Agent Undercover...Identity Exposed

The FBI: Special Crimes Unit series continues

FBI agent Sam Sheridan’s mission is to take down a human trafficking ring and save missing teens—until he witnesses a kidnapping. Blowing his cover, Sam rescues Ella McIntire. But she’s not safe yet. While searching for the truth about her cousin’s death, Ella came too close to a dangerous secret. And now only Sam can protect her from the men determined to silence her.

Aside from her faith and her family, there’s not much SHIRLEE McCOYenjoys more than a good book! When she’s not teaching or chauffeuring her five kids, she can usually be found plotting her next Love Inspired Suspense story or wandering around the beautiful Inland Northwest in search of inspiration. Shirlee loves to hear from readers. If you have time, drop her a line at shirlee@shirleemccoy.com.

Also By Shirlee McCoy

Love Inspired Suspense

FBI: Special Crimes Unit

Night Stalker

Gone

Mission: Rescue

Protective Instincts

Her Christmas Guardian

Exit Strategy

Deadly Christmas Secrets

Mystery Child

The Christmas Target

Mistaken Identity

Christmas on the Run

Classified K-9 Unit

Bodyguard

Rookie K-9 Unit

Secrets and Lies

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Gone

Shirlee McCoy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08460-4

GONE

© 2018 Shirlee McCoy

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Sam glanced in the rearview mirror again and saw distant headlights. He accelerated, anxious to get off the two-lane road and onto the highway.

“What’s wrong?” Ella asked, looking out the back window again. “Is that them?”

“Probably.”

The distance between the two vehicles was closing. He floored the old Chevy, racing toward the entrance ramp to the state highway.

Headlights streamed into the Chevy, their pursuers edging closer. Someone leaned out the window and fired a shot. He felt the quick tug of a blown tire, fought to keep the truck under control as he flew onto the ramp.

A hundred yards ahead, an emergency turnaround split the wide median between the north and southbound lanes of the highway. He didn’t brake, just spun onto the road, bounced across the median and sped in the opposite direction.

The other driver missed the turn, his brake lights flashing as he tried to stop. It would take a few minutes for him to recover and backtrack.

Sam had to find a safe place to pull off, and then he needed to make a call to his boss. She could put a team together and be in the area in a few hours.

All he had to do was make sure he and Ella survived until then.

These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.

—John 16:33

Dear Reader,

I hope you’re enjoying the FBI: Special Crimes Unit series as much as I am! Writing these stories has given me an opportunity to explore some of the darker aspects of life. It has also given me an opportunity to explore the most beautiful. Every day, I read news reports about the terrible things that go on in the world. These things challenge me to be kinder, to worker harder and to extend more grace. The world needs more of what God has offered—peace and restoration. Through His abundant grace and mercy, we learn to offer the same to those around us. In Gone, Ella and Sam have both been through challenges in life. Their faith is what pulls them through, guiding them to have hearts of forgiveness and love. I hope and pray the same for you, my friends. May the journey you’re on always lead you to peace, forgiveness and grace.

I love hearing from readers. You can reach me at shirlee@shirleemccoy.com or visit me on Facebook or Instagram.

Blessings on your journey,

Shirlee McCoy

To Jude, Caleb, Seth, Emma and Qian. You are my heart, and I am exceedingly proud of the people you have become.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Bible Verse

Dear Reader

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

ONE

She woke to darkness so thick she thought she’d been buried alive. She shuddered, listening to the silence, trying to remember where she was, what had happened, who she was. Her mind was as dark as the place she lay.

She shifted, trying to ease a throbbing ache in her shoulders. Movement was difficult; her wrists were bound behind her back, her ankles bound, too. She should be terrified. She realized that, but all she felt was a strange numbness and the need to close her eyes and sink back into oblivion. Frigid air seeped through her clothes and settled deep into her bones, making her teeth chatter and her body shake. She’d freeze if she didn’t move. Even that didn’t scare her like it should.

If Ruby were here, she’d tell you to snap out of it.

The thought flitted through her head, and a million memories flooded in. The late-night phone call from the Damariscotta police telling her that Ruby had died. The frantic trip to Maine to identify her cousin’s body. The hours spent praying desperately that the police were wrong. The realization that they weren’t.

The grief that was still lodged beneath her sternum, throbbing in her heart.

She’d buried Ruby in North Carolina, and then she’d driven back to Newcastle to clean out Ruby’s apartment. Two trips to Maine in two weeks, seeing the place her cousin had loved too late to share the experience with her.

It’s inexpensive. Beautiful. Everything I’ve ever wanted. When are you coming to see it, Ella ?

How many times had Ruby begged her to make the trip? Too many to count. Ella had always had an excuse. She’d always had a deadline to meet or research to do or some random obligation that kept her close to home.

Ruby, on the other hand, had never missed an opportunity to visit Ella. Christmas, birthdays, random trips just because.

She’d loved wholeheartedly and without reservation, and she’d never wanted Ella to feel alone. They’d been as close as sisters, the only living relative either had. Best friends, confidants and coconspirators in life.

And now Ruby was gone.

And Ella...

She was here. Wherever here was. Trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey. Alone in a way she’d never been before. There’d be no one looking for her back at home. Her next article wasn’t due for several weeks. Her neighbors barely knew her. Maybe, eventually, they’d notice her mailbox overflowing and contact the police for a well-check. If not, someone at church might wonder why she’d missed so many Sundays. By that time, Ella would be well and truly gone. A late-night docudrama—The Disappearance of Ella McIntire—watched by people all over the country.

She pushed the thought away, forcing herself to move. Her knuckles scrapped cold metal as she shifted to a sitting position. She trailed nearly numb fingers over the cold smooth floor. Not cement or carpet. Metal? Her brain was working sluggishly, but it was working again, her eyes adjusting to the darkness, taking in shadowy details of her prison. Silver-gray walls. No windows. No door. Just a dark alcove across from her that could have led to a hallway or an exit.

She needed to get up and get out, because someone had brought her here. Whoever it was could return. Probably would return. She’d been asking too many questions. She’d been talking to too many people. She’d been trying to find the truth, because she hadn’t believed the coroner’s report—that Ruby had died of an accidental drug overdose.

Ruby didn’t take illegal drugs. She hated to take prescribed ones. She preferred holistic approaches to illness—meditation, healthy living, exercise. She rarely took an aspirin for pain and, as far as Ella knew, hadn’t been sick with more than a cold in years. Her mother had died of a drug overdose when she was fourteen, and Ruby had vowed never to follow in her footsteps.

Ella had told the police that. She’d told the coroner that. They hadn’t listened because Ruby had been found in her car, drug paraphernalia on her lap. Toxicology test had proven what had been obvious to the officers who’d found her—she’d died of an opioid overdose. That was a fact Ella didn’t dispute. What she questioned, what she absolutely could not believe, was that Ruby had administered the drugs to herself.

So, while she’d worked on cleaning out Ruby’s apartment, she’d talked to people who’d known her cousin. A social worker, hired by the county to work with recovering addicts, Ruby had met a lot of people. Ella had wanted to speak with all of them. In the few days she’d been in town, she’d done everything she could do achieve that goal. She’d talked to coworkers, to neighbors, to members of Ruby’s church.

One of those people must not have liked the questions she was asking. Or, maybe, word had gotten out that she was making visits to the police, insisting that her cousin’s death wasn’t an accident. Newcastle was a small town. People knew each other. They talked.

Whatever the case, Ella had been at the medical clinic, waiting for a key to Ruby’s office. She’d needed to remove her cousin’s personal belongings, and she’d wanted to look for anything that might help her make sense of the tragedy. She’d heard footsteps behind her, turned and...

That was it. All she remembered. Her mind was blank. Just a black void that she was frantic to fill with knowledge, because she had no idea what had happened, how she had gotten here or who had brought her.

She only knew that she had to escape.

Something scuffled in the darkness. Fabric against metal or feet shuffling against the floor. She tensed, terror finally slipping through the numbness. Someone was there, she could feel the presence like an icy finger running up her spine. Whoever it was moved almost silently. Just those soft scuffling sounds mixing with the frantic pounding of her heart.

She managed to get to her feet, her ankles so tightly bound she could barely shuffle backward. Even if she could have run, there was nowhere to go. Just the dark alcove and the deeper, darker shadow moving through it. Her heart thumped painfully, her attention riveted to the person walking toward her. Tall. Broad. A man, she thought. But it was too dark to make out details of his face or features.

She yanked at her bonds, trying to shuffle farther away as if, somehow, she could disappear into the darkness.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” the man said so suddenly, so unexpectedly, she jumped.

“Said every serial killer who ever tried to convince a victim she was going to be okay,” she responded, her mouth cottony with fear.

“If I were a serial killer, I don’t think I’d be worried about comforting you. Not when you’re already bound and helpless.”

“I’m not helpless.” She glanced around, looking for a weapon, because she was helpless. Tied up. Alone. Probably far away from civilization.

“You are, but you don’t have to worry. I’m not going to hurt you.”

He was close now.

So close she could see his chiseled features—hard jaw, prominent cheekbones, light hair. Eyes that were looking straight into hers.

“What do you want?” she asked, still twisting her wrists, trying to loosen what felt like duct tape. If she could free her hands, she could fight. If she could fight, she had a chance of escaping.

“To get you out of here,” he said.

“And take me where?” she asked. Not because she believed him. Because she needed to buy time. The tape was loosening, the edges cutting into her skin but slowly giving.

“Somewhere safe,” he responded, grabbing her shoulder so quickly she didn’t realize he was moving until he had her.

She yanked away, tumbling back and crashing into a wall.

“Calm down,” he said, his voice low and soothing. As if that would make her more likely to cooperate. “I told you, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that because...?”

“Lady, if I wanted to harm you, it would already be done.” He grabbed her shoulder again, and this time he held tight when she tried to pull away. “Turn around. I’ll cut you free.”

She didn’t plan to cooperate, but he pulled something from his pocket. She heard a quiet click, saw a blade jump out and tensed.

“I’d rather not be stabbed in the back,” she managed to say.

He sighed, swinging her around so effortlessly she barely had time to realize what he was doing before she was free. Her hands hung limp at her sides, pieces of tape still dangling from the skin, blood flowing back into her fingers.

He crouched, cut the tape at her ankles.

She tried to dart away, but her feet were numb, her movements clumsy. He snagged her hand and tugged her back. Not hard. Not with enough force to make her stumble. Just enough to pull her to a stop.

“Do you know where you are?” he asked.

“In a room with a guy I don’t know who happens to have a knife. Let me go,” she responded.

“You’re twenty miles from town. In an old shipping container that someone converted to a building. It’s sitting in a graveyard of other containers in the middle of a forest that would be very easy to get lost in.”

“I’ll take my chances. Let me go,” she repeated.

“I have a vehicle. It’s parked a couple of miles from here. We’ll walk there, drive back to town and contact the authorities,” he said as if she hadn’t spoken.

“You either didn’t hear me, or you misunderstood what I said. I’m willing to take my chances on going it alone.” She tried to pull away, but he didn’t release her.

“I think you’re the one who misunderstood. We’re going together, because the men who brought you here aren’t playing around. I’m not sure if they plan to kill you or sell you to the highest bidder, but I don’t think either sounds like how you want to spend the rest of the night.”

“Who are you?” she asked, running his words through her mind, trying to make sense of them. Kill or sell her? He was right. Neither of those things would be a good ending to her night.

“Special Agent Sam Sheridan,” he replied. “I’m with the FBI.”

“And you just happened to be hanging out in the middle of the woods right at the time when I needed help?”

“Not quite.” He started walking, dragging her along beside him. She went mostly because she couldn’t free herself from his grip. She still wasn’t convinced his motives were altruistic, and she certainly didn’t believe he was with the FBI.

“Then how about you explain how you got here at just the right time to help me? Because I’d really like to know.”

“I’ll explain. After we get out of here.” He stepped into the alcove, pulling her with him.

It was darker there, but she could see a door on the far wall. Closed. He pulled it open. Cold air wafted in, and she could see moonlit trees and blue-black sky. Freedom. Just a few steps away.

She didn’t give herself time to think. She shoved into him, using her weight to try to throw him off balance. He was a head taller and probably a hundred pounds heavier, and he barely moved. His grip on her hand loosened, though. Just enough for her to yank free. She bolted, rushing out the door, ignoring his shouted command to stop. One step into the cold evening, and then she was falling. Off a raised platform, tumbling toward the ground.

* * *

Sam snagged the back of the woman’s flannel shirt, dragging her back onto the platform before she hit the ground. He didn’t have time to be annoyed with himself for giving her an opportunity to escape. He certainly couldn’t fault her for trying. In her shoes, he’d have done the same.

Only, he’d have probably succeeded.

She hadn’t stood a chance.

Maybe five foot two if she stretched. A hundred pounds. Probably still trying to get feeling back in her hands and feet. She’d been bound tightly. Something he hadn’t noticed when he’d seen her being wheeled off an elevator and into a parking garage at Damariscotta Medical Centre. What he’d noticed was her paleness, her closed eyes, how completely her body was covered by a blanket. He’d also recognized the man who was pushing the wheelchair. Mack Dawson was a low-level member of The Organization. Something Sam knew because he was a member, too. Deep undercover. Cut off from the FBI Special Crimes Unit he worked for, he’d spent the past month posing as tech expert willing to do just about anything for the right price.

He had a lot to lose if The Organization discovered him with the woman they’d kidnapped.

Namely, his life.

He was working alone. No well-trained team ready to back him up. The Organization, on the other hand, was multitiered and multi-membered with plenty of operatives living in and around Newcastle, Maine. Most of them were willing to commit murder if enough money was offered. He’d known that when he’d watched Mack shove the woman into the passenger seat of a small car. He’d known it when he’d made the decision to follow the car. Just to make sure the woman was okay.

He might be posing as one of the bad guys, but he couldn’t shake the need to protect and serve. It had led him to work as a Houston undercover police officer and then to the FBI Special Crimes Unit. It had led him to Newcastle, Maine, and his assignment—finding proof that The Organization was kidnapping teenagers and shipping them to foreign locations where they were sold to the highest bidders.

Now, it had led him here.

To the middle of nowhere, trying to help a young woman who might be The Organization’s next intended human trafficking victim.

Only, up close, with the moonlight falling on her face, she didn’t look young or desperate enough. The Organization preyed on teenage foster kids. Troubled. Troublemakers. Family-less. The kind of young people who—when they went missing from their foster or group homes—were considered runaways. Currently, the total was fifteen kids in two years. All of them gone without a trace.

The woman he’d just freed from the shipping container didn’t look like a kid. She looked to be in her mid-to late-twenties. Clean clothes. Professionally cut hair.

“What’s your name?” he asked, and she frowned.

“Why do you want to know?” she replied, her voice thick and a little raspy.

“Because, I’d rather not spend the rest of the night calling you lady.”

“Ella McIntire,” she murmured, her gaze darting from him to the ground four feet below. “Thanks for not letting me fall on my face.”

“Getting out of here would be a lot more difficult with you injured. Come on. The stairs are over here.” He turned to the left, walking down five rickety steps and onto pebble-strewn dirt. Several shipping containers stood in the weed-choked clearing, their rusting carcasses blocking his view of the woods beyond. He didn’t like that. He wanted a clear visual of the surrounding area.

He also didn’t like the fact that the shipping container Ella had been left in had been set on cinder blocks and fitted with a door that had three locks and a dead bolt on the outside. He’d picked the locks easily, and he’d slid the bolt free, but he doubted someone inside could have escaped. Not through the door, at least.

And that made him wonder if Ella was the first person to be locked in.

Which made him think that she probably wasn’t.

And that made him want to call his supervisor, Wren Santino, and ask her to bring an evidence team out. First, though, he had to get out of the woods and back to a place with cell phone reception.

He eyed Ella, wondering if she was capable of walking to his vehicle. He’d parked a couple miles away, pulling his car off the road and leaving it hidden behind thick foliage.

The distance itself probably wouldn’t be a problem, but they’d need to stay off the road, traveling through the trees parallel to it. That’s what he’d done on the way in—pushing through thickets and crossing a small stream. Not an easy hike for a someone who already looked exhausted.

“I guess you have a plan for getting out of here. What is it?” she said quietly, eyeing the clearing. No expression on her face. No emotion in her eyes. Just pale skin and a few freckles, dark hair escaping a ponytail. Flannel shirt unbuttoned, a dark T-shirt beneath. Jeans. Boots. A splotch of what looked like blood on the side of her neck.

He frowned. “What happened to your neck?”

“I don’t know.” She touched her nape, and he took her hand, moving it so that her fingers were closer to the spot.

“There,” he said. “It looks like blood.”

“I still don’t know.” She shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “You were going to tell me about your plan?”

“That’s a quick switch.”

“From?”

“You wanting to run away to you wanting to go along with my plan.”

“I didn’t say I was going along with it. I said I wanted to hear it. Because this place looks about as remote as anywhere could be.” She turned a slow circle, probably taking note of the abandoned shipping crates, the weeds and trash littering the clearing, the thick forest that surrounded it. “And I’m not foolish enough to think I can find my way out alone.”

“There’s a driveway in,” he said. “Just that way.” He gestured to the western edge of the clearing. “But walking out to the main road on it isn’t a good idea.”

“You think the people who brought me here will return?”

“One person brought you here, and yes. I do think he’s coming back. Probably with help.”

“Help for what? Disposing of me?” She pulled her shirt tighter around her narrow frame, and he shrugged out of his jacket, dropping it around her shoulders.

“I don’t know what they intend.”

“You mentioned killing me or selling me off to the highest bidder. You must know something.”

“I know neither of us wants to wait around to find out which option they choose. Come on. We need to get out of here.”

“Do you have a phone? You could call the police. That would be a lot safer than trying to run,” she said.

“There’s no reception out here. We’re too deep in the mountains. Put the jacket on. Let’s go.” He walked away, acting as if he expected her to follow.

To his relief, she did, hurrying after him. Taking two steps for every one of his. Dry grass crackling beneath their feet, cold wind rustling the leaves of nearby trees. It was early autumn, but it felt like early winter—a cold crispness to the air that reminded him of winter nights on his grandfather’s ranch. Only back then, there’d been no villains lurking in the darkness. There’d been no hint of danger in the air. Those were the days when he’d been too young to understand how much evil the world contained, or how determined he’d one day be to protect people from it. They were also the days before his mother died and he was sent to live with his father. Forced to live with him. He’d have preferred to stay with his grandparents, but at nine years old, he’d had no say. The court had made the decision, and he’d had no choice but to abide by it.

The woods fell silent as he led Ella into the thick tree-line that bordered the driveway. He stayed far enough away to be hidden from any vehicles that might come along. Close enough that he didn’t fear getting turned around or lost. The driveway was half a mile of gravel, deeply rutted from vehicles moving through. He’d taken a look after Mack drove away. Before he’d entered the shipping container and freed Ella. He’d wanted to see if there was an easy way to block vehicular access to the clearing and slow the return of Mack and his Organization pals.

There hadn’t been, and this was the best he could do—freeing Ella and fleeing with her, praying they could get to his vehicle before The Organization’s henchmen returned. Low level thugs. Not the people Sam was after. He was after the top-tier members, the ones who called the shots and made the money. If he could bring them down, he could bring the entire Newcastle cell of the crime syndicate down with them. Blowing his cover wasn’t going to help him do that.

He glanced at Ella. He’d give her credit, she was moving well, pushing through brambles and late-summer growth with grim determination. She’d done as he asked—putting on his jacket and zipping it to her chin. Her booted feet slogged through dead leaves and trampled dry branches. If she was tired or in pain, she didn’t show it, and she didn’t complain.

But, alone, he could have moved at double the speed.

His beat-up Chevy was well hidden. He wasn’t worried about anyone from The Organization seeing it. Not until he pulled out from behind the undergrowth and onto the two-lane road that wound its way through a mountain pass and back to town. Once he was driving, his truck would be easily seen and recognized. The Organization kept track of its members. Where they lived. What they drove. Who they spent time with. He didn’t want his truck seen anywhere near the location of their escaped captive. According to his paperwork, he was IT Specialist Sam Rogers, an old buddy of one of their low-level operatives, a guy who’d run drugs across the Mexican border during high school and college. Someone who might be willing to do anything for a price. He wanted to keep it that way.

But at the rate he and Ella were going, his cover would be blown before the sun rose.

“I’m slowing you down,” Ella said as he held a thick pine bough and waited for her to duck under it. “Why don’t you go on ahead? Once you get somewhere with cell reception, you can call the police to come for me.”

“No.”

“Why not? It’s a sound plan, and makes a lot more sense than both of us getting caught.”

“That’s exactly why it’s not a good plan. I’m not leaving you here to face The Organization’s thugs alone.”

“What organization?”

“The Organization is the name of a crime syndicate that has cell groups all over the country. Newcastle is one of its newest,” he explained.

“What would a crime syndicate want with someone like me?” she asked, breathless, struggling to keep up.

“Funny, I was going to ask you the same question.”

“I don’t have an answer, Special Agent Sheridan.”

“Sam. And most crime syndicates don’t mess with people who aren’t of benefit to the organization.”

“Benefit? What does that mean?”

“Money. Favors—political or legal.”

She snorted. “I’m a freelance journalist. I write human-interest stories for local newspapers and a few national publications. I also teach online writing classes for the community college during the fall and winter sessions.”

“In Newcastle?”

She hesitated, maybe realizing she was giving away personal information and not sure she should be doing it.

“Not in Newcastle,” he guessed. “You don’t live in town?”

“No.”

“Look, Ella. I’m sure you think you’re helping yourself by keeping information from me, but I really do work for the FBI. I can find out anything I want to know pretty easily.”

“I live outside Charlotte, North Carolina,” she muttered, and he wasn’t sure if it was the truth or a lie.

“And you’re in Maine because?”

“My cousin passed away a couple of weeks ago. I came to clean out her apartment.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, offering a platitude that wouldn’t do a thing to ease her sorrow. He knew that, but it was all he had. Unlike the other members of the Special Crimes Unit, Sam wasn’t good or comfortable with the emotional aspects of the job. He’d been brought on board to work assignments like the one in Newcastle—undercover gigs that required someone who looked and acted the part the part of a criminal.

“Me, too,” she responded. “But Ruby always said death was a beginning. Not an end.”

“Ruby was your cousin?”

“Yes.”

“It sounds like she had the right idea about things.”

“She did.” She fell silent. Not adding anything to that, her harsh breathing and stumbling steps reminding him that his pace was too fast for her. Too slow for him.

The soft rumble of an engine broke the silence, and she tripped. He snagged her arm, keeping her upright and pulling her deeper into the shadows.

“That’s a car,” she whispered, as if her voice might carry through the darkness and drift into the interior of the vehicle that was approaching.

Gravel crunched beneath tires, and lights illuminated the forest up ahead. Someone was coming down the driveway. High beams on.

He doubted the light would reach them, but he tugged Ella down anyway, crouching behind thick brush. She was inches away, her face a pale oval in the darkness, her eyes light-colored—blue or gray—and wide with alarm.

“What are we going to do?” she asked, looking straight at him.

“Wait until they pass.”

“Once they do, they’ll figure out I’m gone. Then they’ll come looking,” she replied, her voice tight.

“We’re almost at the road,” he assured her. “Far enough ahead that we should be able to make it to my truck without being seen.”

“You would be able to if I weren’t with you.”

It was true, but separating wasn’t an option, so he said nothing, just motioned for her to be still and silent as the lights drifted closer. They passed slowly, a few feet away, sliding across trees and bushes, and casting the world in yellow-tinged color. He could see Ella more clearly now, still just a few inches away, gaze focused toward the oncoming vehicle. Light brown hair threaded with red and gold. The splotch on her neck was dried blood over a purple bruise. A puncture wound of some sort?

The forest darkened incrementally. Gold to gray to nearly black, and he knew it was time to move again.

“Ready?” he whispered, but she was already up, sprinting ahead, pushing through foliage and disappearing into the forest. Heading away from the driveway, away from the road, deeper into forest that stretched for miles in every direction.

He followed, not caring about making too much noise or drawing attention to their escape. He had to catch her before she got lost in a wilderness that was just as dangerous and deadly as the men who were after her.

TWO

It was a mistake to keep running. Ella knew it. Just like she knew she shouldn’t have panicked and taken off. Now she was committed to her escape—from the vehicle, the lights and Sam. The man who’d said he was an FBI agent. Who’d seemed to want to help her. Who’d probably be able to find his way out of the forest a lot more easily than she could.

She’d be lost soon, if she kept running.

Lost in acres of trees that blocked the moon and made her wonder which direction she was heading. Away from the driveway? Toward a road? Or deeper into the Maine wilderness.

There were bears here. Lynx. Moose. Animals that could maul, claw and trample a person. She’d researched the area before Ruby moved there. She’d been fascinated and worried by her cousin’s decision to leave everything she knew to take a job in a state she’d never visited. Ruby had called it an adventure. Ella had never been adventurous. And she certainly had no experience in the Maine wilderness. If she got lost, she’d probably stay lost. But she kept running anyway, compelled by fear and panic and some instinct that told her being lost in the wilderness would be better than being found by whoever had kidnapped her.

“Stop!” Sam hissed, grabbing the back of the jacket he’d lent her and yanking her to a halt.

“And do what? Wait to be found?”

“Head for the road,” he said, his voice so calm, she could almost believe that everything was going to be okay. “Right now, you’re running away from it.”

“And away from anyone who might be looking for me. That makes a lot more sense than running toward a place where I know there’s danger.” She whirled to face him, panicked, breathless, terrified. She hated that. She hated being vulnerable. She hated being afraid. She hated that she had no idea how to save herself from the situation she was in. She’d relied on someone else once. She’d trusted him. Jarrod had taught her everything she needed to know about how important it was never to repeat the mistake.

But right now, she wasn’t sure she could go it alone. No matter how much she wanted to. She’d walked into something unexpected when she’d traveled to Newcastle. Or, maybe, it had been expected. She’d known—hadn’t she?—that Ruby’s death hadn’t been an accident. She’d asked questions anyway. She’d pushed for answers because Ruby deserved to be remembered for the good she’d done, not for a drug addiction she hadn’t had.

“We’re staying off the road, remember? Just walking parallel to it. There’s no danger in that. At least, no more than there is in running deep into a forest you’re not familiar with.” He had her arm and was tugging her back the way they’d come, his grip just firm enough to keep her moving in the direction he wanted to go.

“The lights of that car were too close,” she said, her heart thumping wildly, her pulse racing.

“Not close enough for us to be seen.”

“How do you know?” she responded as they neared the gravel driveway. She could see it through an opening in the trees—a few yards ahead, gray-white stones gleaming in the moonlight.

“We were behind enough brush to keep us hidden. Even if the light had been able to reach us,” he responded.

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“Maybe this will,” he said. “I don’t take chances with people’s lives, and I don’t believe in unnecessary risk. If I didn’t think this was the fastest and safest way to escape, I’d find another one.”

She didn’t respond, because there was nothing left to say.

She didn’t take chances, either. She didn’t believe in unnecessary risks. Not ever, but especially not since Jarrod. Somehow, she’d still traveled to Maine. She’d gone to the police with her concerns. She’d asked questions. She’d sought answers, and now, she was allowing herself to believe that a random stranger was trying to help her.

Please, God, don’t let me be making a mistake, she prayed silently as Sam led her between towering oaks and narrow pine trees. They were moving more slowly now, taking a route with minimal undergrowth, their feet producing very little sound. Whatever the truth was about Sam—whether he was really with the FBI or not—she didn’t think he wanted to get caught with her.

A car door slammed, and she winced, her blood running cold with fear. Soon, her kidnapper would discover that she was missing. Would he come looking for her? Or would he decide she wasn’t worth the effort?

Another car door slammed, the sound so surprising she tripped and probably would have fallen if Sam hadn’t been holding her arm.

“Careful,” he whispered, his voice little more than warm breath against her ear. She had the strange urge to step closer, to hold on to his arm or his waist and make sure they weren’t somehow separated. He might be a stranger, but he was there, and she really didn’t want to be alone.

Voices drifted into the silence. Two men. Maybe more.

Please, don’t let it be more.

Please, don’t let them come looking for me.

Minutes passed as she and Sam picked their way through the woods, carefully, quietly.

“We know you’re out here,” a man called, his voice faint but clearly audible. “If you make us hunt you down, things are going to be harder for you than they need to be.”

She might have frozen in terror if Sam hadn’t still been holding her arm. His pace never changed, and he tugged her along with him. One step at a time, between trees, across a small stream.

“Ella McIntire,” another man called, “you’re going to die out there. Alone. Is that what you want? Come on back here. We’ll help you get home.”

“They know who I am,” she whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

“Shhhh,” he cautioned.

Just that.

No words of comfort. No reassurance. But his steady pace was calming, his focus on what lay ahead instead of what was coming at them from behind reassuring.

Strange how much she wanted to believe he was one of the good guys and that he was leading her to safety. Maybe he was. Probably he was. Why else would he be helping her escape? What other possible motive could he have for freeing her?

Aside from Ruby, she hadn’t trusted anyone in a very long time. Six years. She knew the exact day and hour she’d stopped trusting blindly. She knew the exact reason, too. Jarrod. Someone she’d loved without reservation. Someone she tried really hard not to think about anymore.

Something snapped in the woods behind them, and she jumped, glancing over her shoulder. Lights danced in the darkness, golden orbs sliding along the ground and bouncing off trees. One. Two.

Three.

She counted again. Just to be sure.

Three lights. Three people.

She tripped for the second time, her ankle twisting under her.

Sam pulled her against his side, whispering in her ear, “Careful. If you get hurt, I’ll have to carry you out. That will slow us down.”

She nodded and kept moving, ignoring the throbbing pain in her ankle and the hollow pulse of fear in her veins. She had to stay focused and play things smart.

The people behind them probably had weapons, and she didn’t want to find out what they planned to do to her or to Sam. If what he’d said was true, he was an innocent bystander, an FBI agent who’d stepped in to help and who could lose his life because of it. Because of her. She didn’t want that. She wanted both of them safe, but if only one of them survived, she’d rather it be him. She didn’t want to live knowing that he’d died helping her.

She shuddered, wishing she could close her eyes, open them and find out the last couple of weeks had been a nightmare.

Actually, she’d be happy to learn that the past seven years had been a nightmare.

Voices carried through the darkness. Her pursuers weren’t being subtle. They seemed to want her to know they were coming.

Maybe intimidation was the point.

Maybe they wanted to terrify her into surrendering or scare her into running deep into the wilderness. It would be easy to get lost there. Sam had been right about that. Just as he seemed to be right about staying silent and moving slowly. She didn’t think their pursuers had any idea how close they were. Panicking and racing through the trees, breaking branches and making noise would have given away their location.

And it’s exactly what she still wanted to do.

Run as fast as she could for as long as she could and pray they didn’t catch her.

Sam pushed through thick undergrowth, pulling her up a ravine and out into a field of tall grass. A house had once stood in the center of it. She could see the crumbling foundation, an old fence and an outbuilding. She could also see the road—a gray slash in the lush landscape.

They stepped onto the cracked asphalt. She’d have preferred to return to the woods. At least there she felt hidden, protected by the thick tree canopy and dense foliage.

Sam didn’t seem bothered by the lack of cover. He’d picked up his pace. First to a slow jog and then to a quicker run. He was moving fast, his longer legs eating up the ground at a speed Ella could barely match. Her lungs burned, her chest heaved, but she didn’t dare ask him to slow down.

She felt the danger like she felt the cold air and the hard thump of her heart. It was there. Right behind them. Every nightmare she’d ever had and all the ones she hadn’t.

“This way,” Sam said, yanking her toward the edge of the road.

She was certain she heard feet pounding on the pavement behind them. She didn’t look. She was afraid of what she’d see.

A shot rang out, the sound reverberating through the stillness. A bullet slammed into a tree near her head, bits of bark flying into her face and hair.

She didn’t have time to react. Sam dragged her into the foliage, pushing through brambles like they were air.

Another shot rang out, whizzing past somewhere to her left.

“Get down,” Sam said, his voice clipped and hard as he swung around and pulled a gun from a belt holster. Smooth. Practiced. Effortless. As if he’d done it hundreds of times before.

She dropped to the ground as he fired three shots in rapid succession.

He dragged her up and into an all-out run before the sound faded away. He veered right, and she finally saw what they’d been running toward—an old Chevy truck tucked behind trees and bushes and hidden from the road.

“Let’s go!” Sam opened the passenger door, and she slid in, every nerve in her body alive with fear and adrenaline.

Seconds later, Sam climbed behind the wheel and turned on the engine, his gun hidden again. He drove through undergrowth and sapling trees and pulled onto the road. Three people were standing in the center of the road. No flashlights. Just dark figures against the gray-blue landscape.

“Get down!” Sam commanded as he forced the truck into a one-eighty and accelerated. The back window shattered, and she ducked, pebbles of glass falling onto the bench seat beside her.

* * *

His truck had been seen. That meant his cover had been blown. Sam wasn’t going to regret it. His priority was to help civilians—innocent women, men and children who’d done nothing to deserve the trouble they found themselves in. Catching the people who preyed on them was always secondary to ensuring their safety.

Of course, he was assuming that Ella was an innocent civilian. He knew nothing about her other than what she’d shared. For all he knew, she was a member of The Organization and had become a liability the higher-ups couldn’t afford to keep. Even if she was that, he’d have helped her. No matter her story, he couldn’t let her die.

Justice should only ever be served by the court system or by God. Individuals playing judge and jury were prone to quick and regrettable action. That had been drilled into Sam’s head when he was a rookie cop in Houston. His partner and mentor, Mitch Daley, hadn’t appreciated some of Sam’s rougher edges. He’d helped smooth them out. Mitch was one of the good guys. Currently retired, he and his wife were spending their golden years cruising and camping and visiting their four kids and fifteen grandchildren.

“Are they gone?” Ella asked, lifting her head and glancing out the shattered back window.

“Yes.” For now. Hopefully, for a while.

“That should probably make me feel better, but it doesn’t.” Bits of glass shimmered on her arm and shoulder, and he was glad she’d had his coat for extra protection. As it was, the bullets had come way too close to finding their mark. A second later arriving at the truck, a minute later escaping, and he and Ella might not have been so fortunate.

“The Organization isn’t filled with people who want to make others feel better,” he replied, accelerating around a curve in the road, putting more distance between them and the danger behind them.

“You keep mentioning The Organization. Why?”

“Because the man who transported you here was a member.”

“I don’t remember being transported, so I have no idea who he is.”

“His name is Mack Dawson. He works as an orderly at the clinic—helping nurses, transporting patients from place to place.”

“Okay.”

“The name doesn’t mean anything to you?”

“Nothing about anything you’ve said means anything to me. I’d never heard of The Organization until tonight. I don’t remember meeting Mack Dawson.”

“Do you remember why you were at the clinic?”

“I was planning to clean out my cousin’s office. The door was locked, and I asked for a key. I was waiting for it. That’s the last thing I remember.”

“Your cousin worked at the clinic?” That seemed to be the center of syndicate activity. He knew of at least half a dozen people who worked for the clinic and The Organization.

“She had an office there. She was employed by the county.”

“To do what?” he asked, pushing for more information despite her apparent reluctance to offer it.

He needed to know everything if he was going to help her.

“She was a social worker. She ran drug rehab groups and helped recovering addicts get back on their feet. She arranged haircuts and job interviews. She even drove people to appointments. Anything to get them away from their addictions.”

“She sounds like a great lady.” She probably had been, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t also been part of The Organization.

“She was,” Ella responded softly, her words barely carrying over the whistle of wind through the shattered back window.

She was still looking in that direction, her left hand resting on glass that littered the bench seat. She had no visible tattoos. No rings. No jewelry of any kind. Not the normal Organization operative he’d met. He wasn’t sure about the others. He assumed they were polished. Sophisticated. Well-educated. Well-dressed. Well-spoken. The kind of people who could easily convince others to do what they wanted. They had to be. They entered places like Newcastle and set up legitimate businesses that eventually served as covers for their illegal operations. They hired people living on the fringe of society to do their dirty work, destroying families, homes, lives without a second thought. They were the people Sam wanted to bring in. Low-level thugs like the ones who’d kidnapped Ella didn’t know enough about the inner workings of The Organization to help shut it down, but he’d be just as happy to toss them in jail, too. First, though, he needed to understand how Ella had gotten where she was—in the crosshairs of a crime syndicate that seemed to want her dead.

“Is it possible, Ruby was—”

“No,” she cut him off.

“You didn’t let me finish the question.”

“You were going to ask if she could have been part of The Organization.”

True. He had been. “Lots of good people get caught up in not-so-good things.”

“Based on the fact that I was kidnapped, and we were both shot at, I’d say The Organization is a lot worse than not-so-good.”

“What I’m trying to say—” Badly, apparently. Which was why he generally didn’t conduct interviews with victims. It was why he preferred working undercover in very dangerous situations to interacting with people like Ella—people who’d been hurt, who were afraid, who needed sympathy and understanding. “Is that your cousin might have gotten involved in something that was much more dangerous—”

“And illegal and wrong than she thought? Not Ruby. She played by the book. Always.”

“Okay.” He’d broached the subject. Now, he’d let it drop.

“What does that mean?”

“It means okay. I’ll take your word for it.”

“Really?”

“I believe you believe what you’re telling me. That being the case, there’s no sense in discussing the subject.”

“In other words, you think Ruby was part of a crime syndicate and that’s why I was kidnapped?”

“In other words, I want the truth. Whatever it is, and whatever it means.”

“There is no FBI field office is Newcastle, Sam. I don’t think there’s one in Maine,” she said.

“There’s not.”

“I want the truth, too. Who are you really? Why are you here? How did you just happen to arrive on the scene in time to help me?”

“I didn’t just happen to do anything. I was working undercover as an IT specialist hired to run the clinic’s network system. I was leaving work for the day and saw you being wheeled into the parking garage. Something didn’t seem right, so I followed the vehicle you were being transported in.”

“You’ve left a lot out of that story,” she said, finally shifting so that she was facing forward again.

“I gave you the truth. It’s what you wanted.”

“You said you’re working undercover—”

“I was working as an IT specialist, taking payoffs from The Organization to manipulate certain computer systems at the clinic. The goal was to maintain my cover and gather evidence that would identify and lead to the arrest of top-tier operatives. Now, I’m working on keeping you safe.”

“You don’t have to keep me safe. You can drop me off at a police station and go back to what you were doing.”

“No. I can’t. First, because you’re not going to be safe until you’re far away from here. Second, because my cover was blown the moment this truck was seen.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

“Don’t be. My job requires that I protect and serve. I would have done this for anyone.”

“I’m still sorry. What you were doing was important. Now, you can’t do it anymore.”

“We’ll still bring The Organization down. We’ll just have to go about it in a different way.”

She nodded, her fingers tapping against the pieces of glass on the seat.

He lifted her hand, set it on her thigh. “I don’t think you’ll want to pick glass out of your fingers later.”

“I don’t want to be here, either. But, I am.”

“Where would you rather be?”

“Home,” she said, so simply and with so much longing he glanced at her way.

“That’s in Charlotte, right?”

“Outside of it. Up until three years ago, Ruby and I lived a block away from each other.”

“Is that when she moved here?”

“She got the job first. She’d been working as an addiction counselor at a Charlotte hospital, and she was ready for an adventure.”

“You didn’t want her to go?”

“I wanted her to be happy. Whatever that meant and wherever it led. Now, I wish I’d fought a little harder to get her to stay.”

“You can’t blame yourself for what happened to your cousin.”

“Sure, I can.”

“You shouldn’t.”

She laughed, the sound hollow and devoid of humor. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“How was old was your cousin?”

“Thirty-two.”

“So a few years older than you?”

“Yes.”

“And perfectly capable of making her own decisions?”

She didn’t respond.

“How did she die?” he continued, and she stiffened, her back going ramrod straight, her gaze jumping from the road ahead to him. He could feel the intensity of her stare, and he wondered what nerve he’d hit and why she’d reacted so strongly.

“A drug overdose,” she finally responded tersely, and he thought she’d prefer the subject to be closed.

Too bad, because he planned to keep it open. Eventually. For right now, he’d let things lie.

He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw distant headlights. This was a mountain road that served a rural community. No one had been on it when he’d followed Ella’s kidnappers in. He’d had to stay back and turn his headlights off to keep from being spotted. He found it difficult to believe that anyone other than the gunmen were traveling it now.

He accelerated, anxious to get off the two-lane road and onto the highway. It would be safer there. More traffic. More room to maneuver. More exits and entrances and ways to escape.

“What’s wrong?” Ella asked, looking out the back window again. “Is that them?”

“Probably.”

“They’re catching up.”

She was right. The distance between the two vehicles was narrowing. The old Chevy the FBI had assigned him for the undercover job wasn’t fast. That hadn’t mattered, until tonight.

He floored it anyway, racing toward the entrance ramp to the state highway.

The car was still gaining on them.

“Get down,” he said, speeding around a curve, the exit ramp just ahead. Headlights streamed into the Chevy, their pursuers edging closer. He thought they might slam into the bumper, try to force him off the road. Instead, someone leaned out the window and fired a shot. He felt the quick tug of a blown tire, fought to keep the truck under control as he flew onto the ramp, rubber burning, the Chevy still shimmying.

He didn’t ease up on the accelerator.

He couldn’t risk having the other vehicle pull up beside him. A hundred yards ahead, an emergency turnaround split the wide median between the north and southbound lanes of the highway. He didn’t brake, just spun onto the road, bounced across the median and sped in the opposite direction.

The other driver missed the turn, his brake lights flashing as he tried to stop. It would take a few minutes for him to recover and backtrack. Unlike the rural route they’d been on, the state highway wasn’t empty. Several big rigs zoomed past and a few RVs meandered along. The other driver wouldn’t want to call attention to himself. By the time he found a place to turn without being noticed, Sam would be off the highway, the crippled Chevy hidden from view.

That was the plan.

Of course, he’d learned a long time ago that the best-laid plans didn’t always work out. His relationship with Shelly was a prime example. He’d had it all figured out—how long they’d date, how long they’d be engaged, how big the wedding would be. She’d been in complete agreement. Until she’d met someone else and walked away.

He couldn’t say he’d been devastated. Shelly had been smart and driven, energetic and funny. She was everything he’d thought he’d wanted in a life partner. She’d worked as an ER nurse at a hospital in Houston, and they’d met while he was having a knife wound stitched up. People had said they were the perfect couple, but she’d wanted a lot more than he ever had. More rooms in the house they’d buy one day. More expensive cars. More clothes, shoes and jewelry. After spending nine years in his father’s home, all Sam had ever really wanted was peace.

The Chevy thumped along the highway, the thudding flat making speed impossible. He needed to get off the road, and he needed to do it before the other vehicle caught up. He took the next exit ramp, thumping off the highway and onto a more rural road.

He had to find a safe place to pull off, and then he needed to make a call. Not to the local or state police. He had no idea if there were Organization operatives working for either. He’d call Wren. She could put a team together and be in the area in a few hours. That would push the odds of survival in his favor.

All he had to do was make sure he and Ella survived until then.

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