Hunting April (9 page)

"The engagement ring. He made me wear it. I think to show everyone that he owned me." She brought her shoulder bag to the kitchen table, dumped the contents on the tabletop. Unzipped the inner pocket, took out a folded envelope, then tore it open.

She held up a large, exquisitely filigreed ring of pink gold, encrusted with what appeared to be diamonds, emeralds, and rubies. It was superb, an antique, a museum quality piece. "I forgot about it until I washed up at the convent. Took a bit to scrub the dried blood from the filigree. It's Angelo's great-great-great-somebody's ring, handed down through the family for generations. He's probably after the damn ring."

She placed the ring on the table, pushed it toward Daniel. "Mail it to him from another town. Then he'll stop looking for me, right?"

Both men carefully looked through the items she'd dumped on the table.

Shaking his head, Daniel replaced everything into the shoulder bag. "I doubt it's the ring. It might have pissed him off, but I don't believe he'd have his men combing the city for an engagement ring."

Glennon didn't look as convinced.

Hands over her face, April leaned forward until her forehead touched the table.

After a moment, she straightened up. "Well, then, I don't know what else it might be."

She leaned back. "So what's my next move? Introduce myself to prosecutors in two states and beg for mercy?"

Glennon collected the mugs and placed them in the sink, put the cream back in the fridge. He looked at his watch. "It's just before nine. We need to leave. Now."

"And go where? If the goony squad found Daniel, then he found me, I'm not safe anywhere."

Daniel parked the chairs back under the table. "Trust me. They didn't find me or follow my trail. By now, Martone's men realized their mistake. They're probably canvassing the area by quadrants. The excitement at the bakery may have piqued someone's interest, but April certainly didn't look like herself."

"Great. So, if you guys are correct, this neighborhood, this building, and all exits
may
be covered."

"Possible, but doubtful."

"The nice thing about researching local mobster history," Glennon said, "is finding where the escape hatches are. There's a tunnel under this building that comes out two blocks away, into an old garage that I also own."

"I repeat. Where will I go?"

"Not you. We."

"Where?"

"Sanctuary."

* * * * *

In less than two hours, the men had Glennon's big black Navigator packed, and the threesome had crossed into New York State from Jersey on northbound Route 17.

April remained incredulous. "Maine? Who the hell goes to Maine—on purpose?"

* * * * *

"How did you get to be a Wyndsor? You sound like a Scot, but don't have the coloring. You don't look British." April rode shotgun as Daniel drove north. Glennon had slept the least, so he sacked out on the back seat to grab a power nap.

"From my da. He's a Londoner, from the posh side. Tall, slender, blond, gray-eyed. I inherited his eyes and his name. As mum tells it, I resemble her da and his clan.

Mum's dark as a raven. She's of the Rom, from a band of Travellers in the north of Scotland. The tale told to me, as a bairn, was that mum broke away in favor of the

'civilized' world, took a job as an au pair so she could emigrate here to the States. She always had a real gift for languages. After the nanny job ended, she put herself through university, earned her doctorate. She met my da, an expat from Cambridge. Now they're both professors who specialize in rare languages and obscure dialects."

Daniel smiled. "A match made in university, da likes to say. They were older when I was born, so I'm an only child."

"Rom, as in Roma, Romany? Gypsies? I thought—with your black hair and beautiful dark skin—maybe Greek." April fought the urge to touch his arm, to stroke the heavy muscles under his rolled-up shirtsleeves.
A gypsy?
Her sexy bits tingled.

"My granda's a big man, dark as weathered oak. Story was that in his prime, he hoisted a Shetland pony 'cross his shoulders and carried it to safety after he came upon the poor crayture trapped in a bog."

Daniel's voice entranced her, delightful in how easily he slid from the precise English of academia to the melodic Scottish tongue of his maternal ancestors. Observing Daniel's massive physique, she could easily imagine
him
carrying a Shetland pony across his broad shoulders.

"Your grandfather sounds like quite the character. I'd like to meet him."

"Eh, character is a good word."

A voice came from the back. "Tell her your full name."

"Garrett, shouldn't you be resting?"

"Tell her."

"Go back to sleep."

April perked up. "Your full name? Come on now, tell me. What's your name?"

"Garrett, you're a right sweet pain in the bollocks, did you know?"

"Yeah, I've been told a time or two. Not always so politely. Go on, tell her."

"Fine. Daniel Faolan Wyndsor-Leeds. There, are you happy now?"

April covered a giggle. "Faolan Wyndsor-Leeds?"

"Tis true enough. I dropped the Leeds when I went to school. The moniker proved a bit much for the American kids. Faolan is my maternal grandfather's name.

Translates to
wolf
. Happy now, Glennon Manus Padraig O'Garrett?"

"Oh yeah,
Fool
an."

* * * * *

April quietly watched the scenery go by. Silent, Daniel replayed the conversation about family names, which stirred up recent memories.

He survived tour after tour of active duty in the Rangers. After the Army unwillingly relinquished its hold on him, he turned to the private sector, too highly trained, too reactive to danger and threats—real or perceived—to go civilian. He was no longer exactly housebroken, if ever he had been. As a free agent, his rep had grown quickly, by word of mouth, in the security and surveillance community, giving him juicy, high-paying jobs when it suited him. And it suited him to keep busy.

Eleeza Baillie Wyndsor-Leeds hadn't realized how fascinated young Daniel had been with the stories she told of the
auld country
, of her time as a child with the gypsies.

She thought she'd done a good job of dissuading him from being enamored of the life.

But, his mum told a great story, and the tales of the ancient tinkers kept him spellbound, tales of those who'd found a measure of safety for their clans in the wild, independent country of Scotland. Young Daniel was even more fascinated by anecdotes about her father, Faolan Baillie. Daniel's own granda, the leader of their troupe.

It had been more difficult than Daniel first imagined to track down the caravan's whereabouts, even with his contacts. Even more difficult to gain the trust of the Rom—

but the old ones immediately saw the resemblance in the young man to his grandfather.

Daniel's size, his strength, his brashness and daring, his sense of loyalty. He was welcomed with open arms. It became ritual to visit his granda as often as he could.

His mother never knew.

* * * * *

Daniel continued driving. Glennon took the shotgun seat, so April could stretch out on the back seat to catch a nap. Her eyes were closed, but she listened.

"Where exactly are we going, by the way?"Daniel asked. "Maine is a big place, full of not much of anything besides trees and moose, as I recall."

A few miles rolled along before Glennon spoke."Sanctuary. My home away from home. It's a camp in the wild country of western bum-fuck Maine, about half an hour from the quaint little village of Catamount Lake. Population, a couple of thousand townsfolk after the tourists leave."

"A camp? What sort of camp?"

"It began as a year-round camp for rich kids. Now it's a training facility for military and law enforcement personnel."

"Private or government?"

"Private. But not paramilitary."

"And you have access, why?"

"For fuck sake, Wyndsor, you
are
a nosey bugger."

"When lives are on the line—especially mine—absolutely."

"Two of my buddies own and manage the camp, all right?"

"And they're willing to work with us? Protect April?"

"They aren't actually in residence at the moment. Their lady is pregnant. The three of them hopped down to North Carolina to celebrate the news with Lucian's family. His very large, very Southern-hospitality family."

"
Their
lady?"

Glennon drummed his fingers on his door, then on the dashboard.

"Settle in for the ride. Adam Stone and Lucian Duquesne. Retired Marine scout-sniper team. The best guys you'd ever want to cover your ass. They bought the camp, all run down. Built it up to what you'll see today, renamed it Sanctuary. It's for guys in the military and civilian law enforcement. Retired guys, too. A place to train, cross-train. Hone their skills. For guys like us in the security and surveillance fields. Thirty-five-hundred acres. There's a fully equipped sports complex under the lodge, including shooting and archery lanes. Indoor Olympic-sized pool. Thirty-six outdoor kick-your-ass Crucible-style stations set throughout the woods and fields, including streams and mud holes. Two-mile par course trail with twenty fitness stations. A dozen cabins with eight beds each—not that they ever allow that many clients to attend each session. Mess hall. Equipment shed. A stable of ATVs."

April opened her eyes.
Sounds paramilitary to me.

Daniel whistled, then nodded. "And away from the public eye. Sounds like the perfect place to train."

With half a snort, Glennon continued. "The rest of the story is more complicated.

Enter the third Musketeer. NCS Special Agent Lorelei Randall, currently on medical—

and maternity—leave. A rogue agent tried to take her out. She survived, the agent didn't. The three of them live together. This baby is probably Adam's. If that's true, the next baby will be Lucian's, so I've been told."

In the back seat, April covered her mouth with one hand, stayed silent.

Daniel took a quick look at Glennon's profile. "Bloody hell."

"Well said."

Facing forward again, Daniel stared at the road ahead while Glennon appeared to count the mile marker posts as they flew by.

"That's an interesting scenario, an actual working
ménage a trois
," Daniel said.

"Although the notion is definitely intriguing enough to inspire a respectable hard-on, I can't imagine actually partaking in a serious threesome relationship. I don't believe I could share my woman, even with a friend. Not even a very
close
friend."

He seemed to give that some thought. "Then again, I don't have any friends
that
bloody close."

"Now, there's a shocker."

"Fuck off, Garrett."

"No worries about me sharing a woman with you, Wyndsor."

"That's good news. I'm so relieved. Since your friends are both celebrating, will they share custody of the resulting offspring?"

"So I've been told, although I'm not privy to the legalities of the situation. That's Lorelei's purview. The guys are so excited, it's positively unnatural." Glennon shook his head. "Especially Adam. He's the sniper."

"How curious."

Stretched across the back seat with blanket and pillow, April felt her brain race from near-doze to wide-eyed, hyper-full alert.
A ménage a trois? A threesome? For real?

Daniel just admitted the thought excites him. What if Glennon's friends come back, what if
Daniel and Glennon want to do the same?
She couldn't manage to process the possibilities.

Dear saints in heaven, what have I gotten into?

* *
*
* *

April lost all hope that they would ever reach anywhere that remotely resembled civilization.
I just know we're going to be in Canada soon.
To her, all the back country roads looked alike. She suspected they'd been going in circles. Since they'd turned off the main road, she was sure she'd seen the same fox at least three times.

Glennon took the final hour behind the wheel, after the last rest room break.

He turned off the paved section of the seasonal road, made a right into a hidden driveway. They faced a substantial security gate set between two massive stone columns. A thick tree line that extended for thousands of yards on each side of the gate prevented anything larger than a Vespa scooter from slipping around the columns.

Glennon punched numbers into the security keypad, then waited to move the Navigator forward until the gate lifted smoothly.

Daniel jutted his chin toward the minicam next to the keypad. "Impressive."

"The guys like their privacy. So do their clients."

"Apparently."

They continued for roughly a mile, along a surprisingly wide and well-maintained graveled driveway, lined with mature trees on both sides. Then the drive swung to the left. Being June, and one of the longest days of the year, it was still quite light when a woman's sultry voice entombed in the GPS announced, "You have reached your destination. It is 8:03 p.m. Eastern Daylight Savings Time."

"Oh,
wow
! Check this out!" April felt like a little kid at an amusement park for the first time as she launched from the vehicle. "Outstanding."

She heard the Navigator's heavy doors close as the men exited the vehicle with more dignity.

The driveway opened onto a huge parking area, outlined by short, heavy poles sunk in the ground, with a solar light atop each pole. Wide expanses of lawns and landscaping surrounded a huge ski resort-type lodge made almost entirely of logs—real hewn logs, not manufactured, wood-like products.

Daniel looked up. "There are no wires. How is the place powered?"

"Propane. There are huge propane tanks hidden from sight, and several big-assed gasoline-powered generators. Everything that would normally use electric runs off propane."

"Communications?"

"Satcomlink. Communications via satellite. The camp is so far off the beaten track, it had to be built from the get-go to be self-sufficient. I set up the basic security and surveillance system for Lucian when the guys moved in. He's tweaked it since then.