Bombshell - Men of Sanctuary Series, Book Three (5 page)

Mac smiled, fastened his seatbelt, put the truck into gear. “I would have gotten to it. He didn’t give me the chance.”

And you didn’t see fit to stop him from leaving, either
.

She guessed that, as the crow flew, Smitty’s place wasn’t all that far. It was the condition of the secondary and seasonal roads—more like barely widened, twisty game trails—that made the trip arduous and time-consuming. MacBride stopped apologizing after the first few minutes. The silence dragged on, as neither chose to be the first to break it. She refused to bring up their very recent association.

Keko did her best to enjoy the scenery. At least, to do whatever it took
not
to look at her driver.
Not
to notice the tousled look of his thick, tawny hair.
Not
to observe how well his heavy shoulders filled out his tailored uniform shirt.
Not
to glance at the khaki fabric that pulled tight across his hard thighs.
Not
to see how Top Gun he looked in mirrored aviator sunglasses.

She didn’t understand herself. Never, not ever, not even once in her life had she reacted to a man the way she reacted to MacBride.

They’d both arrived late to the last day’s lecture at the convention, then took the only seats available among the hundreds of attendees. They’d been stuck at the back of the large room; he was seated a row ahead of her and to the left. Too far away for her to read his nametag.

Since it had been the last day of her first solo conference, her first time out as the principal of Larsson Demolitions, she’d worked hard to keep a low profile, to concentrate on business. With the fine-looking man sitting to the side, just at the edge of her peripheral vision, she had a difficult time following the printed hand-outs, then lost her focus while only half-watching the videos and Power Point graphics.

During a juice and snack break, she overheard his plans regarding the night’s activities. All she’d managed to do during the afternoon’s presentations was to calculate the time it would take her to clean up and
wow
him in the lounge.

As the new title-holder of Larsson Demolitions, she’d been off to a rough freakin’

start.

* * * * *

Keko tried to pace in front of the workstation, but there was room only for baby steps in any direction. When she could no longer avoid it, she stared at the twin sister of the explosive device that took her father’s life. Stared at the device that nearly took out her and Kamaka. Her skin tingled, but this time it wasn’t in a good way.
Must be my
Spidey-senses, telling me to run for cover
.

In the end, her professionalism saved her. John had always handled the front-end stuff, approved the contracts, dealt with their clients. Keko worked behind the scenes, and preferred it that way. By pretending this was just another job, by being sure her notes were accurate and concise, as her father had taught her, she hoped she could get through the day without breaking down. She needed to remind herself that her dad couldn’t pick up the pieces if she screwed up.
The buck stops here. It’s all my responsibility
now.

The FBI agents on site were polite, efficient. They’d been told she was the expert, so they expected her to be skilled in her field. She appreciated their professional demeanor, which helped her do the job.

After scoping out the explosive device and the workshop, Keko jotted down her first impressions. Then she pulled herself together, left the workshop, weaved her way through the maze of buildings.

Let’s get a feel for the old man who built highly sophisticated bombs in this backwoods
camp
.

* * * * *

Deputy Joe Collins eventually delivered Kamaka to Smitty’s lair. The big man took a calculating look around the shop. Then he took a quick sniff of the C-4. “Smells funny. Wrong color, too.”

Keko nodded. “I agree. Looks like it has almost a pink tinge to it, doesn’t it?”

“Could be.”

“In any event, I can’t identify the manufacturer. Any thoughts?”

Kamaka checked the cabinets, looked through the supplies. “Not yet. Lookin’ at the other material and equipment, all high quality, I’m wondering why someone went to the bargain basement of demo suppliers for the C-4. It isn’t on any list with which I’m familiar.”

She shrugged. “Possible, I suppose. That would explain why I can’t place it. The FBI took a stick of the stuff to run tests down at their lab in Quantico. We’ll see what they find.”

“Don’t need Time-Of-Flight Secondary Ion Mass Spectrometry to tell me there’s a problem.” Kamaka tapped his nose. “Over three hundred olfactory receptors.
This
tells me something isn’t right. Best mass spec in the world.”

Chapter Three

Saturday evening

Sheriff MacBride entered the workshop, took a wide-legged stance, thumbs hooked in his web belt. “Ms. Holokai, we have a logistical snag with housing everyone.”

Damn, he looks good enough to … .
She shook off the memories. “What’s the problem now?”

“Between the autumn leaf-peeper tourist season in full swing and the Fibbies spread out trying to keep a low profile, there are no rooms available. The next real town with lodging is about an hour away.”

Kamaka perked up. “And maybe has a Mickey D’s?”

Keko cut Kamaka off before he could salivate over the possibility of his next McAngusBurger. “So, now what? Do we commute?”

Exhausted, she didn’t want to hear that no beds were available. “Can we sleep here? I don’t take up much room, and I’m good with the sofa or love seat.”

“Sorry, three FBI agents stay on site to protect the premises. One sleeps, two stand guard.”

“Protect the site from what or whom, exactly? Rampaging moose? Crazed raccoons?”

MacBride hiked his belt, settled his holster. “Ma’am, with a federal agency taking first seat, it’s not my call. I live to serve.”

Oh yeah, I just bet you do
. “There you go with the ma’am thing again, MacBride.

So, what choices do we have? Do we stay, commute, or leave it all in the hands of the FBI and hitch a ride back to Boston?”

He shifted his stance again. “I made a suggestion to Special Agent in Charge Chandler. He agreed. Good friends of mine have a lodge not too far from here. I crash there when I have time off, babysit the place when they’re away. And check on the cat.

They just arrived home from an extended visit, offered accommodations for you and Kamaka. An SUV will also be placed at your disposal.”

“And who are
they
to whom we owe for such generosity?”

“Adam Stone and Lucian Duquesne. Marine scout sniper team. Well, former sniper and spotter. They own Sanctuary lodge and training encampment. Their lady, NCS Special Agent Lorelei Randall, is currently on medical leave. Since Lorelei is pregnant, medical leave will probably slide into maternity leave.” He reacted to their expressions of puzzlement. “The situation sounds complicated at first, but it isn’t really all that bad.”

”
Their
lady?” Kamaka’s round handsome face lit up. ”
Ooh,
intrigue. I love it already.”

The security at Sanctuary’s main gate proved impressive, but was totally overshadowed by the view of the lodge as the sheriff’s vehicle broke out of the tree-lined drive. The majestic log edifice appeared to be patterned after the massive ski lodges in Colorado’s snow country, and beautifully landscaped multi-level gardens in a full array of fall flowers surrounded the buildings. A series of large, impressive outbuildings spread out to the left of the wide parking area and disappeared into the trees.

While Keko gawked, she didn’t realize that MacBride had gone around to the passenger side, handed her out of the vehicle, then escorted her up the wide stone stairs to the pair of massive multi-paned glass doors. Too tired to care, she ignored his hand as it maybe-nearly-almost caressed her arm.

The big doors swung inward before MacBride could ring the bell. They were met by a stunning woman with a mane of crinkly blonde hair, gorgeous brown eyes, and a superb tan. A mint green middy shirt and white shorts showed off her trim, toned body.

Keko stared.
Pregnant? No freakin’ way. Not and look that good. Must be another
woman who’s pregnant.

“Welcome to the Fun House.” The woman accepted a quick peck on the cheek from MacBride, then she linked her arm with Keko’s, led the way through the foyer and into the great room. “Glad you decided to stay with us. Mac, do something useful. Find the boys.”

The sheriff obeyed without question, took off immediately.

Keko made a complete turn before she came to a standstill, wide-eyed and slack-jawed at the magnificent interior.

In the huge space, half-a-dozen seating areas, each formed by a collection of heavy leather furniture, were arranged on richly patterned Oriental area rugs. Two staircases, one on either end of the great room, led to rooms on the second floor gallery.

A tremendous fieldstone hearth on the main floor dominated one wide wall.

The woman made a sweep of the interior with her arm. “Don’t let all of this throw ya. It may take a time or two to get oriented, but you’ll be okay. There’s the eat-in kitchen, butler’s pantry, laundry, guest bathroom, library-den, and formal dining room.

Go through the etched glass doors behind the far staircase, and you’ll find the indoor pool pavilion. Through the far set of pavilion doors at the end of the pool is the entrance to the underground training center. Feel free to make yourself at home.”

Keko was overwhelmed. “This is Sanctuary? Have we been kidnapped by insane survivalists? A cult?”

”
Nah
. I asked the same questions, except my list included axe murderers.” The blonde held out her hand. “Special Agent Lorelei Randall, currently on leave from the NCS. The guys are wandering around here somewhere. They’re glad to be back at their own playground. No matter. We can begin introductions without them. Incredible tat, by the way.”

“Thanks. I tend to forget it’s there.” Keko took the hand Lorelei offered, shook it firmly. “Keko Holokai, Larsson Demolitions. And Kamaka, my second.”

Lorelei and Kamaka bowed to each other, which in other circumstances might have seemed theatrical. For those two, Keko thought it worked.

“Okay, you have choices. There are three empty guest rooms upstairs. Two, if Mac hangs out with us.”

Keko felt a chill zoom up her spine at the thought of MacBride being domiciled a few doors away. They hadn’t been safe from each other in a seven-hundred-room resort hotel. How could they bed down so closely, and still keep their hands off each other?

”
Um
, does he hang out here frequently?”
Please say no, please say no, please say no
.

“Often enough. He’s good company, and the three boys play nicely together in the same sandbox. We also have twelve efficiency cabins; each sleeps as many as eight adults. The cabins are self-contained.”

Kamaka raised his hand. “Cool! An adventure. I’m good with a cabin.” He grinned broadly, winked, wiggled an eyebrow like a villain from a silent film. “Miss Keko, share a cabin with me? We could snuggle.”

Before Keko could respond with a smartass remark, Lorelei held up her hand.

“No, Miss Keko is
not
one of the guys, therefore, she is
not
staying in a cabin. No snuggle bunny for you, unless you want to sleep with the cat. Keek stays here with me, like civilized people. You lose, fella.”

“Who loses?”

Keko’s jaw dropped again.

Tall and gorgeous, a GQ fashion model strolled up behind Lorelei, wearing a black, muscle-hugging, sleeveless T-shirt that showed a Marine tattoo on each hunky bicep. The smooth, slinky motion of his torso and trim hips reminded Keko of a panther, the action embellished by snug black jeans. Long, blond, Fabio hair swayed, loose and silky, as he moved. Mustache and goatee were neatly trimmed, hazel eyes sparkled. He wrapped his arms around Lorelei, leaned forward to kiss the top of her head. “What’s up, sweet cheeks?”

“Lucian, mind your manners. We have visitors. Since the Fibbies have taken over the town—again—Mac delivered guests to us for safekeeping. Keko Holokai, John Larsson’s daughter. Kamaka, Keko’s second-in-command. Folks, this overgrown beach-bum is Lucian Duquesne.”

Chills ran down Keko’s spine. And not the good kind.

“B-b-but how did you know about my f-f-father? N-n-no one is s-s-supposed to know.”
Who the hell
are
these people?

Lorelei’s smile could have peeled the grumpy off the worst curmudgeon. Keko trusted her instantly, and the feeling of intense panic subsided a bit.

“Don’t worry. You’re safe here. We’re family. The first thing you need to learn, the most important thing, is that there are no secrets at Sanctuary. Mac mentioned your name, Lucian commenced digging.” She pointed toward the right on the second floor gallery. “I call it the Death Star control center—nothing escapes without first being investigated to death.”

She covered Lucian’s hands with her own, sighed when he kissed her ear.

“Lucian is our own mad intelligence specialist, aren’t you, baby?”

“The mad part is accurate enough.” The new voice sounded as deep as a cavern.

Keko stepped back involuntarily.
Whoa, big dude in the house!
MacBride and Lucian were tall and superbly fit, Kamaka was large-sized all over—but this guy radiated total awesomeness. In a snug blue Moosehead Ale T-shirt tucked into faded jeans, she reckoned he had to be every inch of six-foot-four. His jeans were extra faded over his heavy thighs—and over the noticeable bulge at his crotch. He fit the image of Magnum, P.I., right down to the sharp blue eyes outlined in stunning black lashes, black wavy hair, and full, black mustache. His muscles had muscles. The guy exuded an aura of total testosterone.

“Keko Holokai, Kamaka, meet Adam Stone. And yes, although I am loathe to admit it, his Marine bark
is
as bad as his bite.”