Paula Graves - Blue Ridge Ricochet

She had plenty of cookware in her cabinets, too. Made sense, he supposed—she’d said she worked as a diner cook, hadn’t she? As he heated a pat of butter in one of the pans on the stove, he grabbed a couple of slices of bread from the bread box and stuck them in the toaster.

The smell of toasting bread and frying eggs made him almost light-headed with hunger, but once he’d wolfed down his breakfast, he felt considerably better.

But did he feel well enough to walk out of these woods to seek help?

He left the pans for Nicki to wash—the least she could do, considering she’d locked him in her cellar—and took another look around the house, this time for some sign of who Nicki really was and what had compelled her to lock him up rather than let him call the authorities for help.

She’d admitted to knowing who he was. Which meant she had to know that he’d disappeared somewhere between Washington, DC, and wherever he was now. That foul play was suspected.

Or was it? Did people think he’d disappeared on his own? He’d been on the phone with a man named Cade Landry when those BRI thugs had run him off the road and dragged him out of his banged-up car. But Landry had been a fugitive. For all Dallas knew, he still was. He might not have had the opportunity to tell anyone what he’d heard over the phone.

So what, exactly, did Nicki think she knew about him?

There were no personal items anywhere around the cabin, he realized after another search of the place. She probably had her driver’s license and other ID with her, since she’d taken the Jeep into town, but most people had other personal records scattered around the house, didn’t they?

Back at his apartment in Georgetown, he had a whole four-drawer filing cabinet full of tax information, personal records, vehicle papers and more. He even had a box in his closet filled with things he’d kept from his high school and college days.

As far as he could tell from his search, Nicki had nothing like that stashed anywhere around the cabin.

He sat on the bed and looked around the small bedroom. Simple gray curtains on the window. Plain pine dresser that matched the bedside table. The bed was little more than a mattress and box set on a metal frame. No headboard or footboard. Plain gray sheets and pillowcases, plus a couple of matching waffle-weave blankets that acted as the bedspread.

A large woven rag rug stretched over the hardwood floor next to the bed, the hodgepodge of blues, grays, black and white offering only a little more color than the rest of the decor.

Drab surroundings for a woman as vibrantly beautiful as his hostess-turned-captor.

He pushed himself up from the bed and looked around, trying to make sense of all that had happened to him over the past twelve hours. And no matter which way he looked, it all came back to the same thing.

Nicki.

Who the hell was she? And what did she want from him?

* * *

BY NINE THIRTY, the breakfast crowd began to thin out, but Del McClintock and part of his posse lingered, nursing cups of coffee and chatting quietly in one corner of the diner. Nicki wasn’t sure he was actually waiting for her to end her shift, but Trevor kept shooting troubled looks between her and the corner whenever he popped into the kitchen to check on things.

Nicki ignored her boss, taking advantage of the lull in customers to clean the griddle in preparation for the next crowd of hungry diners. She also tried hard not to think about the man locked in her cellar, without much luck.

People didn’t starve to death in two hours. And if worse came to worst on the bathroom end of things, she could run to the thrift store in Abingdon to pick up some clean clothes for him.

Everything would work out. She’d figure it out somehow.

Trevor stuck his head in the kitchen door. “Bella’s here. Her mama’s neighbor’s takin’ good care of her, looks like, so she told Bella to come on in for the lunch and dinner crowds. That is, if you’re ready to leave.” Trevor shot another look toward the dining room, where Del and his friends were still lingering at a couple of the tables near the window.

“Yeah, I’m ready. I know Bella wanted the hours, and I have some things to do today.” Like release a man from her locked cellar and somehow figure out a way to convince him she wasn’t some sort of psychopath.

But what about Del McClintock? The whole point of agreeing to come in for the morning shift was Trevor’s comment about Del and some of the other guys from the BRI being there.

And now she was going to slip out the back and not even talk to him?

Damn you, Alexander Quinn.

One minute. She could take one minute to go say hi to Del.

She grabbed her purse and her coat, and headed out through the door leading to the front of the diner, ignoring Trevor’s troubled look. Several of the people with Del had left while she was cleaning up, but he was still there, along with Ray Battle and Ray’s girlfriend, Tonya. Ray sent Del a smirking look as Nicki approached.

“Hey there, Del.” She pasted on a friendly smile. “Can’t get enough of my cooking?”

“Never.” Del smiled back at her, his straight white teeth flashing. He was a good-looking man, tall and hard-muscled, which couldn’t be said of all the BRI members she’d met over the past couple of months. He was also better educated than most, which made her wonder why he’d hooked up with a group like the Blue Ridge Infantry.

Then again, there were lots of people in the world blessed with good genes and good fortune who didn’t have the moral fiber to make anything of themselves despite the raw material.

Del had been in the army, or so he claimed. Nicki had no reason to doubt him. But he had left the service as soon as he could manage, coming back home to join his father at Cortland Lumber in a town a few miles east of River’s End, working in the sawmill.

As in, the business owned by Wayne Cortland, one of the most ruthless—and efficient—criminals to operate in southern Virginia until his death almost three years earlier.

According to the files Alexander Quinn had given Nicki to study, Wayne Cortland had pulled together a disparate group of black hat hackers, mountain meth cookers and members of the Blue Ridge Infantry to fill his organization. The hackers were the brains, the BRI served as the muscle and the meth cookers were the source of money.

But ever since Cortland’s murder at the hands of his own son, those three groups had been struggling to take over the remains of the organization and keep it going on their own.

Nicki was pretty sure Del McClintock was part of the BRI’s attempt to take over the drug business for themselves. And at least two or three of the guys in his entourage were hackers.

But what she hadn’t yet discovered was who had taken over as head of the Virginia branch of the BRI. Quinn believed that the unknown leader might be the key to toppling the whole organization, from the group in Virginia to the branch in Tennessee.

What they needed was someone inside, close to the top man, who could funnel information to Quinn and, through him, to the authorities.

Nicki planned to be that someone. And thanks to a little tidbit Del had let drop a week ago, she had an idea how to make it happen.

“Were you serious about what you said last week?” she asked, lowering her voice so that only the people at Del’s table could hear. “About me picking up some work for you? You know, medical work?”

Del’s eyes narrowed, and she was afraid she’d overplayed her hand. But his expression cleared. “If you think you’re up to it. It’s not exactly legal.”

“It’s just me doing a little first aid as needed, right?” She flashed him a grin. “And if you and your friends want to show me a little gratitude with gifts of cash, who’s to say there’s anything wrong with that?”