Conceal, Protect - By Carol Ericson Page 0,66
J.D. would be on his way.
Why wouldn’t they let her go? What was she going to do, report them to the small-town sheriff? They’d figure they would be long gone before she returned to the ranch or town to tell anyone.
Prospero could regroup and take the plans back, or that scientist who developed the anti-drone could develop an anti-anti-drone. This sort of thing must go on all the time.
She squeezed her eyes shut to burn those justifications into her brain. She didn’t want to make it any easier for arms dealers and terrorists to ply their deadly trade, but she had to save Ted. And she just might end up saving J.D., too.
Clutching her jacket to her chest, she crept back to the love seat. His face, which had been tight with nervous energy, had relaxed and the lines had melted away. Leaning forward, she kissed his brow, then his mouth.
She whispered, “I hope we have a chance to figure out all this between us—unless you can’t forgive me for messing up your plans. But for once, I needed to take control and make my own plans.”
She backed away from him and spun toward the front door, tears blurring her vision. She snapped the door behind her and climbed into her truck.
The text she’d received earlier, and had hidden from J.D., had instructed her to drive north on the highway until she got to the fifteen-mile marker. Then she was supposed to park and wait.
She pulled away from the ranch and the half-finished porch. Would J.D. stay to complete it? Would she live to see it completed?
The fifteen-mile marker came too soon, and she pulled into the turnout just as a light snow began to drift from the sky. She cut the engine and the lights and placed both hands on the steering wheel, waiting.
The car slipped up behind her, emerging seamlessly from the snow. She had her instructions.
Grabbing her purse from the seat beside her, she shouldered open the door of the truck and planted one booted foot on the icy gravel.
The car flashed its lights once, and she headed for the twin beams skewering the night. She trudged up to the left-rear door of the Jeep and tugged on the handle.
When the door swung open, warmth and the scent of that now-familiar men’s cologne wafted from the interior.
“Get in.”
She recognized the voice from the phone. She dropped to the leather seat, her upper arm bumping the gun trained on her.
She gasped and jerked away.
The driver adjusted the rearview mirror, and she met his gaze, peering at her from a slit in a black ski mask—just like the ones Alex’s killers had worn. “Don’t worry, Noelle. We’re not going to hurt you...unless someone followed you.”
“Nobody followed me.”
The low rumble of the engine roared to life and the car crawled past her truck. The front passenger window whisked down and the driver leaned across the seat and pointed at a dark object out the window.
The truck seemed to implode and disintegrate, and Noelle didn’t hear a thing. The only sign that a two-ton vehicle had been parked there was a smoldering heap of scrap metal and a gust of black smoke fighting to rise through the snow.
Zendaris obviously made good use of the high-tech weapons he bought and sold in hotel rooms, caves and presidential palaces.
The driver chuckled. “I can tell by your reaction there was no one in the truck. We’re off to a great start.”
“Have you hurt my brother?”
“Your brother may have been a little hurt to discover the woman with whom he’d been sharing his nights wanted something more than his body, but other than that—” his shoulders rose and fell “—he’s fine.”
“I’m just warning you now. I don’t remember any verbal password. I do remember a series of words, names and phrases Abby had me speak into the computer mic, but that was almost six months ago.”
“We have ways of...helping you remember.”
“I don’t think you’re going to torture it out of me.” She shoved her hands in her pockets so the gun-wielding passenger beside her couldn’t see them tremble.
“Torture?” He clicked his tongue. “You’ve been listening to your cowboy bodyguard too much. Who is he?”
She may have just drugged J.D. and ruined his chances of getting closer to Zendaris, but she had no intention of outing him.
“He’s an old friend of the family, a former marine who’s been drifting the past few years. He just came along at the right time.”
“Or the wrong time. If he