Not Her Hero, page 6
“There’s a deer camp up here,” he said, nodding. “We can spend the night there. And hopefully have a plan worked out by morning.”
“Is there running water?” the governor asked, sounding as if she already knew the answer.
Despite the direness of their situation, he managed a chuckle. “There’s an outhouse if that’s what you’re asking.”
He hooked a left, following a narrow path worn into the dirt. The prints beneath their feet, he knew, were deer, not human.
They’d walked maybe five or six miles but were only about three miles from his house as the crow flies. A little close for comfort, but there wasn’t any place else where they could spend the night, unless they headed into town. Which would make their presence known, and Marc still wasn’t ready to hand Ray over to the authorities.
He needed time. Time to think, to figure out how to get out of this mess without Ray going to prison. If Ray went in, he’d come out a certified Anarchy Boy.
Or he’d die trying. They may not have wanted him before this debacle, but if he spent any time on the inside, he’d be forced to toughen up while at the same time getting his head shrunk by whichever Anarchy Boys were in there with him.
And then they’d definitely want him. They’d probably greet him with a fucking limo on the day he got out of prison.
“Is this your deer camp?” Whitney—he was still trying to get used to calling the governor by her first name, even in his head—asked as he picked up the fake rock and extracted the key to the padlock securing the door.
He winced. He was about to add even more charges to the long list they’d already accumulated by kidnapping the governor in the first place. “No. This is private property that butts up against the property my landlord owns.”
After his first time stumbling onto this place, he’d come back time and time again. Maybe because it was a change of pace after staring at the same four walls of his rental home, and, weirdly, it felt cozy.
Sure, it didn’t have running water, but it did have four bunks and a plastic bin filled with clean sheets and blankets. Not to mention a store of bottled water and even canned goods.
Practically luxurious if you asked him. Of course, it wasn’t the height of comfort for someone like Whitney, who, even before she became governor, probably lived in the lap of luxury. Poor people, downtrodden people did not become politicians. Everyone knew it was a money game, and if you didn’t have lots of greenbacks, you couldn’t even step up to the starting line.
Using the stolen flashlight to guide his way, he headed straight to the battery-operated lantern that was always perched on the narrow kitchen counter. After twisting the knob to turn on the light, he ushered Ray and Whitney inside and quickly pulled the door closed against the swarm of mosquitoes ever ready to gorge on their blood.
The deer camp was a six-hundred-square-foot rectangle, with a mini-kitchen area directly to his left, a two-top table under a window right in front of him, and bunks built into the walls making up most of the rest of the space.
A single orange and brown plaid recliner was parked in front of a woodburning stove that basically separated the kitchen area from the sleeping area. Plastic tubs were piled on top of each other at the foot of the beds. In the far corner was a room the size of a closet, with a curtain that could be drawn to allow privacy, presumably to change clothes. There was also a sink in there, the hole in the bottom draining into a bucket. He assumed that was for brushing teeth, maybe splashing water on one’s face. Since a toothbrush wasn’t one of the items in his survival pack, they probably wouldn’t make much use of the sink.
Whitney took in the space. “A little more rudimentary than my dad’s hunting camp.”
Curiosity got the best of him. “You ever hunt with him?”
She nodded. “His camp has running water. An indoor toilet. I am not ashamed to admit I probably would not have had even the small interest I did have if he’d expected me to stay here for more than a day at a time.”
Marc chuckled even as he noted Ray’s sour look. The kid clearly did not like the governor. Was that because of the Anarchy Boys’ influence, or had he made that decision all on his own?
“Ladies first,” Marc said. “Which bunk do you want?”
“I’m not picky. Ray, you choose first,” she said.
Ray’s brow furrowed with surprise, but he quickly shook it off. “I don’t care.”
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll take that one.” She pointed at one of the lower bunks.
“I’ll take the one next to you,” Marc said. “Ray, you’re above me.” He didn’t think his brother would bolt in the middle of the night—mostly because he likely had no clue where he was, probably didn’t even realize a main road was just across that cornfield—but better safe than sorry.
He didn’t even consider the idea that Whitney might take off. He was confident she would not. And not for the same reasons he felt about Ray.
He suspected Whitney was perfectly capable of taking care of herself; could probably handle wandering these woods alone—Anarchy Boys with rifles notwithstanding. But for some reason, she’d decided to trust Marc.
He rubbed at his chest, liking the sensation that idea created and yet cursing himself for feeling so … good about it.
Grabbing the closest bin full of linens, he popped the top off.
Whitney took a step back, eyeing the plastic container as if it might bite her. “I’m not quite to that point yet,” she said, “but can you show me the outhouse so I know where to go?”
He shrugged and pointed at the perfectly folded pile of sheets. “Get your bed made up, Ray. When we get back, we’ll make ours and then kill the lantern. Just in case.”
He led Whitney around back to the tiny building tucked between two maple trees with massive trunks.
“It’s actually not bad,” he informed her after using the flashlight to inspect the inside. “Doesn’t smell, and there’s plenty of toilet paper and hand sanitizer secured in a small plastic bin.”
“I actually brought you out here so we could talk freely.”
He arched his brows. She glanced over her shoulder at the camp and then returned her focus to him.
“Are you planning to stay up all night to keep watch?”
He scratched the back of his neck and dodged her too-sharp gaze.
She nodded. “I figured as much. You said you were in the army for seventeen years. I’m sure it’s practically second nature to feel the need to protect an authority figure like myself. I’m surprised you didn’t salute me when you first saw me.”
“I was tempted,” he admitted. “But you were damn near passing out, so that took precedence.”
Although, to be honest, his need to protect her wasn’t as much that she was an authority figure as it was that she was innocent.
Just like Ray.
Okay, his brother wasn’t innocent; what he’d done was probably considered domestic terrorism. But he was a victim of circumstance, and if Marc could get him away from the Anarchy Boys’ influence, he was certain he could convince Ray to take a different path.
“Here’s my real question,” Whitney said. “Do you think they are out there searching for us?”
He chose his words carefully. “They are definitely searching for us. Do I think they are in this immediate area? No. I’ve been wandering these woods for the last six months, every single day, and there hasn’t been a single other person out here. That means those guys probably aren’t familiar with the area, so they are likely not willing to sniff around after dark.”
“What about that guy you knocked out?”
“My guess is, he was overzealous and took off after us without waiting for orders. The sun was already low by that point. Anyone with any sort of rural background would be hesitant to rush into unfamiliar woods, alone, that close to dark. And they aren’t about to bring in giant spotlights, because I’m sure they don’t want anyone to know they attempted to kidnap you. Certainly not until they have you under lock and key.”
She shuddered.
“My guess is, they aren’t going to go into the woods after that guy. And even if they did, the chances of them making their way to this deer camp are slim to none. That forest feels like it stretches on forever, especially in the dark. Every instinct in their bodies is going to push them to turn around and head back toward my house.”
She nodded. Did she agree with his assessment, or did his assessment simply made her feel marginally better?
“Do you think he’s still alive?” She asked the question like she was afraid of the answer.
Marc scratched his nose. “He was still alive when we left him. He’s going to be pretty disoriented when he comes to, though. If he’s smart, he’ll prop himself up against a tree and wait for dawn. If not, I don’t consider him a threat. He has no light and no gun and no way to call for help. Not to mention, he has no clue where we went, and he’s going to be battling a hell of a headache.”
“Are you sure they won’t go looking for him?” She slapped at her neck. They were getting eaten alive by mosquitoes.
“Let’s get back inside,” he said instead of answering her question. Because no, he wasn’t sure of a damn thing right now.
Okay, he was sure of two things. He didn’t want her to get hurt. And he didn’t want Ray to go to jail.
And he had no idea how he was going to keep either of those two things from happening.
“Come on,” he said, gesturing for her to follow the path he created with the flashlight.
“Are you sure they won’t go looking for him?” she persisted, without moving.
He sighed and admitted, “No, I’m not sure. But that would take a lot of resources they’ll think are better spent trying to figure out our next move, and those guys don’t strike me as particularly sympathetic, even to one of their own.”
Despite that being exactly what they tried to portray to the naïve outcasts they recruited. But their causes, the means by which they tried to accomplish their goals, told a far more grim story.
Kids like Ray who were allowed to believe they had an in and then ultimately couldn’t cut it. They’d be hung out to dry over some minor skirmish—or in Ray’s case, a fucking major infraction—that landed them in jail.
If they weren’t already approved by whoever the hell was in charge on the outside, they’d be left with no protection, despite all the Anarchy Boys who were already on the inside. And then they’d be constantly bullied, harassed, or worse, end up dead.
No way was Marc letting his brother get sucked into that mess.
After another smack that left a dark splat on her skin, Whitney started walking back toward the camp. “Okay. So what’s our next move?” she asked.
“Come daylight, we need to put more distance between us and our last known location, which is my house. We also need to come up with a more long-term plan.”
She glanced over her shoulder and opened her mouth, but he lifted his finger. “One that does not include sending my brother to prison.”
She shook her head. “I don’t see how that’s possible. He was inside the capital building. There are cameras everywhere there. Not to mention, he had to have gone through MSP’s academy to even be considered for my security team. Brent is extremely thorough and selective. As soon as he figures out I’m gone, your brother becomes suspect number one.”
He held the door open while she preceded him into the tiny building. “Who’s Brent?” he asked.
Ray had been sitting in the plaid recliner; he leaped to his feet when they stepped into the small kitchen area.
“My head of security,” Whitney said.
“He’s not that good if he hired Ray.”
“Fuck you,” Ray said sullenly.
Marc arched a brow. “Your entire purpose in getting hired was to kidnap the governor, was it not?”
Ray scowled and folded his arms across his chest.
“Exactly,” Marc said. “Between however long you were at the academy, graduating, and getting yourself on this guy’s radar so he’d bring you on board, somehow, some way, they should have seen a sign.”
“Brent was extremely stressed out when Ray was assigned to protect me,” Whitney argued. “Grant is on vacation in Alaska. And Noah—he’s one of Brent’s best men—his wife was in an accident. She’s in the hospital, and the prognosis isn’t good. He was short-staffed—”
“It wasn’t an accident,” Ray said.
Whitney’s face went ghostly pale. Marc tensed, half afraid she was going to collapse.
“Not an accident?” she whispered.
Ray dropped his gaze to the wide plank boards beneath his feet. “Putting that guy’s wife in the hospital was part of the plan, to ensure I got on the team when I did.”
“Jesus,” Marc said while Whitney swayed. He grasped her arm to steady her. “You okay?”
She threw back her shoulders and dragged a hand through her hair. “Yes. I’m just … Noah and his wife are both absolutely wonderful people. And she is the love of his life. They don’t deserve this.”
“Neither do you,” Marc pointed out.
“The Anarchy Boys would disagree,” she snipped and then shook her head, like she was trying to clear it.
Or coming to a realization.
Waving her hand at Ray, she said, “You’re supposed to be on guard duty outside my house until 8:00 a.m. tomorrow.”
She paused.
“That’s the point at which they will raise the alarm.”
Unless they could get Ray over to the governor’s house by then. It didn’t solve their problem, but at least it would buy them a little more time to figure out what the hell to do.
Marc swiped a hand over his face. Was it possible? They were roughly a hundred miles north of Lansing. Just shy of two hours by car. Since they couldn’t return to his house, they’d need to find the nearest inhabited place and jack a vehicle.
He pulled up a map of this area in his head. The guy who owned this hunting camp also had a cabin two miles to the west. He didn’t live there full-time, though, which meant they were taking a chance heading that way in search of a ride. There were other houses to the north, but Marc hadn’t yet wandered close enough to get a feel for whether the owners were local or those were second homes.
It was risky—they’d have to avoid that guy he’d taken down in the woods earlier—but they could go back to his place, skirt around and come out at the dead-end side of his road; there were four other houses down that way. Two were locals, one had been empty since Marc moved in, and the third he was reasonably sure was a rental like his. There would almost definitely be a car they could steal, except that was a hell of a chance to take, returning so quickly to the place they’d only just escaped from. If they were going to do that, they might as well go back to his house and get his keys, take his truck.
Except he knew damn well the Anarchy Boys would be watching his house. Hell, they might have even set up camp there, considering he’d left the door wide open when they escaped.
The other option would be to head east. This camp was built here because that cornfield was the perfect smorgasbord for the local deer population. Not quite a mile up the road that bordered the other side of the field, there was a rinky-dink bar that served a variety of mid-level beers, fried appetizers, and surprisingly good burgers. Given it was Friday evening, the parking lot would be full. There weren’t many other places to hang out at around here and it was summertime, so there would be tourists mixed in with the locals.
When Marc had been in high school, he and a couple of guys who were the closest thing he’d had to friends used to sneak into that same bar and attempt to lift people’s keys without them realizing. It was shocking how many people would place their keys on the bar or a table or the edge of the pool table and forget about them.
Once either he or one of his buddies had keys in hand, they’d figure out which vehicle they belonged to, stick the keys in the ignition, and walk away. It would have been all too easy to steal the cars, except like so many small towns, everyone knew everyone. Plus, his family was one of the bad seeds, so anytime anything questionable happened, the local sheriff started at his house and worked his way down a short list of ready-made suspects.
There was a first time for everything, he supposed. And since he’d thought to grab his wallet, he could order a beer while watching the local channel he knew damn well would be up on at least one if not multiple TV screens inside the place. If anyone had become aware that the governor had disappeared, it would be all over the local stations.
If the news was quiet, they could proceed with the idea brewing in his head. And add yet another charge to his and Ray’s ever-growing rap sheets.
It was worth it if he could save his baby brother.
“Change of plans,” he said. “Let’s go.”
8
Since Whitney’s wrists were no longer tied together and she was willingly following this guy she didn’t know, whose brother had kidnapped her only a few hours earlier, did that mean she was an accessory? An accomplice?
The guy had taken down some other man in the middle of the woods and now had that other man’s rifle slung over his own shoulder, and she wasn’t even the least bit afraid he might shoot her.
Did she have Stockholm syndrome? Already?
Honestly, she was listening to her gut, and her gut told her in no uncertain terms that glomming onto Marc’s coattails was infinitely safer for her wellbeing than taking her chances with the Anarchy Boys.
She wasn’t even sure where she was, how far she was from Lansing. Or how far she was from the local police headquarters.
Hell, she was only halfway confident she was still in the state of Michigan.
The Anarchy Boys always wore face coverings when they stirred up trouble. Brent had told her on more than one occasion that most of the intel they had on the group was gossip at best. Even when one of them was arrested, they refused to give up the identities of their cohorts, no matter how much prison time they were threatened with.
