markings unsettled her even more. Weren’t they like planes? Didn’t they have to have numbers on them?
Maybe it’s a prototype, her logical mind said. Hasn’t been registered yet. Lots of aircraft industry up here in the Pacific Northwest. Maybe her neighbor was a designer or something. She had no idea what he really did, nor did any of the others in this semirural, forested little community. Being mostly kind, they didn’t call him antisocial, at least not yet. The speculation ranged from eccentric hoarder to grief-stricken widower, depending on the mind-set of the speculator. Hayley, who herself valued her privacy and the quiet of this wooded setting, preferred to simply leave him alone if that’s what he chose.
Being right next door, she’d seen him more often than anyone, which meant exactly twice. And both times he’d retreated immediately inside, as if he feared she might actually approach him.
But now she was wondering if a little more curiosity might have been wise. Scenarios from mad scientist to terrorists foreign and domestic raced through her mind. Her mother would have laughed at the very idea of such things in quiet little Redwood Cove, but her mother had been unaware of many dark things in the world in the last years of her life. Not by choice, but because she was focused on the battle to extend that life as long as possible, a battle Hayley had fought beside her for three years, until it was lost eight months ago.
She heard a sliding door opening, and in the next instant a bright light on the side of the house came on. Instinctively she jerked back, even though the apparently motion-sensing floodlight didn’t reach this far. Cutter, on the other hand, took a half step forward as two men stepped out onto the deck. His nose lifted, twitching rapidly as he drew in the scents the faint breeze wafted his way.
The light threw the helicopter back into the realm of, if not ordinary, at least no longer sinister—at least it did until she realized she could now see that indeed, there wasn’t a single marking to identify the craft.
The light also made the silver in her neighbor’s neatly trimmed beard gleam. The second man, much younger, with a buzz cut and a leather jacket, was a total stranger. He seemed to be helping the older man as they went down the steps, gripping his arm in support.
Her breath caught as, coming down the steps into the yard where the helicopter waited, the leather jacket parted and she saw a holstered handgun on his hip.
She grabbed Cutter’s collar; all her silly notions about men in black and their black helicopters suddenly didn’t seem so silly anymore. Were they the good guys, if any still existed, and was her neighbor being arrested? Was the reason for his reclusiveness something worse than she’d ever imagined?
She shivered, wishing more than ever for her parka. And then another thought followed rapidly: What if he was the good guy? What if these men in the black helicopter were the bad guys, and her neighbor was being snatched by them? That it could be some twisted combination of both also occurred to her; these days it was harder than ever to tell bad guys from good.
The two men got into the helicopter, the younger one again helping the older, with every evidence of solicitousness. Moments later, the helicopter came alive, engine humming, running lights blinking on.
Her mind was racing. Two men, one of them armed, get on the helicopter, and it starts up. So obviously, unless her neighbor was the pilot, which seemed unlikely, the other man was. Which had to mean her neighbor was going willingly, didn’t it? Otherwise, wouldn’t he run while the other man was occupied with … well, whatever you did to fire up a helicopter? Unless he couldn’t. Perhaps he wasn’t well enough? Or was simply too frightened to try to escape?
Or … could there have been a third man, waiting aboard the craft all this time?
Cutter made an odd, uncharacteristic, whining sort of sound just as a movement on the deck caught her eye. And she realized there was at least a third man, because he was coming out of the house now. Tall, lean, with hair as dark as the sky. He had a large duffel bag slung over his left shoulder. He started down the deck steps, and two things happened simultaneously. The sound of the engine got louder. And Cutter let out a sudden, sharp bark.
Before she could react, the dog had twisted free of her loose grip on his collar. And to her dismay he bolted, straight toward the third man. Tail up, head down, he raced out of the trees and across the open yard. Cutter was never vicious, but the man he was charging didn’t know that, and she took off after him.
So much for a silent retreat, she thought as the man, obviously having heard the dog’s bark, dropped the duffel bag to the ground.
“Cutter!”
The dog ignored her, intent on his target. But he was running happily, joyously, as he did when he greeted her if she’d been away and left him home. Some part of her mind wondered if perhaps he knew the man. She’d never seen him before; now that he’d turned in their direction she knew she wasn’t likely to forget a guy who looked like this one.
She had a split second to wonder if the mystery of Cutter’s appearance in her life, at the time when she’d needed the distraction most, was about to be solved.
The man turned to face the dog’s onslaught.
And pulled a gun. Aimed it at Cutter.
“No!”
Panic lifted her shout to a scream. He didn’t shoot. It should have been reassuring. Except that he instantly turned his attention—and his weapon—on her. She kept going. He hadn’t shot Cutter, and he had to be a lot more threatening than she was.
Then again, maybe not, she thought, her pace slowing as the dog reached his goal. And while she’d never expected him to launch into an attack, she certainly hadn’t expected what he did next; the dog sat politely at the man’s feet, then looked over a furry shoulder at her with an expression of utter delight. His tongue lolled happily, his ears were up and alert and he looked just as he did when he found the exact toy he’d been searching for.
He looked, for all the world, as if he were saying, “Look, I found him!”
The man lowered the lethal-looking black handgun but did not, she noticed, put it away.
She grabbed Cutter’s collar, firmly this time.
“I’m sorry. He got away from me, but he’s harmless, really. He doesn’t usually … I mean, he’s usually a bit slow to warm up to strangers. He doesn’t generally charge up to them …”
She was babbling, she realized, and made herself stop.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “We didn’t mean to trespass.” She glanced at the waiting helicopter, gave an embarrassed smile, hoping her neighbor could read her expression since he doubtless couldn’t hear her inside and over the noise of the engine.
“Damn.”
Her gaze shot back to the man who had just muttered the curse. The light was behind him, silhouetting his rangy frame, making him seem even taller, looming over her. Her gut told her the quicker she got them out of here, the better. She tugged on Cutter’s collar, but the dog was reluctant and reacted with uncharacteristic resistance.
Everything the darn dog had done since that helicopter had buzzed the house had been uncharacteristic, she thought, tugging again.
The door of the helicopter opened. The first armed man she’d seen leaned out.
“Time, Quinn,” he shouted over the noise of the engine and the growing wind of the main rotor.
“I know.”
Hayley heard the exchange and registered that the man her suddenly recalcitrant dog seemed so attracted to was apparently named Quinn, but she was mainly focused on getting them both out of here. Normally she was able, barely, to lift Cutter if she had to. But dragging him when he was actively resisting was something else.
She turned, intending to walk away, hoping the dog would just follow; normally he always did, not liking her too far away from him. Not that he was behaving normally just now, but—
She