving up the hill behind me. But had I heard them coming, I would have stopped and taken cover off to the side of the road and tried holding them off with only my side arms which wouldn't be anything short of suicide.

But I don't hear them for the pounding of blood in my ears and I reach the Liberty without incident. Yanking open the driver's door, I jump into the seat while reaching for the ignition. Before I even swing the pack across to the passenger's seat, I turn the key.

As the engine races to life, I notice movement in the mirror and see the first vehicle rounding the bend in the road behind me.

Pulling the transmission into drive, I stamp on the accelerator and race up the road. It is only because of good fortune that the Special Agent riding in the first vehicle is not aware of what we are driving. Nor did he catch sight of me before I jumped into the Liberty and thus doesn't realize that I am part of their quarry. It is their misfortune and a lucky break for us that he simply assumes I am just some guy out enjoying nature.

Although they are traveling at a high rate of speed for the conditions of the road, they can only go as fast as the slowest vehicle amongst them, which are the low-riding, soft-suspension sedans. Whereas, I have both the advantage of familiarity with the road and a four wheel drive vehicle with good ground clearance. By driving recklessly, I quickly increase the distance separating us.

However, that doesn't mean my ride is comfortable as each dip and rut causes me to wince from the pain in my left chest and side. After a little more than half an hour, I suddenly realize that I've been slowing down and my left arm is hanging limply down beside the seat. Sweat is pouring down the side of my face, tickling the cooler flesh of my neck and torso and causing my skin to prickle with goose bumps despite feeling as if I am on fire.

Unable to take my hand from the wheel for even a second, I am forced to ignore my left arm, though the hand feels tingly as if the blood has been cut off to it for some time and it's now waking up.

Sliding around a hairpin corner, the right front wheel dips into a deep rut and tracks away from the direction of the lane, refusing to come back in alignment. Before I can twist the wheel with my right hand and force it out of the rut, the front left corner climbs up the steep bank on that side, clipping a solid Alder tree and caving in the front left fender against the tire.

The sound of buckling metal barely registers as my foot trounces down against the gas pedal from the impact, causing the engine to rev up. With the tires spinning wildly, I careen off the tree, the slant of the grade and my right hand forcing the vehicle back into the narrow lane.

With my speed now reduced by the damage to the front fender imbedded into the shredded tire, I continue on up the mountain while being acutely aware that the pursuit must have gained on me during the time my mind drifted.

While constantly fighting the pull of the wheel with my right hand, I anxiously glance into first one mirror and then another, each time expecting to see them bearing down on me. To my surprise and relief, I continue on until I am almost to the end of the road without sighting them.

At the last moment, I recognize the spot where we had determined earlier to stash the vehicles and turn into it, the wheel fighting my every effort right up until I come to a stop and shut it off.

Not wasting any time, I reach across the console and grab the pack. Unfortunately, my left arm is unable to open the door, and I have to drop the pack on my lap and awkwardly reach across with my right hand and work the lever while pushing outward.

As I climb out, the blood momentarily rushes from my head and I fall back against the side of the Liberty for support, my vision turning grey and then slowly clearing. When it does, I see the damage to the front of the Liberty and am surprised that I made it as far as I did. The front fender and headlight are curled downward, the sheet metal having slashed completely through the tire and pressed against the steel of the rim, making it immovable. Since striking the tree, I have left a clearly defined rut in the trail leading right to this place for anyone to follow. There is also steam and a red fluid running out from beneath the damage that can only be transmission fluid. This vehicle will not be leaving the mountain under its own power. But that is the least of my problems.

Glancing at the rut again that the front tire dug into the ground, I have no doubt that at least some of those following me will be assigned to follow it.

### **58**

Pushing off from the vehicle, I slowly work my way deeper into the woods, conscious of the sounds of advancing motor vehicles quickly coming up the trail behind me.

Just before I enter the denser growth nearer to the dry creek bed, I furtively glance over my shoulder. Looking up at the rock face, I wonder if Larry has his spyglass on me or if he can already see the advancing army.

For our sakes, I hope he sees what's coming.

Pushing brush aside with my right arm, I struggle clumsily for a few minutes and then suddenly break out into the rock strewn creek bed. With an experienced eye, I look first to the right and then to the left, quickly studying the terrain for a place to set up an ambush. If my guesstimate is correct, Lisa should be less than a quarter mile off to my left.

With this information in mind, I determine to make my stand in that direction. If anything goes wrong and I find myself in full retreat, I should be able to work my way toward her for backup.

Less than a hundred feet up the dry creek bed, I notice an outcropping of rocky shale where past water flow has undercut the bank. The cut is deep and dark, a perfect place to crawl in and hide. Or a good place to give that illusion.

With heavy feet, I stumble over the rocks until I am directly in front of it. Stooping, I pick up a dead limb and make a fruitless attempt at wiping out my tracks, which only results in making it more obvious that someone has come this way.

Tossing the limb aside, I gingerly scurry up and over the outcropping while being extremely careful not to leave any sign of my passing despite the pain and inconvenience caused by my injured left side.

Once up on the bank, I move several yards into the brush and then circle back through the dense brush to my left so that I am working my way parallel to the dry creek bed in the direction that I just came from.

When I am less than halfway back to where I originally entered it, I hear patent leather shoes striking against rock and disturbing loose pockets of scree. For some unknown reason, almost all federal agents that spend most of their time in vehicles or walking on concrete sidewalks choose this type of footwear. Fortunately for me, patent leather shoes with hard leather soles are not a very good choice for hiking in the woods.

Moving stealthily through the thick brush, I work my way back toward the creek bed. When I get close enough, I see three men in dark suits and darker shades carrying short, fully automatic weapons as they follow close behind a fourth man dressed in dirty jeans, a torn plaid work-shirt, and carrying a pump action riot shotgun. Unlike the three men in suits, the fourth man is darkly tanned and appears comfortable being in the outdoors. His eyes are following my trail from beneath a tattered straw hat and if I had to guess, I would say the first three men are government agents while the fourth man carrying the shotgun is the tracker.

Silently, unmoving, I wait for them to pass and then slowly slip out into the creek bed behind them, taking my eyes off them just long enough to verify that they're alone and there aren't any stragglers.

With them less than thirty-feet in front of me, their attention now riveted on the cut bank as they cautiously approach it, I startle them by asking, "You boys looking for something?"

With the magnum in my right hand, the nine-millimeter tucked in the front of my waist band, my left arm hanging loosely at my side, I realize that I will be hard put to take them all before they get me if they make a try for it.

But I'm gambling they won't make a try for it based simply on the fact they're federal agents and not hardened thugs with little to lose.

"Last I heard," I casually remark, using my voice to keep a potentially explosive situation from exploding. "There hasn't been any gold in this creek since the turn of the century. Of course, I could be wrong about that."

The man on the far right is the first to speak while the man with the shotgun isn't convinced that there isn't someone in the clevis beneath the bank with the drop on them. "Who are you?"

"I don't want to appear rude," I calmly reply. "But I think you already know who I am." When he starts to reach into his breast pocket to retrieve his ID and badge, I quickly advise him not to bother. "That's alright! I already know you're federal agents with the FBI. So why don't we just keep our hands where I can see them?"

"Then you also know that it's a felony to point a deadly weapon at a federal agent, or to interfere with a law enforcement agent in the course of his duty," he states, trying to either intimidate or reason with me, of which I'm not sure.

And then it becomes clear that he is trying to reason with me, possibly hoping that I'll fall for his tricks and let my guard down. He should have spent more time reading my dossier, because he obviously doesn't know me very well.

"We're here to take one Jane Domingo and her property into protective custody. We have no quarrel with you. Lower your weapon and let us do our job and you won't be hurt," he says, almost as if he expects me to comply with him.

Slowly, the three men in suits turn to face me, their weapons still pointed down at the ground, though their fingers are on the triggers and I'm sure the safeties are off. The only man not fully facing me is the man with the pump action shotgun, who is still not convinced that there isn't someone lying under the bank just out of sight.

If I'm going to wrap this up without killing anyone, I need to do it quickly, before the fourth man realizes that I'm working alone. In fact, he might even think that I have Jane Domingo stashed under the cutout and that there isn't anyone under there with a weapon at all.

Moving slowly with my stiff left arm, I reach across my body and retrieve the cell phone from my jacket pocket. The blinking screen tells me that the battery has died. But that doesn't matter for my purpose. "I'll tell you what," I say as casually as I can despite the sharp pain the movement has caused in my left side. "Give me your Special Agent in charge's name and number and I'll give him a call and see if we can work something out."

Believing that I'm legit, he actually relaxes enough to smile. It's my good luck that none of them have tried to make a call for a while. "Special Agent Vandekirk," he says, reaching into his pocket.

"Careful there, hoss," I casually warn him, leveling the magnum on his chest.

"It's okay," he says with a beguiling smile before adding, "Just saving you some trouble." In his hand is a cell phone. "His number is in my speed dial. Here," he says suddenly, tossing the phone underhanded toward me.

Even before his arm recoils for the toss, I know what is coming and reach clumsily with my left hand for the nine-millimeter in my waistband. As the phone arches upward, supposedly taking my eyes with it, the three men pull up their fully automatic weapons. The one on my left involuntarily squeezes the trigger prematurely and kicks up dirt and gravel almost at his feet.

Reacting instinctively, the magnum bucks loudly in my right hand, the man on the far right that did all the talking and then tossed the phone, becomes the first in this bloody war to die as the high velocity hollow point rips through his chest, very likely shredding his heart muscle.

Although the one on my far left was the first to fire, I instinctively save him for last. Somewhere in my subconscious, I assayed each of the men and their potential threat to my life. His presence was the least threatening.

The man with the pump action shotgun was going to be my next target, until I realize that he is shooting blindly into the cutout bank with his back turned completely to me. The loud booms of the shotgun overwhelming the sharper pops of the automatics. Instead, I continue turning to my left and take out the man in the middle with my next shot just as his weapon levels off at me. The bullet catches him high in the chest and he spins sideways, a spray of bullets ricocheting and whining with deadly intent past his partner to the right.

With the nine-millimeter held precariously in my left hand, I squeeze off two shots simultaneously, the magnum's slug strikes the darkly tanned man in the side of the neck as he spins around to face me and his straw hat goes airborne from the impact.

Meanwhile, the nine-millimeter slug glances harmlessly off the rocky bank behind the shooter still standing to my left.

In the back of my mind, I wonder what kind of luck this guy has as my bullet and those of his partner whip by him without so much as grazing him.

"Freeze!" I shout in the sternest voice I can muster.

To my surprise, he does. And then moving slowly, his mind unable to comprehend the death and carnage surrounding him, his weapon slips from his numb fingers and strikes the ground in a clatter on the rocks as his shoulders slump in defeat.

Slipping the nine-millimeter back into my waistband, I slowly step over the rocky surface until I am less than ten-feet from him. Looking into his eyes, I see all the signs of someone in shock. "Do you have any other weapons on you?" I calmly inquire while glancing furtively at the other bodies to be sure they aren't moving.

Instead of answering, he reaches behind his back and pulls out a small thirty-eight caliber revolver. Holding it gingerly by the butt, he carefully sets it down on the ground by the automatic.

"Very good," I acknowledge, glancing up the dry creek bed in case the gunfire is bringing reinforcements. "Walk that way," I instruct him, indicating with the barrel of the magnum that I want him to walk into the brush on the side of the creek bed, in the direction of the mine shaft.

He takes a few steps when the sound of automatic fire erupts from somewhere off to the west. With a sharp pain to my heart, I realize that's in the direction of Eddy.

Even before the automatic has quit firing, there's a solitary boom from the Sharps fifty-caliber. Only one shot. The automatic died instantly with no answering fire. That can only mean one thing, another target down. It will be much later before I learn the full consequences of those shots.

"Move," I order him when he hesitates.

Keeping him ahead of me, I guide him about twenty-five feet into the brush before I order him to stop. "Sit down." When he does as instructed, I undo his shoelaces and tie his hands behind his back. Then I secure his ankles together and have him lay on his side. Pulling his feet up to his back until he is uncomfortable from stretching, I tie his hands to his feet, making certain the knots are too tight to be untied.

While I'm doing this, I calmly and casually ask him questions. As it turns out, he'd just been promoted to this task force after working on another case for Special Agent Vandekirk. It appears that he has a very low set of morals when it comes to looking the other way and accepting bribes. But other than that, he seems to be a normal government employ; lazy, lack of ambition, and only concerned with his own welfare.

Nervously, the crotch of his pants wet from peeing himself, he quickly answers all of my questions. There are more than twenty-five men, only eight of them being federal agents. The others are hired guns that met up with them in town. They were introduced to the agents as private contractors, but everyone knows what they really are. And because this particular job is paying an extra large dividend, no one is questioning it.

Next I go through his pockets and remove everything with a sharp edge, especially his badge and ID. Tossing these into the brush, I lean over him and before he knows what's happening, I knock him unconscious with the butt of the magnum.

"Sweet dreams," I mutter as I move out slowly along the creek bed, back in the direction where the Liberty is parked. "Four down, nineteen to go. Or maybe only eighteen. Poor saps don't have a clue what they're up against."

### **59**

Shooting federal agents is never a good thing and even though they're corrupt, it doesn't make it any easier. No matter how justified the shoot, there will be a ton of questions and scrutiny ahead. Yet, I harbor no regrets for my actions. They would have just as quickly shot me.

The pain in my side and left arm is enormous. But I dig deep and find the inner strength to ignore it. There is too much at stake for me not to. Still, it bothers me that I missed a normally routine shot when called upon to use my left hand.

No sooner do I think back on the missed shot that allowed the young agent to live when I remember the automatic weapon that Larry silenced from his vantage point on the rocky face. Although it should have occurred to me immediately, I was too distracted with my own problems at the time to give it much thought, other than the sounds came from Eddy's area.

Except for Larry's 50 Caliber, there was no return fire!

Eddy should have returned fire if she was fired upon. So why hadn't she?

It suddenly seems all important that I find her and make sure she is alright. If anything should happen to her, I would never be able to forgive myself. It's already my fault that we're in the predicament that we're in. If I wasn't so distracted lately, I would have realized that we were going into an area of limited or non-existent communications and planned accordingly. When we were at the sporting goods store, we could have picked up long-range radios, maybe even marine band equipment. Anything would have been better than what we currently have, which is nothing!

Moreover, this plan of using ourselves as bait to draw out the corrupt agents is about as weak as vegetable stew with no vegetables. In the past, I never would have agreed to such a slip-shod idea, much less been the one to come up with it.

With renewed urgency over concern for Eddy, I make my way back to the Liberty. Moving quickly, I circle around and advance on their vehicles from behind while moving with caution on the off chance that they left sentries to cover their retreat.

To my delight, I discover a solitary man in a suit sitting in the lead SUV, contentedly smoking a cigarette. His mannerisms are those of someone lacking fear or concern over their current situation. Because they came in such a large force, they're over-confidence is working in our favor.

Moving stealthily, I slip around to the rear of the vehicle, being careful not to show myself in any of the mirrors while checking through the windows of the other vehicles as I move past them.

Crouching low, I move from behind the occupied vehicle with the intention of coming up on him from behind. But his survival instincts are good and at the last moment, he catches a glimpse of me in the side mirror. Moving with remarkable speed and agility, he throws open the door and launches himself outward, hitting the ground on the roll.

He is a big man armed with a nine-millimeter Glock and wearing the typical government agent's dark tinted suit with shades to match. For his large bulk, I am both surprised and impressed at his sudden burst of speed.

However, because of the nine-millimeter weapon swinging toward me in his outstretched hand, I have no alternative but to eliminate the threat and quickly.

As if everything is moving in slow motion, I see the determination in his eyes turn to desperation as he realizes that he isn't going to get his one shot off before I kill him. And in that split second of time before I take my shot, he also realizes that if he had just remained sitting in the vehicle when he saw me approaching in the mirror, he would not be going to die.

Almost simultaneously, a second shot rings out from a high powered rifle off to the east. It is almost immediately followed by a burst of automatic weapons fire and then the loud boom of the Sharps.

An abrupt and eerie silence follows the dying echoes of the big gun. Cautiously, I glance around to see if my shot has drawn anyone out of hiding. When I sense no movement or activity in my immediate area, I hurriedly run over in a crouch to inspect the big man and verify that he's out of the fight before slipping back amongst the parked vehicles.

Though I'm still feeling an urgency to find Eddy, I fight it down and instead go from one vehicle to the next, slipping into each and tearing wires out from under the dashes to disable them. Of all twelve vehicles, only one is locked. I debate for a moment whether I should bust out a window or just let it be. I opt to let it be.

Leaving the vehicles behind, I follow the trail leading toward the mine shaft while taking notice of the number of fresh footprints. I am barely to the start of the trail at the end of the fallen tree when I hear Lisa's big game rifle bark. The sound is followed immediately by a loud, gut-wrenching scream of agony and I smile with the knowledge that she just wounded another.

Based on the information provided by the young agent that I left tied up in the brush, that means there are between 15 and 17 bad guys left, one of which is Special Agent Vandekirk. Of the hired thugs, at least one has to hold a position of rank in their organization. It only stands to reason that they would want someone they trusted overseeing this important of an operation.

The wounded man is still screaming when several automatic weapons open fire at the same time. The shots are coming from the direction of the ridge where Lisa is situated and I realize immediately, they are shooting wildly to keep her pinned down so others can advance on her position.

After a long moment of rapid fire shooting that goes unanswered, I begin to wonder why Larry isn't taking the wind out their sails to keep them off Lisa.

Moving around the end of the fallen tree in the direction of the mine shaft, I suddenly come face to face with two men carrying the short barreled automatics. They're wearing jeans and faded plaid shirts that are typical of migrant field workers. Yet, they could be city boys with the mistaken notion that's the way to dress if you want to blend into the countryside.

They see me in almost the same instant that I see them. As I pull up the magnum, the one on the right, my left, suddenly jinks off to the side, throwing himself into the brush lining the trail and scrambling wildly for cover.

The second man, a little slower to respond to my sudden appearance than his partner, draws up short and pauses for a fraction of a second as if unable to believe what he is seeing. And then, he tries desperately to bring his weapon up before I can get a shot off.

Unfortunately for him, I am not a rookie at war games and I easily squeeze off a killing shot to his heart, dropping him like a sack of potatoes in the trail. Almost at the same moment a sudden burst of lead whizzes past and around me like a swarm of mad hornets, some striking the dead tree while still others are clipping off branches to either side of the trail. All of the shots are emanating from a point off to my left and low to the ground. The shooter is trying to hit me by spraying the area where he believes me to be with a barrage of automatic fire.

Ducking back behind the dead tree, I calculate his position based on where he dove into the brush and at what angle the rounds are striking around me. All of them appear to be traveling at an upward angle from less than thirty feet distant.

Out of habit, I flick open the cylinder and check my rounds. The flow of adrenaline causing the pain in my left side to momentarily subside. With practiced patience, I replace the two spent rounds with fresh ones from my jacket pocket and then furtively glance around the dead tree, looking for any sign of movement.

To my surprise, two more men are coming down the trail at a dead run. Lifting the magnum, I let off two quick shots, aware of one striking the leading man in the mid-section before ducking back down behind the log just as the Sharps thunders wickedly from on high.

Glancing furtively around the log, I see three men lying motionless in the trail and immediately realize why the Sharps had been silent earlier. Larry was moving into a new position on this side of the bluff.

Suddenly, Lisa's 30-06 barks again, three shots in quick succession followed by the Sharps. When Larry continues firing in rapid succession, I realize he's giving Lisa time to move to better cover. This can only mean they are threatening to overrun her position, or they already have.

While I hear the automatic weapons sporadically from Lisa's direction, which tells me she is still in the game, it concerns me deeply that I'm not hearing anything from Eddy's side of the mine shaft. She should have encountered enemy forces by now or she should be trying to pin them in the mine shaft, either of which would mean gunfire from her and not silence.

When I glance around the end of the log again, the lone shooter in the brush opens fire on me, driving me back behind the log as his rounds chew up the rotting wood. This time, there is no helpful fire from up on the rock face above the mine shaft as I'm sure Larry is reloading the large caliber rifle.

So, do I waste time worrying over this man in the brush, or do I work my way around him and find out what happened to Eddy, possibly leaving the man in the brush to double back on me?

There clearly isn't any other choice but for me to eliminate the threat in the brush before I do anything else. My job right now is to secure our rear and keep the threat contained in the shaft or as near to it as is possible until the cavalry arrives. I have to believe that Eddy is very capable of looking out for Eddy. If I leave my position to check on her, she will never forgive me for both leaving my post and for not having faith in her.

With the dilemma behind me, I slip back to the far end of the log and continue on beyond it, moving low and fast while expecting the automatic weapon to open up at any moment. When I reach a slight dip in the overgrown brush, I dive headlong into it, both surprised and relieved that the weapon remained silent the entire time I was exposed.

And then I realize that the weapon was silent because like me, he too is on the move.

As the small hairs on the back of my neck jump to attention, I throw myself to the side, rolling madly over the rocky surface and pucker brush in a desperate attempt to bring the magnum around.

But even as the gun rumbles and kicks in my right hand, I realize I'm too late and the spray of automatic fire kicks up a shower of rock chips and dirt, the hot debris striking my face as a small caliber bullet slams painfully into my left chest.

The impact of my magnum bullet striking him high in the right chest causes him to spin away before the next and fatal round can find me. My second shot, strictly reflexive, catches him under the left arm, penetrating his left lung and sending him sprawling to the ground.

Slowly, stunned and slightly dazed, I crawl over to his lifeless body, the automatic weapon hidden beneath it.

After satisfying myself that he is indeed dead, I roll over to a sitting position to take stock of the damages. Setting the magnum down on the ground next to me, I rub the rock chips from my face while feeling mildly surprised at the amount of pain. It feels as if someone just threw scalding water in my face.

Next, I gingerly reach inside my jacket and inspect the bullet wound. To my immense relief, the flesh immediately surrounding the wound is still numb from the impact and I almost laugh out loud when I realize how close to the old bruise the bullet entered. It is less than an inch above the bruise, which is less than an inch above my left nipple.

"Going to make some interesting scars," I grumble, relieved to note that the bullet didn't appear to hit any vital organs. And because my left side was already impaired, I had already adjusted for the inconvenience. So far as getting wounded goes, it could have been a lot worse.

Climbing slowly and painfully to my feet, I pull my jacket over the wound and zip it clear up to the neck in an attempt to keep dirt from getting into it. When I have more time, I will do a proper job of cleaning and dressing it. When I try to take a deep breath, the world spins dizzily around me and I almost double over with pain. When everything stabilizes, I head back to the trail and follow it up toward the mine shaft, stepping carefully around the bodies strewn along it while sliding fresh rounds into the magnum.

Because I have no idea where Eddy is or even where Lisa may have moved to, I take my time. With the magnum held at the ready in my right hand and the nine-millimeter tucked securely in my waistband, I step lightly along the trail. For the moment, all is quiet.

The silence doesn't last long as the Sharps suddenly thunders down from the rocky face.

This time, the fifty-caliber is answered by an outburst from several automatic weapons and the less steady banging of a semi-automatic. Even from this distance, I can hear bullets whining off the rocky precipice and thudding into shale ledges, sometimes breaking loose large sections of the face.

As rock and debris cascades noisily down from on high, Lisa's deer rifle booms and I realize that she has moved in closer to the rock face, possibly working her way along the ridge as it angles back toward the north. But is she being driven or is she moving of her own accord to keep them off balance?

This is where working with an unknown entity can be a serious problem. If it was Larry or Eddy out there, I would just naturally assume that they were driving the enemy ahead of them and not the other way around.

Still, there's no gunfire from Eddy's quarter. And for this reason, I cannot worry about Lisa. My first priority hasn't changed. I have to drive everyone ahead of me to the mine shaft proper or at the least, incapacitate those I encounter. Then I'll find Eddy. It worries me deeply that she should have encountered enemy forces by now and fired her weapon.

Though I am moving cautiously up the path toward the mine shaft, I can't help but remember the first shots that I heard while I was still in the creek bed. They came from Eddy's section and only Larry answered them.

Halfway to the shaft, I come around a sharp bend in the trail and see two more men in jeans and faded plaid shirts sitting on either side of the trail. They are smoking cigarettes and talking softly as if sitting in a back alley of their hood. One is toying absently with his fully automatic weapon, sliding the magazine in and out, while the other one has a pump action shotgun lying across his lap.

The one on the left with the automatic says something in Spanish to which the other one chuckles. They obviously feel because of their overwhelming numbers, they have nothing to worry about. Well, they are about to learn that this isn't their hood.

With the magnum in my right hand, I pull the nine-millimeter out of my waistband with my left, the fingers barely able to grip it much less squeeze the trigger. But that is irrelevant as I casually step out from cover and say, "Hey, Amigos, heard a good one lately?"

The one with the shotgun is the first to react, spitting his cigarette out and swearing in Spanish as he jumps to his feet, simultaneously working the pump action of his weapon.

"I guess not," I calmly remark, squeezing off two shots simultaneously.

The magnum and nine-millimeter buck as one as both weapons find their marks, sending the two men sprawling backwards into the brush.

Though I hit what I intended with the nine-millimeter, the recoil sent a tearing jolt of pain from my arm down through my chest. Only as I slowly grow aware of a wetness pooling in the front of my waistband do I realize that it isn't my imagination. Something tore loose deep inside my chest.

Feeling weak and nauseous, I take a few steps off the trail and enter the brush, looking for a safe place to sit down and take stock.

When I find a large jagged rock that looks like it may have fallen from the rock face many years earlier, I drop down on it and open my jacket.

Glancing back the way that I'd come, I am dismayed to see a bright red trail leading straight to me. When the blood became too much for the waist-band to hold back, it quickly soaked down the front left leg of my jeans and onto the ground. Even as I sit here, the ground by my left foot is slowly growing darker.

"Damn," I curse aloud. I've seen enough wounds and been wounded enough times to know that if I don't do something to stem the loss of blood, I will be unable to continue much longer before succumbing to unconsciousness.

Turning, I realize for the first time that I left the backpack behind. Without thinking, I must have left it on the ground while I disabled the vehicles and then took off without it.

Pulling the survival knife from its sheath, I cut the left arm off the jacket and wad it up under the shirt to stem the flow of blood. Because the area where the bullet entered had already been hammered, the pain from the new wound is almost inconsequential.

As I'm getting slowly to my feet, the Sharp's thunders again and I instinctively duck just as an automatic opens up on the trail in front of me, the bullets popping madly over my head.

But there is no need for me to be concerned, as the man with the weapon no longer has much of a head and even fewer brains since taking a direct hit from a fifty-caliber slug.

Thank God Larry is still doing his job.

When I finally come back out on the trail, I decide to do something irrational, and I keep going.

Cutting directly across the trail, I slowly fight my way through the dense brush, grateful when I stumble across a game trail leading in the same general direction as I'm headed. With easier going, it takes very little time to reach the center of what I've been thinking of as Eddy's territory.

Finding a dead log in my path, I drop down on it to catch my breath. My hair is damp with sweat and the blood-soaked sleeve of the jacket feels heavy, causing me to lean forward. Yet, when I look behind at the way I've come, I don't see any evidence of blood on the trail. For now, it is doing its job. If it's not staunching the flow, at least it's absorbing it.

Turning all the way around, I suddenly realize that I have no idea where to start looking for her when the Sharp's rifle suddenly booms and a young sapling topples over just due west of my position. Ducking down and scanning the area surrounding the busted sapling and not seeing or hearing anything, Larry's intentions become clear. Even though I cannot see him up on the rock face, I quickly make the assumption that he has me in his sights and he is trying to guide me toward Eddy. This is what working together for many years can accomplish.

But with that same realization comes the understanding that he would only point me in Eddy's direction if he knows she's in trouble and there isn't anything he can do for her from his current position.

The thought that Eddy is in trouble strikes cold fear all the way to my core and I instantly push off from the log and start hurrying forward in the direction that his well aimed shot indicates.

With my life blood pumping into the saturated sleeve tucked under my shirt and my breath hammering and ragged in my chest, I stumble forward, oblivious of the possible dangers lurking behind each tree or clump of brush. I have to find Eddy. All that matters is finding Eddy.

My legs are growing numb from loss of blood and I have covered almost one-hundred yards, when a man hearing my noisy approach suddenly steps out from behind a small tree with another one of those damned automatics.

Acting strictly on reflex, the magnum bucks one time in my hand before he even realizes that I'm a foe and not a friend. A bright fan of blood sprays out from his back as the bullet passes cleanly through the center of his chest. There is no doubt that he is dead before he hits the ground.

Without breaking stride, I hurry on, my eyes glancing frantically from left to right. She must be close. I couldn't have ran past her without seeing her. If she did as we instructed, she should have started somewhere in this area. But where?

Expecting the worst, I study the ground for signs of a bloody trail. When my legs grow too weak to continue, I pause for a moment, leaning against a large fir tree for support.

"Eddy," I try calling, my voice too weak to carry more than a few feet. "Please, God, let her be alright," I rasp, though I'm not a religious man.

As I push off from the tree, several nine-millimeter slugs chip off pieces of bark where my head was only a fraction of a second earlier.

From years of experience at being on the receiving end of gunfire, I know without looking that the shots came from somewhere off to my right and I twist in that direction as I drop to the ground, the magnum held out in my right hand.

Standing less than forty feet from me is a federal agent, his badge clipped to his outer suit-jacket pocket for identification purposes. His nine-millimeter semi-automatic service weapon is held out at arm's length with both hands as if he were on the target range.

Before I can squeeze the trigger, a puff of smoke erupts from his weapon. At almost the same instant, I'm struck by a sharp popping noise in my right ear and my head jerks slightly to the side of its own volition.

But because I am not new to being shot at or even being shot, I continue with my follow through, my shot striking him in the left temple. His head snaps back from the impact as his finger spasms on the trigger, the gun bucking out of his hand and flying off to the side.

His body twitches on the ground for a moment, but I don't have the energy to go to him and make certain that he isn't suffering. Instead, I continue lying prone on the ground before everything goes dark.

Without remembering the moment, I find myself kneeling on the ground, the magnum heavy in my right hand. Cautiously, even a little apprehensive over what I'm going to find, I reach up and touch the right side of my head. To my surprise, there is no blood, only a continued ringing in my right ear.

The bullet passed so close to my head that the concussion of it breaking the sound barrier rattled my eardrum. I did more damage to myself taking evasive action than the shooter did to me.

Still on my knees, I look down at my jeans and realize that the jacket sleeve is no longer able to absorb the blood oozing thick and heavy from my chest. Both legs of my jeans are soaked all the way to the cuffs. In a disconnected way of assessing my situation, I realize the cause of my extreme fatigue. I further realize that there isn't anything I can do for myself at this time.

Breathing hard, my breath wheezing noisily in my chest, I take the time to reload the magnum before struggling back to my feet. Time is running out at the same speed as my blood. It's important that I find Eddy and soon. She has to be close.

### **60**

The coppery taste in my mouth is strong, but now I realize it for what it is. So long as there isn't blood in my saliva, I remain confident that I don't have a punctured lung, only severely bruised. That last slug may have busted a rib that was already fractured from my homemade EID, or worse.

Once on my feet, I hesitate while I wait for the fog to clear. I'm also uncertain which direction to go. If Eddy did as we originally planned, she should be somewhere in this area. Unless, she decided to act on her own and headed toward the mine shaft after all.

Yet, that isn't Eddy's speed. She isn't a loose cannon that will just Willy-Nilly go off and do her own thing. She is too aware of the consequences of improvising when we're on a mission. Moreover, Larry's shot was for my benefit. He knows where she is and was trying to set me in the right direction. Firing a shot like that isn't something he wouldn't have considered if he didn't feel strongly that she needed my help. And with help more than an hour away yet, I need to find her and soon.

"Damn it, Eddy, where are you?" I rasp, my throat constricting from the effort of breathing.

The ringing in my ear is slowly subsiding. Yet it's a gnawing distraction and I'm not sure I'm hearing what I'm hearing when I hear what sounds like a painful moan coming from off to my left. The sound is very faint and I'm not sure I really heard it or imagined it.

With extreme effort, I hold my breath for a long moment to silence the noise of my chest while listening intently.

Silence is all that assails me.

With a deep gasp, I draw in a painful breath and take a few clumsy steps in the direction that I thought the sound might have come from. After taking less than twenty staggering steps, I stop and hold my breath for a second time. At first, all I hear is a soft wind slewing through the limbs before I realize that there isn't any wind on my face. Glancing around, I note that there isn't any movement in the branches either.

My heart skips a beat at the prospect of finding Eddy alive when all Hell suddenly breaks loose behind me.

Instinctively, I crouch and run for cover and then just as quickly realize the gunfire is coming from over by the mouth of the shaft. It's a mixture of automatic weapons and semi-automatic handguns with an occasional rifle shot from Lisa.

Then Larry opens up from the far side of the rock face, his weapon thundering repeatedly. Turning toward the fighting, I see rock dust flying off the face and realize that they're trying to pin him down while they rush Lisa's position on the ridge. I should be behind them, keeping them too busy to make a move on her.

Yet, Eddy needs me and I'm so close to finding her. That has to have been her trying to call to me right before all sound was drowned out by the gunfight.

My adrenaline pumping, I call out in the strongest voice I can muster, "I'll be back, Eddy. Hold on."

Even before the words have left my mouth, I am hurrying back toward the shaft, my heart tearing in two from leaving Eddy after being so close to finding her. But I can't leave Larry and Lisa hanging out to dry. They also need me and I made a promise to them too.

Breathing hard, I stumble from tree to tree, the magnum hanging loosely from my right hand. I have no idea where the strength to continue is coming from, but I ride it for all it's worth. It must be adrenaline forcing my feet to move as I step over fallen limbs and debris. In the back of my mind, I realize on some deep level that the sooner I take care of the bad guys, the sooner I can get back to Eddy.

Somewhere along the way, the blood soaked jacket sleeve comes loose from under my shirt and flops loosely out in front of my jacket.

Dimly, disconnected from rational thinking, I believe I'm looking at my intestines and that I need to put them back where they belong. And then, as my right hand comes up to do the deed, I suddenly realize that it's nothing more than a blood-drenched piece of fabric. Yanking it free, I nonchalantly drop it to the ground, not giving it anymore thought. My thoughts are too jumbled and confused for me to realize that without it the blood flow increases dramatically, hastening my journey to oblivion. In my present state of mind, I am oblivious to all but destroying enemy forces so that I can return to find Eddy.

### **61**

In a blur, the terrain flows by as my footsteps beat out an unsteady rhythm against the rocky ground. When I stumble and fall, I immediately get back up. My breath whistles in and out through my open mouth, the air burning all the way to my chest and back. And though my vision is blurry at the peripheral, my destination is clear.

When I intersect the trail just below the mine shaft proper, I stop and listen to the gunfire. But only for a moment to get my bearings before continuing on toward the shaft.

When the mine shaft suddenly breaks into view before me, I am somewhat surprised and even a little disappointed. Unlike the large theatrical opening in the side of the cliff that I was expecting, I am faced with a small hole covered over with old planks that have since been painted in many colorful words and artistry. The opening itself is less than three feet across and four feet tall, the planks having been secured in place with large rusty spikes driven into the rock face on either side of the opening.

Several of the boards have been pried loose in order to gain access, but it doesn't appear that anyone is currently inside. After their initial inspection turned up an empty shaft, they must have quickly realized this is a ruse to draw them out, or they caught us outside and we were forced to run into the woods.

The volume of footprints and their patterns of movement indicate that the mixture of agents and thugs milled around in front of the shaft while trying to decide on a plan of action. Some probably suspected a trap while others believed they just caught us off guard.

Trampled into the dirt amongst the footprints are a multitude of cigarette butts and other miscellaneous debris that just naturally falls to the ground whenever you have a large group of people standing idle for any length of time.

The entire assessment takes less time to reach than it does to cross the area. With the enemy directly ahead of me now, I know what I have to do and I don't have much time in which to do it. Each shot from Lisa's rifle might be her last, despite Larry's best efforts from above. It's imperative that I overtake them quickly and throw them off balance.

I am almost on top of the gunfire, when I suddenly hear a man cry out, ordering me to halt. Doing as instructed, I sway unsteadily on my feet, trying to pinpoint the source of the voice.

"Throw down your gun!" he yells, his voice coming from behind and to my left.

Again, I do as instructed, each passing second feeling like an eternity.

"Now turn around, slowly," he orders.

My legs unsteady, yet filled with determination, I slowly turn in the direction of the voice. Standing to the side of the trail, his suit exemplary for a high ranking official, yet completely out of place here in the deep woods of Northern California, is none other than Special Agent Vandekirk, evident by his name tag and badge adorning the front of his suit jacket.

"You must be Mac," he says with a crooked smile. "I thought that might be you up on the face, but I can see now that you're the type that needs to be in the thick of things."

"Before you shoot me, Special Agent Vandekirk," I rasp, reaching my right hand toward my left chest as if to stem the flow of blood.

"Don't move!" he suddenly shouts.

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm bleeding to death," I calmly inform him, realizing that he doesn't see the blood-covered nine-millimeter in my front waistband.

With my right elbow draped across my mid-section, I conceal the automatic while pressing against the wound in my chest to stymie the flow of blood and create enough pain to keep me alert. Due to the loss of blood, I feel tired, almost sleepy. It's becoming increasingly difficult to remain concerned.

"Loss of blood will be the least of your concerns in a moment," he says, stepping closer.

"Before you finish me off," I calmly say. "Answer me a question."

He hesitates for a moment as if considering the request, and then says, "What the Hell, it's not as if you're going to be telling anyone. What do you want to know?"

"Are you as high up the ladder as the corruption goes? Or are you taking your orders from someone above you?"

"I'm the top dog, not that it matters to you," he says, his voice reflecting the pride he takes at being on top of a corrupt group of men.

"By the way you say that, I tend to believe you," I calmly remark, lowering my head toward the ground as if I'm about to pass out, my right hand appearing to fall away from my wound.

In a blur, I jerk upright, the nine-millimeter barking even before my eyes can focus on my target. The sudden movement causes him to flinch, and his shot goes high while mine finds its mark. Yet, the semi-auto doesn't have the impact of the magnum and he continues standing upright, his eyes denying the shock of being shot as they lock on mine.

His mouth works as if he is going to say something, but no words come out, only a frothy blood. Unable to support the weight of his weapon, it falls from his limp fingers and clatters loudly on the rock strewn path. His eyes follow the weapon down in disbelief and confusion before coming back to mine as if begging me to explain what's happening.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I am increasingly aware that I can't just stand there. Too much time has already been wasted. The sound of gunfire from this direction will draw the attention of others and I need to be ready for them.

Turning, I see the magnum on the ground just a couple of feet up the trail and I lean forward to retrieve it. In my current position, I am too close to the base of the rock face for Larry to see me. And since Vandekirk and I both used the same type of weapon, Larry has no way of knowing what's going on directly below him. In fact, since he worked his way around the side of the rock face to put himself in a better position to assist Lisa, he has no idea that I abandoned my search for Eddy to assist them.

I abandoned my search for Eddy.

The thought is as sobering as being naked in a cold mountain stream.

For whatever reason, I suddenly turn back toward Vandekirk. He is leaning on his side on the ground, the fallen semi-automatic once again clutched in his hand. Although his life is quickly fading, he is determined not to die alone.

Without hesitation, I snap off a round from the magnum, the heavy lead bullet striking him in the center of his chest, the impact knocking him flat. This time he'll remain motionless where he lies.

Since my magnum has a unique sound that Larry will immediately recognize, I have no doubts that he realizes where I am and what I am doing. I just pray that Eddy can forgive me.

Not taking the time to reload, I set off on the path leading toward the dredge and the dry creek bed. The sound of gunfire has grown more sporadic since my encounter with Vandekirk and I suddenly realize that Larry's not the only one that knows I'm coming. But now, so do the others.

Yet, uncaring for my own safety, I stumble forward while hoping against hope that the flush of adrenaline lasts long enough to finish what I've started.

When I reach the edge of Larry's line of sight from above, I come across the first body, another of the hired thugs. A little farther on, I see a plaid shirt off to the side of the trail and almost take a shot before realizing that the man is already dead.

Because the gunfire is growing more sporadic and the shots more spaced out, I slow down and proceed with more caution. When I pass a small grouping of dead bodies comprised of two hired thugs and one federal agent, I notice that their weapons are missing. This tends to make me believe they didn't come as heavily armed as I had originally thought. The incendiary device used to clear the road might have been what they intended on using to clear out the mine shaft. But because of their large numbers, Vandekirk was overconfident as well as impatient, a combination that proved both deadly and fruitless.

Shifting the magnum to my left hand which can barely hold it, I reach up and feel the wound in my chest, surprised to note that the bleeding has actually subsided slightly despite my activity.

Taking the magnum back in my right hand, I grumble under my breath, "You're just too stupid to realize you've run out of blood."

When Lisa's rifle a few hundred feet ahead of me, the sound is followed by a rash of small caliber rounds. There is none of the fully automatic fire that was common just a short while ago. This behavior combined with the missing weapons from their dead comrades leads me to believe they're running low on ammunition. They've come to the realization that this isn't just a stroll through the city park where they take out the target and go home. This also means they have become much more dangerous.

Picking up the pace again, despite my best efforts to move cautiously, I come across two more dead thugs, both of them ripped open by a heavy slug from the fifty-caliber Sharps.

When I come across a large pool of blood in the middle of the path with no body near it, I force myself to proceed with more reserve even though it's increasingly difficult to contain the growing urgency within.

Moving as silently as is physically possible for my condition, I try desperately to hear every sound around me despite the pounding rush of my blood in my ears and the whistling of my breath through my mouth. My vision blurs in and out and the sun seems extremely bright. The only time I can see clearly is when I take a moment to squint back the sun and concentrate on focusing.

Suddenly, off the trail to my left near the base of the face, I hear what sounds like someone taking a deep sigh. Turning to face the noise, the magnum leveled, I see a man lying on the ground trying desperately not to be seen. His weapon is lying off to the side where someone dropped it after removing the clip. They probably assumed that he wouldn't have need of it much longer. He is clearly in worse shape than even me. Even if he was to receive medical help and soon, I have no doubt he is going to die.

Because the heavy slug came from above him and was traveling with a downward trajectory, it entered the top front of his right shoulder and continued down through his lung and out of his back, taking most of his right chest with it. All it left behind was a soupy mess of shattered flesh and bones. His right lung disintegrated from the impact while leaving his left lung exposed to the light of day. There is nothing left to support a human life.

When he went down, the others must have ran for cover at the foot of the rock face, possibly dragging the fatally wounded man with them before realizing the extent of his wounds. After seeing the damage that was done, they simply took his remaining ammunition and left him to die.

Realizing that he isn't a threat, I turn back in the direction that I was going and then suddenly stop when I see movement just ahead of me. If I wasn't in such rough shape, I would duck into the brush along the edge of the trail. But movement for me has become a slow and painful chore. Instead, I stand my ground, the magnum held at the ready, though the barrel is wavering unsteadily in my grip.

As the first man comes into view, I begin to squeeze the trigger when he suddenly cries out, his voice almost a panic.

Bewildered by his actions, I slowly relax my pull on the trigger, noticing that when I narrow my eyes to focus on him, he appears unarmed. In fact, he is holding his arms up to the side of his head with his fingers interlocked at the back of his head.

"Don't move," I try calling out, but barely manage a rasping, unintelligible sound.

My attempt isn't necessary, however, as he freezes in his tracks, his face a mask of fear and uncertainty. Directly behind him, several more men are coming down the trail. Like the man directly before me, they too have their hands held up to their heads.

When they also stop, causing a traffic jam on the trail, I grow aware of a female voice barking orders from behind them. There is a moment of confusion, as the ones in the rear are being threatened to move forward while the ones in front are being held at bay by a blood-soaked man barely able to stand.

Some small voice of reasoning still functioning in the back of my mind tells me to step aside and let them pass before the standoff escalates.

Stepping cautiously to the right, I indicate with a wave of the magnum for them to move toward their wounded comrade near the base of the rock face. Hesitantly, fearful of taking their eyes from me, they do as I instructed, stumbling over the terrain in their haste to stay clear of me.

Behind them, her voice loud and intimidating, comes Lisa, the rifle slung casually over her right shoulder, a nine-millimeter semi-automatic weapon in her left hand, a fully automatic that she appropriated from her prisoners held against her waist in her right hand. When she sees me standing beside the trail, her eyes immediately light up with a mixture of recognition and relief.

"Mac!" she cries out.

But then she just as quickly turns serious again when she realizes that I'm covered in blood. "Oh my God," she blurts, sprinting to me. "You've been shot."

My voice barely audible, I say, "You keep the prisoners here." Looking past her down the trail, I ask, "Is this all of them?"

Her face is streaked with mud and her clothes look as if they've been run through a shredder. Yet, except for a few deeper scratches on her legs and arms, she appears to be in good nick.

"Any left back there won't be giving us any problems," she states matter-of-factly with just the slightest hint of a smile.

Glancing toward the group of men, I notice that they're all of the hired thug sort. That leaves one federal agent unaccounted for. "Is there an agent back there?"

"Yes, my first," she soberly reflects. And then as if shrugging the thought off, changes the subject, "Larry's working his way down now. He shouldn't be long." When I don't respond, her voice takes on a nervous edge and she asks, "Where's Eddy? You have her standing guard somewhere?"

Out of guilt and embarrassment, I'm unable to tell her that I don't know where Eddy is. I am also too weak to explain, saying instead, "I'll go get her."

At that moment, I suddenly realize that Eddy might still be alive and I need to get to her. But should I wait for Larry to show me the way?

Time suddenly seems to fly forward and I'm overcome with renewed urgency. I have no doubt that Larry will explain everything to her when he gets down from the face. Right now, I need to find Eddy. I have fulfilled my commitment to Larry and Lisa. They're both fine and don't need me for anything more.

But at what cost? Has Eddy paid the ultimate price for my debt?

As I turn away, she says in a serious tone of voice, "You don't look like you should be walking. Why don't you stay here with these goons and I'll go get her?"

When I don't answer or acknowledge her, she says in a louder voice, "Tell you what, we'll just hook up this bunch with your bunch at the trailhead."

Without turning, I slip the magnum into my jacket pocket and raise my right hand in acknowledgement.

### **62**

It seems to take me an eternity to get back to the place where I was earlier, now easily identified by the trail of blood that I left behind.

"I am so sorry, Eddy," I rasp, leaning precariously against a sapling for support while growing more aware of the pain.

My life's blood is still seeping from the chest wound, but no longer the gushing stream that it was earlier. My breath, though ragged and painful, is still clear of blood, leading me to believe that my lungs, though severely bruised from the tree felling effort, are still intact. Yet, I wonder if my bleeding has turned internal, the bruised and battered flesh in my chest offering a path of less resistance to the flow of blood.

My mind, numbed from loss of blood, is thinking with surprising clarity and rationale. Already, it has accepted the fact that I am looking for Eddy's body and that there is little chance of her still being alive. If she was shot in the early stage of this campaign, as I now believe she must have been, there is also a good chance they finished her off before moving on. And if they didn't see a need to finish her off, it was because she was already dead.

The manner in which my mind is able to calmly accept these conclusions as fact troubles me. But it also reaffirms that I don't hold out much hope for my own survival. Losing Eddy would be much more troubling to me if I felt that I was going to survive and might be facing a future without her.

Turning and looking back along the route that brought me to this point after following Larry's guiding shot, I suddenly realize that in my troubled and traumatized mind that I'd headed off course earlier!

Without moving, I struggle to remember exactly where the sapling is that he clipped off with his fifty-caliber Sharps and then I think back to where I was working my way through the brush.

Calculating the two and following the trajectory with my eyes, I push off the willowy sapling that I'd been using for support and hobble in a direction that takes me toward the south and west.

When I break through a small stand of brush on the edge of a sharp descent into a shallow ravine, I lose my footing and grab out wildly for support.

But the brush slips through my bloody fingers and I feel myself falling headlong down the slope. The impact with the rocky scree at the bottom of the ravine knocks the breath out of me and sets my wound to bleeding with a vengeance.

For a long moment, I can't move, each inhalation causing sharp pains in my chest and down into my abdomen. With each beat of my heart, I can feel the blood spurting from the open wound in my chest. This time there is no disputing the fact that something tore loose.

On some level, I ask myself why I'm going on. Why am I torturing myself? Eddy is dead and my life is over. There is nothing left to strive for any longer. She was my life and without her, I am nothing.

Unable to bring myself to get up, I slowly roll over onto my back, the noonday sun bright in my eyes despite the darkening circles threatening to conceal it.

From far off in the distance, I hear Eddy's voice softly calling out for me, beckoning me to join her.

"I'm coming Eddy," I reply, smiling at the sweet sound of her voice. "I'm coming."

The sun is growing dimmer and the pain is fading when her voice comes to me again. "Mac! Mac, help me," it rasps, barely audible on the peripheral of my conscious mind.

This time no smile comes to my face as I recognize a deep pain in the voice calling out to me.

"Eddy," I rasp, my own voice barely a hoarse grunt as my heart suddenly beats harder.

A tear-filled voice calls out to me, pleading with me, "Mac, please. You've got to help me."

"Eddy!" I weakly cry out, my heart beginning to race madly at the realization that she's still alive! "Eddy, I'm here. I'm coming for you Eddy."

With every last ounce of will and determination, I force myself over onto my stomach and then laboriously push off from the rocky floor of the ravine. I almost make it to my feet before dropping back to my knees, the impact sending a sharp pain into my right knee and up my thigh.

But my body is already wracked with more pain than any human body should be subjected to and I push the new pain aside and struggle harder.

This time, I make it shakily to my feet, my head spinning dizzily from the exertion and the loss of blood. A lesser man would have given up and died a long time ago.

"Eddy," I rasp, a dark viscous liquid suddenly erupting up my throat, filling my mouth and causing me to gag violently. For a moment I choke it back and then a harsh cough erupts causing something to tear deep down in my bowels.

Yet, I am so close to finding Eddy, I can't let anything stop me.

"Mac," she whispers, her voice coming from the far side of the ravine where all I can see at first are a slew of larger boulders piled haphazardly against the side of the bank.

When I lift my right foot to step over a rock, it doesn't respond and I stumble forward, barely maintaining my balance before abruptly stopping.

Looking toward the place where I thought I heard her voice coming from, I suddenly realize that one of the smaller rocks is darker than those surrounding it and it isn't my eyes playing tricks on me. The darker rock is splashed with blood!

"Eddy," I whimper, a freshet of tears further blurring my vision and mixing with the cold sweat pouring down my forehead.

Dragging my right foot over the rocks, I stumble forward until I reach the nearest of the larger boulders. Falling against it and using it to hold myself upright, I'm aware of Eddy lying on the far side and immediately set off pushing and dragging myself around its perimeter.

When she hears me shuffling along the rock, her eyes open and she sees me coming toward her. She's lying on her back, the front of her down vest stained a dark crimson, the ground beneath and downhill from where she is lying is also colored the same deathly shade. It's immediately obvious to me that she's been lying here in pain and losing blood for some time. I'm suddenly overcome with guilt for not reaching her sooner.

As I reach her side of the boulder, my hands slide down the rough surface, and I land on my knees next to her. "Oh Eddy, please forgive me," I cry, tears running down my face.

Her hands rise up as if yearning to embrace me. "Mac, please, just hold me," she pleads, her face calm and at peace.

Leaning over her, careful not to put any pressure on her chest, I place my hands beneath her head and lay my face next to hers. "I'm so sorry, Eddy," I rasp.

When her grip on me loosens, I hesitantly pull back, fighting the need to lie down beside her and rest. Carefully, I undo her vest to get to the wound. Before I can finish with my clumsy efforts, she takes my hand in hers and smiles at me, saying, "It's okay, Mac. Just stay with me, please."

"I'll never leave you again. I promise," I say, fighting the urge to clear my throat.

When her eyes slowly drift shut, my worst fears turn to panic and I cry out, "Eddy!"

Immediately, her eyes flutter open and she smiles back at me, "It's okay Mac, I'm just resting. I'm so tired. I'll be fine in a minute."

Yet, I know she won't be fine. If she goes to sleep, she'll never be fine again.

"Help will be here soon Eddy. You need to hang on a little while longer," I beg of her.

"They never gave me a chance, Mac," she says, her voice apologetic. "I'm sorry that I let you down."

"You've never let me down, Baby," I cry, tears continuing to run unabated down my face.

Her hand reaches my cheek and she softly wipes at my tears with a dirty and bruised thumb. "I love you Mac."

"Eddy, there's something I've been wanting to ask you," I say, keeping her attention focused on me.

"What Mac? What did you want to ask me?"

Even now, with all that has happened, I have a hard time mouthing the words. What I am about to ask her will be for all eternity.

Reaching into the front right pocket of my jeans, I slowly wrestle out a folded piece of paper now soggy with my blood. Wrapped in the soggy paper is a shiny piece of jewelry. Wiping it on a portion of my jacket that's still void of blood and dirt, I take Eddy's left hand in mine and carefully slip it on her wedding finger, saying, "Eddy, will you have me for all eternity?"

She doesn't say anything for the longest time and I begin to worry that I'm too late. Then, she suddenly smiles up at me and says, "You dog. Of course I'll marry you."

### **63**

The effort of removing the ring from my front pocket sapped the last of my reserves and I slump down on the rocky scree beside her with my elbow propped beneath me. We hold each other's hands for a long while, both of us too weak to speak, even if there were words to describe what we were going through.

When my upper body strength finally fails me, I drop down next to her, drawing comfort from her nearness. In the distance, I can hear the thumping sound of a large helicopter.

"They're coming, Eddy," I rasp, choking on my own blood. "I told you help was on the way."

The darkness is quickly closing in and Eddy doesn't answer me. No longer do I feel any pain. I can rest now, the battle is over.

"Mac! Eddy!"

That's Larry's voice. I can hear him scrambling down the far bank but I no longer have either the strength or desire to look.

Another voice, a woman's, suddenly cries out, "Oh my God!"

It takes a tremendous effort, but I force my eyes to open. Lisa is leaning over me. I try to tell her that it's all right, that it's not as bad as it looks. She's a field medic, she should know it never is. But the effort only causes me to gag and cough up more blood.

"What should I do?" Lisa asks, her voice remarkably calm, all things considered.

She has turned out to be quite the woman. Larry could do a lot worse. I'll have to remember to tell him that before he lets her get away.

"We need to clear his airway and reflate the lung. Hopefully, the medics on the chopper have blood. He's lost more than any man I've ever known and still be alive," he adds with pride.

"Eddy. Why isn't he talking to Eddy? Don't worry about me, look after Eddy!" my mind screams.

They need to look after her. She needs their help more than I do. But no matter how hard I try, nothing comes out, my voice remains silent.

Lisa tilts my head to the side, away from Eddy. The next thing I know there's another sharp pain stabbing into my chest, and then everything goes dark.

### **64**

I awake to darkness, the cot beneath me hard and smelling of disinfectant. Experience tells me that I am in a hospital room. Though it's difficult, I can turn my head slightly and even in the darkness, I see lots of little lights and an accumulation of equipment. I must be in an Intensive Care Unit. My first cognitive thought is that I'm not dead. Somehow, I survived.

"Eddy. Oh, poor Eddy, I am so sorry," I softly moan, only to discover that there's a large tube entering my mouth and going down my throat.

When I try to swallow, it feels as if I have something caught in my windpipe. Yet, I am breathing. Or am I?

In a glass cylinder to my right is an apparatus that looks like a pump for a raft. Up and down it goes, each stroke happening in rhythm with the rise and fall of my chest.

The thought that I'm on a ventilator strikes me as peculiar, since I can breathe on my own. Breathing is as natural as sex, after all.

Raising my right hand and holding it up before my face, I grab hold of the tube going into my mouth and pull on it. It resists at first, and then slowly comes loose, the tape securing it to my face sticking in my facial hair.

As the last of it comes free, I toss it to the side and then grab the handrail, intent on getting out of this bed and finding Eddy. But even this little effort seems to have zapped all of my strength. I am much weaker than I realized.

The flow of air through my mouth and throat feels almost foreign and I feel a strong desire for water. I'm so thirsty.

With my hand still on the bed rail, I determinedly clench down and try my damnedest to rise. The pain that assails me causes my vision to blur and darken as my body suddenly goes limp.

Whatever I did has triggered an alarm on one of the monitors. While I'm still waiting for my vision to clear, several nurses and a doctor come rushing into the room. Like a trained quartet, each man's their respective duty station while informing the others of their prognostics and discoveries.

"Mr. McClain," the doctor finally says, adjusting the IV drip while smiling down at me. "You're an impatient man, Mr. McClain. It's fortunate that you're lungs were ready to go back to work on their own. Although, it might be a good idea to keep you on oxygen for a little while longer, we don't want to encourage your chances for contracting pneumonia now, do we," he says calmly, while one of the nurses fits an oxygen feed under my nose.

Another one of the nurses holds a glass of water with a straw for me to suck on. I gratefully accept and nod my gratitude when she takes it away.

"How are you feeling?" the doctor asks, standing patiently by the side of the bed as if he doesn't know and is sincerely interested in my answer. "You've been through quite a traumatic ordeal."

"Eddy," I rasp, the effort of speech searing my throat. "Where's Eddy? Is she all right?"

Seeing the pain that my effort to speak has caused, the nurse quickly retrieves the glass of water and places the straw carefully between my lips for me to drink from again. I never knew water could taste so good.

For a long moment, the doctor remains silent, his face appearing drawn out and tired.

He looks to the charge nurse and asks, "Do you know this Eddy that he asks about?"

"I believe that's the woman that came in with him," she answers unemotionally, my eyes trying desperately to get her to say more.

He looks at me then and says, "I'm sorry, Mr. McClain, but I'm not familiar with her case. I'll have to have one of the staff check on her for you."

"That's okay, Doctor Jamison. I'll take care of it," the charge nurse says, smiling bravely at me.

"Please," I rasp, trying to pull myself up into a sitting position.

"Now, now," she soothes, pushing me gently back down. "You've suffered a lot of internal damage. It's going to take some time for it all to heal. You need to relax and let nature take its course. Do you understand, Mr. McClain?"

"Please, I have to know how Eddy's doing," I plead, no longer trying to get out of the bed.

She looks inquiringly at the doctor for a moment before he nods and says, "Everything is looking good here." Then he looks back at me and says, "If you need anything Mr. McClain, just press the buzzer. The nurse will drape it on the rail for you."

Before he leaves, he makes several notes in a chart hanging at the foot of the bed and then informs the charge nurse, "If everything continues to improve, we should be able to move him out of ICU within a day or so."

"Yes, Doctor," she replies, as the four of them head out of the room.

Shortly after their departure, I doze off, my body exhausted from the short time I've been awake. Although no one has told me how long I've been here, based on the growth of beard covering the lower half of my face, it's been at least a week, possibly longer.

My sleep is fitful, filled with tormented visions of Eddy lying in the ravine, her body viciously ravaged by wild animals and vultures. Then she is alive and well and we are making love in a motel. And then she is back in the ravine, drowning in a pool of her own blood.

After what seems like days of fitful, tormented dreams, I am awakened by the voice of the charge nurse calling my name. "Mr. McClain. Mr. McClain, it's nurse Rogers. I hope you don't mind, but I brought you a visitor."

When my eyes first open, all I can see is the charge nurse standing by the foot of the bed. "Who's here?" I mumble, unable to see anyone else in the room.

"It's me, Mac," comes the sweetest voice I've ever heard. "I'm right here," she adds, her hand reaching up through the railing from beside the bed where she is sitting in a wheel chair.

When her fingers interlock in mine, I realize immediately that I'm not dreaming. This is reality and tears suddenly stream from my eyes.

### Epilogue

As it turned out, Eddy caught a bullet in the upper back as she was working her way along the ravine. The bullet did some nerve damage, but with therapy and surgeries, she is expected to have a full recovery.

My own wounds were much more serious, as I not only lost more blood than previously believed possible and still live, I had extensive internal injuries even before the bullet wound that nicked my left lung. But with time and therapy, I too am expected to make a full recovery.

Lisa suffered only superficial nicks and scrapes, while Larry didn't even suffer that much. He escaped the whole ordeal with only blisters on his fingers from scaling the rocky face.

With regards to the corrupt federal agents, the only one to survive was the one that I tied up in the brush along the creek bed. He eventually cut himself loose on the rocks, stumbling out to the clearing just as the U.S. Marshals arrived.

In a plea arrangement, he was given a new identity in exchange for his testimony against his fallen comrades and the crime family. In conjunction with Jane Domingo's evidence and testimony, the justice department executed a massive sweep, rounding up all the major players and putting the family out of business for good.

Of course, even though Larry, Lisa, Eddy, and I were given immunity from prosecution for our testimony, which is very limited, there are still a few in places of power that would like to see our hides hung out to dry, calling us vigilantes and referring to our actions as bordering on terrorism.

And on that note, I will wrap this tale up.

Eddy and I were married in a joint ceremony with Larry and Lisa. We have since moved to places unknown, and with my prior retirement investments, have left the mercenary business behind.

Oh, we may take the occasional pro-bono case for Greg or Gina, but nothing that involves guns. We are only doing simple surveillance or process serving.

Thanks in large part to Eddy's influence over me, we no longer partake of that fine delectable nectar from the West Indies. Instead, we have developed a taste for the sweet fruit of a select winery in the Napa Valley region of California.

### THE END

More by Will Decker:

DRIVEN

UNREQUITED LOVE

FIRE BABY

HYBRID KILLERS

The 'HEÄLF' Collection:

MORTALITY REVISITED

CLONE WARS

DAY OF NIGHT

REGENERATIONS

HORSPAW

The 'Mac" Collection:

THE WITNESS

TOXIC RAIN

BETRAYAL

RECORD KEEPER

DEATH IN THE DUNES

WIT-SEC FAIL

SIMPLY PERFECT BINDING 2ND Ed.

If you enjoyed this book, please take a moment to leave a review.

Authors starve or eat based on reviews. Thanking you from the pit of my stomach, WILL

