Buried Flames (22 page)

Mason continued to listen to the long list of preparations and daily standard operations Mav and Tank had set up for the camp, mostly agreeing with every one of them. With the exception of Truman and his small team. He needed a good eight hours of sleep before being able to really process what they were dealing with here.

When Mason had brought Brenna through the main doors of the lodge, her reaction had been pretty much what he’d been expecting. The large structure’s wrap-around porch was no longer vibrant the way it had been a month ago. Elijah Burch, well into his eighties, was the watchman at the front door and took immense pride in his position behind the screened-in veranda. He monitored the comings and goings of the large group and his contribution was appreciated. Brenna had been smiling ear to ear from a story Elijah had recollected about Mason’s ability to play chess without throwing punches. It wasn’t long after that he’d guided her through the doors. There was no telling what she would learn from Elijah.

“Look, I’m running on nothing,” Mason admitted, pressing a finger and thumb to his eyes to relieve the burning. “There’s no way in hell I’m of any use to you until I can get a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. Let’s go over everything tonight and I’ll see if I can add anything of value then.”

“Well, if they’re not going to ask, you sure as hell know that I will,” Owen said, draining what was left of a Dr. Pepper can. Since when did he drink that carbonated shit? “Who is she?”

Mason resignedly sighed, truly amazed that any of them had lasted this long without grilling him on Brenna. It wasn’t like he talked about his personal life back in Nebraska much. There had never been any reason to, other than to say he lived in Harpersfield, Nebraska. His friends knew him well enough that he liked his solitude. A beautiful pistol packing cowgirl…well, this was out of left field for them.

“An old high school girlfriend.”

The silence in the room might as well have been a heating blanket. It became stifling hot with humidity until Tank threw some cold water into the mix.

“I know you need your rest, Mason—that is, before you shoot someone else in this camp,” Tank said with a grin, running a finger over one side of his mustache as he formulated his words carefully. “But I want to hear about these NSA agents this Ace Fairfax has after him. We all know the NSA isn’t an organization to be fucked around with. And according to what you’ve told us, you’ve already killed at least two.”

Mason needed more coffee if he were going to stay awake another half hour discussing every detail he’d been given from Fairfax and those he’d deduced on his own. A small break would also allow him to check on Brenna, but only because she appeared a little apprehensive when he’d left her with Prue and Henley. She’d get accustomed to everyone here and then he wouldn’t have to check in on her so much.

“Let me grab another cup,” Mason said, stretching his sore frame from three weeks of riding. He ignored Owen’s knowing glance and refrained from flipping him off. “Anyone need anything?”

Tank took Mason up on his offer for a fresh cup of coffee. He walked out of Henley’s office with both empty mugs, immediately zoning in on Brenna after walking from behind the reception desk, through the foyer, and out into the great room. He didn’t question as to how he knew she was sitting in front of the massive river rock fireplace with Prue, Henley, and Mabel. Sam was lying down directly in front of the fire soaking in the heat.

Brenna’s blonde hair caught the glimmer of the golden flames flickering beside her, giving Mason pause when he realized she’d taken the long strands out of the usual restraining braid. She no longer reminded him of the younger Brenna from high school, but a woman who’d grown into her own.

Brenna’s bright blue eyes caught Mason’s scrutiny and he tightened his jaw upon realizing he’d given her the wrong impression once again. He’d just wanted to make sure she was all right and fitting in. He immediately started forward toward the coffee bar where fresh coffee and pastries had been set out. Mabel’s doing, he was sure.

The great room still maintained the charm of an old log cabin, despite its size. There was a magnificent archway to the right of the fireplace that led to a hallway, a taproom/bar at the end, and several exits out to the four-season room on the right. Mason and the guys had played numerous poker games in the English style dart tavern, which contained virtually every liquor or beverage imaginable. Tank made sure to stock the place well for the tourists he’d attracted from far-flung places all over the world.

The restaurant and commercial kitchen, which Mabel had now claimed, were to the left of the fireplace and down the hall. Off the entire right side of the spacious main area were several French doors leading to a beautiful, glassed-in four-season room. Mason used to love sitting in the comfortable pine-deck furniture after a long day of fishing, but the scenic view wouldn’t be the same today.

“Mason Sykes,” a booming voice called from the game room. It definitely wasn’t someone Mason wanted to speak to, so he just raised a cup in acknowledgement without looking behind him. He set both mugs on the table and reached for the hot carafe. “I have to say I didn’t think you’d make it. Nebraska was pretty damned close to the blast zone.”

Stanley “Rat” Ratliff sauntered up as if he were greeting an old friend. Mason didn’t even bother to respond to the man’s performance, not falling for anything he might have up his sleeve. It was a safe bet he didn’t have many friends left around here after the debacle with his son.

“Who’s the pretty little lady you brought with you?” Rat asked, running his fat fingers under one of his suspenders. “She—”

“Rat, I’m going to say this once to be civil,” Mason advised in his usual manner without spilling a drop of coffee. “You go near her, we’re going to have a problem. Stay clear of her and I won’t hurt you. Understand?”

“He’ll leave her alone,” Jarrett Moore cut in with a promise, coming to stand beside them and ease the tension as he always did. He was a World War II veteran who was too smart not to see Rat’s opposing behavior. Why the two were friends was a mystery, but then again, the same could be said for Mason. People probably wondered why Tank had him come visit year after year. He wasn’t that social. “How are you, Mason?”

“Tired. Bone tired,” Mason answered honestly, putting the glass carafe back on its burner before shaking Jarrett’s hand. “How are you holding up?”

“Quite honestly, us old folks are feeling pretty useless,” Jarrett grumbled, crossing his arms in frustration. “There’s not much we can do except tend to the grow room, feed the animals, and inventory supplies.”

“Of course there is,” Mason countered, picking up the two mugs. He could feel the weight of Brenna’s stare and looked her way. She gave him a tired smile, making him realize she was waiting for him. “Jarrett, you’re monitoring the radio frequencies on shifts also, right? That’s just as important as anything else anyone is doing besides their chores.”

“My mind is younger than my body, son,” Jarrett exclaimed in sadness, reaching for a bottle of water that was lined up on a silver tray next to an array of other choices. “You’ll understand when you get to be my age.”

Mason wasn’t sure he would get to see his eighties with the way things were going, but he wasn’t going to discourage Jarrett’s hope.

“We’ll talk more later,” Mason promised, all but ignoring Rat and his discerning gaze. The man always appeared to be plotting and that wasn’t suitable for this type of environment. “The guys are waiting on me back in the office.”

Mason didn’t head directly back to Henley’s office, but instead he walked over to where Brenna was seated. The heat of the fire felt good after having ridden so many hours in the cold. She must have thought so too, considering she was sitting closest to the glowing flames.

“The four of you up to no good?” Henley asked with a smile, her beauty still just as striking in person as they had been in the magazines she’d modeled for. Mason always thought she and Mav would make a good couple and it was nice to see they weren’t wasting the time they had left. “Mav is going to be in the radio room at eight o’clock tonight. Berke and Van haven’t checked in for a few days.”

“Yeah, that’s part of what we’re talking about.” At least it was, until the conversation turned to Truman and his team. Mason turned his attention toward Brenna, who was twirling a strand of hair in between her fingers. He wouldn’t doubt she was doing it to keep herself awake. “Brenna, why don’t you head back to the bunker? Get some sleep. I’m going to be at least another half hour.”

Brenna was already shaking her head at Mason’s suggestion, regardless that the shadows underneath her eyes had darkened.

“I’ll wait for you.”

Such a simple sentence and yet it was evident that Henley, Prue, and Mabel took it out of context. Mason didn’t bother to correct their assumptions. It would only be a losing battle, but it eased his mind to know that Brenna seemed to be fitting in well here. Once he could clear up this Truman issue, he wouldn’t need to be so proactive.

“Fine.” Mason handed Brenna his mug, guessing she took it black since she was a rancher and a woman with simple needs. Her thankful smile told him he’d gotten it right and he turned on his boot heel to grab another. He did call back over his shoulder. “I shouldn’t be more than thirty minutes.”

Mason didn’t waste time and quickly managed to pour himself another cup of coffee before making his way back down the short hallway by the reception desk to where Henley’s office was located. He stopped in the doorway once he realized Truman was leaning up against the far wall with a striking woman of mixed heritage.

“Here,” Mason said, ignoring the two newcomers and handing off one of the mugs to Tank. The older man nodded his thanks and then leaned back in his chair, his blue eyes trained on the duo.

“Mason here is one of mine,” Tank declared before taking a drink of his coffee. Mason reclaimed his seat and stretched his legs out in front of him, resting a hand on his left thigh and resisting the urge to rub the sore muscles. “I’m sorry that you misconstrued the situation, Truman, but Mason was protecting what was his. I want this animosity cleared up or there’s going to have to be some changes made.”

“Ace told me what happened out there once he regained consciousness,” Truman said, apparently not wanting to test Tank’s resolve on the issue. That was a good thing too, because Mason would have had no problem kicking these people out. He stared at the woman, whose name was Ann Moreau. Owen clued Mason in on who was who, at least those newcomers who he didn’t already know. She was all muscle and as sleek as a panther in the jungle, especially with those green eyes of hers. Hell, she’d probably put up more of a fight than Truman. “I won’t apologize for what happened earlier, because I know you would have reacted the same. Besides, you’re satisfied with the outcome.”

Truman held up his freshly bandaged hand, not that Mason felt the least bit guilty. As a matter of fact, it was all he could do not to do it again when he thought back to the fear in Brenna’s heart-shaped face.

“Had Mason wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be here. He is a dead shot,” Mav interjected, pushing the desk chair back a little farther so he could see all the occupants in the room. “Let bygones be bygones. We’re not in a situation where we can harbor resentment. We need to work together and be clear of this shit.”

“Fairfax wouldn’t share this classified information, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out it has something to do with our government somehow being involved in the eruption. Or at least being aware of the eruption in advance of the general population for some period of time.” Mason watched Truman’s facial features carefully, wondering just how close he was to the truth. Technically, he didn’t know anything of the sort. “Two of the three remaining members of the team tracking Fairfax are now dead. I have no idea if the third one even knows about this place, but if he does, it would be helpful to know if we should continue protecting your collective asses from them.”

“Listen up, jar—”

Truman held up a hand, cutting off the disparaging nickname Ann was about to call Mason. He lifted an eyebrow in challenge, wanting to see just how far he could push these two people. Their third was apparently out on patrol. Mason recalled his name being Dean Sealey and wondered if he had the same temperament as these two.

“Look, my team isn’t supposed to even be here,” Truman admitted, although his declaration was already known to the others. From what Mav had told Mason, Truman had stopped by Lost Summit on personal business and he was to meet up with his team at a later date. The eruption stopped that, but hadn’t halted his team’s progress toward the area. Ann and Dean had made their way here relatively shortly after the caldera exploded. “I had a bit of personal time, so I was using it to take care of a private matter. Fairfax was to meet us a little west of here with the exact coordinates of our next assignment.”

“And what would that have been?” Mason inquired over the rim of his mug. He thought twice about taking a drink when he saw Ann’s uncomfortable shift in stance upon realizing Truman was about to actually give them some real data. It was about damned time. “Don’t leave us hanging in suspense. You blackhats are always so cloak and dagger.”

“Fairfax has the location of a very large underground warehouse containing staple supplies, heavy equipment, vehicles, fuel, food rations, ammunitions, and weapons.” Truman let his announcement settle over the room, much like dead weight. Mason slowly sat forward, more because he needed time for his muscles to ease than it was in interest. He was beyond attentive at this point. “It would have been similar to our last five missions over the last year and a half. We were to help locate, mark the entrance, inventory the supplies, report the status of the facility, and secure the area before moving on to the next location.”

“And all this was before the eruption?” Owen asked carefully, wanting to make sure they were all hearing this right. He shared cautionary looks with the group. Tank wisely set his mug on Henley’s desk, not wanting emotion to cause the liquid to spill over the side. “Are you telling us our government has been preparing for Yellowstone to erupt for close to two years now?”