Sanctuary Lost WITSEC Town Series Book 1

by Lisa Phillips

  He tugged her into the barn and shoved her toward the back corner. “Boss should be here in fifteen.”

  Hadn’t he said the “government man” would be waiting? She glanced around. Palmer looked like he was watching for something to happen.

  The guy nearest the door pulled it open and Congressman Thane strode in, the bulk of his girth hanging over his belt. His face was red, as though he’d run a 5K before he came here.

  He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his shiny forehead. “Gentlemen.”

  Thane’s eyes settled on Andra and all the hatred the town of Sanctuary had shown toward her was there, times a thousand.

  The Venezuelan with the scar strode forward, holding out a tablet. “Enter your account number and we can begin the transfer.”

  Thane tore his gaze from her and pecked the numbers on the screen with his meaty index finger. “There.”

  He strode past the man, dismissing him, and walked until his face was an inch from Andra’s. “I’ve waited a long time for this.” His breath smelled like spicy chips. “Years, where all I’ve dreamed of is killing you with my bare hands the way you killed Andrew.”

  Andra didn’t give him the satisfaction of trembling; though her stomach hurt from how tight she held it. She sucked in a breath half the depth of her normal lung capacity. Likely pretty soon she would pass out. Which should make this easier, even if there were some things she’d like to do before then.

  She said, “Drew spoke of his godfather often. I figured if anyone could find me it would be that man. So…bravo.”

  He flinched, eyes wide. “You’re congratulating me?”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “Just a little sentiment, one killer to another.”

  That appealed to his pride. When he took her elbow, he was smirking. They got two steps before the Venezuelan closest to him pulled his gun up and shot the Congressman in the chest.

  Andra jerked to a stop.

  The Venezuelan shifted and shot Palmer, who was fumbling for his weapon. The bullet hit him low on his torso. Blood soaked his shirt and the vest he was wearing. Palmer glanced from the gun to the open front of his jacket, wide eyed.

  He collapsed.

  “Pitiful, really.” The Spanish words were full of disgust. The Venezuelan strode to the door and cracked it an inch so he could look out. “How long?”

  His associate, who had just watched two murders with no reaction, said, “Two minutes.”

  Sure enough, the sound of engines preceded a small aircraft landing behind the barn. The Venezuelan with the scar pulled the doors open and a man stepped into the room. His suit was Italian and extremely well cut, and he had rings on at least four fingers. His gaze flitted over the two dead guys and settled on her. “Excellent.” He glanced at scar guy. “When is Mr. Mason expected?”

  Scar guy pulled out a phone. “I’ll make the call now and confirm.” He ducked out and the guy in the Italian suit followed.

  The other two stepped closer to Andra. One on each side of her, both held automatic weapons. One glanced over to the other. “I don’t know why we can’t do him the same way we did Alphonz.”

  Andra waited for more.

  “Rats deserve it, but undercover feds get more. The boss doesn’t like being played for a fool.”

  “True.”

  They both nodded, making “mm-hm” noises in their throats.

  One motioned back toward her with a tilt of his head. “You think we have time to…”

  “Probably not.”

  “Yeah, probably not.”

  Andra looked down at where Congressman Thane lay beside her. His suit jacket had flapped open onto the straw on the floor. An expensive-looking gold pen was tucked in his inside breast pocket. A piece of wood lay on the other side of her, long enough and thick enough to do some damage.

  She hefted it up in a swing toward the guy on the right, ignoring the screaming pain in her ribs. The wood cracked across the back of his head and he went down. The other guy turned with his gun. She side-swiped the weapon with her palm, whipping it across her body. It cleared her torso before it let rip, the noise like fireworks. She punched and kicked, trying to get his legs out from under him, but the guy weighed probably twice what she did.

  His punch came out of nowhere. It slammed into her swollen eye like a thousand flare guns lit off inside her head. Andra collapsed back and his weight slammed into her. She grasped for his face, but her fingers were slick with sweat.

  He grabbed her head and slammed it down onto the floor.

  **

  John and Ben had seen the plane land at the farm, so they circled around toward a neighboring piece of land. Ben gripped the rudder. “Hold on!”

  The plane lowered. It juddered along the dirt, tearing the underside of the Cessna apart, but they made it down in one piece. Nate yelled from the back, while John just sat sucking in breaths. He looked at Ben. The guy was smiling.

  John would’ve thought they’d all perished in a ball of flames, given the way Nate was carrying on about how terrible it was.

  John unbuckled and got up, shooting his brother a look. “I’ll spot you the security deposit.”

  Ben actually laughed as he and John trotted down the steps onto the rutted ground of furrowed dirt. Nate hobbled after them as they sprinted to the farm they’d seen from the air. It was at least a mile of rough terrain. And the longer it took the longer Andra was in danger.

  The satellite phone rang.

  Ben hissed. “Turn that thing off.”

  “It’s Grant.” John reached the edge of the field, crouched and answered it. “What’s up?”

  “We found out who took Thane’s offer of money for Andra. Took some digging, but it’s the same guys who blew up Alphonz outside the courthouse in Kansas. They’re not after Andra so Thane can get revenge. They’re using Thane’s money to get to you.”

  John froze. “Alphonz’s boss has Andra?”

  “Give the phone to Ben.”

  John didn’t have words. He lowered the phone and Ben snatched it out of his hand without him having to say anything.

  “Yeah?” Ben’s gaze moved to John and his eyes went dark. “For sure.”

  He hung up.

  “Grant’s suggestion is I knock you out and leave you here, then go get your girl on my own.”

  John straightened and backed away. Ben would totally do that. The fact Grant had been the one to suggest it cut through him with a depth of pain he’d rarely received from family. Nate stood to the side, same distance from both of them, cautious enough not to visibly take sides. For once, his usual smile was absent.

  Ben’s jaw worked back and forth. “I’m not going to. All I want to know is, if it comes down to you or Andra will you give up your life to save hers?”

  “Of course.”

  Ben’s expression didn’t change, remaining a steady focus that gave no indication he was in a high-stress situation. “You need to understand I’m not going to let that happen.”

  “I won’t let her die, and I won’t let them take her.”

  “And I’m done arguing. I’m not going to let you die.” Ben turned and strode away.

  John followed, trotting after his brother’s long strides. They climbed a wire fence and jumped down onto a dirt road. Why did he suddenly feel like a little kid? What made Ben more trained at this than him?

  “You do know I’m a marshal, right? You might have the super-secret job but it doesn’t give you superiority.”

  Ben kept walking. “The simple fact this is personal for you means I take the lead.”

  “Doesn’t work for me, Ben. My town, my charge.”

  “So this has nothing to do with your personal feelings?”

  “My personal feelings are moot if they kill her.” John took the lead. “Until I know for sure that didn’t happen, I’m holding them in reserve.”

  “Gees, you’re such a romantic.”

  “Like you would know anything about being romantic.”

&n
bsp; A flash of something which looked a lot like pain crossed Ben’s face.

  But there wasn’t time. John put out his arm to stop Nate’s forward motion.

  Ben stopped too. “I see it.”

  They crouched beside a gate, a turn-off leading to a farmhouse. In front of the barn was a dirty white Lexus, two rough-looking Hispanic men with automatic weapons who were guarding the door and a bigger guy in a suit. Sticking out from behind the barn was the tail of a small silver plane.

  John squinted under the bill of his ball cap. “How do we approach?”

  Ben opened his mouth to reply. A loud voice boomed across the expanse between the road and the farmhouse. “U.S. Marshal John Mason!” It was low in tone and had a Spanish lilt which sounded nothing like Andra’s. “I know you’re out there. I’ve got your girl and if you want her back then we make a trade.”

  Ben snorted.

  “You for her!”

  “Of course.” Ben shook his head. “Because it takes too much effort not to be completely cliché.”

  John moved. “I’m going in.”

  Ben held him back. “Give me the jacket. We look enough alike I can stall him while you get to the barn. Nate, you disable their plane while John gets Andra.”

  Either way it meant John would get to Andra first. “Okay.”

  Nate nodded.

  Ben circled the open gate and started walking down the dirt lane to the farmhouse. His stride made him look like he was going for a leisurely stroll. Did anything faze him?

  John stayed low, climbed between the fence rails and army-crawled down the field to the plane.

  He was alongside the front of the barn when he heard, “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the man of the hour. Nice of you to join us.”

  Nate gave him a quick nod and continued, giving the barn a wide arc.

  Ben planted his boots, still a distance away from Alphonz’s boss. “Where is she?”

  “Oh, you’ll get your little killer. All in good time.”

  “You think I give a crap about her?” Ben shrugged. “The woman’s a murder suspect. I’ll be in more trouble if she goes AWOL. I gotta make my quota of arrests, you know?”

  John crawled forward, praying the two sentries out front didn’t see him approaching. A back way into the barn would be nice.

  The suited man laughed. “Figures cops are more about the numbers than letting a businessman make some money. No respect for the little guy, you know?”

  “So let her go. She can wait for the FBI. You and I will be long gone.”

  “A man of action. I like it.” The suit sniffed. “Too bad your girl is not of this earth anymore.”

  John’s hand slipped and his face smashed the dirt.

  “Say again?”

  The suit’s eyes had narrowed. “Your girl is dead.” He pulled out a gun and pointed it at Ben. “Why would we take off when I can kill you right here?”

  He fired.

  Chapter 27

  John watched his brother fall, thrown down by the force of the bullet which slammed into him, point-blank in the torso. Ben hit the dirt and dust poofed up around his body. John tried to suck in a breath around the lump in his throat.

  Both of them, dead.

  John squeezed the grip on his gun and stood. He fired four shots before they reacted, dropping the two guards at the barn door before they could return fire. One of the guards must have pulled his trigger because bullets spurted out.

  John crouched and ran, firing in Alphonz’s boss’s direction. The man fired back. Round after round chased John as he raced for his brother’s prone body.

  Fire cut through his calf.

  John stumbled and hit the deck, sucking in a breath of dust and dirt. He coughed and rolled over, squinting against the bright blue sky. His hat had come off.

  Footsteps on dirt closed in on his position. “Not so fast, Mr. Mason. You and I have some unfinished business.”

  His face came into view, shadowed by the sunlight so John couldn’t see his features clear enough to make out his intentions.

  “The resemblance is significant but you can’t have thought sending your brother to fool me would work.” He glanced a second to where Ben lay. “Not the director of the marshals, surely. No. Another brother.”

  John gritted his teeth.

  “You’ve cost me a great deal of money, deceived my men and disrupted my business.” He moved the gun until it was all John could see. The end. “I should put a bullet in you right here and right now. But I hardly feel it would be satisfying. Besides, you probably want to know the name of the man who is going to kill you.”

  John took a breath and coughed, his lungs full of Idaho dirt. “You think I care?” He twisted to look, but couldn’t see where Ben lay. Was he really dead?

  “You’re still going to walk to the plane. There are many who want a piece of the marshal who brought low Carmen Santerra.”

  The name was familiar, the boss of an organization with its fingers in some seriously deep dishes. A South American mobster.

  John lifted his chin. “How’d you know I’d be here?”

  The man smiled. “A man with a high-profile family is easy enough to keep tabs on. Especially when he calls his brother the quarterback to ask about renting a plane.”

  Great. John didn’t think he could walk fast. If the guy kept talking long enough the cavalry would arrive. Air Force. FBI. Other U.S. Marshals. Probably local police and sheriff’s department, too.

  He flicked the gun. “So get up.”

  John groaned like he was in serious pain. The reality was adrenaline had his entire body humming. The pain in his leg was little more than an irritation, but he could feel the sticky wetness on the back of his jeans. He could play this up a little, act hurt and distraught. “Give me a second.” He put his hand to his head and willed tears to form in his eyes. It didn’t take much. Ben still hadn’t got up.

  John thought back on Christmases. On Thanksgiving afternoons where they’d worked off the turkey dinner with full contact football. No pads, no bandages. Nights when they’d stayed up late to play pranks on Grant’s girls, laughing so hard tears slid down their faces.

  Sure enough, moisture gathered and ran from his eyes to the hair above his ears. He rolled over, using a push-up to lift himself so he could get his good knee under him.

  “Move it. I’ve got a schedule to keep.”

  John looked at Ben, curled on his side facing the other way. John stared at the back of his brother’s jacket. Was he bleeding out? He couldn’t see any movement which could be breathing.

  The suited guy took a step back, likely getting out of range of John if he decided to attack. As if that was going to work.

  John stood, holding his injured leg bent as if he was planning to hobble to the plane.

  The guy’s eyes narrowed and he flicked the gun again. “Start walking.”

  John bent his good knee, ready to pounce. He’d have to push off on his injured leg. This was going to hurt. He glanced once more at Ben and the suit guy did the same. John launched at him, by-passing the gun to slam into the gunman. He wrapped his arms around the man’s girth and used the momentum of his tackle to throw him down on his back. The gun was tossed aside. The man’s legs came up and John was flipped, tossed over to land on his back again.

  That went well.

  He jumped up and spun around in time to receive a punch to his cheek. John whipped his head straight and followed through with his own hit. They traded blows. The suit man battered John until he had no breath, but John still fought back. Come on, Grant. Where was their backup?

  His assailant shifted. John moved with him. The sun hit his eyes and he missed another blow. His whole body ached and his leg stung, but the brunt of it was on his face. They wrestled. John glanced around for the gun, saw the suited man move toward it and jumped. He wrapped his arms around the man’s legs and they both hit the ground. The suited man scrambled forward, kicked John and snapped up the gun. His torso twisted and he s
wung the gun around. Arms straight, lying on his back, he pointed the gun in John’s face.

  Again.

  His finger flexed. John flinched, squeezing his eyes shut.

  Click.

  John slammed his palm into the suited man’s face hard enough his nose crunched. This man wasn’t going to get him on a plane. John wasn’t going to let the guy get revenge just because he did the job Grant asked him to do. That was ancient history now. His life was in Sanctuary, even if Andra wasn’t going to be there—even if he had to live without her.

  John flipped them so he was on top and slammed both palms into the guy’s ears. Then he lifted the guy’s head, thumping it against the ground. Andra was dead because John had decided letting her go was the best course of action. Ben could be dead, or dying, because John hadn’t been able to do this by himself. He had to keep something from happening to Nate, too. And John had to stay alive, because Pat needed his father.

  His thoughts whirled like a tornado, out of control, until they dissipated into nothing but the sensation of the suited man’s neck in his hands. Squeezing the payback out of him.

  For Andra. For Ben. For all of them.

  For all the times John failed.

  For not being there for Pat when he should’ve been.

  **

  First, she heard shuffling. Then further away, gunshots. Drifting in and out, Andra tried to take account. Was she still in one piece? The fire in her chest indicated otherwise. This was not a good time to puncture a lung with one of her cracked ribs. That was not something she needed.

  Shallow breaths. Low and slow, Andra took in enough air to build up a store, so when she opened her eyes she could see. The room had stopped spinning but her head was hammering like a carpenter at work. The SUV was still by the door and the guards were gone. Thane was dead.

  Where was—

  Across the far side of the barn, Palmer bent over the tablet. Blood stained the side of his shirt, below the bottom edge of where the wet outlined his vest. A bullet-proof vest. They didn’t know that when the guy shot him.