Gargoyles in Uniform

Chapter 10: City Girl

“Yes. This is the Pennsylvania wilderness. People hunt."

“Aren't you concerned someone will get shot?"

What a city girl. “No. Hunting goes on for months, and no one gets shot."

Whitney blinked a few times, then looked out her window. “How many acres do you have?"

“A hundred."

Whitney whistled. “Wow."

“Have you ever lived anywhere else but Philly?" he asked. He navigated around the larger potholes, but the driveway was still a mess. It was always going to be a mess. That's why he'd chosen an old SUV as his escape vehicle.

“No," she replied.

“Then, you're in for a treat."

She frowned. “Not sure a 'treat' is what I'd call this. Are there bears?"

“Yes, and rumors of cougars."

She shivered.

“Relax, Whitney. They don't prey on humans. They are closer to harmless than the men who broke into my house."

That seemed to sober her up.

Finally, they reached the cabin.

She gasped. “It's so tiny."

“I only built it for me, so we're going to have tight quarters for a while." He stopped the truck in front of the cabin he'd built with his own hands. He'd never seen it through anyone else's eyes before. It was just his place. He'd built it for safety, not comfort.

Whitney climbed out of the truck, then stretched her arms in the air. The air was damper and a little colder than it was in the city. She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering. “Do you have a bathroom?"

“Of course. I even have a shower."

“Good because I need both."

He unlocked the door, then held it open for Whitney to walk through. “Bathroom's in the back corner."

She glanced up at him, smirking. “I don't think I'll get lost."

Deke stuck pellets into the woodstove and lit it. The fuel took the flame, and he closed the door. Next on his list was the fireplace. Lighting both would take the chill out of the air. He didn't mind it cold, but he figured Whitney wouldn't want it that way. He hadn't had to think of a second person when he built this place. At least he'd put walls around the bed, so there was a bedroom of sorts. He'd take the couch.

Whitney came out of the bathroom. “What can I do?"

***

From the surprised look on Deke's face, he probably hadn't expected her to pitch in, but she wasn't a spoiled rich girl. Not by any definition. “What?" she asked.

“You sure you want to help?"

“Yes. I'm not going to sit on a throne and watch you do everything. What can I do?" She looked around, then added, “This doesn't mean I'm going to stop asking questions."

He grimaced. “Can you cook?"

That might have been something she wasn't willing to do. “Uh…"

Deke chuckled. “The alternative is carrying in wood from the porch."

She brightened. “I'm not afraid of physical labor. I'd rather move the wood than cook."

He shrugged and moved away from the front door. “Have at it. I'll see what we have to cook."

“Shouldn't we have gone shopping?"

“I have canned goods. We'll be fine for a few days. If we run out, I can go out to the grocery store."

She shrugged and put on the gloves he'd handed to her. “How much wood?"

“As much as you can stack in that container," Deke said, pointing to a box by the fireplace. He went to the kitchen to begin working.

She could do this. She'd carry only two logs at a time, but she'd get the job done. This was a better workout than the gym.

Soon, something smelled good in the kitchen. Her stomach rumbled. Stress.

Just as she finished filling up the wood box, Deke said, “Lunch is ready."

She pulled off the gloves. “Good timing."

He set a small table with silverware, and she sat in the chair opposite him.

The cabin only had two rooms, not including the bathroom. The bedroom was tiny but housed a king-sized bed. Whitney hadn't thought about sleeping arrangements yet. She lifted a forkful of the stew and put it in her mouth. “This is really good."

“Just some doctored-up canned stuff."

“Well, you doctor-up well." They ate in silence. She formed her questions while she filled her stomach. Finally, she put down her fork. “Time to come clean."

His gaze shifted to her, then back to his food. “What does that mean?"

“You need to tell me what's going on. If my life is in danger, I have a right to know the whole story."

Deke finished his meal, then rose. He carried his plate to the sink.

She followed suit, and he began to fill the sink with soapy water. “I'll wash," she offered, “but I still want answers."

He stepped away from the sink, motioning for her to take his place. While she worked, he crushed the cans he'd used. “What exactly do you want to know?"

“You'll answer my questions?"

“On one condition," he said. He stood in the kitchen, making it seem even smaller than it probably was. He stood well over six-feet tall—basketball player height, with long arms and legs. He had a fierce expression that made “resting b***h face" look friendly.

“What is your condition?" she asked.

“None of this ever gets into the newspaper."

She pondered that. How would she get a break if she didn't find a big story? This seemed as big as they come. Murder, involving someone in the governor's office. “I don't know if I can promise that."

“Then, I can't answer your questions."

“Can I leave?"

“You can leave, but I'm not driving you out of here. We've stumbled onto something, and you aren't safe until we know what we are dealing with."

“I'll walk."

“You were asleep, so you don't know the nearest town is 20 miles away in the wilderness. You might look tasty to the bears and cougars."

“I thought they didn't prey on humans."

“You'd be a meal of opportunity."

She shivered. “Okay, you've scared me enough, Deke. It isn't funny." She put the dishes on the drain board.

Deke picked up a towel and began to dry them. “I'm not being funny, Whitney. I'm being realistic. I don't know for sure if anyone tracked us here, but I'm fairly certain no one will find us."

She sighed. “Tell me what you can."