Where Danger Hides Read online

  “Sammi! Will!” She started calling as soon as she hit the edge of the park, wondering which way to turn. Why had she ever thought the park was too small? They’d be at the playground, right? She veered left, down the dirt path. “Sammi! It’s Miri. Answer me if you’re here!”

  She slowed to listen, straining to hear anything over her labored gasps.

  * * * * *

  Dalton’s breathing filled his car, drowning out the road sounds. Once again, Miri called and he’d dropped everything to rush to her aide.

  Three days at the Blackthorne training compound, immersed in PT until every muscle screamed, hadn’t kept her out of his head. She was with him on every step through the obstacle course, whispering to him on the firing range, a shadow hanging out of reach on the forced marches. She was the hostage they rescued in countless simulations.

  A brazen waitress, picking his pocket—and he hadn’t asked her what she was doing in Patterson’s study.

  A silent socialite, melting into his arms as they danced.

  Proud, strong, intelligent, compassionate, and one hundred percent female. Damn her.

  Miri had said someone was dead and then hung up. He’d run the last two miles all out, catching and passing the rest of the team, stopping long enough to ditch his pack and rifle before barreling out of the compound.

  No doubt, the team thought he was crazy. They were probably right. Miri made him crazy. He took a deep breath, then another. Crazy got people killed. Routines, training, practicing until everything was automatic—that kept you alive.

  He was in a total dead cell zone, otherwise he could call the compound and they could monitor the public safety bands. All he’d been able to find out before he lost contact with the civilized world was that a meth lab exploded, not far from Galloway House.

  Even knowing he was at least ten minutes from any kind of signal, he punched buttons on the radio, trying to get more information. Maybe Jupiter was aligned with Mars or something, and he’d pick up a station. Yeah, right after Santa Claus dropped out of the sky with his reindeer.

  The onramp to I-80 never looked more inviting. He merged into traffic, hit the radio and reached for his cell phone, reminding himself Miri’d been talking to him when the explosion happened.

  A call to Blackthorne’s offices got him some bare-bones information. Names of the dead or injured were not being released. The fire was contained; the cops were investigating. The fact that the radio broadcasts weren’t saying much allayed a fraction of his anxiety. Of course, a meth lab blowing up in that part of town probably wouldn’t get more than a cursory mention.

  How much did someone have to be worth to make the news? How much to interrupt regularly scheduled programming? Were there crawlers with updates at the bottom of television screens? Crap. He had no business assigning value to people’s lives.

  To Dalton, all that mattered was that Galloway House was near the explosion, not at the explosion site. So why was he in a panic? Miri wouldn’t get involved. Would she?

  Pictures of her, racing to the rescue, evading cops and firefighters, running into a chemical-filled house, wouldn’t stop playing in his head.

  No. Miri would be fine.

  He repeated that to himself over the next thirty-six miles, more emphatically when all he got was voice mail on both Miri’s cell and Galloway House’s main line. Sitting in stop-and-go traffic on the Bay Bridge, he found the detachment he needed to think things through. His mind played with the pieces, testing how they fit. A meth lab. Something tickled the edge of his brain. Taking advantage of yet another stop in traffic, he leaned over and retrieved the envelope he'd dropped onto the backseat when he'd driven Miri home.

  He found the reports on Elena and Tania. He eyed the sheets, searching for anything drug related. A horn sounded behind him.

  Relax, asshole. Moving ahead six inches isn’t going to get you there any faster.

  He lifted his foot from the brake and his car closed the gap. “Methamphetamines” popped off the page in both reports. Could there be a connection to Miri’s missing people?

  Too much of a stretch. They’d found those two in entirely different places, Tania as far away as Santa Barbara. Should he mention it to Miri?

  Although she claimed to have a handle on the reality of Galloway’s population, Dalton didn’t buy it. Deep down, she imposed her optimistic goals on each of them. Drugs weren’t part of the Galloway picture; therefore, she didn’t want to admit her residents might be users.

  That, he understood. Too well. He didn’t know Rachel had a problem until it was too late.

  Fuck. That was fourteen years ago. This was now.

  The nearer he got to Galloway House, the harder his heart thumped. He hadn’t changed out of his filthy sweat-soaked pants and shirt, but the sweat running down his back was the ugly, cold sweat of fear.

  He tried Miri’s cell phone again.

  Nothing. Another honk. Another gap closed.

  Across the bridge at last, Dalton repressed his impatience. For years, his existence depended on waiting for the right moment. On following plans. Using his brain. The one above his neck.

  Traffic crawled, but at least it moved. The sun hung low in the sky, and despite his sunglasses, he squinted against the glare. With his goal so near, the last few miles seemed to stretch out as long as the rest of the trip. Commuter clogged streets, pedestrians—why not a damn marching band? That would really slow him down. Finally he arrived, parked, and managed to restrain his pace at something under a run to the front door of Galloway House.

  Inside, a different face sat behind the counter. Female, middle-aged, was all he bothered to notice. He scanned the room, but no sign of Miri. Before he opened his mouth, the woman reached under the desk, pulled out a clipboard and gave him a sympathetic smile.

  “Welcome to Galloway House. I’m sure we can help you. What kind of assistance do you need?”

  As he stepped toward the counter, he saw her lean back an inch and her nostrils flare. Her smile widened as if to cover her reaction. He rubbed his fingers across his jaw. He hadn’t shaved since Tuesday morning. They’d been running simulations all night, and then a little live-fire drill followed by a ten-mile run in full gear. He glanced at his filthy cargo pants and mud-encrusted T-shirt. Hell, he could smell himself.

  He suppressed a chuckle. Looks like there was one person who thought he’d blend right in with the Galloway House crowd.

  “I’m looking for Miri Chambers.”

  Her lips formed a polite, professional smile. “Miss Chambers isn’t here, but I can help you.” She poised a pen over the clipboard. “Your name?”

  “Dalton—but I don’t want the kind of help you’re offering. I need to find Miss Chambers.” Dammit to hell, he’d had over an hour to consider all the possibilities and come up with a credible way out of this scenario, which he should have predicted. Which he would have predicted if his brain had been functioning at half his normal standard. He tried for his guaranteed to open any door smile, and the effort was beyond him. Well, there was always Plan B. Beg. “Please, ma’am? It’s important.”

  The polite smile shifted to genuine concern. “No. She left a while ago—after the explosion—and she hasn’t come back yet.”

  “Maybe someone else would know. I wouldn’t bother you, but like I said, it’s important that I find her.”

  “I’ll call someone,” she said. “Maybe you’d like a hot meal while you’re waiting? The dining room will be serving at five.” She picked up a phone.

  Voices drifted from down the hall. He pivoted and followed the source, ignoring the woman’s pleas that he wait. He found a room occupied by half a dozen women while a sitcom played on the television. Several seemed engrossed in the program, but one peered up from her needlepoint.

  “I’m looking for Miri Chambers,” he said. “Have you seen her?”

  “Ran out like a bat out of hell,” one woman said.

  “Right after the explosion,” another added.
r />   God, would she have run toward the disaster? Why?

  “She was asking about Sammi, remember?”

  “Yeah, Sammi and Will. They come back?”

  There was a silent exchange of glances, a few shrugs, and the needlepoint lady said, “Sammi was going to the park. Took her daughter and Jillian's kid. And the pup.”

  “Where?” Dalton asked.

  “Clifton and Holden,” one of the others said. “ ’‘Bout three blocks that way.” She waved an arm in a sweeping gesture that covered at least three compass points.

  “Thanks.”

  Dalton jogged back to the door, colliding with a baby stroller coming in. He caught himself before he landed on the floor and stared into the large, startled eyes of a toddler. “Hi, there,” he said.

  Her chin quivered.

  Great. He was scaring babies. He found a grin. “You’re okay, aren’t you, kiddo?”

  A female form reached into the stroller and snatched the child into her arms. “It’s okay, Suzie. The man did an oops.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

  “No problem.” She barely met his eyes, trying to hold onto the child and maneuver the stroller past him.

  “Sammi,” the woman at the counter said. “This man’s looking for Miri. Says it’s important. Have you seen her?”

  Sammi nodded. “At the park. Reggie ran away.”

  Dalton helped her get the stroller inside. “Which way is the park?”

  Sammi tilted her head to the left.

  Dalton ran.

  Chapter 12

  Miri reached for Will’s shoulder. “Get out of the bushes. You need to come home. Now.”

  “We can’t go. Reggie’s in there, Miri! We have to get him out.” The dog’s leash hung from Will’s hand. The desperation on his face made the decision a no-brainer.

  She glanced into the distance. The wind blew the smoke—and more importantly, the chemicals—in the opposite direction. Still, she kept her breathing shallow.

  Miri nudged Will behind her. “Okay, let’s see what we can do. But stay back. He’s scared enough. You be ready with the leash.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to let him go, but he wanted to run and play.”

  She tousled his hair. “I know, sport.”

  “We can’t leave him here. He needs me.”

  Not as much as you need him.

  Miri crawled under the bush, fixing on the whimpering sounds from its depth. Of course the puppy would bolt for something with thorns.

  “I see him. His collar’s stuck.”

  “It’s okay, Reggie,” Will called. “We’re saving you.”

  Will’s voice startled the already frightened pup and he jerked deeper into the greenery. Miri reached into the shadows, ignoring the scratches. Her fingers touched leather. She inched forward on her belly, straining to grasp the collar. “Got you,” she whispered. She tugged. The soft fur beneath her fingertips wriggled free. A blur of brown-and-white sped past.

  “Grab him, Will!” She scrambled out, brushing the leaves and dirt from her hands. Turning, she saw Will’s blur join Reggie’s. They were both running toward the explosion site. She raced after them. “Will, no! Stop!”

  She caught up, grabbed his arm. “Stop. You can’t go there, Will. It’s too dangerous.”

  Tears welled in his brown eyes. “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have let him off the leash. Is he going to die?”

  Miri crouched to meet Will’s eyes. “I’m sure he’ll come home when he gets hungry.”

  “Does he know the way?”

  “Dogs are smart about things like that. Hey, I have an idea. How about we go home, get some hamburger meat and come back? He likes hamburger, doesn’t he?” She gave him a conspiratorial smile.

  Will flushed at the exposure of his forays into the kitchen for dog treats. He scuffed at a pebble. “I guess so.”

  “I know so. Let’s go.”

  Will darted ahead, calling after Reggie. When he crashed into a tall figure dressed in black, Miri’s pulse jumped. Rather than sidestep, the man leaned into Will. Although she’d never felt uncomfortable in the neighborhood, knowing there was a meth lab so near elevated her level of wariness. She straightened her shoulders and strode toward the man.

  “Will,” she called, her voice louder than usual. “Let’s go.”

  White teeth appeared behind a wide grin on the grimy stranger’s face. “Are you two lookin’ for this?”

  He held out a squirming brown and white puppy.

  “Reggie!” Will shrieked, reaching for the dog.

  “Dalton?” Miri ran forward. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d take a stroll through the park.”

  “First things first,” Miri said. She collared the puppy and snapped on his leash. Once she secured Reggie, she looped the leash around Will’s wrist, with a quiet admonition to hold tight. He gave a solemn nod and crouched to the ground, burying his face in the dog’s fur. Watching the two scruffy creatures delighting in the reunion, she grinned. A bathtub at Galloway House would be challenged tonight.

  She turned her attention to Dalton, who hadn’t said anything since his initial greeting. In comparison, he’d been ready for a spread in GQ the last time she’d seen him. His hair was matted, he hadn’t shaved in days, and judging from his bloodshot eyes, hadn’t slept, either. There was definitely not a whiff of sandalwood anywhere in his vicinity.

  Will trotted ahead with Reggie at his side, any danger apparently forgotten. Dalton dovetailed his fingers in hers and drew her closer as they walked. She felt his chest bellow in and out, as if he’d been running. He’d said he was running when he’d called, but surely he’d driven here. Was he trembling? Or winded? She stepped away enough to study him.

  She absorbed the way his T-shirt hugged his broad chest before it dipped into the waist of his cargo pants. The strong biceps beneath the short sleeves. She caught a glimpse of a healing gash at the base of the sleeve. He must have noticed her scrutiny.

  He tugged the sleeve down, covering the scar. “A little too much eau de unwashed?”

  “No. I’m deciding if I like you better in a tux, or like this.” His mouth curved up. Heat flooded her face. “Did I really say that out loud?”

  “Afraid so.” He cocked an eyebrow. “So, which is it?”

  “Haven’t decided. Were you on a stakeout or something?”

  Dalton shook his head. “Training. Routine stuff.”

  “I didn’t know private investigators had to keep in shape like that.”

  He drew her back against him. “You never know when we’ll be called on to look good in a tux.”

  She accepted his arm around her shoulders. After crawling in the dirt and bushes, she couldn’t get much dirtier.

  Before they reached Galloway House’s entrance, Dalton stopped her. “Are you okay with your decision about checking into your missing people?”

  Miri raised her hand. “Will, go inside and take care of Reggie. Your mom should be back from work. Let her know you’re home.”

  “Okay.” Will picked up Reggie and breezed through the door.

  Miri thought about Dalton’s question. “You found something?”

  “I don’t know. But maybe we should talk. How well did you know Elena and Tania?”

  “Apparently not as well as I thought. What do you have?”

  He glanced around. “Not here. Your office?”

  “Do you need the computer or privacy?”

  “More the latter.”

  “Then my office isn’t the best place.”

  He gave her a wry grin. “I think this is where I say, ‘your place or mine?’ but you might misconstrue my intentions.”

  “And what exactly are your intentions?”

  “Honorable, Miss Chambers, I assure you.”

  The exhaustion in his eyes gave her a sudden urge to rock him. She was about to decline his suggestion when she envis
ioned the picture of Elena the cop had shown her. If there was the slightest chance of a connection, she owed it to Elena, and maybe to others, to follow through.

  She rubbed her neck. “I’ve got a laptop at my place.”

  “I’ve got a hot shower at mine. And my neighbors don’t pay attention to comings and goings.”

  “Maybe that’s what worries me.”

  He rested his hands on her shoulders and rotated her to face him. Behind the exhaustion, something else showed in his eyes. Pain? Anguish?

  “I’ll never do anything to worry you.” His voice was a husky whisper. “You can count on that.”

  Her mind whipped through an automatic spreadsheet of options, none of them better than another. His place? Hers?

  “I have a shower, too,” she said. “And I need to get into some clean clothes.”

  He grazed a finger across the back of her hand. “You need some first aid.”

  She’d forgotten the sting of a criss-crossing of scratches over her hands and arms. “It’s nothing.”

  “They should be cleaned.” He cradled the back of her head. “Let me take care of you. Just this once.”

  Maybe that’s what she wanted. An hour or two not being responsible for everyone.

  “Let me make sure everything’s all right and get my bag,” she said. “We have a supply of clothes here. They might not be the greatest fit for you, but they’re clean.”

  “I take it that means my place is out.”

  “Unless you live around here, mine seems more sensible.” She had faith he’d leave when she asked. At her place, she at least maintained the illusion of control.

  The twinkle in his eyes said he understood. “I’ve got spare clothes in my car.”

  “For disguises when you’re tailing someone?”

  His grin was genuine this time. “Maybe. Or maybe because I never know when I’m going to need clean clothes on the job.”

  “I’ll bet you were a Boy Scout, too.”

  “Guilty as charged. All the way to Eagle.”

  “All right, Boy Scout. Wait here. I won’t be long.”