The Guardian's Mission

THREE

Martha told herself she shouldn’t be comforted by the warm, callused palm pressing against hers, or by the well-muscled arm brushing her shoulder. Somehow though, she was. Which proved just how scared she was. She didn’t know Sky, and she didn’t trust him.

What she did trust were her instincts, and right now they were telling her that flat-eyed, freckle-faced Johnson was a killer. The gun he’d pulled had been a Glock 22, a weapon so powerful that the bullet would kill her before she had time to realize she was dying.

The thought made her shiver.

She didn’t want to die today. She wasn’t going to die. She had too many things she still wanted to accomplish. That cross-stitch project she’d planned to make for Dad and Sue’s anniversary but had never finished. The missions trip to Mexico. The vacation to Australia she’d been dreaming about since she was old enough to have dreams. The ten pounds she wanted to lose so she could fit into flirty little summer dresses.

Not that her size was going to matter when she was lying inside a coffin.

Don’t even go there, Marti.

You are not going to die.

At least, she hoped she wasn’t going to die. Who knew what God’s plans were? She sure didn’t. Every time she thought she had a handle on what He wanted for her life, He spun her around and started her in a new direction. Case in point—Brian. She’d been so sure he was the one, so certain God had brought them together. Funny how easy it was to believe something was right when you wanted it badly enough. Even funnier how little all of that mattered in light of the fact that she might not survive the next few hours.

Rain continued to fall as they picked their way along an overgrown road, the raindrops like tears that streaked the earth and trees, muddling the colors so that they blended and bled. Probably washing away any evidence that Martha and the two men had passed this way, too. She glanced around, trying to get her bearings, and realized with a start that they were heading toward an abandoned logging camp. She and her dad had hiked this way many times before, even staying overnight in the cabin that had once served as an office. There wasn’t much left of the place—a couple of rusted trailers, the cabin. Another half century and the entire place would be overgrown and covered with vegetation.

What kind of business would take place so far from civilization?

What kind of men would be there?

Not the kind of business she wanted to be involved in. Not the kind of men she should be around.

Yet here she was, going where she didn’t want to go, with men she shouldn’t be with, and she had absolutely no idea how to get out of the situation.

Any time you’re ready, Lord, I’m open for suggestions.

She hoped for sudden inspiration, a quick solution to her troubles. She got nothing.

Her fingers itched to unzip her pack and pull out one of her chocolate bars. A little sugar, a little energy and maybe her brain would start functioning and she could figure a way out of the situation. She started to shrug out of the pack, but froze as Sky speared her with a hard stare. “What are you doing?”

Johnson must have heard because he turned, his dead eyes jumping from Martha to Sky and back again. “What’s going on?”

Don’t panic. Be a ditzy, stupid woman who thought it would be adventurous to wander through the Blue Ridge Mountains with Sky and his friends.

She forced herself to let the pack slide the rest of the way down her arms. “Just thinking I’d have a snack.”

“A snack?” Sky’s jaw twitched, his blue eyes boring into hers.

She forced strength back into legs that had gone wobbly and did her best to act as if she didn’t know how much danger she was in. “Yes. A snack. A girl’s got to eat. Right? It’s not like you gave me a chance to have lunch before we left.”

“Let me give you a hand with that.” Johnson yanked the pack from her hands, his eyes gleaming with the hard gaze of a predator and filling Martha with cold dread.

“Knock yourself out.”

He rifled through the pack, then thrust it at Sky. “No more stops.”

“Or else” hung in the air, unspoken, but Martha heard it clearly enough. She was also pretty sure that if she looked hard enough, she could see the outline of Johnson’s gun beneath the lightweight jacket he wore. It would take only seconds for him to pull it, fire it and wash his probably-already-stained-with-blood hands of the situation.

Fear loosened her muscles and joints and made walking almost impossible. Only Sky’s firm grip on her hand kept her going. She wanted to go home to her little cottage in the woods, sit on the front porch and watch the sunset behind the mountains one last time; bask in the colors, the feel, the scent of it. Crisp, cool, alive. She wanted to hug her father, tell him she loved him, kiss his leathery cheek just once more. Wanted to go out with her girlfriends, have a slice of Doris’s apple pie, inhale the scent of laughter, the heady aroma of joy.

Hot tears worked their way down her cheek, mixing with cold rain.

“Chocolate?” Sky’s question pulled her away from her maudlin thoughts.

She glanced at the candy bar he was holding out and knew she’d choke if she tried to eat it. “I changed my mind.”

“A little energy will do you good.” He unwrapped the chocolate, pressed the bar into her hand. “Eat and stop worrying.”

To her surprise, he wiped the hot tears from her cheeks, pressing his palm against her chilled flesh, his voice warm as a spring day. “Everything will be okay. I promise.”

“Promises are a dime a dozen.”

“Not mine. You will be okay. There is no other option.” He stared into her eyes as if he could pass his confidence to her with a look.

Then the moment was gone. He reached for the candy bar, broke a piece of chocolate off and popped it into his mouth. “Looks like we’ve reached our destination. Showtime.”

With that, he hiked her pack onto his back and pulled her toward the skeletal remains of the logging camp.

Fear was a terrible thing. It made thinking impossible. It made smart people act dumb. And that’s exactly what it was doing to Martha. She wanted to yank her hand from Sky’s and run, but that would not only be the stupidest decision of her life, it would also be her last. Sky would catch her before she got three feet away if Johnson’s bullet hadn’t already knocked her to the ground.

The way Martha saw it, she’d done enough stupid things in the past few months to last a lifetime. First she’d dated a guy who had a reputation for being arrogant and thoughtless. Second, she’d continued to date him even after she’d begun to suspect those rumors were true. Third, she’d decided to run and hide rather than face more pity from her friends and family when she’d finally broken things off with the jerk.

Now she was officially done with stupidity.

It was time to be smart. That meant waiting no matter how much she wanted to run. Eventually she’d have a chance to escape. She had to believe that.

Up ahead, thick trees opened into an overgrown field filled with the remnants of a once bustling logging camp. Martha hadn’t been there in years, but from what she remembered, things hadn’t changed much. The place was just a little older, a little more overgrown, a lot more creepy. Then again, maybe Martha was just more creeped out. To the left, an old trailer sat atop a cinder-block foundation, graffiti bleeding down the side in reds and blues and greens. Stumps and fallen logs stood to one side, skeletons of the life that had once been there.

In the distance, the clapboard cabin where Martha and her father used to stay stood blurry and gray in the pouring rain. Several men moved toward it ahead of Martha and her escorts, their tension filling the clearing and adding to Martha’s fear. She didn’t much care for the men she’d already met. She definitely didn’t want to meet more.

“Maybe I’ll wait out here.” She tugged against Sky’s hold, but he didn’t loosen his grip. Nor did he slow his pace. They were heading toward the kind of trouble Martha had never dreamed she would find herself in, and it didn’t seem as though there was much she could do about it.

“You’ll wait where I tell you to wait. Right in that trailer over there. After me and your friend are finished with business, we’ll decide what to do with you.” Johnson speared her with a cold, hard glare, his voice chilling in its callousness.

What to do with her? As if she were some disposable thing. Martha’s heart raced, her breath came in short, shallow spurts. This was terror. Pure and stark and ugly. She forced it back, not wanting Johnson to see just how scared she was. “I’d rather—”

“I don’t care what you’d rather. In the trailer. Now.”

Johnson pulled his gun, pointed it at her chest.

“Cool it, Johnson.” Sky stepped between Martha and the gun, his hand still wrapped around Martha’s wrist.

“Do we have a problem?” The words were smooth as honey and cold as ice. A new voice, a new player, another danger. Marti didn’t need to see the man to know it, she could hear it in his voice.

“Nothing that isn’t being dealt with.” Johnson still had his gun out, but his focus had shifted, his eyes on the man who was walking toward them—medium height, well dressed. Power. Wealth. Danger. They oozed off him. It was his eyes, though, that turned Martha’s insides to mush. If Johnson’s eyes were dead, this guy’s eyes were death. There was evil there, a blackness that no amount of polish could hide.

He moved toward them, his gaze resting on Martha briefly before he turned his attention to Sky. “You’re Sky Davis. We were wondering if you’d show up.”

“I got a little sidetracked.”

“So I see.” Soulless eyes rested on Martha again, and she resisted the urge to look away. “I’m Buddy. You’ll have to forgive Johnson’s overreaction to your friend. He’s very zealous about his job. We’ve got client confidentiality to protect.”

“Understood.” Sky spoke before Martha could. Which was for the best as she could think of nothing to say.

“Then maybe next time you won’t bring a…friend.” He glanced at Martha again. “It makes things complicated.”

“She’s a member of the Blue Ridge Mountains Militia. I’m teaching her the ropes.”

“Not here you’re not. She’ll have to wait in the trailer. We’ll deal with her after we’ve concluded our business.” He nodded toward Johnson who strode forward, grabbing her arm.

“Hold on a minute.” Sky pulled her back toward him, and she was sure he was going to protest, come up with some reason they had to stay together.

Instead, he pulled her close, leaning forward, staring into her eyes. “Don’t worry, Sunshine. This won’t take long.”

He pressed his lips to the sensitive flesh behind her ear, his words barely a whisper. “Sorry about this.”

Then he kissed her.

Not the bland, almost sterile kind of kiss Brian usually offered. Not a hard, quick kiss to silence her. A searing kiss that burned its way down her spine. A toe-curling, heart-pounding, honest-to-goodness, Prince-Charming-I’m-gonna-love-you-forever–type kiss.

Too bad the guy was a stranger.

Too bad Martha was scared out of her mind.

Too bad.

Because if he wasn’t, if she hadn’t been, she just might have enjoyed it.

“Mr. Davis.” Buddy’s voice drawled into the moment, cold and slithery as a snake. “Sorry to interrupt your moment, but we’ve got business to attend.”

Sky released his hold on Martha and she nearly fell.

He didn’t give her another look, just walked toward the cabin with Buddy, while Johnson moved closer to Martha, waving the gun toward the trailer. “Let’s go.”

He grabbed her arm and yanked her forward, nearly dragging her the few yards to the trailer, his grip painfully tight. She didn’t complain, though. No way would she give him that power over her. Let him think she was tough, that what he was doing didn’t scare her. Let him think that she really was Sky’s girlfriend, out for a jaunt and too dense to realize she wasn’t going to survive it.

Please, Lord, let him think that.

Because if he did, if they all did, then they wouldn’t be expecting her to escape—they wouldn’t waste the time and effort guarding her, and she just might have a chance.

Johnson opened the trailer door and shoved her with enough force to send her sprawling on a pile of dirt, trash and other things she’d rather not examine. Before she could right herself, the door slammed shut, cutting off light. A key scraped in a lock, and Martha heard a bolt slide home.

Obviously, Marti wasn’t the first to be locked in here. She’d be the last, though, because once she escaped, she was going to the authorities and she was going to shut down whatever illegal activities were going on here.

Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she surveyed the room. Trash. Debris. Probably snakes, rats and mice, too. Not her favorite things to share space with, but a lot better than the men outside.

And at least here she wasn’t in danger of having a bullet put through her heart.

The thought got her moving across the room to a plywood board that she was sure covered a window. All she had to do was pry it off, slip out the opening and run. She searched the debris for a tool, her mind ticking away the seconds and telling her she was running out of time. Finally, desperate, she wedged her fingernails under the board and pulled. Pain speared through her hands, her nails bending back as the board gave slightly. Blood seeped from the wounds, but she ignored it, shoving her fingers into the wider space she’d created.

“Please, Lord. Please let this work.”

She braced her legs, yanking against the plywood with all her strength. It gave with a crack, and she tumbled backward, landing hard on a pile of garbage. Stunned, she lay still for a moment, her pulse racing frantically, demanding that she get up and go. Now. Before someone decided to check on her.

She stood, her thoughts jumping forward, planning a path through the forest that wouldn’t be easy to follow, but that would lead her back to her Jeep and her cell phone quickly. She’d call for help while she was driving away.

Her keys!

They were in her backpack. The one with an identification card that listed her name and address. The one that Sky had taken from her. The one that Johnson could just as easily take from him.

This wasn’t good. It wasn’t good at all.

For a moment she didn’t move, just stood frozen in place unsure of what to do.

“Don’t be an idiot. Of course you’re sure. If you don’t get out of here soon, Johnson won’t have to use the identification card to find you, because you’ll be dead.” She muttered the words as she hurried to the window and peered outside.

Rain still poured from the steel-gray sky, the sound masking any noise she might make as she dropped to the ground. For a moment she hesitated, her mind conjuring an image of Sky as he’d looked when he’d stood between Johnson’s gun and Martha. Fierce, protective. Heroic. Would he be blamed for Martha’s escape? Would he be hurt because of her?

She shook her head, forcing the thoughts away. Sky knew what he was doing, and whatever it was had only become more complicated because of Martha’s presence. Without her to worry about, he could easily do whatever it took to survive. She knew it as surely as she knew that staying and waiting for him to return might get them both killed.

She eyed the tufts of overgrown grass that were fifteen feet below, scanned the area, then hoisted herself onto the window ledge.

“Lord, I just need a little head start. Can You help me with that? Because I’m pretty sure that on my own, I’m in big trouble. And while You’re at it, could You watch out for Sky, too?” She whispered the prayer as she twisted, grabbed the windowsill and slid out into the rain. Suspended by her throbbing fingers, she took a deep breath and willed herself to drop.

FOUR

Tristan glanced at his watch as Buddy pulled a sleek M16 from a box Johnson handed him and held it up for his audience—a ragtag group of militia men from various organizations around the area. The auction was underway and in two minutes an organized team of law enforcement officials would stream from the woods and take everyone present into custody. It was what Tristan had spent months working toward. Knowing it was about to happen should have filled him with satisfaction. Instead, he was worried. If guns were fired, if bullets flew, Martha Gabler was a sitting duck. The trailer she was in offered about as much protection from Buddy’s arsenal of weapons as a sheet of aluminum foil.

He waited until Johnson stepped into a back room to retrieve another case of weapons, then slipped from his position at the back of the crowd and walked out the open cabin door. By the time Johnson realized he was gone, Tristan would have Martha out of the trailer and to safety.

That was the plan anyway. Tristan prayed it would go off without a hitch.

He jogged across the clearing, planning to open the front door of the trailer and hustle Martha out. Before he reached the steps, a muffled scream and quiet splash sounded above the pouring rain.

Apparently the woman he’d dubbed Sunshine hadn’t needed his help escaping after all.

Tristan switched directions, racing around the side of the trailer just in time to see Martha struggling to her feet. He didn’t give her time to react, just lunged forward, grabbing her arm and tugging her toward the trees. “Next time you attempt an escape, you might want to keep the volume down.”

“There isn’t going to be a next time, because if I live through this one I’m never leaving my house again.” Her teeth chattered on the last word, her face devoid of color.

“You’re going to be fine, Sunshine.” He’d barely gotten the words out when the world exploded. Gunfire. Shouts. White-hot pain sliced through his upper arm, warm blood seeping down his bicep. Dark figures swarmed from the trees, surrounding them as Martha screamed.

“Freeze! Police! Hands on your head. Down on the ground. Down! Down! Do it now.”

Tristan did as he was commanded, pulling Martha with him. Cold, wet earth seeping through his clothes. It was over. Martha was alive. He was alive. God had gotten them both through. The rest was gravy.

An officer frisked him, cuffed him and pulled him to his feet, calling in a request for hospital transport as he eyed the blood seeping down Tristan’s arm. Tristan barely heard. He was looking around, searching for something he didn’t see. Someone he didn’t see. Martha stood a few feet away surrounded by uniformed men and women. Her baseball cap gone, her hair plastered against her pale face, mud streaking her cheeks. She must have sensed his gaze, because she met his eyes, tried to smile, but failed.

Tristan wasn’t smiling, either.

Something was wrong. Really wrong.

No way had law enforcement started the gunfight. Someone else had pulled a weapon, and Tristan was certain he knew who that someone was. Gordon Johnson had no qualms about shooting a man in the back. No doubt he’d been intent on doing just that. And no doubt he would have been successful if his aim hadn’t been ruined by…what? A gunshot wound?

Tristan turned to the police officer. “Who started the gunfight? Your men? Did they shoot someone?”

“We’re the ones asking the questions here.”

The officer shoved Tristan forward, apparently not knowing Tristan was one of the good guys and not caring that blood was seeping down his arm, or that the bone was most likely broken.

Tristan couldn’t say he blamed the guy. The guns being auctioned today were the latest in advanced armor-busting weaponry. The kind that killed cops.

“Look, if the guy who shot me isn’t in custody, you’d better make sure you find him. He’s Buddy’s right-hand man. If he escapes, there’s going to be trouble.”

The officer stopped walking and turned to Tristan, something flashing in his eyes. Maybe concern. Maybe recognition of Tristan’s humanity. Whatever it was, he shrugged. “The guy was coming around the trailer with his gun drawn as we were moving in. Must have seen something that spooked him because he jumped back behind it just as he fired.”