by Robin Caroll
“After my father died, my mother moved me and my sisters back to her family home. I was raised by my grandfather, and every night we watched Gunsmoke together. I always wanted to be Marshal Dillon.” His eyes twinkled. “After graduating from the police academy and walking the beat for a couple of years, I realized I needed more mental stimulation.”
His laughter was contagious, and Brannon found herself smiling at him.
“I knew I’d have to be on the force a long time to make detective, and I’m not exactly big on patience, so I looked for other avenues. The marshal training program was short. I applied and was accepted.” He rubbed his knee with a distracted movement. “The rest, as they say, is history.”
“It’s as good a reason as any.”
Roark’s face grew pensive. “Funny thing happened, though. I found I really liked helping people, protecting them.” He let out a long sigh, one wrought with regret and sadness. “There’s so much evil and ugliness in the world—I like to think I do my part to protect people from it.”
She swallowed hard. “I can understand that.”
He touched her arm. “Does your faith help you deal with the ugliness of the world?”
Brannon weighed her answer before she spoke. “Yes, it does. Because no matter what happens on this earth, I know everything’s in God’s hands. I may not understand why things happen, at least not on this side of paradise anyway, but I do know there is always a reason.” She hugged her arms around her torso. “And knowing that is what helps me sleep at night.”
Roark shifted. His thigh brushed against her, sending ripples of exhilaration up her leg. She gasped as her pulse escalated. Why did just his touch do such strange things to her? Part of her wanted to scoot closer to him, but the smart, logical side won the mental argument. Brannon maneuvered away from him. Once she freed herself of the contact, her breathing regulated to a normal pattern. “How’re you doing, Lincoln?”
“Fire’s almost out.”
She rubbed her hands, wondering what could be taking her partner so long. Lincoln was nothing if not efficient.
“Why a helicopter pilot?”
Roark’s deep baritone jolted her from the inner musings. She glanced into his eyes—an error on her part, a big one. His dark orbs penetrated her façade as if seeing who she really was on the inside. She lifted her finger and chewed on the cuticle.
“Brannon?”
“Yeah?” She jerked her hand into her lap.
“What made you decide to become a helicopter pilot?”
“Oh.” She hated to answer—it seemed that people wanted to know more why she took a job normally held by a man than her motivation for doing it. “Well, I wanted to help people, save them. I joined the Coast Guard when I was seventeen. After I finished my training and education at the Academy, I found myself pulled to flying.” Visions of the rigorous training and the men who abused and heckled her paraded across her mind. She stared into Roark’s eyes again. “So I applied for flight school and was accepted.”
“Why didn’t you stay with the Coast Guard?”
“I gave them thirteen years, won the Distinguished Service Medal, and opened the door for women to become pilots in the Guard.” She shrugged. “I guess I felt I’d given all I could. When it came time to re-up, I chose to leave.”
No need to dig up everything about Wade. She still couldn’t talk about him without feeling like a part of her had died, even though it’d been more than five years.
Roark scrutinized her. More than ever the scar running along his jawbone appeared more visible. “So you decided to become a park ranger?”
“My degree is in marine biology, and I love working with nature. Lincoln suggested I apply.” She popped her knuckles. “So I prayed hard, and God showed me that this is where He wanted me to be.”
That suspicious, guarded look crossed his face. “Do you really believe God takes an active part in your everyday life?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.” Brannon fingered the area of her injured arm. “I can’t imagine not going to God for direction in my life.”
“Even when the world is horrible?”
“Especially then.” If He hadn’t sent Lincoln to befriend her after Wade had died, well, she didn’t know how she would’ve made it.
Roark ran his hand over his head. “So you believe there’s a master plan and everything happens for a reason?”
“I have to believe that.” She stared at the crawl opening. “Otherwise I’d go insane.” What was taking Lincoln so long?
Roark didn’t reply, and she didn’t press him. Over the years, being exposed to macho types in the Guard had taught her many things, but mainly that they needed space and time to grasp a bigger picture than their minds were accustomed to seeing. Brannon continued to stare at the passage, not letting on to Roark that she was sending up prayers on his behalf right this very moment.
After a long pause he spoke. “I guess I never considered it that way before. It’s something I’ll have to think about.”
“Good.” She couldn’t hide her smile. “So tell me about your sisters.”
He chuckled. “They’re all older than me. Two are married with kids. Rosalyn is only a year older than I am, and she’s quite the career woman.” His expression softened. “Quite a handful.”
“What’s her profession?”
“A high school principal.”
“Wow.” Brannon couldn’t imagine the responsibility of all those kids.
Roark’s face softened even more. “Yeah, she’s pretty special.”
“Heads up!” Lincoln’s yell echoed off the walls. “I’m coming feet first, too, and will be kicking the packs and cooler ahead of me.”
Finally. “Waiting on you, bud.” She stood and peered at the opening.
Roark stood as well. Brannon tilted her head and eyed his jaw. “So, how’d you get that scar?”
He ran a finger along the angry scar. “Let’s just say my reflexes were slow that day.”
“Oh.” Heat fanned her cheeks.
Pain crawled over his face—fresh, raw pain. Her heart ached for him.
Lord, call him back to You so You can ease the burdens he carries.
FIFTEEN
Saturday, 3:10 p.m.
Suburb South of Townsend, Tennessee
MAI SNUCK INTO HER room, hiding the two diet soda cans under her robe. She shut the door behind her and glanced around. This was resting time, per Madam Nancy’s orders. But Mai had other things to do.
Kanya sat in the corner, her knees drawn to her chest and her eyes filled with tears. The two older girls snored. Mai moved to the mattress, lifted the threadbare sheet, and sought out the small slit she and Kanya had ripped earlier. She shoved the two cans into the mattress, replaced the sheet, then moved to kneel beside her new friend.
“I hate it here.” Kanya’s native tongue whispers tore into Mai’s heart.
She, too, was sick of being used and discarded. Mai laid a hand on Kanya’s arm. “But this is only for a little while longer. We have a plan, and we are going to get out of here.”
“But when?”
“Soon.” She patted Kanya’s arm, then withdrew her hand. “I stole two drinks from the cooler. What did you get?”
Kanya lifted a shoulder. “I took a package of beef jerky off the last guy.”
Butterflies swarmed in Mai’s stomach. “You are not supposed to take anything from the men. They might notice and tell Madam Nancy.” She wrapped her arms around her midsection. “That can get us caught.”
“He did not notice.” Tears fell down Kanya’s cheeks. “He did not even know how to open the door to leave.”
Mai glanced over her shoulder toward the hall, then swiped the tears from her friend’s face. “You cannot let them see you crying. They will hurt you.” She stood, fis
ting her hands on her hips. “We have to stick to the plan if we are going to get out of here.” Softening her tone and her expression, she squared her shoulders. “Come on, Kanya, you can do this. We have no other choice.”
Even more tears spilled from Kanya’s eyes. “That is just it. I had a choice to come and I did.” She threw her hands in the air, waving them about. “And look how it turned out.”
A reflection of that same dismay shot through Mai. She knelt again beside her friend. “Did Uncle Fred and Aunt Betty bring you over?”
Kanya’s dark hair bobbed around her face.
“Me too.” Mai ran a hand over her own long hair. “We were lied to, misled. We did not know any better.” Or did her father know?
“Only a ngang allows themselves to be so deceived.”
Mai jerked Kanya’s shoulder. “This is not our fault! We are not fools.”
Kanya snorted. “We let ourselves be sold into this . . . this . . . slavery.” The dejection in her voice enraged Mai.
She shoved Kanya, then stood and glared down at her. “We were tricked, yes. But we can do something.” The fury subsided, leaving her despondent. “We cannot give up now, not before we have even tried.”
Kanya didn’t look up.
“Look, we have to try. To do something to help ourselves.” Mai jumped as a braying laugh filled the hall. She lowered her voice. “I am going to do this with or without you. I can at least say I refused to accept the situation.”
Kanya sniffed and lifted her gaze to lock with Mai’s. “Okay.”
Mai held out her hand and pulled her friend to her feet.
“I will see what I can get tonight.” Kanya wiped her face clean of tears.
“We better try and sleep—Madam Nancy will notice if we look tired.” Although how the woman expected them to nap was beyond her. Then again, most everything was beyond her.
Except her plan to escape.
Saturday, 3:25 p.m.
Underground
Great Smoky Mountains National Park, Tennessee
“SHOULDN’T THE NATIONAL GUARD be here by now?” Roark stood beside the cramped hole that would take them out of the cave.
“They’ll get here as soon as they can. We need to get to an area where the helicopter can land anyway.” Brannon nudged past him. “Let me see if we’ll be able to make it through the keyhole.”
Before he could say a word, she squeezed into the little space. An area even more confined than the tunnel. His mouth went dry. How much more could he take?
“You could just tell her why you don’t like tight places.” Lincoln stood beside him, his quiet voice unnerving Roark.
“I’m fine.”
“You know, both Brannon and I are pretty good listeners.”
He knew Lincoln was right, which was why he chose to keep his mouth shut. Having to share with Dr. Martin was bad enough. Exposing his weakness to Brannon would be . . . well, unthinkable. At least until he figured out what exactly he felt for her.
Because he definitely felt something.
“Guess that would be a no.”
“Nothing personal, Lincoln. It’s something I have to deal with.”
“Guys, it’ll be tight, but I think y’all can fit.” Brannon’s voice sounded so far away. “It’s only about eight feet long, so just hold your breath and hurry.”
Eight feet of walls closing in on him? The tunnel had almost done him in. Now this?
“You go first. I’ll be right behind you.” Lincoln laid a hand on Roark’s shoulder.
“No. You go ahead. I’ll bring up the rear.” Less chance of Brannon seeing him like before—having a panic attack.
Lincoln cast a final glance at him, then moved into the crushing slit in stone, dragging his backpack behind him. As soon as he did, darkness swept over the room.
Roark’s heart raced. He could do this. Mind over matter and all that. They had to get out. He had to get out. Had to get the heart out or there’d be more innocent victims. He gripped the cooler against his sweat-coated palm.
“All clear. Come on, Roark.” Lincoln’s voice drifted through the hole.
Roark took a deep breath. Turning sideways, he held his breath and shoved himself into the crevice.
The rock pushed against him. The air vacuumed from the space.
Roark froze. He closed his eyes, struggling to force air in through his nose. He couldn’t move. His feet were cemented to the spot. Darkness shrouded him. White dots danced before his eyes.
“Mister, are we gonna be okay? I’m scared.”
Roark gathered little Mindy in his arms. “We’ll be fine. We just have to find a way out.”
“I don’t like it here. It’s dark and scary.”
“I know, honey. I know.” Roark glanced around the elevator shaft, trying to catch a glimpse of anything. Any route of escape. He hadn’t wanted to take the little girl this way, but what else could he do? Demott had said to wait for backup, but he couldn’t. He had to take control of the situation.
Her parents and brother were dead, and Roark had to escape with Mindy into the elevator shaft. To save her life.
But their options now were limited. His options. It was his responsibility to get Mindy out alive.
The hum of the elevator started. The car jerked.
“Mister!”
The car jerked again and began ascending.
Roark threw Mindy beneath him. What was he going to do? God, help us!
But the elevator shaft burst into flames. Roark tried to roll on top of Mindy, but she panicked. Her screams filled the shaft as the fire grabbed her. He reached for her, but the cable snapped, catching him across the jaw and knocking him out.
He had awakened in the hospital with a scar and a fear of tight, dark places.
“Roark?” Lincoln called out.
Inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth. Roark fought to shove the memories away.
“Roark, are you okay?” Lincoln called again.
His feet wouldn’t respond, no matter how much Roark ordered them to move. He could make out voices but none calling to him.
Except the ghost of little Mindy Pugsley.
A soft hand grabbed his forearm. “Roark?”
He jerked, drilling his head into the stone. “Mindy?”
“It’s Brannon. Come on. Follow me.” She tugged on his arm.
He slid a step closer to her.
“Good. Just keep coming with me. You’re doing great.”
What felt like an eternity later, he cleared the hole in the rock. He dropped to the ground, gasping for air.
Brannon laid a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
His worst nightmare had come true—Brannon had seen his weakness firsthand. Now she’d see what a fake he was. What a phony. Why he didn’t deserve her interest. She’d been through enough. She didn’t need some wimpy guy who couldn’t let go of the past.
Saturday, 4:15 p.m.
Parkwest Medical Center
Knoxville, Tennessee
THEY INTENDED TO KEEP him out of the loop.
How dare the FBI and US Attorney’s office acquire information about the witness and not tell him—again. He sat on the Coalition. He was a US congressman. He was invested in the outcome of this situation.
Warren smoothed his tie against his shirt, wishing he’d had the forethought to grab another oxford on his way. The wrinkles and creases could work to his advantage, however, portraying him as a hands-on type of congressman, a working man’s representative.
He smiled at his reflection in the hospital bathroom mirror, then twisted his face into different expressions. When he found the one that looked most earnest and sincere, Warren stepped back from the row of sinks. Yes, this expression would endear him in the hearts of his
constituents.
Only through his aide had he learned more particulars. That Wilks’s wife had died at home from a long battle with cancer. Wilks had called her son, then left, going straight to the Knoxville FBI office. He hadn’t even waited until the son got there—just left his wife’s dead body in the master bed and departed. The FBI were now reactivating the search for the son and had requested a copy of the wife’s autopsy report. The information was nothing vitally important to the case, per se, but it annoyed him that no one had informed him.
The door swung open and Kevin scuttled inside. “Congressman, the press is waiting.”
“Are all the major affiliates represented?”
“Yes, sir. ABC, CBS, NBC, FOX, and CNN. All here and accounted for.”
“Good.” Warren tossed a final glance at his reflection, smoothed down his thinning hair, and waltzed past his aide. One of these days he’d have to check out all those hair restoration infomercials. He certainly could afford it. First, however, he had to play to the public—his public.
Kevin doubled his steps to keep up with Warren. “Sir, Marshal Demott has caught wind of your press conference.”
Warren slowed his pace and stared, with a single brow hitched, at his aide. “And?”
“He’s not too happy, sir. He’s trying to get a gag order.”
“A gag order?” Irritation seethed through him. Hiding information, now trying for a gag order? What did the marshal know that wasn’t in any of the reports? What didn’t he want others to know? “Well, we’ll just see about that now, won’t we?” Warren strode toward the hospital’s main entrance. He stomped on the mat, causing the glass doors to whoosh open.
Camera bulbs flashed, reporters called his name, bright lights from video feeds shone in his eyes. Warren straightened his shoulders and moved to the area set up with microphones and a podium, just right of the entrance. He held up his hands as he moved behind the wooden podium. “Ladies and gentlemen.”
A moderate silence fell over the crowd as the reporters and cameramen scooted in front of the podium. Hushed shoving and pushing murmured over the group as media personnel vied for the best position.