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.
