Army of Two (3 page)

He was carrying a mug identical to hers. He lifted it in a salute as he reached her. “It looks as if we had the same idea. Hope you don’t mind if I helped myself from that bowl of muffins on the sideboard, too.”

“Not at all. I wasn’t aware that anyone else was up. I’ll put on some more coffee.”

“Don’t bother. The place was still quiet when I came outside. It seems we’re the only early risers.”

She should have remembered that about him. He used to go jogging before dawn whenever his schedule had allowed it. By the time his route had taken him past their house, his T-shirt would be damp and clinging to his chest, the muscles in his arms and legs gleaming. How many mornings had she waited by her window for the sound of his running shoes on the pavement? Those secret glimpses of his taut body used to fuel her imagination for the rest of the day.

She gulped another mouthful of coffee, then continued to move toward the end of the dock. “If you’re interested in fishing, you’re welcome to use any of our canoes while you’re here.”

“You have canoes? I didn’t see any.”

She gestured toward the boathouse behind them. “We’ve been storing them inside since a wandering moose put its hoof through the hull of one that had been left pulled up on the shore. They can be fitted with small outboard motors, but most of our guests prefer a quieter ride. We also have a traditional mahogany launch for touring.”

He walked beside her, his arm almost—but not quite—touching hers. “Mahogany? It sounds like a classic.”

“It is. We were lucky to obtain it.”

“Sounds as if you do things old-school around here.”

“We try to provide rustic luxury,” she said, then grimaced inwardly at the trite response. She was sounding like one of her brochures.

The dock widened into a platform that held a group of Adirondack chairs. The wood was coated with dew, so neither of them sat. “How large is this lake?” he asked.

“The main body is around sixteen miles long and a mile wide. If you decide to explore any of the arms by canoe, you’d best take a map along. Or a guide.”

“I’ll endeavor not to get lost.”

She realized belatedly how silly her caution must have sounded. “Many of our clients are city people,” she said. “Of course, with your military training you wouldn’t have any trouble finding your way.”

“It’s always wise to be familiar with the terrain before you set out. I took a look at the map in your lobby and saw that you have a network of hiking trails as well.”

“Yes. Just let us know when you want to go and we’ll arrange a packed lunch for you.”

“Sounds good, but I’ll have to wait and see what Graham has planned. It’s his party.”

“Any time you need anything, Major Redinger, just let me or one of my staff know.”

He nodded and lifted his mug to his lips.

Chantal watched. She couldn’t help herself. He had a beautifully shaped mouth. His upper lip was a sculpted bow, his lower one firmly masculine, and his smiles had packed quite a punch. That was one of the things that had first drawn her to him. The other officers who had served under her father had seemed to have only two expressions, stone or rock, but Mitch had been different. She’d seen humor in his steel-gray eyes and compassion in his face.

Yet he didn’t look like a man who smiled often anymore. The lines on the sides of his mouth had deepened since she’d last seen him, giving his features a more chiseled appearance. The angle of his jaw appeared harder than it used to be. She wondered whether his skin still tasted the same.

“You might as well call me Mitch,” he said. “There’s no use pretending we’re strangers.”

“I’m not pretending anything,” she said, although she knew it was a lie. There was no way she would let him know how his presence still had the power to affect her.

Why couldn’t he have gained weight? Or lost his hair? Plenty of men got soft as they aged, yet Mitch only appeared harder. He would be forty-five by now, but in his leather jacket and his tan cargo pants, his body seemed as lean and fit as when he’d been twenty-eight. He had the slim hips and tight butt that were typical of a runner’s build, and he would likely look the same at seventy. His dark brown hair was still thick. The touch of silver that she noticed at his temples only added to his attractiveness.

She glanced at the gold ring that gleamed on his left hand, then turned her gaze to the lake. There was nothing to see except the wall of mist, but it was preferable to looking at his wedding band.

He still wore it. That in itself was statement enough. She felt even more of a fool for the dreams about love that she’d once had. Her own marriage had been brutally short. She rarely thought about it these days. Obviously, the woman Mitch had chosen to give his heart to continued to hold it, even though she’d been dead for more than seven years.

“In a way, we
are
strangers, Mitch,” she continued. “I’m not the same person I used to be. I doubt if you are, either.”

“Time changes everyone.”

“I heard you’re based at Fort Bragg now.”

“That’s right.”

“My father said you’re commanding a Special Forces unit. Eagle Squadron, isn’t it?”

“I’m surprised the topic came up. I wouldn’t have thought you’d kept track.”

She forced a laugh. Keep it light. Casual. “The general’s the one who kept track. He likes to follow the careers of his officers. So don’t worry. My stalking days are long over.”

“You know what I meant, Chantal.”

“Oh?”

“Going through these social niceties with me must be tough for you. We didn’t part on the best of terms.”

That had to be the understatement of the century. Leave it to Mitch to tackle the issue head-on. He’d had a penchant for directness when he’d been younger. She suspected his impatience with politics was one of the reasons why he hadn’t risen above the rank of major. He was well suited to the independent, outside-the-box mind-set of the Special Forces.

She responded to his understatement with one of her own. “I suppose you could say our last encounter was somewhat awkward.”

“As I recall, the final thing you told me was to go to hell.”

“Now it’s my turn to be surprised. I wouldn’t have thought you’d remember that.”

He shrugged, quiet apart from the subtle creak of his leather jacket.

“Kids tend to be dramatic,” she said, wanting to fill the silence—and hating the fact that she did. She’d be damned if she was going to apologize.

“I hope my presence here won’t be a problem for you.”

She put on a smile that would have made her mother proud. And lied again. “Not at all. You’re my guest, and it’s my job to make your stay as pleasant as possible. Try to think of me as your host instead of a confused adolescent.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Chantal swallowed the rest of what she wanted to say. Unfortunately, there was a lot because it had been simmering for a long time.

Yet as she’d just reminded him, in less than a week he’d be gone. As long as she kept her dealings with him on a professional basis, she could do this.

A fish splashed somewhere to their left. Mitch turned his head toward the sound as ripples bobbed across the water beneath the mist. “I wouldn’t have expected to find you in a place like the Aerie, Chantal. Is this what you always wanted, to run a resort in Maine?”

No, I wanted to marry you, Mitch. I wanted you to ride in on your white charger and rescue me from my life….

She drained her coffee mug and hooked her finger through the handle so that she could cross her arms. The posture was defensive, and to a man as observant as Mitch it was a dead giveaway, but she didn’t care. “You might find it hard to believe, considering how I was raised, but I’m happy here, Mitch. This place fills…” She paused, searching for the right word. An emptiness? A need?

Yet why was she trying to explain anything to him? Was she actually about to open her heart again, fall into the old pattern simply because he was here? Maybe she hadn’t changed that much after all. It was an alarming thought. “It keeps me busy,” she finished. She turned. “Speaking of which, I have some paperwork I need to catch up on.”

He touched her arm to stop her from moving away. “Are you expecting anyone else, Chantal?”

Even though her jacket, a sweater and a blouse separated her skin from his hand, she imagined she could feel his touch all the way to her toes. Her determination to remain cool dissolved. She jerked sideways to break the contact.

He dropped his arm fast and stepped back, as if he were as determined as she was to reestablish the distance between them.

Terrific. That pattern hadn’t appeared to have changed, either. She cleared her throat. “Excuse me?”

“Any other guests.”

“No. The Petherick Corporation has exclusive use of the place until next weekend. Why?”

He pointed to the west. “I hear a chopper.”

All she could hear was the rhythm of her pulse in her ears. “The mist can distort sound,” she said.

“It’s coming in fast. Not over the lake, either.”

She tipped her head. Though the mist still clung to the water, the sky overhead was clear. She heard the beat of the engine now. It was getting louder quickly. That was odd. Aircraft not connected with the resort did fly past from time to time, yet she’d never seen any this early in the day. She’d checked her e-mail through the resort’s satellite computer hookup as soon as she’d gotten up this morning, and there had been no message about any visitors. “It could be heading for the state park,” she said, starting back toward the staircase. “There might be a lost hiker. I’ll check the radio when I get in.”

“I noticed my cell phone doesn’t get a signal out here,” he said, falling into step beside her. “Is the radio your primary source of communication?”

“For some things. I do most of my business over e-mail. If there’s someone you absolutely need to contact, you can access the Internet through the computer in my office, but very few of my guests use it. Our isolation is one of our main selling features. It provides a true getaway vacation.”

“How do you get your supplies in?”

“By truck. There’s an old logging road that connects to the main road from Bethel Corners.”

“That’s the nearest community? Bethel Corners?”

“Yes, but the route’s too rough for anything without a four-wheel drive. Our guests prefer to come by air. It’s faster and more comfortable.”

He glanced toward the noise of the helicopter. It continued to get louder. “But you wouldn’t have any drop-ins.”

“No. Our business is strictly by reservation.”

There was a roar overhead as the helicopter cleared the hill behind the lodge. It exposed a dull, black underside before it swung out of sight once more. It definitely wasn’t from the park service. And it appeared to be landing.

She started up the staircase. “Well, whoever that is, they’ve no doubt woken the other guests. Please, stay here and enjoy the rest of your coffee.”

He tipped his mug to empty it and followed her. “I think I’ll tag along. Something’s not right. That chopper didn’t have any markings.”

“Really, Mitch,” she said, raising her voice over the noise. “I’m sure there’s no cause for worry.”

He didn’t look convinced. “Just be careful.”

Pride had her wanting to reject his caution. He didn’t care. She knew better than to imagine he did. Still, she was getting a bad feeling about the unscheduled visitors, too. The sound of the engine wound down gradually as she and Mitch climbed. They were halfway up when Chantal heard what sounded like a muffled scream.

It had to have been a seagull, she told herself. The cries they made when they wheeled above the lake could sound hauntingly human. And the water had a way of amplifying sound when the air was calm like this, so the bird could be miles away.

But her steps faltered anyway. Behind her, she sensed that Mitch did the same. An instant later, there was another scream. It was unmistakable, even over the waning noise of the helicopter. It was followed by a burst of rapid pops.

Chantal couldn’t quite process what she was hearing. This was the Aerie. It was her sanctuary. Nothing bad happened here.

That couldn’t be…gunfire, could it?

Mitch grabbed her wrist and yanked her to a halt. “Stop!” he ordered. “We need to take cover.”

The look on his face confirmed what she didn’t want to believe. It
was
real. Someone was shooting. It wasn’t the measured cracks of a hunting rifle but the stuttering taps of a machine gun. “This can’t be! Who—”

“We’re too exposed here.” He turned and started back down, tugging her behind him. “We have to get off the stairs.”

She stumbled downward a few steps before she managed to pull loose from his grip. “No! Someone could be hurt! I have to see—”

“Chantal, whatever’s happening up there, we won’t be able to do much against automatic weapons when we’re armed with nothing but a pair of coffee cups.”

She glanced at her hand. Somehow, she was still clutching her mug.

“Until we see what’s going on, the best way to help is not to get shot.” He took the mug from her fingers. “Is there another route up?”

As much as she hated following orders from any man, and especially from
this
one, she recognized this wasn’t the time for discussion. “There’s a path behind the boathouse,” she said, reversing direction. “Follow me.”

By the time they reached the outcrop that held the lodge, the noise of the helicopter had wound down to silence. So had the gunfire. Mitch didn’t consider either fact encouraging: whoever had done the shooting had accomplished what they’d wanted and were planning to stay a while.

He directed Chantal toward the side of the building opposite the deck and staircase, where the slope of the hill was less steep, then pulled her to a halt behind a group of boulders and pantomimed an order for her to stay put. He flattened himself on the ground. Using his knees and elbows, he dragged himself across the rock toward a patch of low-growing junipers. With the evergreen branches as cover, he cautiously raised his head.

He found he was looking through a side window into the lobby. The rising sun streamed through the glass wall at the front like a searchlight. In spite of the narrow angle of Mitch’s view, he could see a large section of the interior. Movement on the second-floor gallery caught his eye first. Graham was being herded down the curving staircase to the lobby by a man wearing a black balaclava and carrying a submachine gun. Another masked gunman stood beside the fireplace where the four Petherick executives were sitting in a group on the wooden floor, their hands clasped on their heads.