“You had to kill those men. They would have killed us otherwise.”
She grimaced. “I know. But I didn’t have to enjoy it.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Sam stopped the car outside 11607 Military Road, Dunthorpe.
He let the car idle.
Guinevere looked at him. “What is it?”
He stared at the three big new houses. “Change of plans.”
“Why?”
Sam realized he was still holding her hand. He squeezed it gently and let go. “Nothing. My grandparents lived in this house. It was a big old classic American house. It was sold when they died, but has remained vacant for years ever since while the developers decided what to do with it.”
Guinevere glanced at the big brand-new houses. “It looks like the developers worked it out.”
“It would appear so. By the looks of things, the old family house has been knocked down to make way for three even bigger houses.” He shook his head as he looked at the last tree remaining on the property. It was an old redwood. A really good example of the ancient monsters, too. Big enough that if you cut a hole through the middle of the base of it, you could just about drive a car through it. It was the last one left. “When we were kids, I remember playing at this place. There was a whole forest of trees here. My brother and I used to get lost for hours out there. Now look at it. Paradise has been replaced by a few McMansions.”
Guinevere looked at the houses. “They look nice.”
Sam shrugged. “They probably are. It’s just a reminder that time waits for no one.”
She said, “I’m sorry about your grandparents.”
“It’s all right. They led good lives. Full of adversity, mixed in with luck and success.”
Caliburn mewled and placed a sympathetic paw on Sam’s lap.
Sam grinned. “It’s okay, Caliburn. Really it is.”
Guinevere asked, “Do you have a plan B?”
Sam shoved the Thunderbird into gear. “Yeah.”
He turned out onto the main road again and started driving south. To their right, the rich green forest of Tyron Creek raced by them.
Sam drove hard, but not dangerously fast. The last thing he wanted was to be picked up for speeding. Especially since he wasn’t yet certain who else was involved in this. It was possible that their attackers were entirely made up of mercenaries, but the thought crossed Sam’s mind, if the British used assassins off the books, who’s to say the American government didn’t use a similar program?
No. They were better off getting off the grid for a few days until he could rendezvous with his crew and the safety of the Tahila.
They drove past Lake Oswego.
Sunlight filtered down through the clouds, scattering reflections of light across the picturesque lake.
Guinevere stared at the stunning vista. “I’d love to live somewhere like this!”
Sam said, “You know I own a house overlooking the lake?”
“Really?” She smiled. “So why aren’t we driving there?”
“Because if they knew we were headed to Powell’s they definitely have gone to the trouble of looking up the address where the T-Bird is generally garaged.”
“You think they’re waiting for us at your place?”
“I’d bet my life on it.”
Guinevere gripped the handgun she’d tucked into her pants. “You know, I could be convinced to kill a few people just to stay at your place out here for a few days.”
Sam said, “No. I think we had better not. I think you might end up having to kill a lot more people than you bargained for.”
“Okay, okay. Your house must be beautiful. Do you ever use it?”
“No,” Sam said, honestly. “My family and friends sometimes meet there for Christmas. But truth be told, I don’t get there much. I really should sell it, but it’s nice to have roots somewhere. I spend more time on my ship than I ever have lived on land. Maybe one day.”
“Why do you keep it?”
“The house?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know. It reminds me that family matters. Your roots, where your parents and where you grew up matters. Of course, all that could be nothing more than garbage. My team is my family and my ship is my home.”
“If we’re not going to your house, where are we headed?”
“I have an old friend in Tualatin. His name’s Mike. I haven’t seen him for a few years. Never been to his house before. Whoever those people back there were, they knew we were headed to Powell’s. That means they probably know I have a house in Lake Oswego. I have an Aunt, named Janice, who lives there too, but I don’t want to risk dragging her into this.”
“But you’re happy to drag your friend into it?”
Sam shrugged. “Hey what are friends for? Besides, no one will know about the connection.”
“Does your friend know we’re coming?”
“No. He’s out of town.”
Ten minutes later, Sam pulled up in front of his friend’s house in Tualatin.
He switched off the ignition and got out. Caliburn jumped out of the car, happy and eager to be free from his confinement for the day.
Sam pulled out a lockpick.
Guinevere stared at him, accusingly. “Is this really your friend’s place?”
Sam laughed. “I swear it is.”
“And he’s not going to mind you breaking into it?”
“Under the circumstances, I’d hope not.”
“What about the back to base security alarm?”
Sam looked at the warning sticker, and the alarm on the roof. “Okay, that I didn’t know about.”
Guinevere said, “Well, I guess that’s it for that plan.”
“No. I can fix this.” He picked up his cell phone, found the person he was after, and pressed call.
Guinevere asked, “Are you calling your friend?”
“Yeah.”
“The one who owns this house?”
“No. Someone who’s going to help me break into it.”
Elise picked up the cell phone. “Where are you Sam?”
“It’s a long story, Elise. I need some help.”
Something about his voice told Elise it was urgent. “What can I do for you?”
“If I give you the phone number for a back to base security firm and an address, can you find me the alarm code to disengage the alarm?”
Elise chided him. “You’re not breaking and entering again, are you, Sam?”
“Just get me the code, Elise. I need a place to lie low for a little while.”
Sam heard typing in the background. It was so quick, it sounded more like a machinegun than the staccato of an old-fashioned typist.
A moment later, Elise said, “Okay, the alarm’s been disconnected. You’re free to enter… or break and then enter?”
“Thanks, Elise.”
Sam inserted the lockpick into the keyhole, adjusted the internal latches of the lock, and then turned the handle.
The door swung open.
Guinevere smiled. “You’ve done that before.”
Sam said, “You’d be surprised how such a skill comes in handy.”
She frowned. “It’s disturbing how easy that was for you.”
“Hey, I’m not the healer who also happens to be a highly capable, yet reformed, assassin.”
Guinevere shrugged. “Touché.”
“You’ll get no complaints from me.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Mike owned a big German Shepherd.
He and his family were away for a summer vacation, but Sam was certain he’d find some canned food for Caliburn, who by now must have been starving.