by Maya Banks
exit, needing to put as much distance between her and the hospital as possible before her disappearance was discovered.
When she stepped outside, the brisk air washed over her, giving her a much-needed boost. She lengthened her stride and soon disappeared from the parking lot into the wooded area behind the hospital.
She had no money, none of her supplies, and she desperately needed rest. When Manny woke, he’d be pissed. And he’d come looking for her. If he called the cops in, they’d canvass the area and quickly spread out in the directions leading from town. They’d likely assume she’d get the hell out of Dodge.
But they’d be wrong. If she could lie low, they’d eventually fan out beyond her, and she could move in relative obscurity behind their footsteps. Then she could plot her next move.
First she had to find a hiding place, though.
She trudged through the mud from a fresh rain, winding through the trees toward distant lights. Dampness seeped into the thin material over her feet, rendering the covering ineffective. Night was rapidly falling, a fact she was grateful for. She could move easier in the shadows.
Below her, an upscale subdivision spread out over several blocks. Shedding the shoe covers, she squatted down beside a tree and surveyed each residence, looking for one where nobody was at home. It wasn’t a lack of lights she looked for. Most people tended to leave lights on even when they weren’t at home—an effort to deter burglars. What she looked for was movement. She was patient. Perched close to the ground, she focused on the few houses she couldn’t immediately rule out and waited.
Deciding on one at the end of a cul-de-sac, she crept forward, careful to remain in the shadows. When she reached the back edge of the property, she pulled herself up and over the wooden privacy fence and dropped to the ground on the other side. She couldn’t go on much farther. She felt lightheaded, woozy, and the pain was becoming harder to ignore.
She surveyed the back of the house, looking for the telltale sticker on a window or door advertising that the house had a security system. Finding none, she chanced moving toward the back door. It was locked, something she had expected. She’d prefer not to break in if she could avoid it. She moved to a set of windows not far from the door and tried each one.
A surge of elation swept over her when one slid quietly upward. Throwing her leg over the sill, she slipped inside, closing the window behind her. She did a quick survey of the house. Typical four-bedroom suburban house. Large kitchen, two family rooms, three bathrooms, dining room and master suite.
During her search of one of the bathrooms, she found several boxes of hair color. So the woman of the house liked to experiment, if the multiple colors were any clue.
Jules chose a box of red and quickly went about wetting her hair in the sink and applying the color. She didn’t know how much time she had, and she intended to make the most of it.
When she was finished, she surveyed the end result in the mirror. It wasn’t the best dye job in the world, but it achieved the desired effect. She had gone from being a blonde to a redhead. At least temporarily.
Careful to layer the box under the trash already in the garbage can, she exited the bathroom and went in search of a place to rest and lay low. If the people who owned the house had a guest room, chances were when they returned, they wouldn’t even know she was there. And if they discovered her, she’d cross that bridge when she got there.
She entered a room less cluttered than the others and assumed this was a spare bedroom. She eyed the bed, a four-poster with a bedspread that swept the floor on all sides. From her vantage point by the door, she couldn’t see under the bed. Perfect, as long as there was room for her.
The plush carpet felt good to her bare feet as she padded to the other side of the bed. Kneeling on the floor, she lifted the skirt of the bedspread and peered underneath. Triumph surged through her veins. Her thin frame would fit easily.
She slithered underneath the bed and curled into a comfortable position. Fatigue was overpowering all rational thought. For now she had to rest. She couldn’t go on any more. Tomorrow she’d figure out a way to get to Denver and to the duffle bag she had stowed in the locker at the bus depot.
Chapter Five
Manuel stirred and opened his eyes, his mind fuzzy and disjointed. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Hadn’t even realized he was so tired.
As the room came into focus, he saw a man crumpled on the floor in front of him. He came awake instantly and surged to his feet. Jules.
He swung around to find the bed empty and swore. Throwing open the door, he stumbled into the hall, looking in both directions. The nurse in the hallway gave him an inquisitive look.
“Where is she?” he demanded. “Did you see her?”
“Who are you talking about?” the nurse asked as she drew closer.
“Jules. She’s gone.”
The nurse dropped her tray and sprinted toward the nurse’s station. After a few seconds the intercom system blared out a message for hospital personnel to be on the lookout for a patient matching Jules’s description.
Manuel slipped back inside and took the guard’s pulse. It was strong. Manuel strode toward the bed, glancing quickly around for some sign of struggle. The IV line hung limply to the floor, a pool of liquid spreading underneath it.
His gaze lighted on his coffee cup, the one Jules had asked for a drink out of. “Fucking idiot,” he swore at himself. Jules had never drunk coffee a day in her life. She’d drugged him.
Worry then anger flashed over him. What the hell was she running from, and why didn’t she trust him? He didn’t know this Jules at all. She wasn’t the same woman he’d loved for so long. For the first time since she’d disappeared, hope died a long death.
He strode from the room, pulled out his cell phone and punched in Tony’s number.
“What’s up, man?”
“Jules is gone,” Manuel bit out.
“What do you mean gone?”
“As in drugged me and disappeared.”
“Oh shit. Have any leads on her?”
“I’m searching the hospital now, but I imagine she’s got a pretty good head start.”
“Manuel,” Tony began, then broke off. Silence hung over the phone line.
“Yeah.”
“Stop thinking of her as little Jules Trehan. Think of her as an assignment. You need a clear head for this. You can track anyone. You just need objectivity.”
“I know.” He sighed. This was going to suck. “I need you to notify the local police. Put an APB out on her, but be careful to list her as a missing person, not a possible criminal.” An image of the guard in the hospital room flashed across his mind. “On second thought, forget the local police. I don’t want her to feel threatened. I’m not sure what she would do. Do we have anyone local?”
“Not sure. I’ll have to do some hacking to find out,” Tony said with a little too much excitement.
Manuel cursed his own indecision. Calling in other agents, while helpful, would also place Jules at greater risk. Never before had he suffered a lack of trust in his own agency, but it couldn’t be construed so much as a lack of trust as it was the knowledge that other agents would be bound to a code he himself wasn’t currently following. If Jules was in trouble, she needed help. Someone else would just haul her in for questioning.
“Hold off on the agents, Tony. I need…I need to find her first and figure out what the hell is going on. Have you discovered who was behind the explosion yet?”
“No, sorry. I’m working on it. I’ve got all my feelers out, and I haven’t been able to pick up anyone off our nasty list who’s within a hundred miles of where you are.”
“Okay, thanks, man.”
“No problem. I’ll let you know if something turns up. In the meantime, go find your girl.”
Manuel hung up and slipped the phone back into his pocket. Your girl. Maybe she had never been his. Whatever force had conspired to shove a two-year-old baby girl into his life twenty-three y
ears ago was now tearing her from him. But for twenty years she had been his. His best friend. The one person apart from the Trehans who truly belonged to him.
He had to find out what had happened in those three years she was missing. That was the key to getting her back. And if he could get her back, he would damn sure never let her go again.
For now he was going to take Tony’s advice. She was no longer someone who meant the world to him. She was just like any other target he had to hunt down. And he’d never failed yet.
His cell phone rang again, and he looked down at the screen in annoyance. Sanderson.
“Boss man,” Manuel acknowledged.
“Manuel, Tony told me what happened.”
Manuel waited for Sanderson to continue, hoping he’d make it quick.
“I know how long you’ve looked for Jules. I know how it must feel to find her after all this time. But you need to be careful. Things aren’t looking good so far. She’s mixed up in some bad shit.”
Manuel’s stomach tightened. “What are you saying, Sanderson? Just spit it out, for God’s sake.”
“I’m saying it doesn’t appear she’s an innocent victim here. If you find her, I want you to bring her in.”
Manuel stood in silence, stunned by Sanderson’s order. “Bring her in? What the fuck for?”
There was a long pause. “I’ve allowed you a lot of latitude in your search for Jules, and now that you’ve found her, it appears she could be a person of interest to the CIA. I want you to bring her in.”
Manuel cursed again and realized his earlier fears were well-founded. Thank God he hadn’t had Tony call the local police or other agents.
“And Manuel, that’s an order.”
Jules opened her eyes, surprised to see light creeping underneath the bed. Damn it. She’d slept the entire night. She carefully lifted the edge of the bedspread and peered out. The door to the bedroom was still closed, and a quick look around the floor told her she was alone.
Cautiously, she edged out from underneath the bed, stretching her aching muscles. Judging by the brightness outside, it was well past eight. She cursed again. How was she ever going to get around without someone seeing her?
She glanced around the room, looking for clothing she could put on. The hospital scrubs, while ideal to get her out of the hospital, were now a flashing beacon.
Were the homeowners home? She hadn’t heard any noises in the house. What day was it anyway? She tried to focus, her head still pounding viciously. It was Saturday. She groaned. Everyone in the neighborhood would be home.
The window in this room was large enough for her to go out so she wouldn’t have to chance moving through the house. Tiptoeing across the carpeted floor, she was just about to slide open the window when the doorknob rattled.
Jules froze. The door swung open, and she met the startled gaze of a middle-aged woman carrying a laundry basket. The woman let out a shriek then dropped the basket. Could things get any worse?
“What are you doing in my house?” the woman demanded, hands on her hips. Her blonde hair, the product of one of the many bottles Jules had found in the bathroom, was teased and piled high on her head. Her T-shirt was stretched tight across an ample bosom and in big red letters read Jesus Freak. Oh yeah, things could definitely get worse.
Jules arched an eyebrow, surprised by the woman’s approach. No hysterics. No run to the phone to call 911. No, this woman was pissed and obviously not in the least intimidated by Jules.
“I’m sorry,” Jules said softly. “I needed a place to rest.” She purposely twisted her hands in front of her, adding to her pathetic air.
“You poor dear,” the woman said, surprising Jules by pushing forward into the room. “Are you hiding from a man? Did he do this to you?”
It took Jules a moment to realize the woman was referring to her battered appearance. Was she nuts? She had no idea who this intruder was or if she was armed or dangerous. She should be calling 911, not acting like an over-concerned mother hen.
“I had an accident,” she said truthfully. “I couldn’t stay in the hospital. Someone is looking for me. I just needed a place to rest. And now I have to be going.”
“Have you eaten? Because you look too thin,” the woman said, ignoring her statements.
Jules loathed her weakness. She should have just taken the woman out, removed any liability to herself. A year ago, she wouldn’t have thought twice. She would have just acted to protect herself.
But she hated the person she’d been even more than she hated her current fragility.
“I appreciate your concern, ma’am. But I really should be going. I’ve imposed on you far too much.”
“Polite young thing,” the woman clucked. “Too many young people these days are just plain rude. It’s nice to see one with manners. Now come downstairs and let me at least fix you a sandwich before you go. Do you have clothes?”
Jules’s head was spinning. The woman was an F5 tornado. She reminded her of her own mother. Well, in a perverse sort of way. She didn’t have much in common with Frances Trehan, but her protective manner was reminiscent of Jules’s beloved mom. Her throat swelled. Weak. She was turning into a weak idiot. And it would get her killed.
“If you have a shirt and some jeans, I’d appreciate it,” Jules said. “And I’d love a sandwich.”
The woman beamed at her. “My name is Doris. Doris Jackson. Come along, dear. I’ll have you fixed up and you can be on your way.”
“Mrs. Jackson,” Jules called out as the woman turned to leave the room.
She paused and looked back at Jules. “Yes, dear?”
“Promise me you’ll call the police if you ever find anyone else in your house. You could get hurt.”
She chuckled. “Don’t worry. If I didn’t think I could take you, I would have screamed the house down. But you didn’t look like you could hurt a fly in your condition.”
Jules nearly laughed. If she only knew. “Appearances can be deceiving, Mrs. Jackson. Don’t make the mistake of being nice to an intruder again.”
A few minutes later, Jules was attired in a soft long-sleeved sweater and a pair of jeans that almost fit her perfectly. A pair of worn sneakers completed the outfit.
“They were my daughter’s,” Mrs. Jackson explained. “She’s off at college now.”
Jules smiled and nodded. She was unused to being around chatty people, and while it comforted her, she wasn’t sure how to respond.
In the kitchen, Mrs. Jackson clicked around in her high heels and prepared three sandwiches, tossing them in a bag with numerous other snacks and a few soft drinks. “Here you are, dear. You be careful, okay?”
Jules took the bag and smiled at the older woman. “Thank you. I won’t forget your kindness.”
“Can I drive you anywhere? Perhaps you shouldn’t be walking.”
Jules wanted to refuse. She didn’t want to place Mrs. Jackson in any danger, but if she drove Jules out of the subdivision, the chances of being seen would be far less. At the same time, if Mrs. Jackson was questioned about her later, this would be a prime opportunity to lay a false trail.
“Could you drive me to the bus station? I would be very grateful.”
“Of course. Let me get my keys.” She squeezed Jules’s hand as she passed, and Jules snatched it away as if she had been bitten.
She was mortified at her reaction, but she wasn’t used to being touched. After three years of isolation, she had, in the space of twenty-four hours, been hugged by her mother, held by the man she cared about more than life itself, and comforted by a well-meaning stranger. It was enough to put her in sensory overload.
They drove to the bus station in silence, Jules scanning the surroundings outside her window. When they arrived, Mrs. Jackson dug into her purse and pulled out several twenties. She thrust them at Jules.
“I can’t take it.” Jules pushed her hand away. “You’ve been far too kind as it is.”
“You remind me of my daughter,” Mrs. Jackson sai
d softly. “And I can’t bear the thought of you out here all alone. Let me at least buy you a ticket to where you’re going.”
She blew out her breath then took the money Mrs. Jackson offered. “And you remind me of my mother.” She could almost smell the butter and vanilla scent that was so familiar to her. “Thank you.” She climbed out of the car and hurried away before Mrs. Jackson could respond.