by Jodie Bailey
“Wait.” Sam’s voice sliced through her pain. “When you took off back in the winter and I found you, you weren’t going to your sister?”
“I never said where I was going.”
“But you were headed north.”
What difference did her direction matter? She’d been on her way to meet Anthony Reynolds, the man who’d been a father figure to her, the man who’d helped Layla disappear and had likely saved her life. He’d contacted her via a coded message on a website out of California, revealing that Meyer was on the hunt.
She’d never reached Anthony. Sam had tracked her down only a few days after she headed out. Anthony’s next message had told her to stay put, and then he’d fallen silent.
But if Meyer had found Amy, then it wasn’t a stretch to believe he could find Layla too. “I was on the way to warn someone else, someone Grant Meyer might see as a threat.”
“Another potential witness?”
Amy nodded once.
“Who?”
“You can’t approach her. Not without me. Don’t send your team in.”
“I can’t promise—”
“She’ll run, Sam. She’ll bolt before you can get to her and then she’ll be totally alone. If you can find her, promise me you won’t approach her without me. If she runs...”
“Who is she?”
Here it was. Decision time. If she truly trusted Sam, she’d trust him with Layla’s secret. “She was a victim of Meyer’s and a friend of mine. It’s because of her that I started putting the pieces together. She tipped me off, and then I started digging. Sam, she’s a friend but she’s also in the country illegally. If she thinks the authorities are after her, she’ll run rather than be deported.”
“Name.”
“When I hid her, we changed her name to Layla Fisher. A friend helped with the logistics of making her disappear.” Amy had tried to search the name on a public computer once, afraid someone would be able to trace her search, but she’d found nothing. Maybe Sam could locate her, and they could move her safely.
“A friend of yours?”
Amy nodded once, refusing to say any more. Anthony’s activities could land him in jail for a long time. He’d made a living by hiding criminals and forging new identities, a WITSEC for criminals, if the truth be known. He was a master at his chosen profession, and his ties to organized crime had ultimately been the reason he’d left Amy and Eve and their mother behind.
Sam kept his attention on the road as he spoke into his earpiece. “Reach out to our contact. You know who I mean. We need the location of Layla Fisher. Just a location. No movement until I make the call.” He listened, then glanced at Amy as his voice lowered. “You heard what I said. Do it.”
He navigated in silence, seeming to consider something for several miles. Finally, he seemed to come to a decision about whatever was rolling around in his head. “We need to talk about something. Your—” He stopped, his head doing that tilt thing it did when his earpiece went active. Sam had both hands on the wheel, his eyes scanning the mirrors in a way they hadn’t since he’d left the driver of the red car behind them a couple of hours earlier.
Instinctively, Amy turned and looked behind them. Although it was too dark to make out anything other than headlights, traffic was light. No car seemed to be following too closely. “Tell me what’s happening, Sam.”
He held his hand out, palm flat. He was still listening. Whatever he was hearing must be incredibly detailed and very bad news. The way his forehead wrinkled and the lines around his mouth and eyes tightened didn’t bode well for her.
“Copy.” He watched the road ahead as though he didn’t actually see it but was instead reading something in his mind. With a heavy sigh, he slid the car into the far right lane as soon as he had an opening in traffic. Without using his signal, he took the next exit, toward Warm Springs and Pine Mountain.
If they were still headed to Atlanta, this was the long way. Amy’s heart pounded against her rib cage. This stank of a sudden change in plans, an off-the-cuff detour that meant something on the other end had gone terribly wrong. “We’re not going to Atlanta, are we?”
“We are. We’re just taking the scenic route.”
“Because...”
He didn’t look at her. “Because I said so.”
If she was going to survive this, she needed some semblance of control. “Don’t start lying to me now. We’ve come too far today for you to start hiding information about my own safety from me.”
He navigated a turn as the car wound up a gentle slope into the rolling mountains of the southern Appalachians. “Okay. Fair enough. About a quarter of a mile back, there’s a deputy marshal trailing us. We picked him up about half an hour after we lost Wainwright.”
At least they weren’t as alone as she’d feared. But if Sam was making a detour, then the other deputy had spotted something of concern. “What’s the rest of the story?”
“Four or five cars in front of him is a silver SUV. Could be something, could be nothing, but he’s hung on for the last forty-five minutes or so. Instead of staying on the highway, we’re going to make some extra turns through the back country and see what happens.”
“So you chose the mountains. With sharp turns, drop-offs and all.” Amy kept her voice level, but her mind raced through a thousand ways to die in the Georgia mountains during a rapidly darkening fall evening. Over a guardrail, down a cliff, into the mountainside...
Jerking her head to the side, Amy tried to force away the images of the car tumbling over and over to the base of a rocky slope while she and Sam tossed inside like abandoned socks in a dryer.
Sam seemed to read her emotions. He laid a hand on her shoulder, then withdrew it to the steering wheel. “Trust me.”
His words sank in and calmed the storm raging inside of her. Since she’d settled into the front seat of this car, she’d done nothing but trust the man beside her. It could be because he was a familiar face in the midst of chaos. Or it could be the otherworldly confidence he seemed to exude, as though nothing Grant Meyer threw their way could phase him. Either way, she took a deep breath and released it. Sam wouldn’t let anything happen to her. She had no doubt. He was simply too mission-oriented to fail.
* * *
Trust me.
Had he really said that to her? Not only did it make him sound like a B-movie hero, it implied a promise Sam wasn’t certain he could keep. This entire operation had spun out of control. One good man was dead. Another was injured. No matter which way he turned, it seemed the bad guys were on his tail.
The silver SUV had taken the exit right behind them. When Deputy Utley followed, the driver took off to the south. With Utley in pursuit of the suspect, Sam was on his own.
It seemed the bad guys knew exactly where Amy and Sam were headed and were determined to stop them before they arrived. On the road they were vulnerable, and Sam was torn between keeping a low profile and calling in the cavalry to escort them to Atlanta. At this point, he wasn’t even certain whether to continue on to rendezvous with his team or whether to head for a safe house to try to throw Meyer’s people off the scent.
His radio came to life and severed his line of thought. Dana Santiago, his second-in-command and their tech specialist, sounded grim. “Our informant’s on the line with me. He won’t give us any information unless we provide him with some first. He wants us to confirm that your passenger is safe and is with you. Apparently, he’s managed to get wind that something went down with her today, but I don’t know how he knows.”
This was tricky. Amy’s retrieval was a closely guarded secret within WITSEC. Only Sam’s team and a handful of deputy marshals who’d been handpicked and given information on a need-to-know basis were involved. Some of the deputies providing backup only knew they’d retrieved a witness and had no idea who Amy was or her importance to the Grant Meyer case. His informant
was a man named Anthony Reynolds, who’d been working with the US Marshals for years in return for documents that kept him in business helping criminals disappear. Sometimes, he helped them disappear straight into custody. Reynolds had known Amy’s family for years and had been instrumental in the capture of Grant Meyer when he’d targeted Amy’s sister, who now lived under the alias Jenna Clark in the mountains of North Carolina.
Until half an hour ago, Sam had been unaware that Amy was completely in the dark about her sister’s fate, and now he had no idea what to do with the information he held. He’d nearly told her the truth, but Utley’s interruption had given him time to reconsider. Amy was already insistent about this Layla woman. He didn’t want to know the trouble she’d give him if she found out her sister was still alive and thriving. Eventually, the truth would come out, but hopefully she’d be out of Sam’s hands at that point. If not, she was likely to strangle him or, worse, look at him as though he’d betrayed her.
Holding onto the information shouldn’t have twisted his gut into knots. It was routine for his team and other deputy marshals to distribute and withhold information when necessary. He’d never felt guilt over it before.
He’d also never felt personally invested before. His continuous presence in Amy’s life over the past few months had messed up his head and he needed to get his brain reoriented to tactical thinking instead of letting his emotions dictate how he did his job.
Dana’s voice came through his earpiece again. “Is this Layla Fisher a potential witness?”
The prosecution was desperate for more witnesses. The information Amy had collected was more than enough for a conviction, but more was always better, especially with snakes as slippery as Grant Meyer. “Yes.”
“Is she worth the risk of letting the informant know the truth?”
“Yes.” Anthony Reynolds had never given any indication that he wished either of the Brady sisters harm. In fact, from all reports from both him and the sisters, the girls were the closest thing the man had ever had to real family. He’d been the one to hide Amy’s sister away from Logan Cutter, providing her with a new identity. “Tell him and then get back to me with a location.”
“Your people can find Layla that fast?” Amy spoke for the first time since they’d started their climb into the hills.
It was a touchy question, one he’d have to be careful about answering. While withholding information was one thing, lying to her was another. For some reason, he felt obligated to be as honest with Amy Brady as he possibly could while still protecting the integrity of her case. “My people are well connected.” He slid her a sideways glance. “How do you think we found you the first time?”
“You put a tracker in my shoe?”
“No, but if you run off again, we might.” He chuckled in spite of the situation. She was trying valiantly to keep things somewhat light. He’d follow her down that trail if it kept her from panicking on him. They couldn’t stop this train from rolling right now, even though no one was trailing them at the moment. “Skill. You made two big mistakes when you went looking for Layla.”
“Yeah?” She turned toward him, backing herself against the door and adjusting her seat belt. “What were they?”
“The first was renting a car. I get that you were trying to keep us from following yours, but it’s pretty easy to trace a rental.”
“Once you get a warrant. That takes time.”
He tipped his head toward her. She was smarter than he was giving her credit for, and that probably wasn’t working in his favor. “Admittedly, that slowed us down a bit. Of course, you probably counted on that.”
She was looking awfully smug over there. There had to be a way to wipe that smirk off her face while maintaining the lighter tone the conversation had taken. She’d need the humor if his plans kept going the way he feared.
“So, what was my second mistake?”
“Easy.” He settled back in his seat as though this were a pleasant cruise through the evening, relaxing a bit as they made their way onto flatter ground. “Your second and biggest mistake was taking off when it was my team tracking you. You didn’t stand a chance.”
“Wow.” She crossed her arms and stared out the side window past him. “Okay then. Glad to know you’re a humble man.”
He grinned and prepared to fire his carefully prepared witty comeback, but Dana’s voice in his ear stopped him. “You’re not going to believe this.”
“Try me.” It couldn’t get much worse. Pretty much nothing had gone his way today. He braced himself to hear that Meyer had already found Layla Fisher and had done away with what he certainly perceived to be a loose end. He prayed he wouldn’t have to inform Amy that her friend was missing or worse.
“Anthony Reynolds is somewhere off the grid and no one’s been able to reach him, but another contact says he stashed Fisher in Toccoa, but she vanished when Meyer went on his rampage a few months ago.”
“Come again?” Toccoa, Georgia, was less than two hours north of Atlanta and less than three hours from his current position. A witness had been living practically under Sam’s nose and only hours away from Amy.
If she was missing though, it was likely Meyer had found her before he was arrested. “Let Watkins know ASAP. The deputy marshal in charge of his team would want this information as soon as possible. Have him get the team based in Virginia on it. They’re our next closest resource.”
“No.” Amy’s hand gripped his arm so quickly Sam nearly jerked the steering wheel. He’d almost forgotten she was in the vehicle. “If you’re going to get Layla, I’m going too.”
“Hang tight, Dana.” He left his mic hot as he shot a heated glance at Amy. “It’s not what you think. And even if it was, you’re in danger. My job is to—”
“So is she.” Her fingers dug tighter, as though she could somehow get him to understand if she left bruises behind. “She will run. Do you get this? She’ll either fight you and end up dead or she’ll take off and hide. If she does that, no one will ever find her again. You can’t put her in the wind that way, Sam. I have to go.”
“No.” He packed every inch of his authority into the single word. He should tell her the truth, that Anthony hadn’t made contact, but she didn’t need more stress. Feeling the slightest pang of guilt, he pulled his arm from her grasp before he turned his attention back to Dana. “Let me know when you get the all clear. My ETA to you remains the same, and we’ll proceed from there.”
Amy withdrew and crossed her arms over her chest, her chin dipped low. She wore a glare that could melt the windshield. He knew her well enough to know this wasn’t a retreat. This was her working up a full head of steam so she could argue with him all the way to headquarters.
Sam steeled himself against the storm brewing in her countenance. This was his team. She was his mission. He called the shots. The target on her back was big enough to have the Marshals Service activate his elite team in the first place. She had to trust him and understand he had her best interests at the center of everything he did.
He couldn’t risk more lives lost because of him. He had enough to atone for already.
Amy had faced ample danger for one day. The sooner she was off the road and in protective custody, the sooner he’d breathe easier and be on to his next retrieval.
They were losing altitude quickly in the rolling mid-Georgia mountains as they headed toward 185 and Atlanta. He’d had enough of wandering through the backcountry. His radio had gone silent, likely having issues with the terrain. This was the part he hated. The part that tensed his muscles because he was totally alone, exactly the way he’d been alone when Devin Wallace had been killed on his watch.
The same couldn’t happen to Amy.
His fingers tightened on the wheel as he took another curve as fast as he dared in the near-darkness. All he wanted was to hand her off to the relocation team before—
Headligh
ts flashed and grew brighter, the sudden high beams forcing Sam to wince and turn his head.
There was a car in his lane.
Heading straight toward them.
FIVE
Amy stifled a scream and threw her hands in front of her face, instinctively bracing for impact.
Or for her worse nightmares to come true as they tumbled down the side of the mountain.
Sam jerked the wheel and the car swerved to the right, the rock face so close Amy could touch it if she rolled down her window.
She tore her eyes from the sight as they hugged the mountain, staring out the front window. Sam was headed straight for the car, unable to move any farther over in his lane.
The headlights grew closer. The passenger mirror scraped rock as loose gravel flew up from beneath the tires. Sam didn’t slow. Didn’t swerve. Didn’t look to the right or to the left.
He was playing chicken with her life, hoping whoever was in the other car would blink first.
If they didn’t...
Amy squeezed her eyes shut, seconds feeling as though they stretched into hours. If the other car didn’t flinch, the head-on collision would kill them all.
She held her breath.
Tires screeched. Rubber burned. The car jerked, then picked up speed as a loud crash crunched behind them.
Amy opened her eyes. The only light came from Sam’s headlights on the road as he pressed on the accelerator and pushed them along the mountain’s ridge.
Sam was speaking into his radio, his voice pleading. “Come on... Come on. Give me a signal.”