Smoky Mountain Setup

“Until now. Why did you come back now?”

He looked at her, saw the curiosity in those summer-sky eyes and blurted the truth. “Because you’re a target. And you needed to know.”

Chapter Four (#ulink_17b749ce-ba90-56fb-b8d5-989599f2be30)

“That’s why you’re here? You thought we didn’t know we were on the BRI’s hit list?” Olivia shook her head, not buying it. “I told you already. We know—”

“I don’t mean The Gates is the target,” Landry said in a quiet tone that made her chest ache. “I mean you, Olivia. The BRI is trying to get their hands on you.”

She stared at him, trying to read past the mirrorlike calm of his green eyes. “How would you know this? You said you hadn’t had anything to do with the BRI since your escape.”

“I didn’t say that.”

She thought for a moment and realized he hadn’t. She’d assumed it, given that the BRI had taken him hostage and, according to what he had told her, beaten him terribly to get information out of him.

“Maybe you should sit down and tell me what you know.” She waved at the sofa and sat facing him on the coffee table, crossing her long legs under her. “How do you know I’ve been targeted?”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The action brought him close to her, close enough to touch. All she’d have to do is reach her hand toward him and—

“I got away from the BRI. But I still know some people who lurk around the edges of that group. People who aren’t on the inside but are close to men who are.”

A cold tingle rippled through her. “Women, you mean. The groupies.”

“A couple. Also a few guys who sympathize with the stated goals of the group but don’t like their methods or trust that they’re what they say they are. There are a lot of people in these parts who’ve seen the mess government interference has made among their kinfolk and neighbors. You have multiple generations who’ve known nothing but life on welfare.”

“The draw,” Olivia murmured. At his quizzical look, she added, “That’s what people here call it. ‘The draw.’”

“They can’t live without it, but some of them hate what it’s turned them into, too.” He stood up and paced toward the fireplace, leaning toward the heat as if he’d felt a chill. “It makes it very tempting to hook up with people like the BRI.”

“I know.” She’d grown up poor herself. Had struggled to escape the cycle of poverty and bad choices that had haunted her family for a couple of generations. “People don’t want to feel victimized. Being part of the BRI gives them a sense of power.”

“There’s a young man I got to know over the past couple of months. Little more than a kid, really. We worked a few day labor jobs together over near Cherokee. His uncle is part of the Blue Ridge Infantry, but this kid is smarter than that. They keep trying to recruit him, but he resists. He’s saving up all his money, planning to go to a technical college over in Asheville.”

“He’s the one who told you the BRI is targeting me?”

“Not exactly.” Landry crossed to the coffee table and sat on the edge, facing her. He leaned closer, his gaze intense.

Once again, the desire to reach across the narrow space between them hit her like a physical ache. She curled her hands into fists and kept them in her lap. “Then what, exactly?”

“He got me into a meeting where they were planning their next move in the war against The Gates.”

She stared at him. “You were in a meeting with the BRI and they didn’t shoot you on sight?”

“Well, they didn’t know I was there,” he said with a grin that carved dimples in both cheeks, sending her heart into a flip. “The meeting was at his uncle’s place, and there’s a big vent in the den where they met. My friend lived with his uncle’s family for a while when his mama was in rehab a few years ago, and he found out that if you listen through the vent in his old bedroom, you can hear what they’re saying in that den clear as day.”

“He let you listen in? Does he know who you are?”

Landry shook his head. “I told him I was thinking of joining the BRI because I was tired of how the federal government was taking over every aspect of our lives. He sympathized, but he told me the BRI wasn’t the way to go. They were nothing but trouble and he could prove it.”

“By letting you listen in on a meeting.”

“Yes.”

“And you overheard them making a threat against me?”

“Not by name.”

“Then how do you know?”

“They called you Bombshell Barbie.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “And that told you it was me?”

“No. What told me it was you was that one of them said you were dangerous as hell and wouldn’t go down without a fight. The combination of the two—the nickname and the statement about your fighting spirit—that’s what told me it was you.”

She stifled a smile, not sure she should feel quite as complimented as she did. “Bombshell Barbie, huh?”

He held up his hands. “I didn’t come up with it.”

“I know. I’m pretty sure a guy named Marty Tucker did. He was up to his nasty eyeballs in the BRI until he shot himself trying to escape a colony of bats.”

“Bats?”

“Long story. He lived. Now he’s in state prison, serving time for kidnapping and other assorted crimes. Sadly, he’s chosen to keep all his secrets about the BRI to himself, so we’re not any closer to bringing them down than we were before.” She frowned. “Matter of fact, they’ve been really quiet recently. No chatter coming out of there at all that we’ve heard.”

“Until now.”

“Until now.” She cocked her head. “How long have you known about this target on my back?”

“Two days.”

“And you didn’t think to call and warn me?”

He slanted a look at her. “You’d have believed it was me on the other line?”

“Probably not,” she admitted.

“I knew you’d need proof.”

“What kind of proof?”

“An audio recording of the BRI’s plans.”

An electric pulse of excitement zinged through her. “You have that?”

He shook his head. “Not on me. I didn’t want to risk getting caught with it. I put it in a safe place.”

“Where?”