Doranna Durgin - Survival Instinct

He didn’t ask. He took a gulp of tea and rested his elbows on his somewhat spraddled knees, looking out over the little farm. Only when the car had moved out of sight did he say, “That was interesting.”

“They don’t belong here.” As though that were explanation enough, she clicked her tongue at Dewey. It was enough to call the dog from his snooze, and she opened the screen door for him.

“Probably not.” He’d straightened from his relaxed posture, setting the drink aside on the bench. “No dust on the car, that’s for sure. Should I be grateful you didn’t hide from-”

By then she’d followed Dewey inside the house, hesitating in the mudroom to slant the blinds. The first car, not a big deal, especially not when she’d scoped Dave out from the dormer before greeting him. But two strange cars on this road in the same day? This wasn’t a main road; it wasn’t even a shortcut between here and there. It was the kind of road on which Karin could recognize every car she saw.

She shouldn’t have hesitated. By the time she turned away from the window, Dave Hunter had invited himself inside after her. There wasn’t enough space for him to keep his distance; he was right up close when he trained those sharp eyes on her. “Ellen. What’s going on?”

Some of the Karin in her sparked out. “You tell me,” she snapped, and gave him a little push back, remembering only at the last moment to moderate the force of it. Ellen might well push, but she wouldn’t shove.

But he didn’t step back. He moved up on her, so quickly she didn’t realize she’d given ground until she was already backed up against the washing machine. He didn’t cage her in his arms, but she found herself just as trapped. Just as startled, looking up into his face with her mouth open in surprise.

In that instant, everything changed. She saw it hit him-saw his eyes widen slightly, his jaw hardening and his shoulders going tense beneath the perfectly tailored suit. The air between them solidified into something alive; it tingled off her skin. Her chest ached and-breathe, Karin, breathe.

He shook his head as though waking from a daze and shifted back slightly, a scant inch of relief.

Because a normal tone of voice felt oddly as if it would come out as a shout, Karin whispered again, “You tell me. How often do you think two strange cars travel this road?”

He didn’t whisper, but his voice stayed low. “So you hid. Sure. Doesn’t everyone?”

She shrugged. It was much more casual than she felt. The sweatshirt slid off her shoulder. “I like my privacy.”

He gently tugged the sweatshirt back into place.

She closed her eyes and pretended not to notice. “They’re looking for you, aren’t they?”

He responded evenly. “It’s just a car, Ellen.”

Right, and this is just a conversation. Just any old conversation between two people who’ve just met and God, I can’t believe how much I want to-

She overrode all those impulses to say, “I’m right, and you know it. You just won’t admit it, in case you lose one last chance at my cooperation. Well, there isn’t a one last chance.”

“I can’t accept that.” But he turned away, leaving a tangible absence.

Dewey took this first opportunity to get between them. Karin put her hand on his head. “Did you see that slow crawl? They’re looking for someone. They saw you on my porch, and they’ll be back for you.” Or for me.

He shook his head with finality. “I’m not exactly hard to find. There’s no reason for anyone to come here looking for me. But…” He looked out the door, and his unfinished acknowledgment was clear enough.

So was the sound of a slowly approaching car. An instant later, Dewey growled. Dave Hunter muttered softly, “Son of a bitch.”

Karin pushed past him to confirm she’d heard someone making the turn into the driveway. “Son of a bitch,” she repeated, in a voice much sharper. “Dewey, let’s go-basement.”

“Basement?” Hunter asked.

“Damn straight, basement. I’m going to deal with these guys on my own terms.” That meant scoping them out before they saw her. Not dealing with them at all wasn’t much of an option, not with Dave’s car in the driveway. She led Dewey through the kitchen, toward the little shelf-lined reading den in the front corner of the house. “You’re welcome to come, if you don’t mind getting that suit messed up.”

“Your dog has already seen to the suit.”

She gave a little laugh. “He told you not to come any closer.” She pulled open the den’s closet door even as she glanced out the window. The car had stopped behind Hunter’s, and the occupants seemed engaged in conversation, but the driver already had his door open.

“Charming,” Hunter said from behind as she reached down to the small rectangular rug on the floor of the closet, pushing aside winter clothing. “Your stairs are in your closet?”

“It’s an old house.” Karin teased a tab out from beneath the edge of the rug and when she pulled it, up came a big square of the floor. “It didn’t come together all at once. And I’m not sure I’d call these stairs.” More like a ladder. She’d had it put in shortly after she’d taken Ellen’s name-and her house, and her dog, and all the rest of the things that came with her life. She might have picked up where Ellen had left off, but Karin never forgot she was a woman in hiding-a woman who might one day have to go on the run.

Having a rug-covered floor hatch suited her dry sense of humor. She told Hunter, “I’d rather you came down than stay out where you’ll give them more to think about, but it’s up to you.”

Again, she’d surprised him. The car accident had changed her, all right…and it suited her.

Or maybe it just suited him.

He met her gaze, saw the impatience there. Reasonable impatience, given that they had only moments to get out of view. “You just want to keep an eye on me.”

“You could say that.” She crouched, knees open, and held her arms out. Damned if the big mutt didn’t walk right up and put his front legs on her shoulders. She wrapped her arms around him and stood, staggering slightly under the weight. Undismayed, the dog wagged his tail.

And here Dave stood, looking at the dog. “Do you want me to-?”

She laughed, a short sound but with true amusement. “Do you really want to?”

Hmm. Maybe not.

But she didn’t wait for a response backing down the ladder. For a moment, Dave hesitated-he had no reason to duck these men, and plenty of reasons to ask blunt questions of them. But as the crown of her sun-streaked hair disappeared into the dim hole, he found himself compelled to follow. He pulled the rug-topped door closed as he descended, and by the time he hit the uneven dirt floor, she’d put the dog down and left him to scent the air at the front of the basement.

Dave took in the lay of the basement-ceiling low enough so he had to duck the joists, a hodgepodge of pier supports, steel shelving and a big workbench along the back. Some of the walls were dirt; some were concrete block. The furnace and water heater sat up against a surprising stone interior wall, one that closed off a small room. Hand-set stone. Older than old.

But most importantly, there were two doors. One at the back corner, and another on the front.

Dave fought the sudden impulse to climb right back out and approach the men head-on. So far he’d kept a low profile as a special consultant in the FBI’s investigation-in truth, the feebs were putting up with him. Don’t make waves, he’d been told. And he needed to know more before he could define just what might make waves.

Ellen went to the front of the basement, where a dirt wall ran next to the porch itself, offering a small crawl space. She looked back and gestured to him-come on over-and he did, just as the men mounted the steps to the porch. It was eavesdropping of a most creative sort.