What Doesn't Kill Her (Cape Charade #2)(53)

“You should do that.”

“You can go sleep in the recliner. It’s lumpy, but comfortable if you’re tired enough.”

“I’ll do that.”

Zone started to walk toward the double doors that led to his workshop. Halfway there, he stopped, turned and looked at Max. “You think something stinks about this whole operation.”

Max hadn’t moved. “Don’t you?”

Zone asked the question that was haunting Max. “Why did they leave that potentially priceless piece of history sitting on a rock for you to pick up?”

“Exactly. Why?”



28


A punch to the ribs made Kellen grunt and wake. Her first thought was not an attack! Her first thought was Rae.

How times had changed.

She opened her eyes and found Rae asleep on the bed with her, one foot extended in kick position, the other twitching as if she was winding up for a kidney shot.

Everything was well. They were both alive.

Gently, she turned Rae so she faced into the room and looked across at Max and Zone. They stood in the kitchen and talked, their low voices a rumble as they leaned over a...a what? Something electronic. Kellen listened to them, picked out a few words, enough to rouse her interest and explain what they were doing—and seeing.

Raising herself on one elbow, she stroked Rae’s head, swaddled her little girl in a blanket, pulled on the terry cloth robe that was at the foot of the bed and headed for the bathroom.

Both men stopped talking and watched her, maybe because they were concerned about her ability to stand. Maybe because they didn’t want the little woman to hear what they were saying.

Too late for that. She shut the door behind her and used the facilities; her aunt and uncle’s old camp trailer had a larger bathroom. She glanced in the mirror. She looked like hell.

Oh, well.

She came out and strolled over to the tiny old slump-shouldered white refrigerator. She looked inside. A slightly shriveled green apple sat on the top rack. She plucked it free, shut the door and bit into the apple.

Zone slammed his palms on the table. “Damn it! I figured that was disgusting enough I’d be the only one to eat it.”

“Ever been to Afghanistan?”

“Yes.”

“So have I.”

He stared at her through those thick black glasses.

She stared at him.

He said, “Okay, then.”

“Okay, then,” she agreed. She glanced at Max.

Interesting. When she sparred with Nils Brooks, Max hated it. He hated everything about her and Nils. But with Zone, he watched them both with an affectionate half smile. Probably he thought Zone wasn’t attractive?

ZONE (FIRST OR LAST NAME UNKNOWN):
MALE. ETHNICITY: BROWN (HISPANIC?) AND/OR CAUCASIAN/TANNED. 6'1", 160 LBS, SHAGGY BLACK HAIR HANGING BELOW THE BASEBALL HAT HE WORE EVEN INSIDE (BALDING?), LONG MASSIVE CURLY BLACK BEARD; RESEMBLES AN OLD TESTAMENT PROPHET. GREEN EYES, BLACK LASHES, DISTORTED BEHIND HEAVY-FRAMED BLACK GLASSES. FACIAL STRUCTURE UNKNOWN. DEDUCE SCARRING. HERMIT. AURA OF POWER, INTELLIGENCE, KNOWLEDGE. EASILY IRRITATED BY HUMAN CONTACT.
No, Zone was definitely attractive, if only for the mystery he exuded.

She asked, “What are you two looking at?”

“It’s the radar for all submarines in the western Pacific,” Zone said.

“No, it’s not. It picks up life forms around the lookout.” She met Zone’s gaze again. “I heard you.”

“It used to be a radar screen for... Oh, to hell with you.” He stomped away and started rummaging through the cupboard over the miniature stove top and incongruously large dishwasher. He saw her watching him and said, “What are you looking at? I’m not going to wash dishes by hand.”

“I didn’t say a thing,” Kellen pointed out.

Max chuckled, that nice low laughter that made her feel warm in all places south, then guilty for being so easily distracted from a very serious and deadly situation.

Zone got out three mugs. “Coffee?” He didn’t wait for an answer but poured the mugs full, rinsed out the coffeepot and set it up again. He muttered, “Only thing I miss about civilization is espresso.”

“Espresso machines aren’t expensive.” She finished the apple, tossed the core in the compost bin and accepted the coffee. She took a sip and amended that to, “Espresso machines aren’t terribly expensive.”

“Thanks for that!” Zone said.

She studied the screen. “When I look at this, I see a mile perimeter around the lookout, and I see life forms. Animals, right?”

Zone muttered something rude.

She figured she’d get used to that. She put the coffee cup down on the tiny countertop. “You must be Canadian,” she said to Zone.

He grinned evilly. “How did you guess?”

“Because you don’t look Turkish.” To Max she said, “Only the Turks and the Canadians make coffee that strong.”

“A few Venetians, too.” Max sipped. “I’ve got an aunt who makes coffee that will keep you awake for days.”

She pointed at the screen. “I can see creatures prowling around. Coyotes? Wildcats of some kind? Congregating around in the area where the battle took place.”

“No living humans are out there,” Max said.