Move the Sun (Signal Bend #1)(20)
Once she had everything in the house, she spent an hour or so setting things up: getting the new linens in the wash (the rental thankfully had both washer and dryer), organizing the kitchen, trying to make the dreary little hut into something livable. Then she went into the smallest bedroom and started setting that up, too.
It was furnished with a twin-size bed and a small dresser. She pushed both of these to the side and built the small, cheap desk she’d bought. When it was together, she carried one of the chairs from the dinette set in; it would serve fine as a desk chair. She wasn’t sure what to do with the trash she was making; she supposed she’d have to burn most of it, since it was unlikely the town had residential trash pickup. For now, though, she piled it all in the third bedroom. When the furniture was handled, she covered the windows with heavy black paper, then drew the drapes. She changed the doorknob to one that locked. It wasn’t a great security solution; the door itself was only a typical interior door and thus wouldn’t put up much resistance to someone determined to get in, but the lock would slow them down, anyway.
That room set up the way she wanted, she put the linens in the dryer, grabbed the carton that had held the toaster oven, and went back out to the garage. She’d chosen this property for its seclusion, so the precautions she was taking were probably more than she needed. But she was a cautious woman, and sometimes more really was more. She went in the side door of the garage, so that she could leave the overhead closed. With no windows in the building, the garage was near pitch black, only the dim light rimming the doors to ease the gloom. Lilli turned on the overhead fluorescents and opened the trunk of the Camaro.
It looked like the trunk was empty, but Lilli leaned in and pulled the vinyl backing away from the back seat. Instead of the innards of spring and padding one usually finds inside an upholstered seat, the Camaro held a small armory: An M16 assault rifle, an M25 sniper rifle, three semi-automatic handguns, and a small assortment of other types of weapons for melee and mayhem. There was also a satellite phone and a very special laptop hidden in the seat. Lilli collected the latter two items and put them in the toaster oven box.
The weapons she left where they were; she had her favorite sidearm in the bedroom already, and she didn’t expect to need the rest for some time yet. She closed up the back of the seat, shut the trunk, and left the garage, turning off the lights and locking it behind her.
When she got back into the house, she took the laptop and satellite phone into the office she’d just set up. She hooked the phone into the laptop, using the satellite connection to access the internet. It had been three days since she’d checked in. Her silence had been scheduled, but it still made her antsy to go so long.
When she got through the labyrinth of security and logged on, she found two new assignments, neither of which looked like it would take a great deal of time—a few hours each—but each with a hard deadline and high clearance. She knew what she’d be doing tonight. She replied, confirming the deadline for their completion. Then she logged out and came back in another way, so she could quietly check with her contact on what she was calling her side job. There was no new message, so she sent one of her own.
She wrote in code as if it were another language in which she was fluent, but the actual message she sent was: In place. Need an update. Don’t make me wait.
oOo
She worked on her first assignment right away, finishing it and sending it back, newly encrypted, only breaking to make her bed and use the bathroom. She checked the time on her laptop: nearly 8pm. Her stomach rumbled, and she decided she’d pack it in for the night, make herself some supper, and spend the evening with a book.
She went into the kitchen and pulled out the fixings for a salad. She’d also bought a decent rib-eye; might as well have that as fresh as possible. She found a cast-iron skillet in one of the cabinets and put it on the stove.
While she cooked, she reflected on her first couple of days in Signal Bend. Things weren’t going as she’d planned. She’d known that a new person in a small town would be noticed, so she wasn’t trying to stay under the radar. She’d gone in conducting herself as if she were really moving to town for the long haul—hell, there was probably no reason that she couldn’t stay long term if she wanted, assuming all went well, and if she didn’t mind losing her real last name. She hadn’t expected quite the notice she’d gotten for her car and her run, but those were totally controllable factors.
But with Isaac, she’d managed to make herself the talk of the town. That had been blazingly apparent at breakfast, but she’d gotten her first inkling of it when that bitch had gotten the drop on her at the bar.
Setting aside her irritation at herself for not keeping an eye on her flank and letting some dumb broad put hands on her—put a damn gun to her head—she kicked herself for not recognizing immediately that just sitting with Isaac had pulled down a lot of attention on her head. She’d even remarked on the attention the other bikers were paying them, but she’d been so lulled by his presence that she’d thought no more of it.
Being connected with Isaac didn’t kill her plans, though; it simply changed them. She had to factor him in. And there might be something useful in a connection to the most powerful man in town. It could give her decent cover. Hiding in plain sight was often excellent cover, because it confounded expectations. And she obviously could not be in plainer sight around these parts than when she was with Isaac.