Mission: rescue his fellow agent

The next exciting FBI: Special Crimes Unit story

FBI agent Radley Tumberg must rescue his fellow agent, Honor Remington, from a spiritual sanctuary where she’s being held against her will. But when he reaches her, posing as her estranged husband, he discovers the motives for her capture are deadlier than he expected. Can they escape the sanctuary and find evidence that its leader isn’t what he’s pretending to be?

Aside from her faith and her family, there’s not much SHIRLEE McCOY enjoys 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

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Gone

Dangerous Sanctuary

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.

Dangerous Sanctuary

Shirlee McCoy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09494-8

DANGEROUS SANCTUARY

© 2019 Shirlee McCoy

Published in Great Britain 2019

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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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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Time to go. Now!

Radley grabbed Honor’s arm. “It’s me,” he said, whispering the words because the guard had appeared again, sprinting to the back of the camper, his radio buzzing with activity.

Out of sight. Armed. Dangerous.

Backup coming, and Radley didn’t have time to ease into his escape plans or be gentle in his approach.

“Radley?” Honor whispered.

“Yeah,” he responded. “Let’s get out of here.”

She nodded.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” she murmured, her voice weak.

She was lying, because she had no choice but to be okay.

“I managed to get his gun,” she said. “It’s in your duffel. So, at least we’re not unarmed. Let’s go.”

She stepped deeper into the trees, moving nearly silently, the shadowy forest embracing her.

He followed, because they had to put distance between themselves and the enemy.

They had to get to a town, find a phone, call for backup.

And once Honor was safe, once she’d been transported back to Boston, he’d return. Because there was no way he was going to let Absalom keep whatever dirty secrets he was hiding.

Dear Reader,

Love is a word we use often. We love cars and movies, books and food. Of course, we love people, too. Spouses, children, family and friends. They all fall in the category of things we enjoy. But love is so much deeper than that. Love isn’t just the quick happy feeling we get when we share an experience with someone we care about. It is not the attraction we feel when we look into the eyes of our significant others. It isn’t the warmth we feel when we hold our babies for the first time. Love is not warm and fuzzy, sweet and light. It is hard work. It is sacrifice. It is commitment to the betterment of someone else even at the expense of self.

FBI agents Radley Tumberg and Honor Remington know this. They live good lives filled with wonderful people. They enjoy the material things that God has provided, and they aren’t looking for more. But when Honor’s life is threatened and everything she holds dear is in jeopardy, Radley steps in to help, and the love neither of them is looking for finds them.

I hope you enjoy the third book in the FBI Special Crimes Unit. I love hearing from readers. You can find me on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter, and if you have the time, drop me a line at shirlee@shirleemccoy.com.

Blessings,

Shirlee McCoy

For all the law is fulfilled in one word, even in this;

Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.

—Galatians 5:14

For you, because you picked up this book and opened it to this page and read words written from my heart to yours.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Dear Reader

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

ONE

“Honor?”

A man’s voice carried through the blackness that surrounded Honor Remington, reaching into a darkness so profound she wasn’t sure how she’d drag herself out of it.

I need help. She tried to respond, but the words were trapped in her mind, stuck fast and unspoken.

Someone touched her shoulder, and she flinched, trying to open her eyes and look into the speaker’s face.

Her lids felt glued together, her body sluggish and numb.

“Come on, Honor. You can do better than that,” the man prodded, and something about his voice freed her.

Her eyes flew open, and she was looking into a familiar face. One she knew she should recognize: dark hair, hard-edged jaw and a scar at the corner of his mouth.

“There you go,” he said, a note of relief in his voice.

“Who are you?” she asked, because she couldn’t quite grasp the information. She knew him, and that was all she was certain of.

“You don’t know?”

“Would I have asked if I did?” She tried to push herself into a sitting position, but her hands ached and burned, her body was weak and she collapsed again, falling back onto what felt like a thin pallet lying on an uneven floor.

“I’m Radley Tumberg,” he replied. “We work together. FBI. Special Crimes Unit.”

“I work for the FBI?” she asked.

“Yes.” He leaned close, staring into her eyes, candlelight flickering across his face and shimmering in his hair. “And, I’m concerned that you don’t seem to remember.”

He rested a hand against her forehead, his skin rough and cool against her burning flesh.

She wanted to close her eyes and lie there with his cool palm against her hot forehead, but something was very wrong. Not just with her memory.

She glanced at the grayish interior of a round room, candlelight dancing on what looked like clay walls, a window opened out into a blue-black night.

“Where am I?” she asked. “What am I doing here?”

“This is Sunrise Spiritual Sanctuary,” Radley replied. “You came here to find a friend.”

“What friend?” It was a question she should have been able to answer herself. The fact that she couldn’t would have brought her to full-out panic if she’d had the energy for it.

Instead, sluggish anxiety pulsed through her blood, and she pushed herself up again.

This time, she managed to sit, the cottony fabric of a pajama-like outfit sticking to her sweaty skin. A loose tunic top and elastic waistband-pants, they were clothes she’d have never purchased for herself.

She knew that.

Just like she knew she didn’t belong in this place.

Now she just had to remember everything else.

“I don’t have a name. All I have is the information you gave Wren, and it’s minimal,” Radley replied.

“Wren?”

“Santino. She’s our supervisor. Which you might have an easier time remembering if your brain weren’t being fried by fever.” He touched her forehead again and dug into a duffle bag that lay on the floor nearby, pulling out a small bottle and tapping two pills into his hand. He held them out to her.

“What are they?”

“Acetaminophen. To bring the fever down.”

“Oh.” She reached for the pills, but her hands were wrapped in thick bandages, her fingers just peeking out from the ends of the gauze. “What happened to my hands?”

“I was wondering the same.” He gently turned her hand so it was palm up, dropped the pills onto the gauze and grabbed a pitcher that sat on a small table near the window. There was a cup next to it, and he filled it, pressing it into her other hand. “Go ahead and take them. The sooner your fever goes down, the happier I’ll be.”

She nodded.

They had the same goal. Clear her thinking. Get her mind working again. She swallowed the pills and handed the cup back, searching the candlelit interior of the room for something that would tell her the story she’d forgotten.

A friend?

A sanctuary?

Her hands?

“Honor? You still with me? You’d better be, because if I don’t get you out of here in one piece, Wren is going to have my head,” Radley said.

Wren.

This time, the name set off a firestorm in her brain: a million images and memories and thoughts that were suddenly vying for her attention.

Because, of course, she was a special agent with the FBI. Computer forensic expert. High school nerd and all-around misfit.

And, he was Radley Tumberg—coworker, tough guy and all-around hero.

And Wren Santino was their supervisor.

She hadn’t wanted Honor to come here. She’d tried to talk her out of it. She’d told her there’d be trouble, and that it was best to go through proper channels and allow the local authorities to do their jobs.

She’d been right.

Wren usually was.

It would have been helpful if Honor had remembered that before she’d decided to ignore her supervisor’s warning.

But she hadn’t.

She’d gone ahead with her plan, and now she was here, Radley eyeing her as if he thought she might fall apart.

“Sunrise Spiritual Sanctuary—a soothing retreat from a hectic and fast-paced life. Reboot. Renew. Rebuild. From the inside out,” she quoted the pamphlet she’d been sent when she’d contacted the organization, because she could remember that, too.

Radley smiled again. “Your memory must be back if you’re quoting propaganda material to me.” He took another medicine bottle from his duffle and tapped a pill into her hand. “Take that.”

“What is it?”

“An antibiotic. I got it from the agency doctor. Just in case.”

“Typical you. Always prepared.” She took the water he offered, chugging it down with the pill. Candlelight skipped in her periphery, the yurt spun, water sloshing from the cup and onto the bandages that covered her hands.

“It’s okay,” Radley said, his breath ruffling the hair near her ear, and she realized that, somehow, she was in his arms, being supported as he helped her lie down again.

“Lying down isn’t on my agenda,” she muttered, but she lay on the pallet anyway, waiting while the world stopped spinning.

“Of course, it’s not. You’re always moving. Unless you’re hunched over a computer investigating,” he responded.

“I’m not sure how you know that, since you’re always on the move, too. Working cases outside the office,” she replied, and he smiled.

“Your memory really is returning. What’s your friend’s name and where can I find her? I want to get both of you out of here quickly. I have a bad feeling about this place.”

“Mary Alice Stevenson. She’s at a training seminar. Working toward a leadership position in this insane community.”

“So, she’s not here?”

“Not since I’ve been here. At least, that’s what I’ve been told.”

“You don’t believe it?”

“You’re not the only one who has a bad feeling about this place.” The room had stopped spinning, and she was ready to go. She wanted out. She’d been wanting out since the moment she’d arrived and been escorted into the community, flanked by two men who were supposedly spiritual teachers but who’d acted like security guards.

She stood, legs shaky, hand reaching for something to steady herself.

She found Radley’s arm, grabbing on before she remembered that would probably hurt. A lot.

It did, pain stabbing through her palm and up into her arm.

“You need to lie down again, Honor,” Radley said, wrapping his arm around her waist and trying to urge her back down.

“I need to get out of here.” She frowned. “Is this still part of The Sanctuary? It’s sure not the cushy cabin I was staying in when I arrived.”

She’d paid her entire vacation savings to book a cabin at The Sanctuary, because she’d been determined to find Mary Alice. Deep soaking tub, fireplace, twin bed with a down mattress and cotton sheets. Handcrafted soaps and candles. Incense. Fresh flowers.

She’d been living the high life at the posh retreat meant to attract the wealthiest of seekers.

Of which, she was not.

But Mary Alice had certainly been. Wealthy and seeking.

Apparently, she’d found what she was looking for. If Honor had been given the chance to talk to her, she might have been able to make sense of that. She hadn’t.

She’d done yoga beneath the stars and meditation in forest clearings. She’d engaged in philosophical conversations around campfires. She’d taken classes meant to awaken her to her deeper self, sitting through long days in closed classrooms in the meeting house.

She’d watched members of the community dressed in their cotton pajamas, clearing brush from the edges of the property, working in the greenhouse and in the kitchen, cleaning cabins for wealthy guests. Prepping and constantly busy.

But she hadn’t seen Mary Alice.

She hadn’t spoken to her.

And she needed to.

A biochemist who worked for a pharmaceutical company in Boston, Mary Alice loved urban sprawl and noise and people.

But, for some reason, she’d come here. She hadn’t told Honor about her plans. She’d left without a phone call or a goodbye. Twenty years of friendship deserved more than that, and Honor would like an explanation.

She suspected she knew what it would be. Or, at least, part of it.

Mary Alice hadn’t been herself since she’d called off her New Year’s Eve wedding two nights before the big event. A year of planning, thousands of dollars, all of it tossed away after Mary Alice found out her fiancé, Scott, had cheated on her.

Good riddance. That had been Honor’s thought, but Mary Alice had been heartbroken, embarrassed, lonely. All the things that might have made her easy pickings for a place like this one. A place that seemed like the perfect sanctuary from a hectic world but...

What?

There was something nagging at the back of Honor’s mind, some memory that might have given her a clue as to what had happened, how she’d ended up in a yurt, her hands bandaged, her thoughts muddled. The more she tried to grasp it, the more elusive it became.

Frustrated, she walked to a curved doorway and pulled back a heavy curtain that hung in the threshold. Cool air wafted across her skin, skipping along her hot cheeks and clearing her mind a little more.

She should remember this place. The yurt. The clearing it was sitting in. The grassy expanses that led to tall trees and thick forest.

“How long have I been here?” she asked.

“Two weeks.”

“I can only remember maybe a week of that.”

“You’ve been sick. At least, that’s what they told me when I checked into this place,” he responded.

“Sick? Injured is more like it.”

“They failed to mention that part.”

“There’s a lot of things these people don’t mention. Like the fact that leaving is a lot harder than entering.”

“You tried to leave?”

“Sure. Once I knew that Mary Alice wasn’t around, I had no reason to stay.” She frowned. Whatever had happened to her, it had occurred after she’d asked to have her car keys, laptop and cell phone returned so that she could go home.

They’d all been taken when she’d arrived. Anything that would distract from the peaceful aura The Sanctuary provided had to be handed over during check-in. That had all been outlined in the literature she’d been sent. She’d played by the rules, because she’d wanted to see Mary Alice, talk to her, figure out how to get her to return home.

“So, you tried to leave, and then that happened?” He gestured to her hands.

“I remember asking for my belongings to be returned. Then, nothing.”

“Like I said, I have a bad feeling about his place,” he muttered.

“So let’s get out of here.” She stepped outside, and he grabbed her arm, pulling her back into the yurt.

“We’re in the-middle-of-nowhere Vermont. No nearby community. No cell service. No weapons. My car keys and cell phone were confiscated at the gate, and I’m pretty certain they made sure they took yours.”

“They did,” she responded.

“So, how about we come up with a plan before we let anyone who’s watching know that you’re awake, lucid and ready to leave?”

She wanted to argue, because she didn’t want to spend another second in The Sanctuary. It gave her the creeps, and there weren’t a whole lot of things that did that.

But, without a vehicle, it would take a day to reach town.

“This is a great setup for holding people hostage and manipulating them,” she said.

“I’d think you’d have clued into that before you arrived,” he replied.

“Why do you say that?”

“The lack of web information. This place has no real online presence.”

“I noticed that.” The one-page website gave a brief description of The Sanctuary and provided a phone number. That was it. No reviews that she could find. No Facebook or Instagram or Twitter presence. “But what I was most concerned about was the fact that they’d somehow found Mary Alice, convinced her to come to their retreat and then brainwashed her into staying.”

“Are you sure she didn’t find them?”

“I’m not sure of anything. But I know that a place like this is as far outside her comfort zone as the big city is mine.”

“You live in Boston,” he reminded her. As if she might have lost that memory, too.

“During the week. I spend the weekend with Dotty on the old family farm. She’s going to be worried sick.” Her mind rushed backward as she tried to remember the last time she’d been able to contact her grandmother.

“Dotty?”

“My grandmother. She’s got to be worried out of her mind. I promised I’d contact her once a week. I don’t think I’ve spoken to her since I left Boston.”

“We’ll get out of here, and then you can set her mind at ease.” He had a calmness about him, a confident way of doing things that made people comfortable.

She’d noticed that the first time they’d met.

Right now, though, she wasn’t in the mood for calm.

She was in the mood for action.

“We need to get to the meeting house. There are some locked offices there, and I’m sure that’s where they’re keeping our belongings,” she said, stepping outside again.

Her gut was screaming that they needed to leave. Now!

And she always listened to her gut.

God whispering to her soul was how Dotty described it. Honor had no reason to call it anything else. She knew God worked in His own way and in His own time, but she also knew He always worked. He never slept. He had no limitations on His ability to see the past, the present, the future.

And Honor? She was fallible and flawed, prone to act first and regret later.

Which was how she always got herself into situations like this one.

“I’m going to work on that,” she whispered.

“Good idea,” Radley replied, his voice just as quiet as hers had been. He’d grabbed his duffle and followed her outside, moving silently beside her as she stepped further into the clearing.

“You can explain what you’re going to work on after we talk to our friends,” he continued, suddenly sliding his arm around her waist.

She tensed.

She didn’t like people in her space, and he’d never seemed like the kind of guy who pushed himself in where he wasn’t wanted.

“Friends?” she asked, suddenly aware of Radley’s tension, of the clipped cadence of his voice.

“We’ll talk later, honey,” he replied, the endearment so surprising she almost missed the subtle nudge of his arm against hers.

But, she looked into his face, saw a warning in his eyes.

He leaned close, his lips nearly touching her ear as he whispered, “The only way I could get in here was by pretending to be your husband.”

“My hus—”

“You’re beautiful in the moonlight, Honor,” he cut in. “Have I ever told you that before?”

“Probably. But, feel free to repeat it every night for the rest of our lives,” she said as several figures stepped from the shadows of some nearby trees.

Three. No four men. Tall. Moving quietly. Carrying machetes. Dressed, of course, in the light blue cotton uniform The Sanctuary’s residents wore.

Radley had obviously known they were there.

He was on his game.

Honor was not.

That worried her, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it.

“Hello, brother and sister,” one of the men said. Tall and gangly, his dark hair pulled back in a man-bun, he was the leader of the group and called himself Absalom Winslow. Full-time residents of The Sanctuary called him Teacher.

Honor called him a charlatan. Not that anyone had asked.

“Honor,” he said as he approached. “It’s good to see you awake. I’m sure you’re happy to have your visitor with you.”

Radley’s grip on her waist tightened almost imperceptibly.

A warning, and she wasn’t about to ignore it.

He’d provided a backstory. He’d given them information that had allowed him access to a closed and closely guarded compound. They hadn’t had time to discuss it. She had no idea what he’d said.

She feigned weakness, her head resting against his solid bicep, and, for once, kept her big mouth shut.

Honor was smart. She was quick. And, for once, she was being quiet.

Radley didn’t have time to be impressed.

Absalom Winslow was waiting for a response, his hired thugs staring at Radley as if they’d like to take him down with a few quick swipes of their machetes.

As long as they had no idea that the paperwork Radley had presented at the gatehouse was fake, things should be okay. For at least long enough to come up with a plan. One that did not include leaving The Sanctuary without his truck, his phone or Honor.

She was leaning against his arm, head pressed to his bicep. Something about that, about the thinness of her waist beneath his hand, the narrow width of her back, made his protective instincts kick in. That surprised him. He’d never viewed Honor as anything less than capable of taking care of herself and everyone around her. She might spend most of her time at the office working on computer systems and chasing rabbit trails through the World Wide Web, but she was smart, tough and capable.

Now she’d been weakened, diminished somehow by her stay at Sunrise Spiritual Sanctuary. It might have been a while since he’d been to church, but he knew faith never harmed or hurt.

From the looks of things this spiritual haven was doing both.

He eyed Absalom—gaunt cheeks nearly covered by thick facial hair. Dark eyes that glittered with zeal, or from drugs. Probably the latter. He’d been the one to approve Radley’s entrance into the community. If there’d been any other recourse, he’d have refused.

“Honor? Are you pleased to have a visitor?” Absalom pressed, his gaze focused on Honor.

“You understated my wife’s condition, Mr. Winslow. She’s too weak to answer a lot of questions,” he said.

Honor stiffened at the word wife, but continued her silence.

“Call me Absalom or Teacher. As my friends do.”

“We’re not friends. As I told you at the gate, I’m here to bring my wife home.”

“The best thing for a struggling couple is to have time alone with one another. What better place to do that than here?”

“Currently, I’m thinking the hospital,” he responded, taking a step forward, his arm still around Honor’s waist.

“There’s no need for a hospital. As I expressed to you when you arrived so unexpectedly, we’ve had a doctor visit Honor several times, and he’s assured us that she’s on the road to recovery.”

“Burning with fever is not the road to recovery. I’d like an explanation for what happened to her. You’re welcome to have your attorney contact me with the details, because we’re not staying.” He stepped past Absalom, his shoulder bumping one of the pajama-clad henchmen.

“Better watch your step, brother,” the man growled, raising the machete slightly.

“Ditto,” he replied, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end, his nerves alive with adrenaline.

These guys were well-trained paramilitary. Thick-muscled necks and shoulders. Upright stance. Buzz cuts. They moved in sync, turning as Absalom did, flanking him on either side as he fell into step beside Radley. Well-trained guards, and unless Radley was mistaken, they were carrying firearms beneath their flowy tunic-tops.

“Let’s not be worldly in our approach to one another,” Absalom said. “We must approach each other on the spiritual plane. With love and acceptance. Here is what I propose, Radley,” he said. “You and Honor can stay in our luxury suite for the night.”

“We’re leaving.”

“You’re an attorney, Radley,” Absalom said, because that was the cover Wren had suggested Radley use. Estranged husband. Attorney. Wealthy. “A man of logic and sound reasoning, I’d assume.”

“A man with many connections in the outside world.” Honor jumped into the conversation, catching on quickly. Just like she always did.

“If I didn’t know your heart, Honor,” Absalom murmured, “I would think that was a threat.”

“Why would I want to threaten you?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Radley nudged her, hoping to reel her in before she enraged Absalom.

“That’s a good question. We have been nothing but kind to you, providing for all your spiritual and physical needs.”

“Right,” she responded, and Radley nudged her again.

“And now, your husband is here. You’ve been estranged for a season, and it is not the will of the universe or nature that a lifetime partnership should end.”

“I don’t think the universe cares about the state of our union,” Radley replied.

There was something worrisome about the way Absalom had said husband. Just enough emphasis on the word to make Radley wonder what he knew and how he knew it. Wren had produced a fake marriage license, a phony business card. She’d even had an agency tech put together a website advertising Radley’s nonexistent law office. The cover was solid, and there was no way it could be blown by a simple internet search.

“God is concerned about all His children,” Absalom said. “And He has given me authority in this small part of the world to ensure that His will is done and that His concerns are the concerns of the community.”

“Tell you what.” Radley stopped walking, his arm slipping from Honor’s waist. She’d straightened, was standing beside him—shoulder-height, swaying on her feet, but trying to look steady and ready to fight. “You go ahead and concern yourself with whatever you want. After you give me my keys and my cell phone.”

“I’m sorry to say, that won’t be happening tonight.”

“If you’d rather me find the keys and phone myself, I can do that.”

“That won’t be happening either.” Absalom nodded toward one of the guards.

“Come on. I’ll take you to your new accommodations,” the man said, grabbing Radley’s arm.

“We’re leaving,” Radley asserted, shrugging away, his duffle falling to the ground.

Honor grabbed it, her face pale in the darkness, the bandages on her hands stark white.

The guard grabbed for him again, and Radley side-swiped his knee, not bothering to watch as he fell. He’d grown up fighting. He knew how it was done. Fast and dirty. But now he mixed the skills he’d been taught in the military with the street-smart thuggery he’d learned growing up in the inner city. The second guard fell as quickly as the first, and he was facing the third.

Only this guy had pulled a gun and was pointing it straight at Radley’s heart.

“You’re going to be sorry for that,” he growled.

Radley kicked the gun from his hand. It skittered into the undergrowth nearby, and they both went for it. Radley reached it first, swinging it toward the other man.

“Stop,” he commanded.

And the world stilled.

The night went silent.

For a moment, there was nothing but the two of them staring each other down.

And then Absalom spoke, his voice as cold as ice.

“These kinds of brawls are never in the will of the universe or God. Put the gun down.”

Radley’s gaze shifted from his potential attacker to Absalom.

He had Honor by the arm, a gun pressed to her cheek.

Radley had been a sniper in the military. He knew how to take a man out, but there were three other men getting to their feet. Two of them still armed, and he couldn’t risk Honor’s life. He had to trust, as his mother often said, that God would make things right in His own good time.

He set the gun down, raised his hands in the air and waited.

TWO

Honor didn’t much like having a gun pressed to her cheek. She liked even less that she felt weak, her legs shaky. At her best, she could probably take Absalom down easily.

She was not at her best.

She wasn’t even close to it.

Radley’s gaze was focused on Absalom. “You are making a big mistake,” he said.

“The mistake is yours. You’ve unbalanced the peace of the community. In God’s kingdom, my word is law. A little time to think, and I’m sure you’ll both agree,” Absalom intoned, shoving the barrel of the gun a little deeper into Honor’s flesh.

If that were his idea of peace, she’d like to know how he described war.

“Take Mr. Tumberg to the meditation room,” he commanded. Then, he swung around, his grip still tight, the gun still pressed against her cheek.

The yurt was just a few yards away, candlelight shimmering on the ground below the window. A peaceful scene in any other setting, but right now, it was terrifying.

Behind her, there was a scuffle, fists against flesh, quiet grunts. She tried to turn her head, but the gun was pressed so tightly against her skin that she couldn’t.

“Do you know the story of Lot’s wife?” Absalom asked, his lips against her ear.

Her flesh crawled, all the heat that had been roaring through her body replaced by icy fear. “I’m familiar with it.”

“Then you know that looking back didn’t end well for her.”

“I want to see my husband.”

“I’m disappointed in you, Honor. I thought you were more in tune with the goals of the community.”

“I came here to get away from things,” she lied as she allowed herself to be marched to the yurt. Her legs still felt wobbly, but her mind was clearer, her thoughts crisp. “Not to join your community.”

“Part of the experience offered at Sunrise Spiritual Sanctuary is tuning into the peacefulness of nature and of the universe. You’ve been fighting that since you arrived. That’s why you’ve been ill.”

“I think I’ve been ill because of whatever happened to my hands,” she countered, keeping her voice low, because she didn’t want any of his guards to join them.

Even weak, she might have a chance against Absalom.

She’d been trained to take down perps. As a computer forensic expert, she didn’t have much of an opportunity to put that skill to use, but she kept up on technique, training hard and facing off against much larger and stronger opponents in the gym and on the sparring mat. Her job required it. Even if it hadn’t, she’d have attended weekly self-defense classes. Just in case.

Life was full of surprises.

Some of them great.

Some of them not.

It was good to be prepared for either.

“The burns on your hands were healing nicely—”

“Burns?”

“You fell into the firing pit. Sister Hannah was showing you how to make pots. You don’t remember?” he asked, the gun slipping away from her cheek.

She glanced back, saw Radley being manhandled away from the clearing and into the forest.

“No, but it seems like something I should remember.”

“You tripped and fell. Fortunately, you were able to catch yourself with your hands. Otherwise, it would have been your face and body that were burned. We brought a doctor in immediately. He patched you up and gave you some medication to stave off infection. You should have improved rapidly, but you declined. Our health suffers when we’re fighting the natural order of things.”

“What is the natural order?” she asked.

“Peace and harmony with nature, with self and with others.”

There were a million things she wanted to say, but she kept her mouth shut, afraid she’d get herself into more trouble if she opened it.

Right now, her focus needed to be on escaping and finding Radley.

“That sounds wonderful.”

“Of course, it does. You’re a kindhearted soul. A woman who takes care of her elderly grandmother and never complains about doing so.”

“What do you know about my grandmother?” she asked, her blood running cold. Dotty was getting older. She wasn’t as strong as she’d once been. That made her vulnerable, and the thought of Absalom knowing anything about her made Honor’s stomach churn.

“Only what you’ve mentioned to fellow guests,” he replied, the gun shifting, his grip loosening as they reached the yurt door.

She might not remember everything that had happened since her arrival, but she knew she hadn’t mentioned Dotty to anyone. Her private life was private. Even people at work didn’t know much about what she did when she left the office at the end of every day.

“I don’t recall mentioning my grandmother at all.”

“Of course, you did. You love her, and you want what’s best for her.” He tucked the gun into a holster beneath his tunic and pulled a syringe from his pocket.

“What’s that?” She took a step away, Radley’s duffle thumping against her thigh. Whatever it was, she wanted nothing to do with it.

“The medicine the doctor prescribed for you. Your husband’s arrival postponed your dose. We’re a couple hours late, but I’m sure it won’t matter.” He smiled, his eyes empty and lifeless, candlelight dancing across his gaunt face.

“What kind of medicine?”

“An antibiotic.”

“In that case, it won’t be necessary. Radley gave me an oral antibiotic a few minutes ago.”

“It’s necessary, Honor. Everything that is happening is necessary for the good of the community and, of course, for you.” He uncapped the syringe.

She didn’t think. She reacted. Swinging the duffle at Absalom’s legs, putting all her strength into it. He fell, the syringe dropping from his hand.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Honor,” he bellowed as he scrambled to retrieve it.

But she was there first, all the sluggishness gone in a wave of adrenaline that demanded action. She had the syringe, was plunging it into his shoulder, injecting him with whatever it contained. She had no idea what.

She couldn’t care.

Not with Radley’s life at stake.

Not with Mary Alice missing.

Not with Absalom knowing exactly what Honor’s weakness was.

Dotty.

She’d do anything for the woman who’d raised her after her parents died.

She ran outside, cold air slapping her cheeks, her heart thudding crazily. She could still feel the fiery heat in her hands, but she was shivering with cold and terror.

Not for herself.

For the people she cared about.

She had to get Radley and get out. Find a phone. Call her uncle, Bennett. Make sure that Dotty was okay.

She ran across the clearing, heading for the woods where Radley had disappeared. No plan in mind except for getting to him.

It took seconds to realize there were no sounds of pursuit. Not feet pounding on the ground. No growled threats or shouted commands. No click of a gun safety. No bullet.

Nothing.

She glanced back, saw a pile of light fabric at the entrance to the yurt. No. Not fabric. Absalom.

She skidded to a stop at the tree line, gasping for breath, still frantic, but thinking clearly and more like herself than she’d been since Radley pulled her from darkness.

Absalom had a gun.

She had nothing.

If he were unconscious, it would be an easy thing to take his firearm. It would also be easy to go back into the yurt and grab Radley’s duffel. They were at least twenty miles from the nearest town, tucked away in the middle of the Vermont wilderness. From what she could remember, there weren’t many residential properties nearby.

If they couldn’t obtain a vehicle, they’d have to walk out.

If they had to walk, they’d need supplies and a weapon.

She watched Absalom for a minute, counting the seconds in her head and praying that she wasn’t making a mistake. Time was always precious. She’d learned that the day her parents had been killed in a car accident. She’d been twelve. An only child who’d been given everything she’d needed and most of what she’d wanted.

She wouldn’t call her younger self spoiled, but she’d had it good. Horseback riding lessons, dance, gymnastics, archery. She’d had a puppy, her own bedroom and parents who were devoted to helping her become her best self.

She’d been too young to appreciate it.

And then they were gone. Killed on the way to her mother’s doctor’s appointment.

Just like that.

And, at twelve years old, she’d learned just how valuable time was. She’d have given everything she owned to have more of it with her parents.

When Absalom didn’t move, she walked back to the yurt, approaching him cautiously. He was breathing, his shoulders rising and falling, his body limp.

“Absalom?” she said, staying just out of reach.

When he didn’t respond, she crossed the distance between them, crouching next to him and touching his shoulder. The syringe was gone. He had to have pulled it out as he was running after her.

He was out, too. Not in distress. Just knocked out cold, his breathing heavy and deep, his pulse slow and steady.

She rolled him to his side, lifted the tunic and grabbed the gun, checking to see if it was loaded before backing away.

She walked into the yurt and grabbed the duffel, glanced around the room and spotted her backpack leaning against the wall. She hefted it onto her shoulders, the gauze on her hands unraveling. She removed it, wincing as it pulled away from raw skin.

Absalom had said she’d fallen into a firing pit and burned them.

She didn’t remember, but the skin looked burned, opened blisters dried out and cracked.

She didn’t have time to think about it. Eventually, Absalom’s guards would be back. She and Radley needed to be far away from The Sanctuary before then.

* * *

The camper they’d tossed Radley into was boarded up, the interior pitch-black and filled with the scent of rotting wood and mold. He lay on his back, waiting for his eyes to adjust, his fingers working at the knotted rope that had been used to bind his wrists.

They’d been tied in front. That had been the guards’ first mistake. The second was leaving him alone inside a camper that looked more like a crumbling tin can than a prison. He’d gotten a decent look as he’d approached, noting the position of the door and windows.

Muffled voices drifted through the thin walls, and he imagined the guards felt successful. They’d subdued him, bound him and imprisoned him. The scent of tobacco and nicotine drifted on the still, stale air. One or more guards smoking as Radley slowly worked free of the rope.

It took more time than he wanted it to, but he finally managed to loosen the rope. It slid from his wrists, and he sat. His eyes had adjusted enough to turn pitch-black darkness into dark gray shadows. There was a small table jutting out from one wall. No chairs. A double bed shoved up against the far end of the camper. Moonlight gleamed through holes in the ceiling and walls. He moved silently, reaching for the rope that bound his ankles and untying it quickly. He shoved it and the rope that had been used on his wrists into his jacket pocket and stood.

The rotting floor gave a little, bowing as he walked to the door.

The murmur of voices had ceased, but the scent of cigarette smoke remained strong enough that he was certain at least one guard was outside. He could have gone on the offensive, kicked open the door and disarmed the man, but he’d rather his escape go unnoticed for as long as possible. He needed to get out of the camper and get back to Honor before anyone set off an alarm.

Whatever was happening in The Sanctuary could be determined after she was safe.

He walked to the bed, climbing onto the musty mattress and feeling for the edges of the plywood that covered a window just above it. It moved easily, and he pulled it down, revealing the open hole where glass had once been. Not a large opening, but he could squeeze through.

The guard was on the move, his footsteps audible—boots on packed earth and dry grass, fabric rustling. He seemed to be moving away rather than toward Radley’s position. Bored and restless, maybe. Definitely not worried about his prisoner escaping.

Radley eased his shoulders through the window and lowered himself to the ground. The night had gone quiet again. He did the same, waiting and listening as the guard changed directions and moved toward him.

He ducked beneath the camper, shimmying on his belly, hands pressed into damp earth and decaying leaves. If the guard noticed the missing plywood and uncovered window, he’d have to be taken down. Minutes passed, the scent of cigarette smoke filling the air again. A shadow moved to his right, and he watched booted feet walk in the direction of the camper’s door.

That was what he wanted and had been hoping for.

He shimmied out, ready to make his escape.

But something moved in his periphery—a shadow separating from the trees. There. Gone. There again. He watched as it approached, tried to determine whether it was a guard or Absalom.

It didn’t occur to him until it was almost too late that the shadow could be Honor. That she might have escaped Absalom and be making her way to him.

He knew, of course, that she was tough.

Everyone who worked in the Special Crimes Unit was.

They saw the worst of the worst, the debased and the vile. Men and women who were as close to irredeemable as anyone could be. Dealing with people like that required sharp edges, keen intelligence and good training.

Honor had all those things.

But she worked on computers, spending most of her time in a chair, with her eyes on the screen. She followed electronic footprints and found her way in and out of the cyber world.

She did not fight her way out of danger, throw punches or disarm dangerous criminals. Maybe that was why he’d underestimated her resourcefulness and her willingness to attempt an escape.

Whatever the case, he wasn’t expecting her, and he was ready to rush the shadow, slam it to the ground, subdue it. Start what could only turn into a fight for survival, because two against one weren’t good odds. Especially when the two were armed.

But moonlight glinted off pale skin and light cotton, and he realized he was watching Honor approach. She moved like a sprite, darting here and there, trying to find a way into the clearing that wouldn’t allow her to be seen.

He slipped through long grass, staying low and moving as silently as he could, heading in her direction and trying to stay out of the guard’s line of sight.

He couldn’t call out to her.

He couldn’t warn her that he was approaching.

He couldn’t count on her not crying out when he suddenly appeared.

He slipped into the woods fifty feet away from her position. The fact that she didn’t notice bothered him. If she were going to play cat and mouse, she needed to learn to play it well. She also needed to learn that it wasn’t just the cat she needed to be concerned with. There were always larger, more aggressive predators, and it was smart to be on the lookout for them.

He glanced at the camper. The guard was on the move again, pacing in front of the door, lighting another cigarette and walking around the side of the structure.

Out of sight and maybe moving toward the back where the missing plywood would give away Radley’s escape.

He was behind Honor in seconds.

She faced the clearing, his duffel at her feet, a backpack on her shoulders. She looked vulnerable, her hair a wild mass of flyaway strands, her body seemingly dwarfed by the pack she carried.

He didn’t want to startle a scream out of her, didn’t want a fight. He meant to whisper her name, let her know that he was there, but the guard sprinted around the side of the camper, radio out, yelling into it as he bounded up three steps that led to the door and kicked it open.

Time to go. Now!

Radley grabbed Honor’s arm as she jumped back, apparently startled by the guard’s behavior.

She was startled by his touch, as well.

She yanked away, grabbing the duffel and swinging it in his direction.

He caught it easily, pulling it from her hands.

“It’s me,” he said, but she didn’t seem to hear. She was fighting all-out, swinging her fists and attempting a sideswipe to his knee that would have worked if he weren’t as well-trained in self-defense as she was.

He grabbed her forearm and pulled her into his chest.

She struggled, but he was larger and stronger, one arm on hers, the other wrapped tightly around her waist. Not enough space between them for her to use hands or feet against him.

“It’s me,” he repeated, whispering the words in her ear because the guard had appeared again, sprinting to the back of the camper, his radio buzzing with activity.

Out of sight. Armed. Dangerous.

Backup coming, and Radley didn’t have time to ease into his escape plans or to be gentle in his approach. “How about you stop fighting me, so we can get out of here while we can?”

“Radley?” she whispered, her breath hot through his shirt. She’d stopped struggling, seemed to finally understand who he was.

“Yeah,” he responded.

She nodded, her head bumping his chest, her body suddenly limp.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his heart thundering with the need to get away, his mind screaming that they had to go while they still had the chance.

“Fine,” she murmured, her voice weak.

She was lying, because she had no choice but to be okay.

She knew it.

He knew it.

If they were caught, if they were imprisoned again, it wouldn’t be in a ramshackle camper. If they were imprisoned. The other option was burial in a shallow grave somewhere deep in the forest. By the time Wren realized they were both missing, it would be too late. Even the best-trained cadaver dogs would have difficulty finding remains in a wilderness of this size, and proof of any crime would be long gone.

“All right,” he murmured against her hair, the scent of candle flames and rich earth filling his nose.

He told himself she wasn’t a victim, reminded himself that she was a trained law enforcement officer, a special agent prepared for whatever came.

But she was trembling, and when she stepped away she swayed.

“Honor...” He didn’t know what he would have said, what he could have said.

“I managed to get Absalom’s gun.” She cut off before he could finish. “It’s in your duffel. So at least we’re not unarmed. Let’s go.”

She stepped deeper into the trees, moving nearly silently, the shadowy forest embracing her.

He followed, because there was no other choice.

They had to put distance between themselves and the enemy.

They had to get to a town, find a phone, call for backup.

And once Honor was safe, once she’d been transported back to Boston, he’d return. Because there was no way he was going to let Absalom keep whatever dirty secrets he was hiding.

THREE

The thing about life, Honor had learned, was that sometimes you didn’t get a choice in how it played out, but you always had a choice in how you responded to it.

After her parents had died, Uncle Bennett had become her legal guardian. Honor’s mother had been an only child whose parents had moved to Florida a decade prior. Aside from Bennett, Honor’s only other living relative had been Dotty. Her grandmother had lived on a five-hundred-acre farm that had been in her husband’s family for generations. Ninety minutes outside of Boston, the property was far from the Boston suburb where Honor had been living with her parents.

Bennett had been single, childless and focused on building his career as a defense lawyer. Honor figured he’d probably agreed to be her guardian because he’d felt like he had no choice.

Whatever the case, he had agreed and, after her parents’ deaths, he’d moved into their suburban house and done his best to shepherd Honor into adulthood.

But he’d been busy.

She’d been nearing her teen years.

They’d both tried, but it had been Dotty who’d held them together. Every weekend, Bennett had shipped Honor off to the farm. He’d done the same on holidays. Summers were always spent on the lush acreage, helping Dotty with the garden, mucking stalls and riding horses.

Honor had loved that.

She’d loved Dotty.

She and Bennett, on the other hand, had never been close. He’d often made it clear that he’d be happy when she was eighteen and they could go their separate ways.

She’d purposed not to let that change her. She’d studied hard, graduating from high school a year early and attending MIT on full scholarship. She’d worked full-time, attended classes full-time and maintained her GPA by skipping sleep and parties. There’d been no time for other things. Not hobbies. Not vacations.

Not relationships.

She’d tried a few times, dating men she thought were as driven as she was. It always seemed that they asked too much, demanding time and attention she’d wanted to expend on other things.

And, now, she was nearing thirty. Alone.

Her best friend suddenly gone from her life.

She’d been telling herself for months that it was okay. That she would make the best of it the same way she’d made the best of other things in her life.

And, now, she was here: putting one foot in front of the other, trudging through thick forests without any plan beyond getting away.

She’d make it work.

She had to.

She just wasn’t sure how.

Somewhere in the distance, people were charging through the woods, branches breaking, leaves crackling, voices calling. She and Radley moved silently. No discussion. No communication. Just heading away from the danger.

Hopefully, not into something worse than what they were leaving behind.

Vermont was a beautiful state, filled with gorgeous vistas, but the wilderness could be deadly. Getting lost out here could end just as badly as staying at The Sanctuary.

“We should probably have a plan,” she murmured, keeping her voice low because sound carried, and she didn’t want Absalom’s thugs to hear.

“We do,” Radley replied.

“Would you care to share it with me?”

“We keep heading south until we reach the road. Follow that to town. Unless we find a residential property before then. If we do, we’ll try to borrow a phone.”

“I’m glad one of us knows where the road is and which direction we need to go to find it.”

“The moon has nearly set.” He stopped, pulling her up so that they were arm to arm. “See it?”

She did. Now that he mentioned it. A yellow-white orb gleaming through the trees to their left.

“Yes.”

“I’m using that as a guide.”

“What are you going to use when it’s set?” she asked, still not certain they were heading in the right direction.

“I’m hoping we’ll hit the road before that happens.”

“And if we don’t?”

“We’ll camp for the night and use the sun to guide us in the morning.”

“I don’t think camping out with Absalom’s men on our trail is a good idea.”

“You think getting lost is a better one?”

“What I think is that I should have stayed in Boston and let the local authorities locate Mary Alice. Just like Wren said.”

“Why didn’t you?” He started walking again, and she followed, picking her way through thick undergrowth, thorns catching at the gauzy cotton pajamas she wore.

“Because Mary Alice is my best friend, and I didn’t want to wait for the slow wheels of justice to turn. Plus, I was worried. Disappearing like this is out of character for her.”

“Do you have any idea why she did it?”

“She called off her wedding in December. Maybe that. Maybe something else. She wasn’t talking much these past couple of months. Her parents gave me access to her computer. I looked at her search history, her email accounts. There was nothing there that hinted she was looking for a place like The Sanctuary.”

“Cults have a way of finding vulnerable people.”

“They usually don’t prey on people like Mary Alice.”

“What kind of person is she?”

“Successful. Has a loving family. A good network of friends.”

“Wealthy?”

“Yes. But not vulnerable. Although...”

“What?”

“Like I said, she broke up with her fiancé right before the wedding. She’d found out he was cheating.”

“Seems like that would make someone vulnerable.”

“I should have realized that.” And she regretted how easily she’d allowed herself to excuse the distance that had been growing between them, how eager she’d been to believe there was nothing wrong.

“It’s not your fault,” Radley said as if he could read her mind.

She didn’t respond. She was tired, her hands throbbing, her legs heavy. She didn’t have the energy for explanation or debate.

“How long do we walk before deciding the road is in some other direction?” she asked instead.

“You’re tired.”

“I’m worried about getting lost out here. If we’re going the wrong direction, we’re walking into hundreds of miles of wilderness.”

“You’re not putting much faith in my navigational abilities.”

“Because I know nothing about them. Statistically speaking—”

“How about we don’t?”

“What?”

“Talk statistics. Math was never my strong suit.”

“What was?”

“Survival,” he replied.

If he’d been any other guy she’d ever spent time with, she’d have laughed. But then, the guys she’d spent time with outside of work preferred the inside of computer labs to the great outdoors.

“I’m glad one of us has those skills.”

He stopped, gave her time to move up beside him. “See that?”

He pointed through the trees.

For a moment, she thought she was seeing the moon again—a shiny ball low in the sky. Then she saw another of the same. And another.

“Lights,” she breathed, stepping forward.

“Wait.” He snagged her pack, pulling her to a stop. “Those are the gate lights.”

“Gates?”

“To the compound? You remember arriving, right?”

“I arrived during the day. The lights were off,” she responded. “The parking lot is right across from the gate.”

“Right. Both our vehicles are there. I parked next to your Explorer.”

“My Explorer isn’t going to do either of us any good without keys.”

“I have a spare key attached to the chassis of my truck.”

“I’m surprised you’d keep a spare key in an easily accessible location. You don’t seem like the kind of person who takes chances.”

“I’m not, but for this trip, I decided an extra key might be a good thing.”

She wasn’t surprised.

She’d seen the way Radley prepared for work, the way he tackled cases, the way he pushed himself. She knew he didn’t go into anything unprepared. And, going into a place like Sunrise Spiritual Sanctuary would make most law enforcement personnel worry.

A compound in the middle of nowhere.

Very little information about it.

Word of mouth bringing in clients.

Endless potential for things to go wrong.

Honor had known before she’d arrived that there was something more to Sunrise Spiritual Sanctuary than what was listed on their webpage. Instead of doing more research, maybe visiting the area and asking some questions, she’d contacted The Sanctuary and pushed ahead in her effort to find Mary Alice. She’d brushed aside her gut instincts. She’d brushed aside Wren’s concerns. She’d even brushed aside Dotty’s disappointment that they would miss their weekends together.

“Sometimes, my stubborn determination is a detriment to my well-being,” she muttered.

“We can talk about that during the debriefing,” Radley responded, and she thought she heard amusement in his voice. “Let’s get to the truck and get out of here.”

“Good idea,” she agreed quickly.

She stepped forward. He pulled her back.

“Hold on.”

“Why?”

“Listen.”

The way he said it made her hair stand on end.

“What am I listening for?” she whispered.

“The silence.”

Now that he mentioned it, things had gone quiet. No branches breaking. No muffled voices. No crickets chirping or animals rustling. No sign that they weren’t the only two living beings in the vicinity.

Absalom’s men had changed tactics. She didn’t need to be a specialized field agent to realize that.

“They’re probably heading to the parking lot,” she whispered, her head bent close to his, the words barely carrying through the darkness.

“That’s what I’m thinking. I know part of the compound is fenced. I was able to do some reconnaissance before I checked in, but I don’t know how far the fence line stretches. Do you?”

“No. But, I know it stretches at least two miles. I walked that far several times, trying to find its end. All I found was more fence.”

“They’ve lost our trail, but they know we’re going to try to escape the compound. They’ll be expecting us to make a run for the gate or the parking lot. We’ll take another route.” He started walking, tugging her with him.

“You know the fence is seven feet, right?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“I can barely climb a five-foot one.”

“You can do anything you put your mind to,” he replied.

“The idea of mind over matter? It’s vastly overrated.”

“How about we have that debate after we get out of here?”

“Is that your way of telling me to be quiet?”

“It’s my way of telling you that you need to conserve energy. We have a seven-foot fence to climb.”

No way was she going to be able to do that.

Not with her hands burned and blistered, her body weak, a backpack filled with clothes on her back.

But pointing that out wasn’t going to do any good, so she kept her mouth shut and let him lead her back into the woods.

* * *

It took money to build a seven-foot fence. It took a lot of it to build one that stretched as far as The Sanctuary’s seemed to. Radley eyed the smooth wooden planks. Climbing them would be easy enough. He was six-foot-three and had climbed taller structures during military training. Even with help, though, Honor might struggle. She was a foot shorter than he was, weakened from illness and fever, hands blistered and raw. The surface of the fence was smooth. Free of hand or footholds.

An odd design. No crossbeams on the inside, so they had to be exterior. Not a good idea if the goal was to keep outsiders from climbing in.

But maybe the goal was to keep insiders from climbing out.

For Honor’s sake, he’d have followed the length of the fence, looking for another exit or an end to the fencing, but they didn’t have time. If Absalom’s men had brains in their heads, they’d be guarding the gate and patrolling the fence line. Better to have her hands hurt a little more than to have her shot.

“We’ll climb over here,” he said, leading her from the thick woods and onto a three-foot-wide cleared swath of grass. None of the trees were close enough to the fence to be used as ladders or as leverage. He had to believe that was planned.

He wanted to know what was going on in The Sanctuary, what dark secrets Absalom was hiding. First, though, he wanted to get Honor to safety.

“The fence is taller than I remembered,” she murmured.

“Not so tall we can’t get over it,” he responded, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end, his nerves alive with warning.

They were standing between the fence and the trees, exposed to anyone who might be looking for them, and he knew plenty of people were.

“Currently, anything would be too tall.” Her teeth were chattering as if her fever were returning. “As a matter of fact, I’d say that fence is an impossible task.”

“Nothing is impossible, Honor,” he replied, reaching into his duffel and pulling out the handgun she’d told him was there.

“Diving to the deepest part of the ocean is,” she responded, her voice barely a whisper in the darkness. “Digging a hole from North America to the other side of the globe is. Skating on thin ice, walking in wet grass while wearing stiletto heels.”

“I get your point, but I’m not asking you to do any of those things.” He didn’t have a holster, so he checked the gun’s safety and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans.

“Radley, we both know I’m slowing you down. You can get over that fence and get to help before I manage to take three steps.”

“I never thought of you as the kind of person who’d exaggerate,” he said.

“What kind of person did you think I was?”

“The kind of person who enjoys being accurate, logical and factual.”

“I am.”

“Good, then you know that’s it’s not going to take long for either of us to get over the fence.” He eased the backpack from her shoulders and shrugged into it. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“Radley, I want you to go ahead. We both have a better chance of survival if you do.”

“I’d have a better chance. You wouldn’t. That wouldn’t work for Wren. It doesn’t work for me, and I’m sure it won’t work for you.”

“What works for me is both of us getting out of here alive, so that I can find Mary Alice. That’s not going to happen if we’re standing here bickering while armed men are searching for us.”

“Bickering?”

“Fighting. Arguing. Disagreeing.”

“I know what it means, I’m just surprised to hear you use such an old-fashioned word.”

“Old-fashioned? Dotty would take offense at that.” She was watching him, her eyes gleaming in the darkness, her face a pale oval, her clothes nearly glowing in the darkness. A beacon drawing the eye of anyone searching for them.

“She says it a lot, huh?”

“She did. When I was young and arguing with my uncle about curfews and grades.”

“Did she also use the words grit, gutsy, daring? Because that’s what you’re about to be. Let’s go. Over the fence.”

A dog howled, the sound ringing through the forest, and his pulse jumped, his heart racing. He knew the sound of a hunting dog. This one was close.

“Are there dogs here?” he asked.

“Yes. A couple of guard dogs that patrol the meeting hall at night and some hunting dogs that are used by the residents of the community.” She nodded, her eyes wide, the pulse in the hollow of her throat jumping frantically.

“I wonder how good those dogs are at tracking escapees?” he muttered.

“We may be the first people who’ve have the need to escape, but the hunting dogs are bloodhounds. They have great noses.”

“That’s what I was afraid of. Come on. Let’s go.” He lifted her. She was slighter than he’d expected, her back narrow, her body light. He’d always thought of her as athletic and strong. She had a presence that demanded attention and seemed to fill every room she entered. Chatty, quick with smiles and compliments, she was the opposite of Radley. Except in her need for justice, her determination, her dogged focus when it came to solving a case or finding a criminal.

Now she seemed determined to pull herself over the fence. She’d grabbed the top and was struggling to drag her body over. He gave her legs a boost, holding on until she managed to scramble up and drop one leg over the top.

Behind him, the hound was crashing through trees, baying wildly.

Radley slung the duffel strap over his shoulder, grabbed the top of the fence and pulled himself up beside Honor. He’d climbed fences dozens of times. He’d run from danger even more times than that. He knew how to move quickly and quietly. But Honor was still perched on the fence like she was riding a horse. One leg to one side. One to the other. Hands clutching the wood. Backlit by the setting moon, pale skin, light hair, light-colored clothes. She was a sitting duck, an easy target.

“It’s okay,” he said, because he thought she was frozen in fear.

“I know, but I wasn’t going to jump until you were out of there. Just in case.”

“In case what?”

“You needed help,” she replied, and then she threw her second leg over the fence and dropped to the ground.

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