Smoky Mountain Setup. Пола Грейвс
someone who fit his description and spoke with a Southern accent, had withdrawn $5,000 out of a savings account she’d set up almost two years ago, back when the relationship between her and her FBI partner had been going strong.
Before the disaster in Richmond.
But if it really was Landry who’d withdrawn the money from the account, where the hell had he been for the past year?
* * *
THE CHILL IN the air had grown bitter as the cold front rolled in, sending the temperature plunging. Overhead, clouds hung low and heavy, threatening snow.
The bank in Barrowville hadn’t given him any trouble with the withdrawal, so clearly Olivia hadn’t removed his name from the account.
Maybe that was a good sign.
He pedaled harder as the newly purchased thrift-store bike started uphill on Deception Lake Road. Getting her new address had been easy enough—he’d asked for and received the latest copy of the bank statement, which included her home address in Purgatory, Tennessee.
It had been a little too easy, really. What if he’d been an ex-boyfriend stalking her?
Isn’t that sort of what you are? The mean voice in his head was back.
Fine, he thought. I’m her ex-boyfriend. And I’m about to drop by her place unannounced. And I’m armed.
But the last thing he’d ever do was hurt Olivia, no matter how badly she’d hurt him. He just needed to talk to her. He might not be sure he could trust her, but he knew there was nobody else he could trust.
He’d learned that painful truth the hard way.
By the time he reached the turnoff to Perdition Gap, sleet had begun to fall, making crackling noises where the icy pellets hit the fallen leaves blanketing the roadside. He picked up speed as the road dipped downhill toward the narrow gorge cut into the mountains by Ketoowee River, hurried along by the bitter westerly wind that drove sleet like needle pricks into his bare cheeks.
He’d made his choice. Set himself on a course it was too late to alter, at least for today. Snow was coming, and he had to find shelter soon.
And the cabin looming out of the curling fog ahead was his only choice, for good or for bad.
There was a car parked on the gravel driveway, the same sleek black Mazda she’d driven when they had been together. It gave him pause, the sight of something so achingly familiar in a world that had turned alien on him almost two years ago.
He dismounted the bicycle and walked it slowly up the driveway, still staring at the Mazda, noting a tiny ding in the right front panel that hadn’t been there the last time he’d seen it. And there was a small parking decal on the front windshield, as well.
The sound of a door opening drew his gaze back to the house.
She stood there in the doorway, dressed in jeans and a snug blue sweater that hugged her curves like a lover. In one hand she held a Mossberg shotgun at her side. He knew from experience that she could whip that thing up and fire before he could reach for the pistol tucked in his ankle holster, so he froze in place.
He realized he could see her better than she could see him. He was bundled up against the cold and damp, a scarf wrapped around the lower part of his face and a bike helmet perched atop his head.
“Hey there, Sharp.”
She stopped short.
“Sorry to drop by without calling,” he added, moving slowly toward her again, pushing his bike closer to the cabin.
She took a few steps closer to the porch steps, a tall, fierce warrior of a woman blocking the entry. “So it was you at the bank.”
He stopped at the bottom of the steps and looked up at her. God, she was beautiful, he thought, taking in the perfect cheekbones, the snapping blue eyes and the windblown blond waves framing her face. She’d cut her hair since they’d worked together. The short style suited her.
“It was,” he admitted. “I was afraid you’d closed the account, but I thought I’d take a chance.”
“Is that how you found me? Through the bank?”
“Your address was on the account.”
“And you found a way to get the teller to show it to you.” The faintest hint of a smile made the corners of her mouth twitch.
“I did.”
She took a deep breath and released it. “But now you’ve left a paper trail. You have to know it won’t take long for people to connect you to me and come looking for you.”
“It was a calculated risk.” He was beginning to feel a potent sense of unreality, standing here in the cold, gazing at a woman he’d once loved more than anyone or anything in his life.
Sometimes, he thought he still did.
“You should turn yourself in.”
“Already tried that,” he said bluntly, the heat of old anger driving away some of the cold. “Ended up chained in a backwoods cabin for a month. You’ll forgive me if I’m not eager to try it again.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Is that supposed to be a joke?”
“No. Believe me, there was nothing funny about it.” The phantom sting in his wrists returned. He tried to ignore the sensation, hating the frisson of dread that jolted through him each time he experienced the burning pain.
“You look cold.”
He couldn’t stop a wry laugh, looking around him at the light snowfall. “You think?”
She made a huffing noise but stepped back, opening a path to her door. “Get inside before you freeze.”
He grabbed the used duffel full of thrift-store clothes and climbed the stairs slowly, keeping an eye on her and her Mossberg. She didn’t look as if she was inclined to shoot him where he stood, but a lot had changed between them since Richmond.
She entered the cabin, leaving the door open for him. A wave of delicious warmth washed over him when he entered, and he quickly closed the door to shut out the cold.
As he started to turn around, he felt cold steel against his neck.
“Put your hands on the door where I can see them.” Olivia’s voice was calm and cool. “And spread your legs.”
“I’m armed,” he warned her as he dropped the duffel bag and complied.
“I figured as much.” She started to pat him down, her hands moving quickly over his arms, then slowing as she reached his waist. He couldn’t quell a shiver of pure sensual awareness as she slid her hands over his hips. “You’ve lost weight.”
“Meals have been hard to come by recently.”
She discovered the pistol stashed in his ankle holster and relieved him of it. “Where have you been?”
“Here and there.” He felt her retreat, cool air replacing the warmth of her body. “Can I turn around now?”
“Knock yourself out.”
He turned to find her emptying the magazine of his Kel-Tec P-11 onto a rolltop desk by the wall. His duffel bag was on the floor by her feet. “Is that really necessary?” he asked with a nod toward the pile of ammunition.
“For now.” She removed the round in the chamber and added it to the pile of ammo on the desk before she set the pistol down and turned her cool blue gaze on Landry. “Why did you come here?”
“Nice seeing you again, too, Sharp. It’s been such a long time.”
She shook her head, her eyes narrowing. “You disappeared nearly a year ago after McKenna Rigsby’s undercover mission went very wrong. At least one corrupt FBI agent has gone missing, and the Bureau is scrambling like crazy to find out what other agents