Chapter 4: Pride Goeth Before…

The click of the bathroom door caught her attention. Tara turned from the large window overlooking the bay and gasped, grinning at the same time.

"What?" came the reply as he tucked in the muted blue flannel shirt.

She shook her head, her curls bouncing around her face. "By the time we get done with this case, I'm not even going to remember the man I started it with. I didn't think you even owned a pair of blue jeans."

Myles grinned rather ruefully as he picked up a heavy cable-knit ivory sweater off the bed. "Just because I choose not to wear them to work, doesn't mean I don't appreciate them when I have to really do some heavy work. And loading firewood requires one dress down a bit."

She raised a brow at him. "So why'd you pack them? You couldn't have known ahead of time that you'd need them for heavy work."

A silver shrug was the reply. "You forget, I spent a lot of childhood vacations here. I know how to blend in. If Cal saw me show up in khakis and a sport shirt, he'd laugh me right off into the bay out there. By the way…" He promptly changed the subject. "We need to call in. If this snowstorm hits the way they're saying, it'll knock out everything, cell service included."

Tara looked a bit skeptical. "It's just a snowstorm. We've had them in D.C. before, and growing up in Virginia we had them almost every year. They make it sound like a hurricane's bearing down."

Myles pulled on a pair of heavy hiking-type boots, speaking as he worked. "In a way, that's what these storms up here can be like. I'll explain a bit more when I get back. I'm sorry to leave casework to you right now, but it really is something Cal needs help with, and needs to get done."

She waved a hand at him as he stood up. "Don't worry about it. All I have to do is call in, and try to see if Jones is doing anything over at the house. This room is perfect for surveillance. It's a piece of cake. Hey, don't you need a coat?"

"Cal said he had an extra parka down in the cellar. My overcoat is pretty much useless for work like this. And it would get ruined. I shouldn't be more than an hour or two. I'll tell Ruth you're napping right now."

"Oh, thanks so much," she quipped. "You can survive on three hours sleep, but I have to have a nap? Go be Superman, then."

His chuckle echoed clear down the hallway. Tara smiled, shaking her head yet again, and turning back to the window. She hooked the headset onto her cell phone and called Jack, pulling a pair of high-powered field glasses out of her bag at the same time. She noticed that in the five-minute conversation she'd had with Myles, the morning sky had darkened considerably, and a light snow had started.

Jack's voice came on the line. "Hudson."

"Hey, Jack. It's Tara." She lifted the binoculars to her eyes and focused on the old farmhouse next door.

"It's about time the two of you called in."

"Sorry. The drive up was uneventful, and we just barely got settled." As she aimed the field glasses at the bay window of the kitchen, Jones looked like he was just finishing breakfast. A dark briefcase sat on the table next to him. "Jones is at the house next door. Doesn't seem to be doing much at the moment."

"Myles still recovering from all-night driving?" There was a trace of laughter in Jack's voice.

"Actually," Tara replied, her tone a cross between slightly defensive and very amused, "he's helping our innkeeper get a load of firewood in under cover. They're predicting some heavy snow over the next couple of days."

She heard Jack shush everyone around him, and could picture him shaking his head slightly, in case his ears were blocked up. "Wait a sec. Did I hear you right? Myles is loading firewood? Of his own volition?"

As strongly as she knew it was just habit, some part of his comment irked her more than she'd expected. Then again, two weeks ago I'd have thought the same thing. "Yes, of his own volition. Wait a sec." She focused the field glasses again, then spoke into the phone.

"Jack, Jones is headed toward the inn. He's carrying a briefcase."

Jack's voice immediately switched over from sarcasm to concern. "He's headed for the inn? Is there any way he could spot Myles? Can you warn him?"

Suddenly, Tara breathed a sigh of relief. "He's not headed for the inn itself, Jack," she said. "There's a small building abut 150 yards along the property line. He's going in there. Must be a storage shed of some sort."

"Wait'll he leaves, then go out and see what's going on. Maybe he decided to keep the radar plans close, but not too close."

Tara glanced at the sky again; the snow was getting a bit heavier, and a slight wind was picking up. "Looks like the storm might hit sooner than they expected, Jack." She paused, and was irked further by his next words.

"Well, we still should check it out. How long was Myles going to be busy?"

She gritted her teeth; I should have known. "I can handle it, Jack. Jones is leaving now. I'll call you when I get back." She hung up before he could comment further, muttering under her breath as she went to grab her jacket and the digital camera. Men.

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Jones was in the shed about fifteen minutes; she watched him from the back door of the inn, which opened up onto a huge deck. This place must be gorgeous in the summertime, she thought to herself as she leaned against the doorsill. Even in the dead of winter, the bay held a peacefulness about it, surprising from the steel-grey and white landscape.

"Thought you were napping." Ruth's voice made her jump slightly.

"Couldn't sleep," Tara responded, keeping one eye on Jones. The snow was getting a bit heavier, and it was harder to see the 150 yards to the shed. "What a beautiful view," she continued, motioning toward the window, hoping the older lady would take her distraction as something other than it was.

"Ayuh," Ruth replied with a smile. "I've been to big cities only a couple times in my life, and I'm always glad to get back to the bay. I prefer my skyscrapers in evergreen."

Tara laughed. "I can see where that would have its appeal. Do you need any help? Myles was telling me there's a lot involved in 'battening down' for a storm." She fervently hoped Ruth wouldn't suggest anything right now; Jones was almost back to his house, and she needed to get out there. But it would likely mess up their cover if she didn't at least offer.

"Not right now, dearie," Ruth said, patting her shoulder. "I'm in the middle of whipping up a chowder for lunch. I might need some help a bit later, though. Thank you for offering. You just relax for awhile." She wandered back toward the kitchen, leaving Tara alone.

Bless her heart, I thought she'd never leave. The sooner she got out there to see what Jones had been up to, the quicker she could get back here and not risk their cover any further. She pulled on her jacket, which had been hidden under a huge pillow on the window seat that overlooked the deck, and hauled on a knit hat and a pair of gloves. Off into the great white north, then.

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Tara knelt on the dusty floor of the shed. It had taken her a good ten minutes to wade through the foot of already-fallen snow, holding onto the fence that marked the property line in order to both stay on her feet against the stiffening wind and to ensure she would be able to find the shed. It was getting harder to see ahead of her; the snowflakes were huge, wet lace fragments that were swiftly blanketing the ground in a fresh layer.

As soon as she'd escaped the wind, she had noticed a layer of dust had been disturbed on the floor, in a faint square. Trap door, she thought. I wonder how Jones could have known it was here. She hated to think that he'd been sneaking around Cal and Ruth's place before; they were nice people.

She reached for her pocketknife, and gently pried up the edge of the door. The edges were smooth, but not weathered. He must have cut it himself, quite a while ago, from the looks of it. He's been up here for a long time, or longer than we'd thought.

Inside was a small storage space containing a manila envelope. Slipping her gloves back on, Tara gently opened the clasp; the plans for the radar system appeared in her eyesight. She snapped several shots with the digital camera, then gently closed the clasp again, making sure the string was wound in the same direction as it had been.

She placed it back in the space, snapping one more shot before she dropped the trap door back into position. Now, to re-dust the place. She grabbed an old sack off a nearby crate and shook it until a fresh layer of dust obliterated any trace of disturbance.

She glanced at her watch; she'd been out here only twenty minutes. Plenty of time to get back before the worst of the storm hits. No worries. The phrase brought a smile, and she stepped out of the shed.

The shed windows had been dirty enough that she hadn't noticed the darkening sky, nor had she realized the wind was now whipping the trees into a frenzy. Only when the shed door was nearly torn from her hands did she realize the walk back was going to take a little more doing.

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Cal gave a great sigh. "So much for it hitting this afternoon. At least we got a good supply of wood in. We'll be set for awhile. Rest of it's gonna be too wet to bother moving."

Myles leaned against the door they'd left open to ease the job they'd been doing, crossing his arms over the heavy parka. "I'd forgotten just how nasty Mother Nature can get up here. Even in Boston, or my grandparents' place on the Cape, never seemed to attract this much snow and wind."

"Oh, I'd say your grandfolks have seen many a storm like this. 'Specially on the Cape. Them little strips of land out on God's ocean can take quite a beating." Cal pulled the door shut, but it still rattled against the wind, which had swiftly risen to nearly gale-force in the last fifteen minutes. Then he shed his gloves and hung the parka up on a nearby hook. Myles followed suit.

"Don't know about you, Myles, but I could sure use a cup of coffee and one of Ruth's lemon bars about now. What'cha say?"

The younger man smiled at him. "Cal, I'd say that sounds about perfect."

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