“And, what am I supposed to do?” she asked, grabbing his arm when he would have stepped into the hall. “Wait here for whatever the duration of your jail sentence is?”
“I’m not planning to go to jail.”
“I wasn’t planning to be held captive at Amos Way, but I was,” she responded, not releasing her grip on his arm. “If a police officer is out there—”
“Lark, we can stand here and discuss this all night, but it’s not going to change the situation. My boss has already sent some people our way. They’ll be here in a few hours. If I get arrested, you ask the kid at the counter to give you a ride into town. Wait at a diner or in the library, somewhere where you won’t be alone. Someone from HEART will find you there.”
“But—”
“I don’t think I’m going to be arrested. That’s a ‘just in case.’” He gently removed her fingers from his arm and strode down the hall like he didn’t have a concern in the world.
Lark had plenty of them.
If he was arrested, there was no way she was going to wait around town for some strangers to show up and save her hide.
She grabbed the phone, tried to think of someone who would drop everything to come to her rescue.
Essex would have, but Cyrus was right. She couldn’t pull him into her trouble. Other than him, there was no one. She had friends, but most of them were married with kids. Most had busy schedules, hectic lives. They were friends but only in the most perfunctory way. Lark’s fault. She’d kept herself busy since Joshua’s death. Too busy for things like coffee with friends, nights out on the town. She didn’t enjoy the party scene, had no interest in double dates. She’d been happy with her job, with her coworkers, with church and the charity work she did.
None of those things were benefiting her now, so maybe she should have spent a little more time building relationships and a little less time trying to forget the past.
She set the phone down, walked out into the hall, heard the murmur of voices. Not raised. Just quiet conversation. She didn’t know who was talking, and she didn’t dare creep to the end of the corridor to look. An exit door stood at the far end of the hall, and she ran to it, her stomach heaving as pain shot through her head. She wanted to sit on the floor, close her eyes, let whatever was going to happen happen. She’d never been a quitter, though, had never known how to give up without a fight.
She opened the door, stepped out into darkness. Cold air bathed her cheeks, and she inhaled deeply, trying to fill her lungs and clear her head. The night smelled of wood-burning fire and rain, the moisture in the air seeping through her sweater. Straight ahead, a small copse of trees separated the gas station from the lights of distant houses. River Fork. It was a half-mile walk. An easy one. If she wasn’t being hunted.
She wrapped her arms around her waist, moved away from the building. If she made it to town, she could ask someone for help. There were plenty of elderly women in River Fork, and she doubted any of them would turn her away.
She couldn’t leave Cyrus, though. Not without being certain that he was okay.
She pressed close to the building, and eased around the corner. She could see the front parking lot from her vantage point. A police car was parked near the front door, lights off, doors closed. Not the sheriff’s patrol car. This one was a state trooper’s vehicle.
She wasn’t sure if she should be relieved or terrified.
Elijah had connections in law enforcement. She knew that. She just wasn’t sure how deep those connections went, how far they reached.
The shop door opened, and a police officer stepped outside, a bottle of soda in hand. He took a sip as he walked to his vehicle. If he was looking for someone, he wasn’t acting like it. He leaned against the hood of the car, gaze focused on the highway. A few cars sped by as he took another swallow of soda and yawned.
She could only see the back of his head and torso, the police emblem stitched to the shoulder of his jacket, the gun holster that peeked out from beneath black leather.
Was he waiting for someone?
Elijah maybe? One of his men?
She wanted to ease farther into the shadows, hide herself in the darkness, but she was afraid to move. There were pebbles and debris littering the ground. If she kicked something, moved it with her foot, accidently knocked into the building, the officer would turn and see her.
A lifetime seemed to pass while he drank the soda, every beat of her heart throbbing behind her eye. She’d never passed out from having a migraine, but she felt like she might. She couldn’t sit, didn’t dare sit. Too much noise, and she didn’t want to have to explain who she was or why she was sitting on crumbling pavement in the shadow of the gas station store.
Finally, the officer got in his car and drove away.
She needed to go back inside and find Cyrus. He wouldn’t be happy that she’d slipped out the door. She didn’t care. She’d done what she’d thought she’d had to, taken care of herself and her safety the way she had hundreds of times before. She reached the side entrance, tried to open the door. Locked.
“Perfect,” she muttered. “You took care of yourself and got into trouble like you have hundreds of times before.” She tried the door one more time because she didn’t want walk around to the front of the building, walk in the front door, have the kid behind the counter question how she’d gotten outside without being seen and why she’d felt the need to do it. The door hadn’t miraculously unlocked itself in the two seconds since she’d tried it the first time. Which left her with no choice but to go in the front door.
“Great,” she whispered, turning back the way she’d come. To her left, the copse of trees was dark as pitch, the leaves rustling in a rain-filled breeze. Something moved at the edge of the blackness, a darker darkness against the tree line.
She froze, eyes probing the shadows, brain trying to register what she was seeing.
Tree?
Bear?
Man?
It moved again. Quickly. In a sudden rush that had her sprinting toward the corner of the building.
Too late.
It was on her. He was on her. Hand on her mouth, arm around her waist, hot breath ruffling the hair near her ear. “You shouldn’t have run, Lark.”
The voice filled her with cold terror.
John.
She tried to pry his fingers from her mouth, tried to wrest herself out of his grip. He was strong, and she was exhausted, all the days and nights in the shed without food making her weak, the migraine making her weak.
“Stop fighting me,” he growled. “I don’t want to hurt you. I told you that before. I just want what Joshua took from Elijah.”
He took nothing.
He gave me nothing.
I know nothing.
She couldn’t get the words out past his tight grip, so she just kept tearing at his fingers, elbowing his gut. All the things she’d learned on the streets of Chicago.
She slammed her head into his chin, felt his grip loosen, slammed it back again and was shoved with so much force she hit the side of the building and fell backward. She landed with a thud that sent pain shooting through her eye, scrambled to her knees, expecting John to be in front of her, dragging her back up again.
He was gone. Back into the trees? There wasn’t a hint of movement in the darkness.
She stumbled to her feet, her body stiff and sore, her muscles tense. Did he have his gun trained on her? Was he planning to—
Someone grabbed her arm, and she screamed, turning toward her attacker, fists flying as she screamed again and again.
*
Cyrus managed to grab one of Lark’s fists before it hit his throat. He snagged the other as she went for his nose.
She was in full-out panic, her eyes wide, her face devoid of color. He doubted she was seeing anything but her own fear, didn’t think she was hearing anything but the pulse of blood in her ears.
“It’s okay,” he said, keeping his voice calm, his tone gentle. He’d been mad as
a hornet when he’d realized she’d left the store, but confronting her now wasn’t going to help either of them.
She tugged frantically, trying to free herself.
He wasn’t going to let her go, but he didn’t want to hurt her either. He pulled her arms down, holding her hands close to her sides. They were inches apart, her chest heaving with the fear and exertion, her eyes wild in the darkness.
He leaned down so they were face-to-face, nearly nose to nose. “I said it’s okay,” he repeated.
She blinked, stopped struggling.
“Cyrus,” she said, and he nodded, running his hands from her wrists to her shoulders, afraid she might fall over if he didn’t support her weight.
“Were you expecting someone else?” he asked.
She took a deep shuddering breath.
He felt it through his palms, felt her gathering strength and courage and all the things that had gotten her through the time she’d spent in Amos Way.
“John was here,” she finally said, her voice trembling. He felt that, too—all her terror, her fear. It made him angrier than he’d been when he’d seen the empty office, realized she’d left. It made him want to pull her in close, promise that things were going to be okay.
He didn’t do that kind of thing.
He wasn’t the guy to reassure and offer comfort. Jackson Miller was good at that. Boone Anderson was good at it. All Cyrus knew how to do was act.
Right then, he wanted to hunt John down, drag him to jail and have someone lock him away.
“Where?” he asked, probing the shadows, searching the darkness, his body vibrating with the need to move.
“He was over near the trees.” She gestured to a small grove that separated the gas station from an old country road that led to town. He could see distant house lights and streetlights, the small quaint town pretty and inviting. Even at night. Even when everything else looked bleak and lonely.
“You’re sure?”
“I’ve known him for years, Cyrus. There was no mistaking who he was.”
“Did he hurt you?” he asked.
“No. He asked me to give back what Joshua took.”
“What did he take?”
“I have no idea.”
“You’re sure?” He needed her to be certain, because whatever it was had to be the key to what was going on in Amos Way.
“I’m sure.” She was shaking harder, her teeth chattering.
He unzipped his jacket, dropped it around her shoulders, his fingers brushing her nape.
“Thanks,” she murmured, and he nodded.
“Aside from asking for whatever he thinks you have, did John say anything?”
“He said he didn’t want to hurt me.”
A lie. They both knew it, so there was no sense pointing it out. “Didn’t want to hurt you, so you shouldn’t force him to by withholding information?”
“That was the gist of it. He disappeared right before you arrived.”
“He must have heard me coming.” And run off like the coward he was. Without a dozen men backing him, John wouldn’t confront Cyrus. That was the type of guy he was. More than willing to bully people weaker than him, but not willing to take a stand against someone who could bring him down.
“It’s odd,” she said, pulling the edges of his coat closed and burrowing her chin into the collar. “He was alone. As far as I could tell, the team wasn’t with him.”
“I don’t think he wants to call attention to what he’s doing,” he responded, scanning the tree line. If John was there, he’d hidden well. Cyrus could have tracked him, but that would have meant leaving Lark.
“I guess if I were trying to kill people, I wouldn’t want to call attention to it either,” she responded, her voice still shaking, her body trembling so violently, his coat slipped from her shoulders.
He pulled it back into place, held it there as he looked into her eyes. “Trying to kill me. Not you. He wants to take me out. He wants something from you. He won’t be able to get it if you’re dead.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she asked.
“If you’re interested in staying alive, it should.”
“I’m interested in both of us staying alive.”
“That’s a nice sentiment, Lark, but sentiment doesn’t keep people from dying.”
“So, you’re saying that if John returns with an army of security members, it’s every man for himself? You’ll fight for your life and I’ll fight for mine?” she asked, hands on her hips.
“If he comes back, I’ll fight for you. You’ll fight for you. Between the two of us, we should be able to keep you safe.”
“Who’s going to keep you safe?” she asked.
“I’m pretty good at doing that myself,” he said, taking her arm and leading her around the side of the building. The Mustang was running on empty, but there might be enough fuel to get them to Main Street. If not, they’d walk, hugging the shadows and staying out of sight. It would take a half hour tops. They’d have another four to burn before Stella and Boone arrived. Chance had researched the area, found a small diner that was open all night. It wasn’t an ideal place to wait things out, but it was better than being a half mile outside town sitting in the empty lot of a gas station.
“I’m pretty good at doing it, too, Cyrus,” Lark said as she lowered herself into the passenger seat, reached into the back and retrieved the gun. “But even people who are good at taking care of themselves, people who have always kept themselves safe, need help sometimes. I learned that while I was lying in that trailer praying that God would send someone to help. It wasn’t a fun lesson, but I’m not going to forget it anytime soon. I’m not going to forget that you were the one He sent either. And if you’re ever in trouble, if you’re ever at the point where you really do need someone to step in, I can guarantee you that I’ll be the first to show up.”
She closed the door before he could respond.
It was for the best. Cyrus wasn’t sure what he would have said. The cold hard facts were that Essex had sent him to find Lark. No mystery there, no supernatural intervention. Nothing but a guy who cared contacting a buddy who could help. But there was more to life than fact. More to any situation than the simple easy explanation. He’d learned that working at HEART. Jackson and Chance Miller were hardcore former military men. They knew how to fight. They knew how to win. Somehow, they also knew how to trust in something beyond themselves.
That had been difficult for Cyrus to accept, and even more difficult for him to understand. Up until he’d begun working for Chance, he hadn’t believed in much more than a faraway God who barely checked in on His people.
In the past few years, he’d discovered something different. Faith was the secret ingredient that turned hopeless situations into salvageable ones, that made people who thought there was no way out look for a way.
He didn’t have to ask to know what had kept Lark going during the dark hours of the night when there was no one to hear her cries, no one to help her.
He slid into the driver’s seat, started the engine, pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road that led to town. No security cameras there. No houses. Nothing between them and town but the narrow road and the trees that lined it. If they were going to be ambushed, this was where it would happen.
Nothing moved, but his skin crawled, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. Someone was watching. If it was John, he had a gun, and he wouldn’t hesitate to use it. Not if he thought it could get him what he wanted.
The first shot exploded through the back window, whizzed by Cyrus’s head and lodged in the windshield.
“Get down!” he shouted as he stomped on the accelerator.
Lark dropped down, but she didn’t stay down. She reached into his coat pocket, pulled out the clip that he’d taken from the handgun.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“Making sure he doesn’t follow us,” she responded as she unrolled the window, leaned out and fire
d a round into the street.
SEVEN
It had been two years since she’d fired a handgun.
Two years since she and Joshua had stood in the practice field at the east edge of the compound, loading, firing, loading again. He’d drilled her on safety, insisted that she know everything there was to know about firearms.
She’d been eager to learn because she’d loved him.
She’d never expected the knowledge to come in handy.
She squeezed the trigger again, aiming for the road behind them. No cars there. No chance that she’d hit someone. She didn’t want to hurt John. She wanted to scare him into backing off.
“We’re almost at the town limits,” Cyrus said, the words gritty and rough.
He wasn’t happy.
She didn’t care.
She’d told him the truth. She wasn’t going to be content to stay safe while he put himself in danger. She’d do her part. She’d take as many risks as he did, as many as were necessary to make sure both of them made it out alive.
“Unload and put the gun away,” he continued.
“He might—”
“You want to be a team, then you follow orders, Lark. The orders are to stand down. We’ve got houses coming up. You want to kill some kid who’s sleeping in bed?”
“I’m not a fool,” she said, settling back into the seat and removing the clip. She shoved it into her pocket, put the gun in the glove compartment. John wasn’t a fool either. There was no way he’d attempt a shoot-out in town. If he was following them, he’d keep his distance, bide his time until he could take Cyrus out and bring Lark back to Amos Way.
An image flashed through her mind, the picture so vivid, she gagged. Blood on the floor. Blood on the wall. Joshua lying facedown, his fingers limp on the butt of his rifle.
She closed her eyes, but the image was there, embedded in her brain.
Cyrus touched her hand, his fingers warm and dry against her cool, clammy skin.
“Breathe,” he said like he had before, and her airways opened, oxygen flooding lungs she didn’t know were starved for air.
“Again,” he commanded, and she inhaled, exhaled the memories.
“I’m fine,” she managed to say even though her insides were shaking, her head pounding.
Love Inspired Suspense June 2015 - Box Set 2 of 2: Exit StrategyPaybackCovert Justice Page 7