“I am not a traitor,” she told Berg. “I have full intentions of handing over the program to the NSA as soon as it is finished. Just like I promised.”
“Then I trust you have a copy?” The deputy director’s voice held the urgency that should have been reserved for younger, less experienced men.
Lacey studied him. Berg understood as well as she the importance of Ex-6. Hadn’t he looked at her with the same gleam when she’d come to him shortly after Em’s birth, with the plans for a quantum-based encryption system? He knew the price she’d paid in Kazakhstan seven years ago, the price too many agents paid in the age of electronic communication. She’d felt his excitement burn behind her heart. Maybe she wasn’t quite as vulnerable as it might seem.
She gathered her courage and produced an even, flat voice. “Yes, I have a copy.” She took a breath. “You’ll get the encryption system when I find my daughter.” She would have gotten less of a response if she’d slapped him. How he’d ever been John’s handler baffled her. Even she had a better game face. She remembered when Omar Al-Akim had stood toe to toe with her and told her that he would some-day send her home to Kentucky, one body part at a time. She hadn’t even flinched.
“You’re not in a position to bargain with us, Lacey. You hardly have a stellar reputation for loyalty. A few well-placed suggestions in the right ear and you won’t just serve time for murder; you’ll be walking the green mile for high treason.”
Lacey didn’t respond. The fact that Berg waved her past before her eyes like a red flag should have had her swallowing, blinking back ugly scenarios, and protesting. But Emily was still out there, and past experience told her that her best ally was her own wits.
Except … well, maybe now she also had Jim Micah. Still, he hadn’t exactly jumped for joy at seeing her. He might be on the telephone right now, ordering out pizza and hightailing it to the nearest Marriott, wishing he’d never answered his cell phone.
Somehow, however, she didn’t think so. Micah may believe her a traitor, but he was a man of his word. He kept his promises. At whatever cost.
“Think about your daughter. We’re the only ones who know about her. You’d hate for her to get picked up and placed in the foster-care system.” Berg shook his head, and suddenly Lacey knew why he was in his position. He may not be a field agent, but he delivered ultimatums like a one-two punch right to the kisser.
He pursed his lips as if he might actually care and pulled back for his final jab. “She might be lost forever or adopted out—she is still at that sweet, tender age when a loving family might want her.” He smiled, jackal-like. “And you, well, you really don’t know if we haven’t already done that, do you?”
Lacey fought a betraying expression. No. If they had Emily, they would have told her. It would have been Berg’s first line of offense.
Still, she could use this threat. Perhaps it was time to remember just how this game was played.
Until she figured out what Ishmael had been doing on that train and what had happened to Ex-6, and until she proved her innocence again and Emily was in her arms, she’d be the woman they thought she was. Broken. Afraid. Guilty.
Cooperative.
“Okay, yes. I’ll give you the copy. But promise me that you will take care of Emily. You’ll return her to Janie’s ranch.” She didn’t have to fabricate the desperation that laced her voice.
“Of course.” Berg frowned.
And, yes, that was a smile on Agent Brower’s face. Made him look like a wolf—all teeth and lots of bite.
Lacey enacted a sigh. “You’ll find a copy in Chicago in a safe-deposit box at First National Bank.” She motioned for a pencil.
Berg took her scribbled information, stood, and patted her blanketed legs. “Good girl, Lacey. You get better now. See how easy that was?”
Easy? Easy was her dreams—living on the farm, mothering Emily, teaching her to ride. Easy was falling for the memory of Jim Micah in her arms, dancing under a canopy of brilliance strewn across the Kentucky sky. Easy had nothing to do with sewing together the tattered remains of her shattered life, always looking over her shoulder. Or trying to prove to a man who hated her that she wasn’t a woman with murder in her past.
No, there was nothing easy about tomorrow. There was only one way she was going to get better. Get free. Get Em.
And run.
Micah paced the parking lot of the Baptist Hospital, staring at the late-afternoon sky and clenching his cell phone. What he wanted to do was hurl it across the parking lot or maybe do about a thousand laps at the high school track down the road.
Lord, I thought You were on my side.
One telephone call and he’d come running back to her like a lovesick puppy. So much for ripping her out of his heart. She had tentacles that reached through time and space and knew how to make a man gasp. Especially when she looked at him with those slightly needy, oh-Micah-you’re-the-only-one-who-can-help-me eyes.
But he was starting to return to his senses, and the first glaring reality facing him was the fact that by hanging around Lacey Montgomery he was jeopardizing his military future. Again.
“Hello?”
Micah drew a stiff breath lest he bark into the telephone and permanently damage Conner Young’s ear. Conner was probably at the helm of his pickup, listening with an earphone, or hiking along the Blue Ridge Mountains on one of his mysterious walkabouts. Conner had definitely gone on some sort of life expedition over the past year since he left the commandos, as if searching for something just out of his reach. Most days, Micah knew how he felt.
“Conner, where are you?”
“Where were you this morning? There I was, sitting at the Southern Restaurant all by my lonesome. I had to finish the pile of grits I ordered for you.”
“I’m in Missouri.”
Pause … then, “Actually, I know that. I’m about three hours due east. I logged your cell phone frequency into the GPS system I designed and … well, my curiosity was piqued when Andee called me, looking for Dannette’s telephone number.”
After spending the afternoon picking around the train crash site, searching the hospital, and chatting surreptitiously with local law enforcement, Micah had returned to the hospital. He peeked into Lacey’s room from across the hallway and saw her watching the window, a wan look of grief on her face.
It was then he decided to give it a smidgen more effort. Two hours later, a visit to the Mark Twain National Forest ranger’s office had netted him exactly nil in the area of a joint search. But Ranger Hank Billings did offer to drive through the back roads of the forest for a look-see.
Micah had no doubt his look-see would end at sundown. Just about the time the night hours began to wrap a six-year-old child in a hypothermic clench.
He’d called Andee on his way to the local SAR office. It hadn’t taken more than two calls to convince Dannette Lundeen, Andee’s former roommate and SAR canine specialist, to load up her dog, Sherlock, and head east. Thankfully, she was wrapping up a search in Oklahoma. Micah expected her within the hour.
“How’s Brian?” Micah asked Conner. The image of the kid he’d rescued, streaked with dirt and shivering, did nothing to assuage Micah’s nerves. The sky overhead let loose with a low groan.
“Good. They set his leg. Said he’ll be playing soccer by fall.”
Thank You, God. Now, how about another one?
“Wanna tell me why you’re in Missouri when you’re supposed to be caving with me? Or, at the very least, fending off the local hero-starved population? I had to sign your autographs today at the hospital.”
Micah glanced heavenward as he spoke to Conner. “I’m trying to find a little girl … six years old. She’s lost. And the pressure is dropping. I think we’re in for a storm.”
“What is the local SAR team doing? Have they had a call-out?”
Micah sighed and ran a hand over his head right where it was beginning to ache. “They have their hands full at the moment, trying to clean up a train wreck.
They’re still hauling in the injured and searching for survivors. They don’t have time to helm another search.”
“Train wreck?”
“Long story. But the little girl was on the train.” Although she’s not listed as a passenger. He was just about to march back into Lacey’s room with that little item of information and watch her squirm. The sick fear that she was playing him coiled deep in his gut like a rattler. “I picked up some topographical maps, did a rundown on our victim, the terrain, and the weather, then divided the section where the train crashed into a workable grid. When Dannette arrives, we’ll start fanning out. See what we can find before the storm washes away any scent.”
“You’ve been busy.” Micah heard curiosity in Conner’s voice. “Andee and Sarah are on their way. They called me from Nashville.”
“I know.” They’d worked together on search-and-rescue ops before—twice on a mountain rescue in Washington state last summer and once in Iowa at Dannette’s request. The last operation had unearthed the body of a college coed. Micah still remembered the defeat that flushed Dannette’s face. “I hate to drag you guys all the way out here.”
Conner was silent for a moment. “Something you’re not telling me? Like, why aren’t you more worried about this kid? Six years old, out in the rain and cold?”
Micah stepped out of the way as an SUV rolled past him, splashing water onto his jeans. Great. Hungry, tired, and now wet. He wondered how Emily might feel right about now. “You’re right. Hurry, Conner. It’s getting colder. I don’t know how long this little girl can last.”
He hung up and stalked toward the hospital entrance.
Nero spied the guard, sitting like a zombie outside her room. His eyelids drooped and Nero smiled. They were all a little tired, most of all Lacey. This move felt a little like taking candy from a child. Especially with his insurance sound asleep in the backseat of his car. Warm. Secure.
He straightened his tie and walked up to the man. “Take a break, pal.” He gave his best professional smile, the one he reserved for his employees. The agent sat up, stared at him, and frowned. “I want to peek in on her.” Nero smiled again as the agent relinquished his post and trotted down the hall.
Nero turned, aiming for her room. He just wanted one glimpse. Wanted to surprise her, maybe catch her distraught and defeated when she didn’t have her defenses on DEFCON 1.
He took a step toward her door when he saw him, striding down the hall, fire in his dark eyes. Nero stifled a curse. Captain Jim Micah didn’t look any more friendly than the last time he’d seen him, even without his war paint, M-16, and BDUs. Obviously he hadn’t received the not-so-subtle hint seven years ago to back off … and stay there.
Nero turned his back to the door and shuffled down the hall. What was Micah doing here? Hadn’t he learned his lesson once? Then again, Micah didn’t know the truth, did he? A smile pushed up Nero’s face, despite his frustration. No, only five people really knew what happened in that Kazakhstani warehouse, and two of them were dead.
Jim Micah didn’t even stop to check for guards. As if he knew they wouldn’t stop him. He plowed into her room.
Nero scooted back, listening. He could have stood in Canada and still heard the conversation.
“She’s not on the passenger manifest. Did you know that?”
Nero smiled. No, of course not. Lacey wasn’t that stupid. Never had been.
“She is, but you wouldn’t know it. She’s traveling under an alias.”
Ah, Lacey. Still feisty. Still determined to hide her most precious treasures from the world. He wondered if she still hoped to prove the truth also. Good luck.
Silence. He could imagine them glaring at one another. If Nero hadn’t done his homework, he might be missing the significance of this exchange. But he hadn’t been tracking his prey since Kazakhstan without learning her vices and regrets. Jim Micah, the man she let get away, the man who saw her murder her husband. This moment had special irony. Micah was searching for the daughter who might have been his, had he had the guts to stick by her. Nero nearly laughed aloud.
“I called a few friends. They’ve agreed to come look. But it’s getting cold and rainy out there, and I’d better not be tromping around in the dark for no reason. Do not lie to me. Again.”
“I’m not. I swear, Micah. Listen, she has a teddy bear. Last thing I remember, I put it in my pocket. Get my clothes; see if it’s in there. Maybe it’ll help you find her.”
Lacey’s voice sounded strained. Good, Nero thought. Maybe she would feel what it’s like to watch your daughter’s life ebb out, helpless to stop it.
Nero whirled away from the door, suddenly angry. And just in time, for Micah charged out, nearly running him over. Thankfully, he had already started to amble down the hall in the opposite direction.
Nero peeked back over his shoulder, watched the former Green Beret stalk away, and smiled. It would be a long, cold night for Jim Micah and his merry band.
He couldn’t wait to hear Lacey howl when they returned empty-handed.
Then she’d know what it meant to be afraid.
Chapter 5
“IF SHERLOCK WEREN’T a trailing dog, we’d be in big trouble.” Dannette Lundeen leaned over the hood of Micah’s pickup, her flashlight trailing over the topographical map he’d scrounged up from the local Forest Service. “With the air saturated with human scent and the wind picking up, Missy wouldn’t have a bug’s chance in July of finding this little one.”
Micah looked up from where he was stuffing his survival pack. “Where is Missy, by the way?” Dannette’s air-scent dog, proficient in searching for human presence in an otherwise uncontaminated grid, was his favorite of her two canines. Or maybe he was just partial to a dog that didn’t look like it might break into tears at any moment, its jowls dripping with saliva. One look at Sherlock and Micah wanted to lunge for a rag … or keep the bloodhound at a safe and cleanly distance. However, Missy, part golden retriever and part German shepherd, had keen intelligence, warmth, and enough charm to make him miss Gracie, his yellow Lab.
“She’s in Iowa with my grandmother. I didn’t have time to go get her.”
Micah would have to call his own family—namely his brother—and inform him of his delay in returning home. He still didn’t know how long of a delay it might be. A huge part of him—the common sense part—wanted to throw his survival pack, MREs, space blanket, and tarp into the back of the truck and floor it east. Away from Lacey and her lies.
But today when Micah had accused her of lying again, desperation lined her eyes. The same desperation that had been etched on her face as she had begged his Green Beret team to save John’s life. Then again, he wasn’t so sure she wasn’t lying then either.
Still, he wanted to believe her. The thought lanced open a low, throbbing wound deep inside. If she wasn’t lying about Emily, just what other truths might she be telling?
“We don’t have much daylight left.” Dannette folded up the map. “And maybe less time before the rain starts. We need to get going.” She attached the lead to Sherlock’s collar. He already wore his shabrack, the orange SAR vest that identified him as a working K-9. She grabbed her water bottle, his collapsible bowl, and his Frisbee.
Micah motioned for his team to huddle. “Since there is only one canine unit, we’ll have only one search crew. Andee, you run with Dannette, keep her charted as best you can. If you find Emily and she’s in more trouble than we can handle, we’ll need to know how to tell the EMS to locate you. Conner, do you have your new ELT?”
Mark Twain National Forest could get dicey, especially at twilight, and he didn’t want anyone to fall into a chert opening or wind up in Lake Wappapello. An Emergency Locator Transmitter would at least give the rest of the team their position should one of the searchers get lost.
“I’ll go with the team,” Micah continued. “Sarah, you stay here and keep track of us on the grid as Andee radios in our position. Hopefully we won’t need your EMT skills when we find her, b
ut if we do, you’ll have to come in with the EMS team.”
He’d run enough missions to know to fuel hope into the task. They needed to believe that little Emily was out there, despite the wind, the damp breath of fall on their necks and wheedling through their jackets, and the darkening grip of the oak, elm, and willow.
Dannette handed the map to Andee, who pocketed it inside her Gore-Tex rain suit, and pulled on her hood. Although they’d been roommates in college, Andee and Dannette couldn’t be more different. Andee with her petite climber’s frame, short curly black hair, and dark complexion, was spunky and bright. She put the adrenaline into the team and added the spark of hope.
Dannette, however, was pure Swede—tall, lanky, with short-cropped straw blonde hair that poked out of her orange hood. Conservative and quiet, her hazel eyes radiated concern.
Something about her arrival had pounded grim reality into Micah’s bones.
Most of the searches Dannette was called in for involved police medical examiners and body bags. Please, Lord, not today.
He’d met Andee and Sarah on Service Road 80, just north of the crash site. While they waited for Dannette and Conner to arrive, they had done a sound sweep search, angling toward the Last Known Position (LKP), using whistles and Emily’s name. As they approached the train wreck, the voices and noises of machinery told them that their labors would prove fruitless. By the time they returned to their haphazard staging area, Conner was unloading his GPS equipment and checking the batteries on their Motorola radios.
Dannette pulled in moments later, already geared up for the search. Micah briefed them, omitting most of his dark history with the victim’s mother, and pressed the teddy bear, now in a Ziploc, into Dannette’s grip. The fact that Micah had found it in Lacey’s jacket had given him the final push to even drag his team out here this late without a formal call-out.
“I’m going to work our way to the LKP and then let Sherlock start trailing.” Dannette squatted next to her bloodhound, running a hand under his muzzle. “Hang in there, buddy. Just a little bit longer, okay?”
Flee the Night Page 5