Holiday Mountain Conspiracy. Liz Shoaf
she found herself in, but worried sick about Bobby. As far as she knew, her brother was a simple computer analyst with the CIA. They had lured him in straight after school by offering to pay off his college loans if he’d work for them for five years. Mary Grace had advised him against it because she knew how naive Bobby was and how political the CIA had become. She offered to help him until he got established, but he was determined to make it on his own.
After rubbing a hand over her wound to make sure it wasn’t bleeding, she picked up the lantern and held it high, checking out the cellar. It wasn’t very large—about half the length of the cabin. Both the walls and floor were constructed with hard-packed dirt, but the interesting thing was the canned food and water stored on crude shelves built against the wall. Matches, several more lanterns and a first-aid kit were there if needed.
Settling her back against the wall, she kept the gun in her hand and her ears peeled for any sound coming from upstairs. Both Krieger and Tink snuggled beside her, and she decided to review the information she had so far. It helped to keep her calm and her mind from wondering whether Ned was okay out there on that freezing, fierce mountain with killers running loose.
She knew next to nothing about the man living on this mountain in the middle of nowhere. Was Ned his real name, and what was his last name? What did he do for a living? Her reporter’s curiosity had been roused and she knew from experience that she wouldn’t stop until she found out everything there was to know about the man.
In her mind’s eye, she went over what she’d seen of the cabin, searching for clues. The place itself wasn’t much to look at. Log walls. A tiny kitchen/living area. The bed she’d lain in was pushed against the wall and there was one door, besides the obvious front door, that probably led to the bathroom.
What struck her was the neatness of the place. It made her think of military precision. An old couch with a ratty afghan folded across the back sat in the middle of the living area. A coffee table squatted in front of the couch, but there were no side tables. No computers or TV anywhere. Mary Grace’s eyes narrowed as she remembered seeing a large landscape painting hanging on the wall beside the bed. She had only glanced at it, but the quality seemed out of sync with the cabin, so she filed the information away. In the past, she’d broken stories wide open by taking note of the smallest details.
She shivered and both dogs snuggled closer. She knew she should do a better check on her wound, but she didn’t want to lose the warmth of the animals.
Chewing her lower lip, she tried not to worry about Bobby, but she couldn’t stop herself. He was the only family that counted outside of Gram Ramsey. She still prayed for her mother and stepfather, but had pretty much given up hope of them overcoming their gambling addiction. She smiled as she thought of her grandmother. The older woman was a spitfire and Mary Grace knew this time of year the old historic house would be traditionally festooned with Christmas decorations—a lot of them made by Mary Grace and Bobby when they were kids—and a huge live tree. Gram stood about five feet two inches in her stockings, but her strong will and absolute faith made her seem ten feet tall. She had withstood the tests of time with an elegance that Mary Grace could only aspire to.
A scratching noise upstairs jerked her out of her musings. Krieger got to his feet and quietly stood at the foot of the stairs. Reacting quickly, Mary Grace clamped a hand over Tinker Bell’s snout before the dog could bark. She held her breath and heard a shuffling noise that sounded like someone walking through the remains of the cabin. Whoever it was stopped at the top of the stairs.
She held Tink up to her face. “Shh. Don’t bark. Please.”
Slowly, she released her hand, and when she was sure her dog would stay quiet, she scrambled to her feet, ignoring the pain in her side, and crossed to stand beside Krieger. She willed her hands to stay steady as she lifted the gun and held it with both hands toward the small hidden door at the top of the stairs. It hadn’t been long since Ned left, and it could be him returning, but what if it wasn’t?
The panel started to open, and she tightened her grip on the gun, ready to stop the killer.
Standing from his crouch over the footprints he’d discovered circling around to the back of the cabin, Ned’s head had snapped up and his body tensed when he heard a snowmobile coming toward the front. Sound carried differently in the mountains and there was no way of knowing how close it was. By the time he raced around the structure, someone had already entered the cabin.
His pulse pounded as he called on years of training and forced himself to relax. He slowly mounted the steps, then sidestepped the front door, which hung by the top two hinges.
“Uncle Ned?”
The tentative, fear-filled words froze the blood in his veins.
He’d warned his family to stay away from the cabin until he notified them, but his niece, Fran, was an intelligent, determined twenty-four-year-old woman currently working on her master’s in advertising. What scared him was that his niece was on the mountain at the same time as the killer. He stared at her, standing in front of the open panel that led to the hidden basement. He didn’t know if Mary Grace would realize Fran was friendly, but before he could control the situation, Krieger bounded out of the opening with the woman on his heels, the rat dog tucked under one arm and the gun in the opposite hand. He was relieved to see the weapon quickly lowered to her right side.
Fear stamped on her face, Fran glanced between the two of them, then dropped her gaze to the gun in Mary Grace’s hand.
“Uncle Ned?”
“Aye, niece, I’m here. Everything’s okay.”
He opened his arms and Fran flew against his chest. She shivered for a few minutes, then pulled away. Propping her hands on slim hips, she attempted to show bravado, but Ned could see the fear lingering in her eyes.
“It looks like you’ve gotten yourself into a real mess this time.” She slanted a questioning look toward Mary Grace. “Wait till I tell Mom and Grandfather.”
Ned shook his head and went along with her stab at courage. “Ye and yer mother canna seem to stay out of my business. ’Tis embarrassing.”
With a triumphant glint in her eyes, Mary Grace scooted forward and he gently took the gun from her hand when she got close enough to get in his face.
“I knew you had a Scottish background. I just knew it.”
She appeared very pleased with herself until Ned cut a sharp glance toward Fran, sending her a message to keep quiet about his private life.
Mary Grace took a step back, folded her arms across her chest and tapped her foot. “I saw that.”
He ignored her astute observation and addressed his niece. “Sweetheart, I know you’re a grown, independent woman, living at home while you work on getting your master’s, but does your mother know you’re here? You know she worries.” Fran might be twenty-four years old, but she still managed that sweet, pleading look that always turned his heart to mush. He lifted a hand.
“Never mind. We have to get off this mountain. I’m pretty sure the guy who bombed the cabin is gone, but there’s no way to be certain.”
Both ladies tensed, and he could almost smell their fear return. He mentally shook his head. How, after meticulous planning and patiently waiting, had these two women ended up in his cabin at the exact moment his enemy had decided to attack? If it was indeed his enemy and not Mary Grace’s. It was implausible, at least concerning Mary Grace. But she was connected to all of this through her brother.
He had to track down Bobby Lancaster and he needed Mary Grace to make that happen.
“Did you check your wound?” Her hesitation answered his question. “Do it now and do it fast. We’re leaving in ten minutes.” He turned to Fran as Mary Grace flew back down the stairs to the basement. “Did you see anyone on your way up the mountain?”
Fran’s eyes