More Than Magic (37 page)

Grace pulled him to a halt at the bottom of an incline. “But he didn’t.”

He shook his head. When he found his voice again the words were creaky. “I tried to jump out and follow him, even though I was double-parked, but the traffic was so heavy that by the time I could get my door open, he’d disappeared and a cop showed up to get me to move on. When I finally found a parking place and ran back to the place they were going, it was…”

“Too late.”
 

Nick didn’t look at her.

“Yeah. The uniforms were already showing up. Sirens and lights everywhere,” Nick tried to pull his hand loose, but Grace hung on, and he stared at their clasped fingers. “He was dead before the EMS guys arrived. Probably before he hit the ground. He was dead when he got out of that car.”

Grace didn’t say a word. She wrapped herself around him, burying her face in his jacket.

She didn’t know how long they stood like that—her head beneath his chin. She slipped her hands beneath his vest, stroking her fingers slowly up and down his back through his sweater. They stood there long enough for soothing to turn into something else—something that curled up warm and potent under her heart. Long enough for the oilcloth bundle to slide to the floor as Nick ran his hands under her jacket and her shirt and traced her spine slowly through silk. Long enough for her to forget to breathe as he covered her mouth with his and breathed for her.

Nick pulled away. He lowered his mouth to her hair. “Thank you.”

She didn’t have to ask for what and he didn’t need to say. He simply leaned over and picked up the oilcloth bundle, helping her climb the slope.

“I didn’t use the gift again for a long time,” Nick went on. “Well, ‘use’ is the wrong word. I ignored it for a while. I had learned how to turn the volume way down so I didn’t have to pay attention—if that makes sense.”

“So it…
talks
to you? All the time?” Grace asked. She had never thought of it that way, but she couldn’t put words about the way her gift felt. There weren’t words for it.

Nick smiled. “No. It’s not predictable. Mostly it just comes to me, but sometimes it happens when I touch things or people.” He glanced back the way they had come.
 

“It’s what warned you Old Annie was waiting for us.”

He nodded. “Never works out well when I ignore it.”

They were quiet for a while, until Grace realized she hadn’t heard what brought him to her mountain. “So how did you end up in the DEA?”

“I was pretty determined to do something to atone for Alex. My mom was equally determined that I should go to college. So I compromised and got a degree in accounting and then joined the DEA. That’s when I decided to turn up the volume again.” He smiled at her and she squeezed his hand. “It was a good feeling. I have to admit that operating without it felt…wrong. Like an itch I couldn’t scratch.”

“A
really
big itch,” Grace agreed. That word did describe the way it felt.

“It saved my life a few times, and a few of my colleagues. I stopped counting after a while. The stuff I learned as a kid proved damn useful: how to manipulate people without being obvious about it, how to talk my way out of tight spots, how to use misdirection so people wouldn’t notice what I was doing. Still, there were times when I couldn’t use it.”

They clambered over a rocky outcropping.

“I knew that my employer might get a little too interested in me and what I could do. I felt like I had to keep my head down.”

He
knew
. He had worried about the same things that she had. About what would happen if anyone noticed his gift. “How?”

“The first time I had to choose between saving a fellow agent and revealing how I knew what I knew, I nearly got both of us killed.” He shook his head.

Grace listened intently, holding her breath.

“The thought of someone dying because I couldn’t convince them of what I knew twisted me up again, just like after Alex. I knew I had to deal with it or end up dead or crazy. So, I couldn’t put myself in situations like that anymore. I needed to quit the agency or get out of the field. If I just turned it off again, I was afraid I’d end up watching other people die right in front of me and wondering if I could’ve saved them.”

The words so closely echoed the thoughts in her own head about her gift that Grace, distracted, lost her footing.

Nick slipped her arm through his. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Go on,” she managed.

“Well, I learned how to make intuition look like good analysis or deduction or leaps of logic—” he smiled wryly. “Or illogic. Or just plain luck. And I got a name for being the guy who could connect the dots on the really tough cases, the ones our best analysts couldn’t crack. I wasn’t in the field, but I was using the gift to help out the guys who were. It ended up being a special assignment and I ended up bouncing all over the place, wherever the puzzle pieces didn’t fit. And mostly I worked alone.”

“Tough cases,” Grace repeated as she pulled him to a stop at the wall that led to their little nest.

“But a little thing called lymphoma sidetracked me.”

She had almost forgotten about his cancer. “Do you think it was all that chemical exposure when you did field work?”

He frowned. “I don’t know. I didn’t really care. I just didn’t want to die in a hospital bed. I was in remission before I took this case, but it didn’t feel permanent. I had a feeling it wasn’t going to last.”

She guided him through the narrow exit back to their little cavern. The nest of blankets was as they had left it. “I know at some point you are going to tell me what brought you here. Why your ‘sixth sense’ brought you to my mountain.”

He grimaced. “Yeah. Well, you’re not the only one who will want to hear about that,” he said.

She stopped to light the camp candle. They were both quiet as they went on through the office into the lab. Grace looked around the vast room, her headlamp bouncing light around the walls. Nick set his flashlight on a table shining it at the roof so it reflected dim light around them. “It’s still quiet out there. I don’t hear anything.”
 

“Well, my gut is telling me you will in a minute.”
 

Grace felt her heart stutter in her chest and she spun around to see him smiling. She didn’t even have to ask why as he nodded up at the ceiling. She followed his gaze.

Then she heard it—a high pitched bark, barely audible beyond the rocks.

Pooka!

That distinctive bark approached at a fast clip and was soon above them.

On the roof of the cave, Pooka seemed to be running in circles, as if he had treed a bear. The sound of his barking moved around the cave with him, stopping now and again to sniff at a different vent before starting up the cycle again, circling and howling and sniffing.

Grace laughed and grinned at Nick, grabbing his arm, and he grinned back, clasping his hand over hers. She knew she was crying, but she didn’t care.

Cupping her hands around her mouth, she yelled loudly at the roof, “Good boy, Pooka! Good boy!”

Chapter Fifteen

“First things first, Jake, before you law enforcement types start into your rituals: is Jamie okay? Over.”

It had become apparent that two-way communication using the vents was going to be problematic. So after a bit of trial and error, a deputy lowered a walkie-talkie down through one of the wider holes and found the signal would work well enough.

After grabbing it off the line, Nick had handed the unit to Grace without a word, knowing what would be uppermost on her mind.

“She’s fine,” the sheriff said. “She’s in a car down at the Taggart place. Out of harm’s way. She told us to use Pooka when we couldn’t find any trace of you two at the house. Otherwise, we would’ve been waiting for the Search and Rescue dogs. And even then, we had a time finding that dog once he treed you. Over,” Jake replied.

Grace smiled at Nick. “Pooka’s a great tracker. Over.”

“Yeah. Well, he found a few other things out here. Mitch Taggart, for one. And what looks like a blood trail leading off into the woods.” He told them Mitch’s garbled side of the confrontation, where somehow Nick was the bad guy. “Mitch apparently had a bit of trouble with the explosives. Deaf as a post. Keeps shouting. There’s no sign of Boyd or Annie out here, but my guys caught Evan Veatch coming up the road with their dogs. He isn’t talking much, but the whole load of cash and cold pills in his truck is. Over.”

Grace told him what had happened to Boyd. “I doubled back after that and sneaked in here to make sure Nick was okay. Over.”

“What about Annie? Did you see her? Over.”

Nick met Grace’s gaze over the walkie-talkie.

“I winged her with some buckshot, but not badly,” Grace said. “I don’t know where she is. Over.”

Nick nodded. That was actually true.

“Either of you need the EMS guys? They’re down there getting ready to transport Mitch. We might be able to knock a wider hole up here—” Jake began.

“No more holes!” Grace said.

“Come again? Over.”

“Sorry, Jake. No, we’re both fine. And don’t knock any more holes in my mountain. It might be unstable now. Over.”

“Well, you can argue with the SAR guys about holes when they get here.
If
they get here. The roads are pretty bad, and getting worse. It’s snowing to beat all up here. Over.”

“We’ve got food enough for three days, and plenty of water and propane.” Grace said. “Although we could use some batteries. I’ll foot the bill for those guys or somebody to get us out of here with the least amount of damage to the cave. There’s a lot of family history connected to this place. Over.”

Three days in a cave with Grace. Nick’s mind immediately went places it shouldn’t, and his body responded in agreement.

“Like I said, you can argue that with the SAR guys. Now, I’m beginning to get the idea that this cave you’re in is more than a cave and your friend there is more than just a guest at the farm, am I right? Over,” Jake said.

“Yes, Jake. The Taggarts used this place as a meth lab. Jake Moser, Monroe County Sheriff, allow me to introduce Special Agent Nick McKenzie, DEA. Over.”

Grace handed the walkie-talkie over to Nick and wrapped her arms around herself, shivering, even though it wasn’t that cold.

“Special Agent McKenzie, I think you have some explaining to do. Over.”

Nick frowned. “Yes, I imagine so, and feel free to call me Nick. This didn’t quite go down the way I would’ve liked either, Sheriff Moser. I would prefer to see Boyd and Annie under lock and key as well, but you guys got at least a couple of collars out of this. Over.” That should smooth any ruffled feathers.

“Just call me Jake. Yeah, well if they’re out there, and not frozen solid, we’ll find ’em. But we appreciate the help. What exactly brought the DEA to our beautiful little corner of North Carolina? Over.”

“I assume you’ll accept the short version for now—to keep you from freezing to death up there? Over.”

There was a chuckle. “Amen. Over.”

Nick was relieved to see Grace smile at that.

Nick proceeded to tell the sheriff, and Grace, the story of Smoky Mountain Magic, how it hit the drug trade in Atlanta, and the way the Taggarts had used burner phones and GPS units to bury the drugs and pick up the payments and raw materials. Explaining that his analysis indicated the source might be in the area, he detailed his undercover assignment, how he stumbled into the operation, and how Grace came to his rescue.

“And this is the
short
version?” the sheriff said with a laugh. “So how’s Jamie Lynn’s notebook involved in this? She keeps insisting Mitch Taggart took it and somehow it’s important. Over.”

Grace had gone pale.

Nick shook his head at her and patted his pocket where the notebook rested. He was going to do his best to keep both of them out of this, if he could. “Jamie Lynn happened to be with me when I stumbled into their trash dump and Mitch Taggart saw me. Probably blames herself for the trouble I got into. Over.”

“Well, put all that together with the cash and pills we found on Evan, plus the explosives and firearms we found up here, and we’ve got a nice case, I think. Over.”

“You’ve got more than that. Attempted murder for one. And I’m suspicious about another death up here. Mitch might be able to tell us more about that. Over.”

He looked at Grace and watched her lips tremble.

“Not—” the sheriff cleared his throat. “Not The Woodsman?” he finally managed. “Over.”

“I’m afraid the evidence points that way.”

“Damn.” They heard it muffled through the roof rather than the radio. “Damn it all to hell.”

“Annie also implied that she saw a Federal agent killed in here. Don’t know exactly how long ago, or where they buried him. The killer’s long dead. Over.”

“Well, maybe we can get some details out of Mitch, or Annie, when we find her. We might recover the body, give the family some closure,” came the sheriff’s voice. “And here I thought this was just a meth lab bust. Over.”

“Yeah, well, when the media calls, do me a favor, Jake—keep Grace and Jamie’s names out of this if you can. I’d prefer they didn’t get hounded by reporters. Over.”