Warrior Without A Cause. Nancy Gideon
“So how do you know Stan?”
“What did he tell you?”
“He did a lot of talking but never really answered my question.”
Jack nodded his approval and for a minute Tessa didn’t think he would answer. Then, with a casual shrug, he said, “He and my father were partners on the force a lot of years ago.”
“The police force?” Why did the notion of Jack coming from a law enforcement family surprise her so? Because usually law and order was passed on as a tradition. Apparently not in his family.
“You said you owed him.”
“I said too much,” he muttered, but he didn’t withhold the information. “About twenty years ago they got caught in a cross fire. My dad was hit. Bad. Stan could have left him and gotten to safety but he didn’t. He stayed at my dad’s side, keeping him from bleeding to death, keeping the scumbags off until reinforcements showed up. He rode with him to the hospital and later broke the news to us that Dad had been shot and would never walk again. Stan stayed with my dad through therapy and bankruptcy—with a whole lot more loyalty than my mom who figured the going wasn’t going to get any better so she got going and never looked back. They don’t come any better than Stan Kovacs in my book. That answer your question?”
And then some.
“Stan said your call sign was Lone Wolf. That sounds a little…”
“Unfriendly? Aboriginal?” he finished for her. His tone hadn’t changed but a certain tightness sharpened the edges of his swarthy features until she could see the hint of American Indian in the sculpted highs and lows. “On my mother’s side, way back. Just enough so I could run a casino if I wanted to. But that’s not where I got the moniker. Lone Wolf isn’t my Indian name, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“Where did you get it?”
“From my enemies, because I prefer to hunt alone. And I prefer my own company to those who never seem to run out of nosy questions that are none of their business.”
Well, he didn’t need to put a finer point on it than that.
The rest of their drive passed in a taut silence.
In the lull, it was easy for Tessa to drift into a sleep-deprived REM state. She’d only meant to close her eyes for a moment but when she blinked them open, it was to find that man-made structures had given way to soaring examples of nature’s architecture. Spreading oaks ablaze with color, ramrod-straight pines standing at attention and ghostly poplars with their pale white trunks and flutter of graceful yellow leaves lined a two-lane highway upon which they were the only travelers. She’d fallen asleep in the inner city and had awakened to a deeply forested Oz.
Tessa leaned away from the window where her cheek had left a circular print and immediately checked for any trace of embarrassing drool. Chaney caught the movement and quirked a smile in her direction.
“You snore.”
Great. Just the kind of intimate details she wanted known from the maddeningly enigmatic man beside her.
“Not usually.”
“You should never let your guard down so completely, even around those you think you can trust.”
His remark needled more than it instructed. Her reply was curt.
“I’ll keep one eye open from now on.”
“I always do.” Then he added ominously, “I would if I were in your position.”
All sense of security fell away at that cool observation. She wasn’t safe. Not even here with this man she’d hired to protect her and to teach her to protect herself.
He was right. She trusted too easily, in unfamiliar situations, with unknown strangers. She’d grown up to privilege, private schools, safe streets and a good job. The closest she ever came to the seamier side of life was in the courtroom. She’d never had reason to check her back seat before getting in or to glance into shadowed alleyways anticipating a threat.
Until now.
Sitting stiff and duly chastised, she looked around, observing her surroundings. She was Little Red Riding Hood to his huntsman and there was no grandmother’s house in sight.
“Are we—”
“There yet?” he finished for her. “Almost. It takes about fifteen minutes to the front door once we leave the highway.”
Fifteen minutes to reach what? Exactly where was he taking her? Her lack of preparatory knowledge came back to haunt her. She’d been in such a hurry to leave her fears behind, she’d forgotten to ask what she’d be walking into. Or driving into. And since she’d seen fit to naively snooze the better part of the drive away, she had no idea where “there” might be. North, he’d said. There was a lot of North in Michigan.
When Chaney finally left the highway for the fifteen-minute last leg of the journey, it wasn’t to pull onto a paved street. At first glance she hadn’t even seen a break in the trees to indicate there was a road. Two-track, she believed best described the spine-jarring roller coaster of dust and sudden dips. Stray branches scraped against the sides of the vehicle as they bounced along the twin ruts cut deeply into uneven ground. It wasn’t an obstacle course her Lexus would have appreciated.
Tessa clung to the door handle with one hand and braced her other palm against the dash as Tinker’s carrier slid back and forth between her firmly planted feet. She locked her ankles tight on either side of the case hoping the suspiciously silent tabby hadn’t already had the stuffings shaken out of him.
Then the Ram made a sudden turn and Chaney’s compound appeared as if hewn out of the forest. Her mouth dropped open in helpless awe.
North woods had conjured up the image of rustic in her mind’s eye. A log cabin, hopefully with indoor plumbing. But Jack Chaney’s retreat was a veritable fortress in the wilderness. Squares and turrets of stone and log collided with huge ultramodern walls of glass and steel in what should have been a jarring juxtaposition. It wasn’t. Pulled together under long sloping roofs of rough-hewn wood shingles, the massive structure seemed to blend with the rugged surroundings, easing the stark modernistic elements back to the basics of quarried rock and peeled timber. Only the high-tech satellite dish broke the harmony of new age and natural beauty. Tessa perked up. Not Club Med, perhaps, but certainly a far cry from the dour cabins she remembered from camp. Chaney’s dwelling was huge, impressive, and as Jack wheeled the vehicle to the left, obviously not her destination.
They jounced down another dirt-and-gravel track until they reached a footbridge that spanned a winding stream. On the other side squatted a single-story barracks of log and stone. No soaring vistas, no dish TV. Just the raw basics of survival.
Welcome back, Camp Minnetonka.
Prepared to grin and bear it, Tessa climbed out of the truck and took a minute to twist and stretch her back. There was a brief stab of discomfort where a rib was still healing. She made the movements easier, babying the hurt. As she glanced to the right, through a parting of the trees, she could just make out one of the massive stone porches running along the side of the main house. She blinked and began to frown in uncertainty of what she was seeing.
There on the porch, just on the edge of the shadows, stood a small, slender girl of about twelve years old. In the muting tones of near twilight, all she could make out was the fact that the girl was Hispanic. As Tessa stared in surprise at finding a child in Jack Chaney’s home, her astonishment doubled as a woman appeared to place her hands on the girl’s shoulders to steer her back inside.
Just as it had never occurred to Tessa that Jack might live in a forest paradise, she’d never once considered that he might not live alone.
Chapter 3
Stark and utilitarian. Scout camp revisited.
Tessa tried to keep the dismay