by Cari Hunter
Synopsis
How far would you go to protect the one you love?
Two years after surviving their ordeal at the hands of white supremacists, Alex Pascal and Sarah Kent have new identities, new careers, and a new home together. The FBI warned them to keep their heads down, and a small town in Maine seems like the perfect place to do this, until a chance occurrence sets in motion a chain of events that no one could have predicted. With enemies closing in and friends turning their backs, Alex and Sarah find themselves fighting not only for their freedom, but for their lives.
Tumbledown
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Tumbledown
© 2014 By Cari Hunter. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-086-7
This Electronic Book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, New York 12185
First Edition: February 2014
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editor: Cindy Cresap
Production Design: Susan Ramundo
Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])
By the Author
Snowbound
Desolation Point
Tumbledown
Acknowledgments
Thanks first and foremost to Rad, for giving this one a chance. To Cindy, for comma-wrangling and for sound advice. To Sheri, for another gorgeous cover. To Kelly (my long-suffering Work Wife), who gets possibly the worst name-check ever and is still giddy about it. To the lovely ladies on the C-Spot forum, for Kitty and Frances, laughs, loot, and knitted goods. To all those who picked up the first two, left feedback, made friends, and gave Boo such a big head. And to Cat, for a splendid, tireless beta, but mainly for her unwavering support and love.
Dedication
For Cat
We make a sensational team
Chapter One
It was always the first thing Caleb did, before his cup of coffee, before he dressed, before he ate the breakfast that Leah set in front of him. He had told her countless times how expensive the computer had been, as if that fact alone meant his efforts were righteous. The sleek black machine was high spec, and the e-mails were sent into a series of temporary accounts that would be difficult for the feds to track or trace.
Leah placed his coffee on the desk and stood by his side, counting the messages as they arrived: twelve in total. The program began to decrypt the code in which they were written. Five of the messages served only to confirm that their senders would continue their efforts, the latest in facial recognition software and straightforward searches on name variants having found nothing. With sweat dampening the palms of her hands, she watched as Caleb opened each of the remaining seven in sequence. One by one, he compared the photographs or descriptions with the two images stored on his desktop. She knew every inch of the young women’s faces by now, and she discerned as quickly as he did that none of the search algorithms had yielded anything useful.
She stepped back as he closed the computer down and ran his hand over the coarse growth of stubble on his chin. The negative outcome was not unexpected, nor would it discourage his efforts, but she could never be certain how he would react in the short term.
“My daddy always preached patience and perseverance,” he said, his tone pleasant and conversational.
“Your daddy would be proud of you,” she told him. She could feel the sweat cooling on her skin.
He nodded once before picking up his coffee and heading into the bathroom. She waited for the door to close completely and then sat in his chair until the trembling stopped.
*
The water swirled rapidly down the drain, leaving rust-red clinging to the white porcelain in a vivid tidemark. Sarah gripped the brush and scrubbed at the stubborn stains beneath her fingernails. The skin on her fingertips grew tender from the vigorousness of her efforts, but she continued until only the faintest trace of the color remained. She used a detergent-soaked cloth to wipe the sink clean and dumped the garbage into a cardboard box so it would be easier to burn. When she swiped the steam from the bathroom mirror, she barely recognized the woman looking back at her.
“Holy crap.”
The exclamation—and the wolf whistle that followed it—came from the doorway. Sarah grinned, turning slowly to face her partner.
“You like it?” she asked. She fished an empty pack out of the box and read from the back cover. “This month we’ve gone for Autumn Brilliance, which apparently ‘adds a touch of mischief to every woman’s day with its feisty hints of red and plum.’” She checked the mirror again and frowned. “Personally, all I see is brown.”
Alex crossed the small distance between them and let strands of Sarah’s hair fall through her fingers before taking hold of one particular length. “This bit looks kinda feisty,” she said seriously.
Sarah laughed. “Idiot.” The laugh turned into a sigh as she felt Alex’s lips touch the side of her neck. “Y’know, it’s not true what they say about blondes having more fun.”
“No?” Alex breathed the word against Sarah’s throat. “That’s a relief; I don’t remember the last time you were blond.” Her hands were already beneath Sarah’s tank top and stroking across her chest. “So you feeling mischievous, then?”
“Maybe,” Sarah hedged, but she hummed low in her throat as Alex pushed a hand below the waistband of her pants. “Oh shit, definitely.”
Alex chuckled and Sarah leaned back into the warmth of her body, feeling the starchy scratch of Alex’s uniform shirt against her bare arms.
“You’re late,” she said. “You have a good day at the office, dear?”
“Not bad.” Alex adjusted her grip, all but propping Sarah up as she moved her other hand in slow, lazy circles. “Have to say, though, it just got a hell of a lot better.”
*
Sarah murmured when Alex kissed her forehead, but she didn’t wake. Tiptoeing out of the darkened bedroom, Alex heard sharp toenails tap-tapping across the wooden floor of the living room as Tilly—their rescue mutt with lopsided ears and a tail that had been chewed off by some unidentified critter—came to join her.
“Hey, girl.” She patted Tilly’s side and let her lead the way through the kitchen to the back door. “Five minutes, then you can help me do my checks.”
The air that came drafting in when Alex opened the door hadn’t been cooled much by the setting of the sun, and it carried with it the scent of pine and of the honeysuckle that Sarah had planted close to the back porch. Tilly headed straight toward the trees and disappeared into the shadows, muffled grunts and the sound of her scrabbling in the dry grasses the only indication of her whereabouts. A thin crescent moon and the soft glow from the kitchen window provided enough light for Alex to negotiate her way down from the porch and across to the hen coop to ensure that the girls were safely secured for the night. An indignant bout of clucking told her that they were all accounted for and unimpressed at being disturbed.
In response to a low call, Tilly trotted back to Alex, and together they returned to the cabin. The bolts installed to the top and bottom of the back door slid easily into place and, with Tilly at her heels, Alex walked around
each room, checking that the windows were locked and that nothing had been disturbed.
“Okay, Tilly-bud,” she said and then shook her head at herself; the nickname was Sarah’s invention, but it seemed to be sticking. “You’re in charge.” The announcement earned her disdainful looks from Flossie and Bandit, the two cats entwined on the sofa, but they seemed too cozy to hold a real grudge. She left the menagerie to its own devices and crept back into the bedroom.
“All safe and sound?” Sarah asked, her voice thick with sleep.
Alex lay down beside her and inched closer to her warmth. “Snug as a bug in a hug,” she confirmed.
“Rug,” Sarah corrected her. “Snug as a bug in a rug.”
“Like that makes any more sense.” Alex spoke through a yawn, and the only response was Sarah’s steady breathing. She smiled, tucked the sheets around them both, and closed her eyes.
*
The high-pitched beep shocked Alex from a dreamless sleep. For a moment, she was completely disoriented, her heart beating so rapidly against her breastbone that it felt like it was quivering in her chest. Her surroundings slowly came into focus: the simple wooden posts of the large bed, the knitted throws cast carelessly toward the end of the mattress, welcome in winter but too thick for the summer heat. They had forgotten to close the drapes, and through the slats on the shutters she could see that it was still dark outside.
“Yours or mine?” Sarah sounded as muddled as Alex felt. Alex heard her slapping against the small table at her side of the bed, and the beeping noise shifted, broadcasting itself with greater intensity as Sarah lifted her pager.
“Oh, whose bloody stupid idea was this?” With a groan, Sarah rolled over and sat up, her movements automatic and clumsy as she reached for the clothes always set out in readiness.
“I think it was your idea,” Alex said, flicking a lamp on so that Sarah could see to get dressed. Sarah turned to scowl at her, and Alex choked back a laugh. “Yep, pretty sure it was yours.”
Two minutes later, Sarah had made a phone call and was heading into the living room, one sock flapping where she hadn’t quite pulled it up enough. Her hands reached automatically to tie her hair back, though it was too short to need that now. Alex followed her out and perched on the arm of the sofa, watching her absently pet Tilly in passing and then pick up her bag.
“Go back to sleep, love,” Sarah said, although she must have known that Alex would do nothing of the sort.
“Be safe.” Something in Alex’s expression or the tone of her voice must have given her away, because Sarah ran back and kissed her gently.
“I will.”
The soft touch on Alex’s cheek made her want to grab hold of Sarah’s hand and force her to stay home, but the contact was only fleeting and she was gone before Alex could say or do anything else.
“Dammit,” Alex whispered, listening to the Jeep’s tires crunching over the loose stones of the driveway. As if sensing her distress, Flossie inched onto her knee, while Bandit stalked into the kitchen and demanded his breakfast in a series of shrill yowls. Alex shook her head at his increasingly desperate dramatics, trying instead to concentrate on Flossie’s purring in the hope that it would soothe her nerves. “I know, I know,” she said as Flossie kneaded her thighs and showed no real indication that she was listening. “Sarah’s a big girl who can take care of herself.” Tilly’s ears pricked up at the mention of Sarah’s name and she gave a yip.
“Oh, you only take her side because she spoils you rotten,” Alex retorted, a little embarrassed to be holding a conversation with a dog. She carefully set Flossie aside and went to make herself a drink.
*
Alex dipped a chunk of chocolate into her coffee, held it there long enough for it to leave a slight film on the surface of the liquid, and then pulled it out and sucked the melted mess into her mouth. It was a disgusting habit that had always appalled Sarah, but Alex figured it was Sarah’s fault for introducing her to Cadbury’s chocolate in the first place. There was only a third remaining of the bar she had just sneaked a piece from, and she made a mental note to e-mail Ash—one of Sarah’s closest friends—to ask her to send over a selection of candy in time for Sarah’s birthday. The thought prompted her to steal a glance at her watch. She told herself she was trying to work out what time it would be for Ash in the UK and absolutely, definitely not checking how long it had been since Sarah phoned with an update. The callout had been to a febrile child who had had a seizure. The mother was distraught, and Sarah was waiting with her until the ambulance arrived. Dispatch had given an ETA of fifty minutes, forty-two and a half minutes ago.
Alex cradled her mug, leaned her head back against the sofa, and stared at the ceiling fan as it slowly rotated. No one knew where she and Sarah were, she reminded herself, something she did so often it had become habitual. The problem was that she never really believed it, no matter how reassuring the updates they received from Mike Castillo, the FBI agent who had taken a personal interest in their well-being, speaking to them at least once a month throughout the two years since she had first met Sarah.
Despite her unease, she found herself smiling at the seeming normality of that phrase, as if they had met in a club, or through a mutual friend or a dull nine-to-five office job. In reality, she had found Sarah terrified and bleeding, hiding in a crevice beneath a rock in the North Cascades as two violent criminals hunted her down. She and Sarah had spent almost a week fighting to stay alive in the wilderness, and they had come out on the other side of that ordeal bruised, battered, and somewhat surprised to find themselves very much in love. For a short while, they had also been five hundred and eighty thousand dollars richer, thanks to money they had been awarded for assisting in the apprehension of an escaped convict and the large-scale disruption of the terrorist group with which he had been operating.
Alex lowered her head, tension giving her an unpleasant ache in the back of her neck. Before she and Sarah had left the hospital, Castillo had given them a warning, and his words always came back to torment her at moments like this: “This group did not go down lightly, and they did not all go down. Do you understand?”
Nicholas Deakin, the late founder of the Church of the Aryan Resistance, had had a tight-knit family and a devoted following. Alex and Sarah had been instrumental in causing his death and primarily responsible for the breakup of his organization. As their statements had also resulted in the incarceration of two of his most trusted lieutenants, Alex had no doubt that she and Sarah were right at the top of the Deakin family shit list.
The coffee had gone cold, but she gulped it regardless, to ease the dryness of her mouth. She knew that, logically, she should feel safer. They had moved to Avery, a tiny town situated deep within Aroostook County, Maine, just over a year ago. It was, as Sarah put it, as far away from the Cascades as they could get without falling off America altogether. Their small log cabin was nestled in thirty acres of forest that sloped gently down toward the shores of Avery Lake, and it took a lot of finding for anyone unfamiliar with the access road. After sticking a pin in a phone directory, they had both changed their surnames to Hayes, and they had repeatedly altered their hairstyles and hair colors. When in company, Sarah—having the more distinctive accent—took pains to temper it, making it less obviously northern English and more regionally indeterminate, and they were cagey about any personal details they gave to their new friends and colleagues. So far, at least, their precautions appeared to have worked; no one seemed the slightest bit aware of what had happened to them during that October storm.
Alex took her mug into the kitchen. The sky was lighter, with another hot day forecast. She flicked the kettle on and spooned coffee into her mug, making it stronger than usual and adding sugar for good measure. She knew she would need the caffeine; her shift started at seven a.m., and there was no way she was going back to sleep.
*
“Here you go, sweetie. You don’t like that, do you? I’m going to take it off now.” Sarah dialed the oxyg
en cylinder down and lifted the small mask away. Candice Ryman rocked her son gently, her eyes still wide with fear.
“It was so sudden,” she said tonelessly. “He was fine going to bed, but he woke me up crying and then he just…and with Grant at work…” She shook her head.
“I know. It must have been horrible for you.” Sarah leaned Grant Jr. forward and slipped his pajama top over his head. “Can we get him stripped down to his nappy—” She corrected herself immediately. “Sorry, diaper? It’ll help cool him down.”
Candice managed a weak smile at Sarah’s mistake and cooed at Grant Jr. as he began to move more purposefully. Her own demeanor relaxed as he slowly recovered, and she helped Sarah to undress him.
“I like your accent,” she said once he was settled again. “It’s quite unusual. You’re British, aren’t you?”
“Yes, that’s right,” Sarah said, relieved when Candice nodded vaguely and didn’t press for specifics.
“And you live with Officer Hayes now?”
“I do.” Although she answered casually, she felt anxiety of a different sort twisting like a knot in her stomach. Avery was a very small town, and she was never sure whether her relationship with Alex would prove to be an issue for its residents. The fact that Alex worked for the local police force and Sarah volunteered as an emergency medical responder certainly hadn’t hindered their acceptance into the community, but she was always wary of that initial awkward contact with strangers.
“Margot St. Clare said you were studying to be an EMT.”