Landlocked, page 11
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Nothing’s wrong. I-I want to tell you…”
A sound at the back of the house drew his attention. They both sat up, listening. More rustling came from the yard and then a crash. Logan jumped out of bed, stepping into his trousers.
“Stay here,” he said.
She stripped the gun safe key from her neck and held it out to him. “Let me get dressed. I’ll come with you.”
“Stay here, Kate. Stay with Marcus.”
But that’s exactly what worried her. She’d gotten used to confronting trouble head-on, protecting her cub herself, and she wasn’t prepared to sit in the house when she’d rather be wielding a shotgun. Before she could object any further, Logan shot out of the room.
Kathryn pulled on her skirt and blouse, hurrying to check on Marcus. A peek into his room showed he still slept, unaware of anything that was going on. But what was going on? She heard the back door slam and Logan barking at someone.
Stopping by the gun safe on her way out, she saw he’d taken his .45. She loaded the shotgun and hurried to catch up with him.
Flinging open the door, she saw Logan grappling with a smaller man. In the dim light, it was hard to make out the man’s face. Then she heard his voice.
“Take your fucking hands off me,” the man yelled.
“Roy?” she called out, running to the garden entrance.
As she approached the shed, she saw the still broken apart, the copper pipes broken and the cauldron overturned.
“It’s mine.” Roy struggled to break loose. “I can destroy it if I want to. I gave her the supplies to build it and taught her how to make whiskey.”
“Jonas taught me how to make whiskey,” she said.
“And who do you think taught him?”
“I don’t care who taught who what or who built the still. You need to go home and sleep it off, Roy.” Logan shoved the smaller man away, popping him in the mouth.
Roy tumbled to the ground. At first he appeared to be unconscious or hurt, but soon enough he jumped to his feet, drawing a pistol from his waistband. Before Roy fully extended his arm, Logan had already drawn his gun. Sights still trained on Logan, Roy struggled to his feet.
Kathryn cocked the shotgun. “Roy, stop this nonsense.”
“You’re going to shoot me now, Kate?” asked Roy, turning the gun on her.
“If I have to.” She shook, praying she wouldn’t have to.
He huffed and spat. His lip was oozing blood.
“Roy, please just go home. I’m sorry you’re hurting so much. It’s all my fault. I understand that. I hurt you and I’m sorry,” she said, hoping to disarm him with her words. The man’s shoulders sagged and he looked as if he might drop the gun.
Logan didn’t exhibit as much faith in the power of persuasion. While Roy focused on Kathryn, he edged closer. Close enough to take advantage of his superior reach. In the blink of an eye, Logan discarded his own weapon, grabbed Roy’s gun and wrested it from the man’s hands. Clocking him in the face with the butt of the gun, Logan knocked Roy to the ground. A sigh of relief washed over Kathryn, but Logan didn’t stop there. He fell on the smaller man, pummeling him.
“Logan,” she cried, rushing to pull him off Roy. “Logan, stop!”
Knuckles bloodied, a savage look on his face, Logan looked up at her. “Kate, he pulled a gun on us…on you. He doesn’t get to walk away from that.”
“Brett,” she said, her voice as even as she could make it, a hand on his shoulder, “it’s all right. You took away his gun. I’m safe. You’re safe…Marcus is safe. Just let him crawl home.”
Logan looked down, chest heaving, nostrils flared at the man cowering beneath him. As if deciding whether or not to heed her request, Logan clenched and released his fists. Finally he dragged himself to his feet, telling Roy, “If I see you again, I’ll kill you. You hear me?”
Roy struggled to pull himself upright and limped away as Logan collected the guns from the yard.
Shaking with anger, Logan wiped his face. His gaze followed Roy out of the yard and he remained moored to that spot even once the weaker man had disappeared. Kathryn approached him and put the back of her hand to his cheek.
“Let’s go inside,” she murmured.
His face a stony mask, Logan took his time to reply. Swallowing hard, he turned to look at her. Little by little, a more human expression came back to him. Hands on his hips, he nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go inside.”
Once in the kitchen, she pulled a rag from a cabinet. “Let me see your knuckles.”
“They’re fine.” He grabbed the bottle of whiskey, pouring himself a shot.
Ignoring his bravado, she took one of his hands and dabbed at the split skin. Drops of perspiration glistened on his forehead. “Are you all right?”
He tossed back the shot and nodded. “I’m fine.”
The surge of adrenaline that had carried her through the confrontation waned, her hands trembling as she cleaned his.
Logan stared straight ahead at the wall. “You okay?”
“Sure,” she lied. “I’m fine.”
His posture softened but he still wouldn’t look at her. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
He hung his head, pulling his hand away. “I lost control.”
“You were protecting us.” She folded her arms over her chest.
Blinking hard, he looked up at the ceiling. “Yeah.”
After pouring another shot, he took a seat at the kitchen table.
“Is your hand okay?” she asked again, though she didn’t know why.
“Yeah, thanks.” He sipped at his whiskey this time. His gaze met hers for a second but then he turned away again. “You look tired. You should go back to bed. I’ll stay up, make sure he doesn’t come back.”
“Roy’s really losing it. I’ve never seen him act like this.”
He seemed to bite back the response he wanted to give. “I promise, everything will be fine. We’ll be gone in five days.”
“Right.” She leaned down and gave him a peck on the cheek, but he stiffened at the contact instead of warming to her like he usually did. Smoothing her skirt, she shuffled toward the bedroom.
“Good night, Kate.”
“’Night.”
Once in the room, she let herself deflate, collapsing on the bed. Fear and anxiety attacked her, wrapped in a cloak of exhaustion. She’d never seen that side of Roy, not once the entire time she’d known him. Or Logan. Would he have killed Roy if she hadn’t stopped him? As he’d said, he’d lost control, given in to blind rage. But he was protecting her and Marcus so that made it okay…didn’t it? Logan’s warnings that he wasn’t a good man replayed in her mind. With a heavy sigh, she dismissed her doubts about the man. Logan was just protecting her, end of story. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get any rest and Logan never joined her in bed. No one but Marcus slept at all the rest of the night.
* * * * *
“Kate’s farm is all yours in two days, she’ll sign over the deed before we leave,” Logan told Sampson. This, Logan and Kathryn had discussed. What to do with the farm, what to take with them, what to leave behind. When they’d head out for the shore and where they’d wait for the dinghy to show. All of that they’d talked about at length. The fight with Roy, however, they avoided like the plague. She said she understood. She said Logan hadn’t frightened her. And that was the end of that conversation no matter how many times Logan thought he should give her an explanation. Hell, assuming he understood what had happened himself. When he lost his temper like that, all he could remember were flashes. The blood, Roy’s expression like that of a wild animal, Kate’s voice—calm and reasonable. It hadn’t, however, escaped his attention that she’d hardly touched him since the fight.
Sampson grunted, snapping Logan to the present. But the old man didn’t look particularly happy to hear Kate’s decision about the farm. “Come with me.”
He motioned for Logan to follow and Logan did as instructed. Out back of the house, Sampson produced a piece of paper with what appeared to be random words written on it. “Someone’s turned you in, Captain.”
Logan shook his head, sure he’d heard wrong. “What makes you say that?”
A heavy expression weighing down his already sagging features, Sampson explained his nightly scan of Reformer channels. He’d pieced together the codes they used over the past decade, aligning words with locations, times and distances from attacks that followed certain transmissions.
He pointed out portions of gibberish and translated. “‘Source reports…privateer…twenty-five clicks southeast…intercept nightfall.”
A jolt of adrenaline surged through Logan. “They’re coming for me tonight at Kate’s farm.”
“That’s what I figure. She and the boy are welcome to lay low here, but I can’t have you around. You get me?”
“I get you.” Logan didn’t blame the old man. He had a large family to protect. Kate and Marcus were innocent, Logan had brought this trouble into their lives. “What time is it, sir?”
“Almost ten. What you thinking, son?”
Twenty-five clicks. That was about sixteen miles—four hours or so by foot, maybe less if he hightailed it. That’s what Logan was thinking. “Can I borrow a piece of paper and something to write with?”
When Sampson returned with paper and a makeshift charcoal pencil, Logan scribbled a note and gave it to the old man. “She’s at the fishing hole with Marcus. She didn’t want him to go alone with the way Roy’s been acting.”
Shaking his head, Sampson replied, “Roy fixed you good, but you doing the right thing.”
Logan nodded. Sick to his stomach and temple aching—he felt miserable so, yeah, he was definitely doing the right thing. After asking Sampson directions, he set off on his trek.
* * * * *
She read the note, tears flooding her eyes. “Sampson, where did he go?”
“Don’t know, Miss Kate, but he was clear. You’re to go with me.”
Narrowing her eyes, she scrutinized the man’s expression. He was lying. He knew very well where Logan had gone.
As if he saw her wheels turning, Sampson added, “He’s been gone over an hour, there’s no running him down.”
Well, she wasn’t seriously considering abandoning her son and chasing after Logan, but it was so thoughtful of him to take away her choice to do so. So thoughtful of him not to consult her at all before making some snap decision about what to do.
Someone reported to the Reformers who I am and that I’m staying with you. I have to go, I’ll tell them I forced you to help me. I’m sorry. Tell Marcus I’m sorry too, the note read.
She knew exactly who that “someone” was. Scanning the people gathered around the lake to fish, she didn’t see Roy’s greasy head and slicked-back hair among the fishermen.
Damn Roy to hell. She should’ve let Logan beat him to death two nights ago. And damn Logan for thinking he knew best. Anger surged through her. Arrogant, stubborn—the both of them. If she ever saw Roy again…
She turned to her friend. “Logan can’t be gone…he just can’t. We’ve got to find a way to fix this.”
Sampson touched her shoulder. “Come on, Miss Kate. We can talk more at the house.”
She brushed off his hand, wiping her forehead. Had to think. Had to catch her breath. Logan couldn’t be gone. He couldn’t just disappear on her, not like Jonas. Two days ago she’d had hope for the first time in so long—hope to be happy, for a better future, that she’d been lucky enough to find love again. Roy had stolen that from her. And Logan with his ill-conceived chivalrous gesture. Gun-running, contraband-smuggling, womanizing pirate Captain Brett Logan. He picked now to grow a conscience?
Head spinning, she collected Marcus and their catch. On the walk to Sampson’s farm, the rush of anger ebbed, leaving her with only panic. She knew full well where Logan had gone—the Reformer encampment. Nothing good would happen to him there. He’d be tortured or killed or tortured then killed. Bile searing her throat, she asked Sampson to borrow his radio again.
Chapter Twelve
The walk had given Logan time to work out his story. He’d tell the Reformers he’d held Kate captive, using the boy to keep her complicit. If he turned himself in, surely they’d cancel the raid. He couldn’t let anything happen to Kate and Marcus. Every time he thought of them a dagger pierced his heart. Everything he was giving up, everything that could’ve been. He set his jaw against the hurt and remorse. Those emotions wouldn’t do him a damn bit of good now. He had to turn himself in to protect them.
Over a small rise, he could see the encampment. Only a few more minutes and life as he’d known it would be over. Stomach tied in knots, he pushed himself to keep going.
“Captain!” Logan thought he heard a shout behind him. Turning to look, the world around him erupted into flame. A wave of heat and fire pushed him facedown into a muddy sinkhole. Another explosion went off as Logan struggled to stand, searing his lungs.
Red lights flashed and sirens wailed—death came cloaked in garish, noisy trappings. At least it should have appeared so, but Logan didn’t much notice. He was splayed across the ground, his gaze had already fixed upon some imaginary plane. In this, his final minutes, he remembered the warmth of her body when she curled herself around him. And the coconut scent of her hair, her honey-flavored lips. Was it lip gloss or lip balm she used? He couldn’t remember. She’d told him once, but he couldn’t keep straight her few cosmetics. As if her beauty needed any enhancement to begin with. He should have told her that, but he hadn’t. He should have told her he’d fallen in love with her, but he hadn’t.
I hope you’re not wasting your time, a disembodied voice murmured. Kate’s voice.
It occurred to him that all his time had been wasted. Foolish self-aggrandizement and greed wrapped in a veneer of lofty ideals. Violence inherent in his lifestyle and daredevil tactics, they fed the part of him he hated most. But Kate showed him something else, she’d shown him he still knew how to be soft. And he hadn’t explained in his letter why he’d left. That he loved her and Marcus more than he loved himself. Did she know? She had to know. She seemed to know his every thought. Still, he should have told her.
But he hadn’t.
He fought against the unwelcome teardrops that flooded his eyes. He would not allow himself to die as a blubbering coward. Dying well, that was all he had left to hold on to, the last shred of his pride. The coming darkness brought no pain and to his surprise, he was not afraid. Regret. Therein lay the anguish. So many regrets.
A wet cough brought up a bitter mouthful of sputum and blood. It wouldn’t be long now. Logan pressed his face against the muddy ground, fingers digging into the muck. He wished it were warmer.
Flash—screech. Flash—wail.
Flash, screech. Flash, wail. Yes, death had come for him cloaked in garish, noisy trappings.
Shut it out, he told himself, focusing on the coconut scent of her hair.
He wished he’d told her goodbye.
* * * * *
A thin line of gray broke through the darkness. Then the line turned into a swath of dim light. A shadowy figure stood over him, a lantern in his hand.
“Welcome back, mon capitaine.”
“Aw Christ, Jacques,” Logan croaked. “Now I know I’m in hell.”
A smile broke over his first mate’s face. “You didn’t think we’d let you go and do something noble, did ya?”
Logan struggled to sit up, his surroundings swimming before his eyes. His head felt as if it’d been cleaved in two.
“Easy now, Captain. You got a pretty big bump on your head.”
With a trembling hand, he touched the back of his skull, probing the lump there. “How did you find me?”
“Your lady friend, Kathryn.”
He went on to tell Logan how she’d hailed them on the radio. In turn, Jacques got hold of Lieutenant Wiggins and the Resistance raided the encampment.
“The lieutenant found you, threw you on a truck. You been here for two days.”
“Where’s here?”
“A Resistance base camp.”
“Where’s Kate?”
“Safe where you left her.”
Relief rolled through Logan. Keeping her and Marcus safe had been his sole motivation for leaving in the first place. “I can’t believe you guys came for me. What happened to no heroic measures?”
Jacques smiled. “That’s your policy, not mine.”
They chatted awhile more until Logan decided it was time to hit the head. The latrine was a good distance from the tent, so Logan figured he’d just slip into the woods. He agreed to meet his first mate at the mess tent in a few minutes.
Wandering away from the camp, Logan staked out a spot in the forest where no one would see him. Just as he unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, something hard jabbed him in the shoulder.
“You’re like a bad fucking penny, you know that?” a familiar voice growled. “Don’t call out or run or I’ll shoot you.”
Logan placed the voice immediately. “I’m the bad penny, Roy? What the hell are you doing here?”
“Start walking.”
“Give me a second.” Fastening his pants, Logan craned his neck trying to get a look at the weapon. A Tec-9. Roy wasn’t screwing around, but he hadn’t picked the most reliable gun. Wheels turning, Logan clicked through the ways he could get the machine gun to jam or misfire.
Roy pushed him. “Let’s go.”
“Where are you taking me?” asked Logan, holding his ground. No way in hell he was going anywhere.
“To a shallow grave.”
Christ. This asshole was crazier than Logan had thought. “Listen, I’m not moving. If you’re going to kill me you’re going to do it here. Good luck slipping past an entire battalion on your way out.”
“Don’t fuck with me—”
“I know you’re the one that turned me in.”
“Gee, nothing gets by you.”
“Now you’re going to shoot me?”
“Well, you didn’t make it to the base like you were supposed to. That’s why I followed you. I knew I couldn’t count on your slippery ass to disappear.”
