Love Inspired Suspense June 2015 - Box Set 2 of 2: Exit StrategyPaybackCovert Justice

by Shirlee McCoy

  Not surprising, since she didn’t think he’d intended her to ever leave Amos Way.

  Pain shot through her eye, and she tried to will it away. She had to focus, but her thoughts were like mist on a lake. There. Gone. No way to hold on to them. No way to form a coherent plan that would get her out of the mess she’d gotten herself into.

  She wiped a sweaty palm on her skirt. The road stretched out into the distance, shimmering black in the headlights. No one in front. No one behind. This was a quiet stretch of road, and she knew it well enough to know there weren’t houses lining it. No enclaves of civilization dotted the area. Just trees and mountain views.

  “So, what are you thinking?” she asked, because the pain in her head made her want to close her eyes, let him handle everything. But that wasn’t who she was. It wasn’t how she dealt with life. “That we’re going to drive until we run out of gas and then hitchhike to town? Beg a phone from someone there?”

  “We’re both carrying firearms, and you’re wearing—” he gestured to her skirt “—that. People are going to notice us if we hitchhike. If the wrong person notices, the sheriff is going to be called.”

  “What’s the plan?”

  “There’s a gas station a half mile outside of River Fork. We’ll go there. See if we can talk the attendant into lending us a phone. I’ll probably have you do that.” He shot a look in her direction, the gaze quick but assessing. “You’re less intimidating than I am.”

  She wasn’t intimidating at all, and she knew it. She was shorter than some of the fifth graders she taught, smaller boned than most women she knew. She’d never let that stop her from standing up for herself or demanding what she was due. She didn’t have the energy to tell him that. Plus the pain in her head was shooting sparks of light in front of her left eye. She swallowed bile, tried to concentrate on the conversation. “You want me to call Essex? Ask him to come get us?”

  “No way. He has a wife and a couple of kids. I don’t want to drag him into this mess. I’ll give you my boss’s number. Chance can have a team here by dawn.”

  “A team from HEART.” She repeated the name he’d given her, tried to pull information about it from her pounding head.

  “HEART is a business, but we’re like family. I put in a call, and I’ll have help. Simple as that. We just have to get to the gas station and get access to a phone before we run out of gas or Elijah’s men catch up to us.”

  “You think they’re still following?” She shifted, looked out the back window.

  “No, but I thought finding you and making sure you were okay was going to be easy. I was wrong about that. Another error in judgment could get us both killed. Like I’ve already said, I’m not planning to die.”

  There was nothing to say to that.

  Even if there had been, she wasn’t going to expend the effort to say it. She felt sick, the migraine taking hold, wringing every thought from her head. Not a good situation to be in, but she’d been in worse. She touched the raw spot on her wrist where she’d cut herself with the nail. She’d made it through the darkest hours of her captivity. She’d make it through this.

  Once she did, once they were safe, she’d turn her attention back to the original goal. She’d known all along that Elijah wasn’t the kind of person to be messed with. He had power and money. She wanted to know where the second came from. Not just from the odd jobs and sale of goods produced by the Amos Way community. Not from the bank accounts of the men and women who’d signed their life savings over to the community. The money came from somewhere else, and there was a lot of it. Once she found out the source, she could pull the plug and close down Amos Way for good.

  She felt a twinge of regret at the thought. Her in-laws loved the place. They’d spent half their lives there, but that didn’t mean it was a good place or even a decent one. As much as she hated to take their home from them, she’d do it if it meant stopping Elijah.

  She wouldn’t let him murder anyone else. She wouldn’t let him get away with the crimes he’d already committed.

  She owed Joshua that. She hadn’t been able to save him, hadn’t been able to convince him to leave Amos Way before it was too late, but she could do this for him. She would do it.

  Or she’d die trying.

  And the way she felt right then, death was a distinct possibility.

  *

  Lark’s silence worried him, and Cyrus didn’t need more worries to add to the list he already had.

  They were in the weeds, and he needed to find a way to get out of them. He had a plan A, but nothing else. If his plan didn’t work, they were sunk.

  He scowled, glancing in the rearview mirror. A semi was moving up behind them. No sign of Elijah’s men, though. Nothing that would make him think they’d been followed.

  Which worried him, too.

  If he’d had his cell phone, he’d have already called Chance Miller, told him he needed help. Hopefully whoever was manning the gas station would be amiable to the idea of lending a phone. If not, Cyrus would have to find another way to contact the team.

  Lark leaned her head against the side window, her movements jerky and disjointed. She hadn’t closed her eyes, but she looked like she needed to, her face a pale oval, her eyes glassy.

  “We’ve got another half hour ahead of us,” he said. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep?”

  She didn’t respond.

  “Lark?” He touched her arm, and she shifted away, rubbing the spot where his hand had been.

  “I’m okay.”

  “You don’t look it.”

  “I am. At least, I’m okay enough to do whatever we have to do,” she mumbled, the words sluggish and slow as if every one of them took effort.

  “What we have to do is survive, and that’s not going to happen if you don’t trust me enough to tell me what’s going on.”

  “What is going on,” she responded, enunciating every word, “is that my head is going to explode from a migraine. I don’t have medicine with me, so there’s nothing I can do but ride it out.”

  Not good for her or for them.

  “What can I do to help?” he asked.

  “Stop talking?” she suggested.

  “Okay.”

  “You spoke again,” she groaned, throwing her arm over her eyes. “And every word is like a thousand knives being shoved into my eye.”

  He didn’t know much about migraines, but he knew plenty about headaches. The improvised explosive device that had nearly taken his life had led to months of debilitating headaches. He wasn’t plagued with them anymore, but he’d never forget how they felt.

  She groaned again, shifting so that her head was buried in her elbow, her hair falling across her arm.

  He smoothed strands of it from her neck, slid his fingers to the pulse point beneath her jaw, felt the slow steady beat of her heart beneath cool clammy skin.

  “I’m not dying,” she muttered. “I just feel like I am.”

  The comment surprised him almost as much as the wry smile she shot in his direction. Even sick as a dog, she had a sense of humor and an easy smile. That was one of the things Essex had mentioned. That Lark was likable, the kind of person who filled up a room with her smile, who made others comfortable, would drop anything to help a friend.

  Cyrus had been surprised by his army buddy’s high praise of a woman who wasn’t his wife, and he’d asked point-blank what Lark was to Essex. He’d been put in his place, told flat-out that Lark was the little sister Essex had never had and that if Cyrus thought anything else, he could forget the debt that he owed Essex and move on with his life.

  That wasn’t going to happen. Cyrus always repaid his debts.

  Besides, he’d believed Essex. The guy was a family man through and through. He loved his wife with a loyalty and passion Cyrus admired. He was also smart and savvy about people. Which was why Cyrus had agreed to go to Amos Way. He’d still been more than a little convinced that Lark was just another lonely soul who’d decided to join a cult t
o gain connection and acceptance. People did it all the time. Cyrus contacted a few every year—men or women or teens who’d decided to separate themselves from loved ones so that they could follow a charismatic leader who called them family.

  Now that he’d met Lark, he knew the truth. She wasn’t the kind of person who’d follow anyone blindly.

  She shifted, throwing her arm over her eyes and leaning her head back against the seat. He wanted to tell her that one of the members of HEART was a nurse, that when he called, he’d ask her to bring medicine to help with the migraine, but he didn’t think she’d appreciate the words any more than a promise of help that wasn’t going to come for hours.

  The semi passed, whirling by at high speed. Cyrus wanted to drive just as fast, but he couldn’t risk being pulled over for speeding. He had no license, and he didn’t want to be locked up in the county jail while he waited for the authorities to run a background check.

  Slow and steady. That was the way to do things. Keep focused on the mission, on the goal. Don’t veer from the plan unless absolutely necessary.

  He chugged along the highway, going exactly the speed limit, the Mustang a smooth ride despite its age.

  The drive seemed to take forever, but he reached the gas station in just under an hour, pulling into the well-lit parking lot and driving around to the back of the building. That lot wasn’t visible from the road, and that mattered since they might be waiting for a while.

  “Finally.” Lark sighed, straightening in her seat, her hair tumbling around her shoulders. She had a lot of it, and he wanted to brush it off her cheeks and out of her eyes.

  “I thought you were sleeping.”

  “It’s kind of hard to sleep when a knife is being stabbed through your eye over and over again.” She opened the glove compartment. “What’s the plan?”

  “We go in and ask for a phone.”

  “Together?” She dug through some papers, pulled out a rubber band and pulled her hair into a ponytail. “Don’t you think we’ll get more attention that way?”

  “Probably, but I’m not going to leave you out here, and I’m not going to let you go in alone. That doesn’t leave a whole lot of options.”

  “Too bad pay phones are obsolete. I probably have enough change under these seats to make the phone call.” She leaned forward, winced. “Never mind. If you need change. You can look.”

  He got out of the car, rounded it and opened her door, lights from the building illuminating Lark’s paper-white face.

  “You’re not looking so hot,” he said, taking her hand and helping her out of the car.

  “Just what every woman wants to hear from a good-looking guy.”

  “Compliments, Lark?” he asked. “You’re obviously in worse shape than I thought.”

  “Not a compliment. A statement of fact. I am a woman. You’re a good-looking guy. Of course, being a woman doesn’t mean I need or want to be told I look good. Being good-looking doesn’t mean you’re anything more than a pretty face.”

  “Pretty, huh?” He reached for the gun belt she still had strapped around her waist, unhooked it and unloaded the pistol. “I know it’s cold, but I’m going to need my jacket back until we’re done in here. I walk in with my gun belt showing, and we’ll lose any chance we have of borrowing a phone.”

  “Pretty,” she responded as she unzipped the jacket and handed it back to him.

  He slipped it on, dropping the ammunition into his jacket pocket and setting her gun and belt on the floor of the backseat. “Don’t say that to my team. They’ll never let me live it down.”

  “I’m sure they already know it.”

  “Maybe, but they wouldn’t dare say it to my face,” he responded, closing the door and taking Lark’s elbow. “If we’re asked any questions, we’re out of gas and money, and I’m calling a friend for some help. Maybe we’ll get to use the phone and get offered a couple of gallons of gas to get us on our way.”

  He led Lark around the side of the building, stopped under a streetlight. The light highlighted a dark bruise on Lark’s cheek, the blood that stained her wrists. There was a rip in her skirt, dirt smudged across her sweater, leaves caught in her hair. She looked exactly like what she was—an escapee. She also looked a decade younger than he knew she was, vulnerable and in danger.

  “We need to do something about this,” he said, tugging her sleeves over her wrists, pulling a small twig from her hair. “The cashier is going to get one look at you and call the police.”

  “I can wait out here.”

  “Not in a million years.” He glanced through the front window of the small gas station convenience store. The attendant was behind a counter, staring at his cell phone. Young. Maybe late teens or early twenties, he seemed intent on whatever he was doing. “The restroom is to the left of the door. Walk in behind me and head straight there. Hopefully the guy behind the counter won’t care enough to ask questions. If he does—”

  “I’ll tell him I ran from Amos Way. That you picked me up on the road, and that you’re trying to help me get home. I’ll ask to use the phone, and tell him that I want to call a friend to come get me.”

  She was quick on her feet. Even with a migraine.

  He opened the door, stepped into the store, Lark pressing close to his back as she moved in behind him. The kid at the counter glanced their way but went right back to his cell phone. Lark hightailed it down a little hall that led to the bathroom.

  So far, things were working out just the way he’d planned.

  He approached the counter, waited until the young man looked up again.

  “Help you?” the kid asked.

  “I hope so. My cell phone battery is dead, I’m out of cash and I’m almost out of gas.”

  “Not allowed to give freebees to anyone.” The kid ran a hand over his hair, his attention on his phone again.

  “I wasn’t planning to ask for one. I know times are tough. I was just wondering if I could borrow a phone to call a friend.”

  The kid frowned. “I don’t know…”

  “It will take me two minutes, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

  “My boss doesn’t like anyone in the office, and that’s where the only landline is.”

  “I’m stranded man, and I’ve got my girl with me. You know how bad I’m starting to look? No gas? No phone? No money?”

  The kid hesitated, his gaze shifting to a point beyond Cyrus’s shoulder, his eyes widening.

  “That your girl?” he asked, and Cyrus turned.

  Lark walked toward them, her hair down, her face and hands clean. She’d pulled the sleeves of her sweater over the cut on her wrist and had used the rubber band to cinch her sweater in the back. She must have rolled the waistband of her skirt. Instead of ankle-length, it hit her right at the knee. She still looked done-in, her eyes shadowed, the bruise on her cheek obvious, but she didn’t look like an escapee from Amos Way.

  “Yeah,” he finally responded, slipping his arm around Lark’s waist.

  “You hit her?” the kid asked. He might be young and more interested in his phone than his job, but his concern was obvious. “Because that wouldn’t be cool, man. I’d have to do something about it.”

  “I don’t hit women,” he responded at the same time Lark laughed.

  “He wouldn’t dare. I tripped and fell into a door.” She touched the bruise, shook her head ruefully. “I might need to take some lessons on walking.”

  The guy smiled, obviously charmed by Lark. “You and me both. I broke my foot last year walking off a curb. You can go ahead and use the office phone. Office is down the hall past the restroom. Door is unlocked.”

  “Thank you,” Lark said smiling, and Cyrus thought it would be pretty easy to be charmed by someone like her.

  He touched her back, was urging her to the hallway when headlights splashed across the storefront window. Cyrus’s pulse jumped, and he looked outside, saw a police cruiser idling there.

  Could have been a coincidence, but Cyrus
wasn’t willing to wait around to find out.

  “The police,” Lark whispered as if he could have missed the car.

  “Let’s make sure we’re not seen,” he responded, hurrying her into the office and closing the door behind them.

  SIX

  No windows.

  That was the first thing Lark noticed.

  The second thing she noticed was the phone sitting on a small desk against the far wall.

  Cyrus had the receiver in hand before she took a step toward it. He dialed, his gaze focused on the door.

  Was he expecting the police to barrel in?

  Lark sure was.

  Her head throbbed with every movement, the sharp pain behind her eye making her dizzy and sick. She couldn’t afford to give in to either. She pressed her ear to the door, tried to hear past the pulse of blood in her ears. Nothing. She was tempted to open the door, look out into the hall. As if seeing the threat coming would make things better.

  The only thing that would make things better was going back in time, making a different decision, staying in her Baltimore apartment rather than returning to Amos Way.

  She had a little too much confidence in her own abilities.

  That’s what Essex had said before she’d left town. He hadn’t wanted her to go, had said he’d had a bad feeling about the trip. He’d even tried to get his wife Janet to talk her out of going.

  She hadn’t listened.

  Stubborn as a mule, that’s what Joshua would have said. He’d have said it with a smile, and she’d have smiled in return. She knew because they’d had the same conversation dozens of times during their marriage.

  Old memories. Good memories.

  Almost all her memories of Joshua were.

  “You still with me?” Cyrus asked, his hand settling on her shoulder.

  “I’d rather be somewhere else, but yeah. I’m here.”

  “That’s the spirit,” he responded, reaching past her and turning the doorknob.

  “What are you doing?” she gasped, terrified the police would be standing on the other side.

  “Standing here isn’t getting us anywhere. I’m going to see if the police came inside.”