The Secret Night. Rebecca York

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СКАЧАТЬ collapsed into the front seat as Shane started the engine, pulled onto the road and drove away. He didn’t turn on his lights, though, until they’d traveled at least a couple of miles.

      “So how did you end up at the Refuge?” he asked.

      Emma drew a couple of steadying breaths before answering. “My sister took a self-actualization course from Damien Caldwell and decided to burrow in. I came to try to dig her out. That was two weeks ago. I’ve been pretending to be a believer, but…well, I’m not much of an actress. Caldwell knew I was faking it, and…and I heard him tell one of his henchmen he was going to kill me.”

      He whistled through his teeth. “Lucky you got away.”

      “They probably would have snagged me over here if you hadn’t come along. Thanks.”

      “You’re welcome. The Refuge is a scary place these days. I’ve been over by boat, at night, a couple of times.” He looked regretful. “If this were the bad old days, I would have stayed and tried to forcibly collect Ms. Lewis. But I’ve got a wife and two kids now, so risking life and limb is no longer part of the job description.”

      “You risked your neck just spying over there.”

      He snorted. “Those odds were acceptable. I worked for the previous owner of the estate,” Shane continued. “I know what the layout used to be. Tell me what you think has been changed since Caldwell took over—things that look new or like they might have been altered.”

      “It probably looks like it always did, except that the bedrooms on the upper floors have been divided up and turned into dormitories, with communal bathrooms added.”

      “So what are you going to do about your sister?”

      She hesitated a moment, questioning the wisdom of sharing her plans with a stranger. But then, the stranger had saved her butt. Besides, she knew intuitively that Alex Shane was on the side of the angels.

      “As a matter of fact,” she said, “I had another detective in mind.”

      “Who?” he inquired.

      “A man named Nicholas Vickers.”

      “Don’t know him.”

      Well, so much for recommendations. “Apparently he had a run-in with Caldwell. I’m hoping that puts him on my side.”

      Shane was quiet for a minute or two. Then, seeming to come to a decision, he said, “If I know an operation is going down, I might be able to get some guys from our agency to act as backup.” He reached into his pocket and handed her a card. “As I said, I’m with the Light Street Detective Agency. The main office is in Baltimore, but I hold down the fort on the eastern shore.”

      “Thanks,” Emma said, taking the card and shoving it into her handbag. They had reached the center of St. Stephens.

      “Do you live around here?” Shane asked.

      “No, I’m from Manitou Springs, Colorado.”

      “You’re a long way from home.” He was silent for a moment, chewing his bottom lip. “It’d be easier for you to evade Caldwell in a city—some place big enough to get lost and stay lost. What if I drive you into Baltimore?”

      Again, she had to fight off the tears clogging her throat. “You’d do that for me?”

      “Sure.” He tossed her a crooked grin. “I admire your grit. Besides, you could turn out to be a valuable witness against Caldwell.”

      She sighed. “Yeah, but he’s careful. And his worshippers are loyal. Even if the cops raided the place tonight, I bet they wouldn’t come up with any evidence that would lead to an arrest.”

      “Caldwell may be careful, but nobody’s perfect,” Shane said. “He’ll have slipped up somewhere. Until we find his Achilles heel, we need to keep you safe. So let me tell my wife I’m driving you across the Bay Bridge.”

      He pulled the SUV onto the shoulder and picked up his cell phone. Emma listened to his conversation with his wife—she could hardly have avoided it—and was impressed with how warm and close their relationship obviously was.

      Funny how it still surprised her that there were people who could make marriage work. She found it reassuring, even if she herself hadn’t yet managed the feat. She’d long since stopped getting involved with complete jerks and losers, but it occurred to her that she’d gone to the opposite extreme by dating men so dull and lacking in passion that they bored her to tears.

      Maybe, someday, she’d find a middle ground….

      “All set.” Shane dropped his cell phone into a cup holder, pulled back onto the road and headed out of town.

      Exhausted, Emma slumped in her seat and, without meaning to, fell asleep. When she woke, Shane had pulled up in front of a Days Inn.

      “You’re about three blocks from the inner harbor,” he said. “There are lots of places there to shop, if you need to replace your clothes and stuff.”

      “Thanks, yes, I will have to,” Emma replied.

      “This hotel isn’t the most expensive around, but it isn’t cheap.” He cleared his throat. “Do you have enough money for the bill?”

      “I have a credit card.”

      He shook his head. “Don’t use it. Caldwell could track you if you do.”

      She checked her wallet. “I’ve got two hundred in cash.”

      “That ought to do it.”

      She turned in her seat to look at him directly. “I don’t know how to thank you. I’d never have—”

      Shane shook his head. “We’re square. You helped me out by sharing your information about the Refuge.”

      They weren’t square. He’d saved her life. “I’m truly grateful.”

      Emma watched him drive away, then staggered into the hotel lobby.

      She wondered if they were going to let her in looking like a refugee from a third-world country.

      THE ROUGH-LOOKING MAN had been sitting in the corner of the biker bar for the past hour, nursing a beer and trying not to breathe too deeply. The place smelled like a men’s room, with an overlay of booze and cigarette smoke.

      Not his kind of scene. But in his two days’ growth of beard, uncombed hair and leather jacket, he figured he blended in okay—except for his lack of tattoos and piercings.

      A biker with a picture of a cobra decorating his arm swaggered by and propped himself against the bar, allowing room for his beer belly.

      “Hey, Snake,” one of his buddies called out.

      “Yo,” the cobra guy answered.

      That’s what I need, the observer thought. A colorful name. A handle. He could call himself…Trailblazer. Yeah, Trailblazer would do just fine.

      Scanning СКАЧАТЬ