Page 15 of Guarded By the Lumberjack
I've got a new appreciation for the plans to reopen that path now, but planning how we'll do that is a project for another time-- one when Penny's safe in our home with my baby growing inside her, not locked in a basement panic room with a crazed lunatic stalking us like prey.
Right now, all my attention is focused on eliminating that crazed lunatic from the equation.
The earth up here is soft, with vegetation cleared near the cabin and a brief stretch of grassy meadow spanning the distance into the forest.
At first glance, I don't see the telltale signs of human intrusion; the dropped items, or careless footprints that people leave behind when they aren't aware of how easy it is to tell they've been there.
I didn't find any indication that this guy ever served, but there's more ways to develop skills than the military-- looks like our guy Keith might have gone one of those routes.
He should have gone further; it only takes a little more time-- and doing my best to get my personal feelings out of my way-- to notice where the high grasses of the starlit meadow show a trail where they've been recently trampled.
Once I spot the trail through the meadow, the rest of his path comes into focus.
Now I'm thinking the fire was a distraction, maybe a way to get me out here, get us separated so Penny would be alone.
Fucker doesn't know about the hidden room under the floorboards of what looks more like someone's hunting cabin than a carefully designed safehouse.
Going into a trap knowing it's a trap, doesn't mean it's not still a trap.
Judging by the care that was put into hiding his trail, I'd say he's not expecting me to follow him, so that's what I'm thinking of doing-- right up until I notice a second path through the meadow where someone else has circled around the meadow and approached the cabin from the woods on the other side.
Judging from the difference in the way the meadow's been trampled, it wasn't the same person.
It hadn't occurred to me that the asshole had friends. Not the sort that would help him stalk and possibly harm an innocentwoman, at least, let alone trail that woman and old SEAL out to a cabin in the middle of the woods.
"Old" is exactly what the punks are probably thinking about me. Hell, I left the SEAL team years before I retired from the service-- looks like they aren't expecting a guy in his fifties who can still break their spines without breaking a sweat.
But it does have me reassessing the situation I'm in.
I find him lurking on the other side of the cabin, standing on his toes trying to get a look through one of the high-placed windows but they're too high for him. Going with the notion that he'll hang himself if I give him the rope, I keep to the shadows and wait to see what he does next.
Sure enough, he enters the cabin. So he knows I'm not inside.
A few minutes later, he rushes out and sprints for the woods.
After a count of three, I follow, all too aware that I'm unarmed, alone, and don't know what I'm walking into.
Chapter Eight
Penny
This room obviously gets a significant female guest roster. Most of the books on the shelf are smutty romances. There's also an impressive collection of magazines full of photos of pretty places and houses that were remodeled with far bigger budgets than I'll ever have. Gardening books, adult coloring books filled with intricate designs and a box of colored pencils with enough colors to keep me busy for days.
If I wasn't already busy pacing the center of the long, narrow room, managing to grow increasingly freaked out.
It's been almost three hours since the door locked me on this side and Calvin on the other.
I found a computer system in addition to the phone, but it seems you need some sort of code to connect to the outside world, so I could watch some pre-loaded videos or play games. Neither of which worked any better than the smoldering scenes of the lumberjack romance book I picked up.
Which just reminded me that Calvin owns a timber company. Does that technically make him a lumberjack?
When we get back to Moonshine Ridge, I will definitely have to make him chop some wood for me with an ax. I bet he's good at it. Even if he isn't-- I'll enjoy watching him do it.
I think about Cal. I think about all the things we talked about-- all too briefly-- about how it felt to be touched by someone other than my late husband, about how it felt when he said he loved me, about the warm, optimistic excitement stirring inside me for the first time since I was informed of Tyler's death.
I'll move to Moonshine Ridge, into Cal's beautiful home, and I'll show that kitchen of his what it was meant for.
Then I think about the fact that we made love without protection.
