Melody's Six

At their feet, he saw a stake that pinned camouflage netting to the ground. In the dark, even this close, it was impossible to see exactly what the netting covered.

Although he agreed it was a solid sign Atwell was up to something, Dean wasn’t ready to celebrate. They needed evidence that the authorities could move on. If they failed, Atwell would likely evade capture and continue his plans in some new location. Which, in Dean’s opinion, included uncovering the truth about Mel.

They crept forward, following the angle of the netting, until they could slip under the concealing screen. Neither he nor Mel could stand upright, which meant the guards couldn’t walk here either. Now he could see the dull metal siding of a shipping container, but it wasn’t as tall as it should be. He knelt down and realized the ground had been turned and the container partially buried.

He’d never doubted Mel, but it was exciting to be so close to real proof. Assuming they could get into the container.

It seemed to take forever until they rounded the corner and reached the doors, but there was no way he’d rush it and risk being discovered out here. Mel inched her way past the doors to the next corner and waved him up to join her.

Oh, yeah. They’d hit the jackpot, all right. He and Mel were standing at the edge of one container, with two other containers similarly covered with netting across a narrow, rutted lane. But were the containers for construction supplies or were they filled with contraband as Mel suspected?

At the end of the lane a dim lantern cast just enough light over two all-terrain vehicles parked in front of a tent that was partially hidden by trees. That had to be a shelter for the guard team assigned to this remote area.

Dean and Mel eased back from the makeshift road to inspect the door on the end of the container. She gently tested the handle and to his shock the big door swung open with a faint squeak. Unlocked and unattended? Atwell’s audacity was astonishing.

Although, no one had cause to come up here. Dude ranch guests had no amenities up this way, none of the hiking trails passed nearby. There were no developments behind the ranch, only the rugged, remote terrain Spalding hoped to turn into a movie set.

Dean slipped inside behind Mel and turned on his flashlight. The beam swept across military-gray and -green crates. Every single crate held weapons, according to the labels. Dean swore softly as he found ammunition, shoulder-fired surface-to-air missiles, and rifles. All with United States military markings.

Mel was taking pictures and making notes with her phone. Dean glanced around and found a pry bar. Opening a crate of rifles, Mel moved away the packing, confirmed the contents, and took more pictures, including serial numbers. “You saw the ammo?”

He nodded, turning a slow circle as he studied the space. “These weapons weren’t shipped this way in the container. He’s arranged it on purpose.”

“Made a nice display for potential buyers,” Mel agreed. “We have to get this to Beck.” Mel grumbled under her breath as she worked with her phone. “I can’t get a signal out here.”

“We’ll send it all from the cabin.” There was an itch between his shoulder blades, an instinctive warning that they were out of time. He put the crate lid back in place and returned the pry bar to where he’d found it. “Come on.”

At the door, Mel hesitated. “We should check the other containers.”

“No.” He shook his head. “This has to be enough for tonight. We have metadata on the photos and we’ll have a timestamp too, once we send the update to Beck. Let’s move.”

“I brought a GPS tag,” she said, reaching into a pocket. Darting back, she placed the small device in with one of the missiles.

Outside, they heard boisterous voices from the direction of the tent and quickly tucked themselves into the shadows between the netting and the back-side of the container. Dean’s body snapped into the familiar, ice-cold logic of combat as he listened. Two men, speaking in their native language, were coming closer. He was aware they were in Colorado, but the sounds and smells took him back to his missions in Afghanistan.

Never been caught. Never been caught. He set those three words on repeat in his head as they waited for an opportunity to escape. He wasn’t about to blow their perfect record tonight. Easing to the ground, he pulled Mel in close, blocking her body with his.

Her breath was soft against his neck and he found himself counting each sweet exhale. It was a fight not to kiss her, despite the circumstances.

“I love you,” Mel whispered.

Dean felt the words sink into his skin, drew them deep into his heart. A bolt of joy surged through his system and he barely kept still. He started to tell her he loved her too, but then stopped. What if she’d just been caught up in the moment? Stress could make you do and say all kinds of strange things.

Minutes ticked by and the moment seemed frozen, unreachable. Unsalvageable. Definitely not something he could manage with Atwell’s men nearby. If he said he loved her now, she would think he was just placating her. Rather than embarrass them both, he pretended he hadn’t heard her at all.

As soon as it was clear, they hurried away from the weapons storage encampment and back to the cabin.

“You’ve got to send Beck the photos,” Dean said as soon as they were inside and the door locked.

She stared up at him, her big brown eyes somber. Not sad, but the usual sparkle was missing. “It’s a risk sending the data directly,” she reminded him. “We’re on Atwell’s Wi-Fi network.”

“Would you rather go for a drive?” he offered. He was a coward for ignoring the elephant—and the bed—in the room. “We’ll send it from the road. Or hell, we can drive back to Fool’s Gold and drop off the intel directly.”

“I’d rather—” She scrubbed at her face. “Never mind.” When she looked up, her smile was sharp, all business. She’d shifted to take-down mode, completely cutting off the personal from the professional.

His stomach cramped as she started sending the information to Beck. This was on him. All his fault. He’d hurt her. His silence on the whole “I love you” thing had done some damage and he had no idea how to fix it.

After stowing his gear, he changed back into his sweats, and mulled over his limited options. Words wouldn’t do it. Not now, not after she’d given him a priceless gift and he’d…mishandled it. But they weren’t broken. Couldn’t be.

When she finished sending out the pictures and report, he gave her time to stash her own gear. Gave her space to escape into the bathroom. Listened to the shower and wished he could join her.

She opened the bathroom door, wrapped in a towel, and stopped short. Her eyebrows snapped into a frown. “You’re awake.”