by Dana Marton
“Who was that?” she asked as he hung up the phone.
“My boss.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“To a safe house, once we lose the tail.” He swerved to the left.
It sounded utterly ridiculous. He looked the opposite of safe. She considered opening the door and hurling herself onto the pavement.
The passenger side mirror blew out, and she slid further down in the seat.
“The main body is bulletproof but the rest isn’t.” He swerved again. “I’m going to have to pick up some speed to get rid of them. Don’t want to give them a chance to shoot out the tires.”
He took a sharp turn and she slammed against the door, the seat belt cutting into her stomach.
He barely spared her a glance. “Nothing to worry about. I work for the United States government. I’m here to ensure your safety.”
For a second, confusion so overwhelmed her she couldn’t process his words. Then in an awful moment of comprehension it all began to make sense. She would have preferred a kidnapper. “Does my father know about this?”
“Senator Barrington is aware we’re in a situation where something like this may develop.”
Of course he was. He was bloody aware of everything. He handled everything. Behind her back. Who cared if it concerned her life? At that moment she hated him more than she hated the men shooting at her.
“I don’t want your protection.” She despised the idea of getting sucked back into her father’s life again.
“Let me take you someplace safe, bring you up to date. Then, if you still want, you’re free to go.”
“I am?” She stared at him, the wind taken out of her sails. He was logical and had given her the freedom of choice, two things she valued above all others.
“You’re not a prisoner.” He looked at her, and for the first time she noticed his eyes. They were black or nearly so, bottomless pools devoid of emotion. She looked away first.
“Where are we going?”
He crossed two lanes of traffic, ran off the road, crossed the few yards of grass that served as divider and got on Route 202 going the opposite direction without once putting his foot on the brake. “Lancaster.”
She looked back just in time to see the brown van follow and nearly flip over as it hit the divider. Unfortunately, the vehicle slowed for only seconds before resuming the pursuit at full speed. Her fingers fused to the edge of her seat. “To the Amish?”
“Kind of.” Swerving across lanes, he executed one evasive maneuver after the other, with the slightest hint of a smile at the corner of his lips.
He probably liked his job. The thought seemed incomprehensible, but must have had at least some truth to it. People usually chose occupations they enjoyed.
Oddly, the smile did not soften his formidable looks. Neither did his worn jeans that stretched over his well-muscled thighs, nor the long-sleeved black T-shirt. He looked very different up-close-and-personal, the deliciously intriguing image of him she had developed during their morning workouts forever ruined by the handgun resting on his thigh.
Her girlish daydreams of him seemed ridiculous now. He was probably a Secret Service agent, everything she didn’t want in a man. The bullets bouncing off the hatch window were a good reminder.
The car swerved to the right. He swore in Spanish as he brought it back to the road and steadied the vehicle. “They got the tire.”
Her brain held only one thought—it bounced screaming inside her skull. I am going to die.
The two men were close behind them, with two guns and a van that would now easily outspeed Alex’s SUV. And Alex couldn’t even shoot back, it took both hands to keep them on the road with the flat.
“Can you take the wheel?” He threw her an assessing glance.
What other choice did she have? “Yes.”
She grabbed on, and they swerved for a moment when he let go and the vehicle jerked to the right. She corrected and brought it back straight and steady.
Alex still had his foot on the gas and kept the speed, much faster than what she would have been comfortable with even if it weren’t approaching rush hour, and they didn’t have a flat tire and she weren’t driving from the passenger seat. Nicola gripped the wheel. She had to handle the car. Their lives depended on it.
Alex rolled down the window and leaned out, his foot steady on the gas pedal. He fired one shot, then sat back inside and took the wheel from her.
She turned to see the brown van come to a halt in the ditch, its front window shattered.
“How long can we go on a flat?”
“Over thirty miles on these tires.” He drove by an exit.
“Shouldn’t we get off the highway?”
“Next exit. They’ll expect us to take the first.”
“You think they’ll still come after us?” She felt the blood leave her face at the thought.
“He. The driver is out.”
She watched her hands tremble as she rolled down the window a finger width to gulp some fresh air. It didn’t help. Nothing would, short of waking up and realizing all this was a dream.
“Are you okay?”
No! She wanted to scream, but was in too much shock to even speak. A couple of seconds went by before she could respond. “You must feel even worse than me. You had to kill a man and it doesn’t even have anything to do with you.”
Another exit came up, and he took it at the last second without signaling. “You don’t have to worry on my account.”
His tanned face never flinched. His sharp gaze was fixed on the road before them, but the muscles in his jaw were relaxed, as was the rest of his body. She was having a heart attack and he looked as if he was on his way to breakfast. Of course, the driver of the brown van was probably not his first casualty. The thought did nothing to settle her stomach.
“If they caught up with us, they would have done the same.” He spoke to her in an even voice, much like an EMT or policeman trying to calm an upset citizen.
“I know.” She closed her eyes, trying to get a grip on what was happening to her life. “It’s just that—I’m not used to people getting killed in connection with me.”
He nodded as he turned on the global positioning system and rolled onto a narrow country road, raising a billowing cloud of dust behind them.
“How close are we?”
“Not close enough to get there on a flat, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Her hands began to shake again, as her brain downgraded her already-not-too-optimistic forecast for survival. They’d have to walk. And somewhere out there the shooter was still after them.
Alex flipped the car into four-wheel drive then rode off the road into a field of wheat, following what looked like tractor tracks. As the SUV rattled over the uneven ground, she prayed they would reach the cover of the trees before the brown van reappeared on the road behind them. But when they finally got to the trees, finding cover proved to be harder than she had anticipated.
Precious seconds flew by as they searched for an opening in the thick tall brush. Then Alex found it. He pulled the car inside the small patch of woods far enough so they wouldn’t be seen from the road, then turned the vehicle so anyone coming after them would be met head-on. When he got out, she followed his example.
“You stay inside.” He walked to the back.
“Are you leaving me?” She hadn’t considered that. She had thought they would walk to the safe house together. “Are you going for help?”
He looked at her as if she were crazy. “I’m changing the tire.”
“Oh.” She sagged against a tree.
The heat was oppressive even this early in the day, a physical presence pushing down on her. For days she’d been hoping for a good storm to break the heat wave, some much-needed rain to cool everything off, but according to the weather service there was no relief in sight. She wiped her forehead as she watched the man. If the soaring temperature bothered him, he didn’t show it.
He pulled the spare from the
back then grabbed the jack. Dappled sunlight glinted off his black hair as he moved with fluid motions. “Get in the car.”
Too drained to bristle at being ordered around, she did as she was told, but left the door open so they could talk and she could breathe. The air stood still in the small grove of trees. “Do you think he’ll come after us?”
“Probably.”
“Will he find us?” Stupid question. The man, Alex, wasn’t a fortune teller. But she was desperate for reassurance.
“Not likely,” he said and looked away too quickly.
“But?”
“Nothing.”
“If you were him, could you track me down?”
“If someone is determined enough, they’ll always find a way.”
Great. Bloody peachy.
He snapped the jack into place. “I’m going to make it as hard as I can for him. Don’t worry. I think we lost him for now.”
He was probably right. It would have taken the shooter a while to move his partner from the wheel, break out the shattered windshield so he could see, and get the van back on the road. Most likely, Alex and she were out of sight by then and the man could only guess where they had gone. Alex had been checking the rearview mirror the whole time. He would have seen the guy if he had managed to catch up with them.
She had to think positively. Couldn’t afford to give ground to the panic that fought to take her over, wouldn’t allow it to distract her. Not now. She could do this. She had to. She needed to remain calm and ready for whatever was to come.
She felt the car lift from the ground and wanted to offer to get out. She was about to ask but then changed her mind. He had made it clear where he wanted her, and she did feel safer inside. Marginally. She might never feel completely safe again. People were trying to kill her. She wanted back her sane, ordinary world where things like that didn’t happen.
He was done in minutes and back in the driver’s seat next to her. “Are you ready?”
She wasn’t ready for any of this, but they couldn’t stay there in the middle of a field. She nodded.
He wiped his dirty hands on his jeans, then turned the key in the ignition, bringing the engine to life. He put his right hand on the wheel. His left held his gun out the open window, the barrel resting on the top of the side-view mirror.
The gesture had such a movie-like feel, she had trouble grasping the reality of it. Just that morning she’d been thinking how well her life was coming along. Sure, she was nobody’s idea of a perfect woman and would probably never fit into size-four pants, but she’d learned to live with that. She had a great house, two argumentative zebra finches, and a smoothly running consulting business she’d built with her own two hands.
“I keep thinking I’ll wake up to find all this was a nasty dream, brought on by eating too much chocolate before going to bed.”
Only when Alex turned to fix his attention on her, his dark eyes intense, did she realize she had spoken out loud. He hesitated for a second, as if weighing her words. He probably thought she was a complete idiot.
But he didn’t scoff at her. “That’s not going to happen, Nicola. I need you to be able to deal with the here and now.” His voice was calm and serious, the expression on his face somber.
She took a steadying breath then nodded as the truth of his words sunk in. She would handle whatever came their way. Because her only other option was to die.
Chapter Two
The General’s grip tightened on the phone at his ear. “What happened?” How was it possible that the girl had gotten away?
He leaned back in his leather armchair and rubbed the awakening ache behind the barely visible burn marks on his temples where the electrodes had been placed during the endless torture. Since then, when he got tense, he was prone to violent headaches.
“Forgive me, General. There was a man—”
“Get rid of the car and the body.” He stumped out his cigar. If someone saved her, it meant she had been watched, protected. He hadn’t expected that. A tactical mistake. His enemy was shrewd and the men behind him many. “And don’t come in.”
“Yes, General.”
He got up to pull down some of the bamboo shades, the glaring sunlight aggravating the headache. “Make sure you are caught soon. You know what to say.”
“Yes, General.” The answer took longer to come this time, but he had no doubt his men would follow his orders—even to their death.
He hung up the phone and looked out into the courtyard patrolled by his soldiers. Today’s mission had failed, but the rest of his small team was safe. The authorities would never find them. He knew what he was doing—he was a Meng, descendant of the famous fugitive.
His men would locate the girl again, and this time they would know what they were up against. An armed bodyguard. Maybe more. It didn’t matter. They would be ready. He had plans that would change his country, as well as the United States of America. Indeed, they might change the world.
But first he needed Nicola Barrington.
“THIS IS IT?” Nicola stared at the dubious-looking farmhouse as Alex pulled behind the building. The paint on the wood siding had peeled away years ago, only a few brownish-green patches hung on for dear life here and there. At least a third of the roof shingles had permanently departed, window blinds hung broken, and the porch railing appeared to have lain down to rest. The weeds they passed in front were respectable enough for a small jungle. The backyard was no better, dominated by an ancient oak and a dilapidated barn.
The uneasy feeling that had begun somewhere around her midsection when Alex had slowed the car in front of the place grew until tension stiffened her muscles and balled in her stomach. “Do we have to go in?”
“Yes.” His foot barely touching the gas, he let the car roll forward on the narrow path of gravel. “It’s safer inside. Get down. I’ll be right back.” He stopped the car and got out, leaving the motor running.
After a split second of hesitation, she did as she’d been told, knowing his orders were for her protection. She didn’t have to wait long before he came back and pulled the car into the barn.
He shut off the motor and got out to open the door for her. “We’re going in. Stay behind me.” He brought two Kevlar vests from the back of the car and handed her one. “Put this on.”
She tested the weight—surprisingly light. She had expected it to feel like old-fashioned armor, with steel plates inside, or something similar, but the vest didn’t feel like it held metal panels. The material was flexible. She fumbled with the Velcro.
“Hang on.” He stepped closer, his voice, despite having kept it low, echoed in the empty barn. “Lift your arm.”
She looked away while he secured the bulletproof vest on both sides. The large open space of the barn with all its shadows and smell of moldy hay made her nervous, though she knew he had checked it out before they pulled in. And having him in her personal zone made her jumpy, too. Massive in the shoulders, he towered at least a full foot over her.
She tended to be self-conscious about her height and weight. Richard, her ex-fiancé, had teased her plenty about both. She was “easier to jump over than run around,” he used to tell her. She’d stayed with him too long, wanting to please her father. God, she’d been stupid. Nothing she’d ever done pleased the man.
“There.” Alex stepped back then put on his own Kevlar before moving outside. He closed the barn door behind them but didn’t start out at once. He stayed motionless for several seconds while he surveyed their surroundings. Gun in hand, he led her across the small backyard, always one step ahead of her, shielding her from the road.
When they reached the house, he pushed her to the side, the gun in his right hand, his left on the door. It opened silently and did not, as Nicola had expected, fall off the hinges. The small entryway was dark. She could just make out the second door, solid steel by the looks of it.
Alex pushed a couple of buttons on the numeric keypad under the doorknob. “This way we don’t have to w
orry about a key.”
She followed him into the main part of the house and watched as he disabled the security system. He took off his vest and tossed it in the corner, shaking his head when she wanted to do the same. Weren’t they safe?
She looked around in the room that showed none of the neglect that plagued the exterior of the building. Tall ceilings, gleaming wood floors, spotless modern furniture and an entertainment system that would have made her own cry in envy. She had expected a card table with folding chairs and maybe a mattress on the floor. But despite the niceness of the place, she couldn’t relax. Maybe the house had bad feng shui. She stole a glance at Alex. “Do you come here often?”
“First time.”
“Oh.” She sat on the edge of the sprawling tan couch and gathered herself. “I’m ready to hear whatever it is you have to say.”
“As I told you before, I’m here for your protection.”
“I’d like to know your full name.”
“Why?”
Good question. To make her feel better? As a reassurance that he and all this was real and she hadn’t somehow crossed over into the twilight zone? “Please.”
He watched her for a moment. “I can’t.”
At least he hadn’t said, If I told you, I’d have to kill you. “Have you been following me long?”
“Two months or so.”
Of course. That was about how long he’d been coming to the gym. “Must have been convenient to get a nice workout and keep an eye on me at the same time.” She took a deep breath. “I want to know why.”
He leaned against the waist-high counter that separated the living room from a modern and well-equipped kitchen. “We came across intelligence that a U.S. senator and his family might be the target of a terrorist attack. Further investigation picked up your father’s name.”
Concern leaped in her chest. “Is he okay? Was he attacked?”
He shook his head. “He’s being watched 24/7. Any ideas why you’d be a target?”
The word target had that cold-knife-in-the-chest feel to it. She rubbed her solar plexus. “Not really. I’d assume it has to do with his position on some hot-button issue. There are always fanatics out there. Did he vote on anything controversial lately? I don’t follow his career.” She wasn’t about to apologize for it or explain further.