Beth nodded. Grant had explained Sanctuary’s extensive security measures under the guise of briefing her father as the sitting president. Now Grant was going to know they’d betrayed that confidence for their own gain. For National Security. The whole thing made her want to be sick.
John sprung from his chair. Sam reached him in less than two seconds, looking very ready for something. Did he think John would hurt her?
“There is an entire town of people outside that door.” John pointed at the glass front of the sheriff’s office. “There are nearly two hundred people living here. All of whom have serious threats against them that are ongoing and lethal, and your father jeopardized their safety for his own peace of mind?”
She nodded again. There was more to it than that, but John had to say what he wanted to say, and he had every right to be furious.
Beth said, “If he didn’t do it, we could all die. And many more people besides. It was important.”
John’s eyes were cold and hard, Sam now between them. “He didn’t tell me or Grant anything. He used us for his own gain.”
“It was important.”
“Everyone’s lives here are important. And I’m sorry to say this, but you are not worth more than any of them. But you’ve counted them as less than you.” His eyes were dark.
Tears blurred her vision. “You don’t understand. There’s more to it than that. There’s a—” She stopped herself before it came out.
“What?” John jerked a shrug. “There’s a ‘what’? Are you going to tell me or make me guess?”
Beth bit her lips shut.
John stepped back from Sam. “I’m going upstairs to call Grant.”
Beth closed her eyes and listened to his footsteps ascend to the apartment. The stomp of each boot-fall echoed down to the office, where his computer whirred. He must hate her. But he didn’t know why they’d done this. It had been a breach of Sanctuary security, but that was the trade-off for the risk. One man versus an army all determined to wreak havoc—to bring death to this basin—a place where these people tried to live quiet lives of peace and safety. An army that would go on to kill even more people.
“Beth.” Sam’s voice was soft and close.
She opened her eyes and moisture tracked down her cheeks. Crouched in front of her, he watched but didn’t wipe it away. His blue eyes had darkened like an incoming storm. Beth swiped the tears with her sleeve, steeling herself for what was to come. She was tired of being the one to blame while she pretended everything was fine. Burying her head in the sand wasn’t Beth’s style. Not when potentially millions of people’s lives were on the line. It was too big of a gamble for her to stay silent.
“Talk to me.” He frowned. “Who is Shadrach Carleigh?”
She shook her head. “Someone will be listening. They always are.” Her breath hitched.
“You can tell me.” When she said nothing, he blew out a breath and stood. “You have to tell me what is going on, Beth.”
She wanted to. God knew she wanted to. Beth pressed her fist to her mouth. “They’re dead because of it.”
This had cost her parents their lives, and she’d just stood there telling Beth everything was going to be fine so long as they held fast. Beth’s whole world was tearing apart, like matter being sucked into a black hole. How could holding it all in any longer possibly help? The only one doing anything was Shadrach. Maybe he could talk some sense into her, get her to listen to reason where Beth just felt like she was banging the wall with her forehead.
“No one is listening,” he said. “You can talk to me.”
But Abigail was a plant. They’d sent her here to find out what Beth knew, to figure out where the scientist was, and where she had hidden the device. She had to be listening in now, or how would she know anything to report back to her superiors?
Beth glanced at the walls, the shelves. The computers. There were ears potentially everywhere. The NSA listened to every communication that came in and out of Sanctuary—what if they’d been hacked?
Sam grabbed her elbows, his eyes now clouded with fear. “She can’t hear us.”
Beth blinked. God, I’m losing my mind. You have to help me. I feel like I’m drowning in this.
“She’s done; she knows that.” Sam shook his head. “She can’t hurt you. There is no way I would let that happen.
She knew that. She knew even if he was mad, Sam would still protect her with everything in him. It was who he was—who he’d always been. Even when he was half a world away, Beth had felt safe knowing they belonged to each other. That they would always be connected. It was why, when Pop had caught them all those years ago, she hadn’t let him go. And she wouldn’t do it now just because things were tough.
She had to tell him.
Beth opened her mouth but no sound came out. She glanced around, trying to figure out how to start when there was so much. Years of secrets she hadn’t been able to share.
The cabinets.
She crossed to them, lined up behind John’s desk. “This is where he keeps people’s files, right?”
“There’s only one key now since one was stolen, and John has it.”
She raised her eyebrow. “Can’t you pick a lock?”
“Sure.” Sam shrugged. “But which one?”
Mostly guessing where it would be, so long as they were alphabetical, Beth pointed. Sam opened a drawer at Dottie’s desk and pulled out a metal nail file and a barrette. He snapped the barrette in half and went to work on the lock. When the drawer slid open, she saw she was right.
Beth pulled out the file and held it out to him.
“What is this?”
“The biggest pack of lies you’ll ever read in your life.”
No wonder John was mad. When Grant found out her dad had lied, and that Grant had admitted someone to Sanctuary on the basis of this file of lies, he was going to be furious. He would probably kick them all out, and she wouldn’t blame him.
“Open it.”
Sam looked skeptical, but he flipped open the cardstock cover of the file and glanced at the first page. The woman’s picture.
“That’s why Shadrach Carleigh is here.” It wasn’t for his sister, who was a very nice lady, and hadn’t broken her WITSEC contract by betraying their whereabouts.
But when Nadia Marie realized they’d routed out her location through Grant, and then ascertained that was the best place to send this person, she was going to be mad, too.
A sour feeling settled in Beth’s stomach. They’d thought they were making the right decision, doing what was best for everyone. Not for the first time, she was doubting that.
Sam looked up. “Seriously?”
She nodded.
He tipped the file so she could see the woman’s face. “This is why you’re here?”
Beth lifted her chin. “You might want to sit down, because it gets worse.”
**
Knees to his chest, the sniper sat on the thin carpet with his back to the wall. Her couch was old, covered with a thin burgundy throw, and the coffee table was piled with books, notepads, and discarded stubby pencils. On top of the stack was his rifle.
His hands still shook. The retort of the gun firing echoed in his ears. It had sounded across the entire basin. They knew he was here now. Those men who walked with authority: the one who drove the SHERIFF Jeep, the SEAL, and the mysterious one he didn’t understand. He’d seen them all—formidable opponents who wouldn’t hesitate to take him down.
They would come for him now.
When they found out about the other, they would probably kill him.
A blue truck with oversized tires pulled into the lot and parked around back. Four men got out in a familiar pattern he’d seen—and done himself—a thousand times. Their approach toward the back door was tactical, their entry planned and expertly executed. When the green light flashed, the device was stowed away, and they entered the building.
The gunnery sergeant hit re-dial and waited. Through the scope he
saw the president toss the phone to a secret service agent.
“Ye—”
“Code red.”
“We’re done.” The agent’s voice held no emotion, just brittle authority as he hung up.
To his credit, the president looked ready to go. The agents moved them into the neighboring room, where the first lady had been waiting. One checked the door…
And got shot.
The first lady reared back like she was screaming.
Two more shots and the next agent went down. The remaining two got the first family between them and moved back toward the connecting door.
The gunnery sergeant saw the mercenary move to the door, gun already up and aimed.
He fired.
“Shadrach.” There was a pause.
He blinked away the memories. She stood across the room wearing a ridiculous outfit that made her look like an oversized child and not the competent twenty-four year old woman he knew. Shad frowned. Where were her trademark skirt-suits designed to make her look older?
“What are you doing here?” She hadn’t moved. Maybe she was afraid of him. Her gaze shifted to the weapon on her coffee table. “You did a good thing.”
Shadrach shook his head.
She took a half step toward him and laid her jacket on the back of the couch. “You did. That’s all any of us can do.” Another step. “These people will kill all of us, but you stopped Harrison—”
Shadrach winced.
She crouched and laid her hand on his forearm. “Beth is pregnant.”
His gaze flicked from her fingers to her eyes. She was telling the truth.
“He would have killed her. He nearly did once already.”
And when the president’s daughter found out he’d killed her parents, what then? None of them would be so quick to assume he was “helping.” They were smarter than that.
“I have to go.”
She shook her head, earnest. He didn’t think she knew how to lie—at least not to him. “At least stay for dinner. Or some tea.”
His stomach rumbled.
Her lips curled up. “Please.”
Shadrach’s heart followed the way of his stomach, responding to the idea of spending time in her company. They’d only had dinner together one other time, and that had been at her kitchen table as well. Some complicated chicken dish she’d poured expensive white wine into. Ribs were more his thing, though he’d never admit that to his vegan mother. Good thing she wasn’t here.
The woman stood, held out her hand. So different from any other he’d ever known that he couldn’t help comparing her—he’d never been able to quit that. Not even when she came out on top every single time. She was the best in every way.
As he rose to full height, he unfolded himself to a whole head taller, so that he looked down on her formerly straight, sleek hair. “What’s with the disguise?”
She smirked, but her eyes were nervous. “You don’t like?”
“It serves its purpose.” He ran his finger down a strand and then let it fall. “You’re still you.”
“A fact which only a couple of people in the world know.”
“I’m glad to be one of those people.”
“What about you? What’s with the hobo look?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “There aren’t an abundance of razors in the mountains.”
She was quiet for a moment. “I have scissors, but I could probably rustle up a razor. Do you want a haircut and a shave before you leave?”
Did he? Would it be a kind of penance to look anything like the military man he’d been for so long, a man his mother despaired of ever convincing back around to the cause of pacifism? Or was it penance to distance himself from it by appearing anything but?
Shadrach swallowed. Nodded.
She led him into the kitchen, where she microwaved a dish. She probably worried he’d bolt if she took too long to cook the meal. Shadrach ate two helpings and the salad she’d filled a bowl with. He hadn’t had Ranch dressing in months.
She cut his hair in silence and gave him space in the bathroom while he cleaned his face. He didn’t look in the mirror the whole time; he’d learned to do without and still get a clean shave.
When he descended her stairs she stood from the couch and walked to him. Her smile stretched wide. “Wow.”
She reached for his cheek, but he put some much needed space between them then pulled the knit cap from his pocket and put it on. Touching her was a slippery slope, and Shadrach had no intention of falling. Not while there was so much unfinished. He was without a commanding officer, without orders, and without a unit.
Still, he was here.
Shadrach took a step back. “Do you need anything?”
She shook her head. He couldn’t help but be a little disappointed. “Will you be back?”
He stopped at the door, the hard metal of his rifle clenched in his hand. “I don’t know.”
Chapter 11
It was just after one o’clock when she came in. Sam lowered the book he’d been reading and watched her disappear between the bookshelves. He should have known Beth’s crazy cousin was behind all of this. Finally it actually made sense. Though the disguise and the identity she’d dreamed up were a little far-fetched. How on earth had they hidden that connection from the press?
The kid Sam had met had been knobby-kneed, with oversized glasses and frizzy hair, forever spouting incomprehensible stuff about genomes and bacteria. When he’d seen her again a couple of years later, her hair had been straight and sleek, her wardrobe not the same as Beth’s but they’d certainly both shopped in boutiques.
She hid her deep pockets well, but intelligence like hers couldn’t be brushed off.
Beth said something to one of the kids and wandered over to the shelves. The move was seamless, as though they’d practiced it many times. But not difficult to spot.
Only training kept him in his seat. It was up to Beth to convince her cousin to come out of hiding so they could finally tell the sheriff what was going on. He didn’t like that they’d lied to John any more than John did. Not telling the people who were keeping you safe precisely what was going on didn’t help keep you alive. He’d seen too many friends get killed as a result of poor or too little intelligence to ever be in favor of secrets.
The deputy sheriff badge was clipped to his belt. It was Monday, and he was ready to get to work. Though his job for the near future was the continued protection of his wife and the rest of the town.
Sam pressed his thumb to the home button on the tablet he’d been given, running it across the sensor to unlock the screen. He went online and searched, again, for Tommy Locan. More news articles. A YouTube video of a late night talk show. But he wasn’t interested in watching Gun make mindless small talk. He’d been in Denver a few days ago. He’d been in California living it up, doing the TV spot, and drinking with Navy buddies stationed there. There was nothing in his social media updates that indicated he’d gone back to the East Coast.
Playing the hero and soaking up all the attention and accolades. But Sam didn’t buy it. There was no way he could walk away clean. Tommy hadn’t fully done his job—he hadn’t killed Sam, for whatever reason.
There had to be more to come, and in the meantime, Sam was sitting here waiting for Tommy to make a move. Patience wasn’t a virtue, but it was a fruit of the Holy Spirit. Pop had made him memorize the list enough times, but it was more like a grocery list of everything he lacked. Each time he recited the words was like a gong announcing what he wasn’t—what he could never be by himself.
Later when this business was done, Sam would revisit that list. He’d dig into Pop’s Bible for more than a cursory look in the morning. He found comfort in it, but it was so much more than that. When he had the opportunity, he’d search deeper and discover what he’d always wanted to find. There had to be more to faith than what he knew—otherwise Pop’s earnestness wasn’t real. Pop couldn’t have felt that deeply for something if there was no depth to
it. Sam just had to dive down and claim it for himself.
His tablet pinged, and an email popped up in the corner.
It was from Ben—written to Grant, John, and Sam. The words themselves were about the Super Bowl, though Sam hadn’t known until now which teams were even playing. The code was elaborate but necessary. It meant Ben had found where Sam’s mom was being held, and he was headed out to get her back.
Some of the bands constricting his chest loosened. He wasn’t itching to spend hours bonding with his mom, but he hadn’t liked the idea she was being held against her will, either. Much less, the possibility that she might have been killed. Maybe they could work to make things better between them. After all, she was Beth and Sam’s only remaining parent and the only grandparent their son would have.
Sam replied to Ben with something equally as nonsensical as what Ben had sent him, but it meant “acknowledged.” Then he went online again and spent half an hour with one eye on the library’s stacks of books, where his wife was talking to her cousin, and the other eye on his screen, reading everything he could about the second trimester of pregnancy.
**
“I can’t believe you told him.”
“He’s my husband, of course I told him.”
She stared. “Does he know about the suitcases?”
Beth shook her head. She didn’t even fully understand what had been in the two silver suitcases this woman had shown up with at Beth’s home. The lengthy explanation hadn’t helped, since Beth didn’t have a PhD in genetics.
“This can’t go on.” Beth locked her arms, her hands fisted at her sides. “It’s never going to end, not until we’re all dead. Not unless you tell me where you hid the suitcases. Grant can send someone to get them, to make them safe.”
She shook her head then pushed her glasses up her nose. “They are safe.”
“Where?”
Her mouth opened, but she hesitated.
“Just tell me.” She looked around, but Beth wasn’t interested in excuses about security. Yes, this was a deadly secret. But they were dead if the syndicate came looking for it. “Sam could get you to tell him.”
Sanctuary Breached WITSEC Town Series Book 3 Page 12