by Ronie Kendig
Together, he watched with his father as the foal and dam reconnected, then trotted around.
“Looks to be a strong one,” he said, hoping his dad would abandon the heart-to-heart.
“Firefox is good stock.” His father hooked his arms over the wood fence. “Colton, I want you to stop dragging your sister’s memory into your depression. She did what she wanted to do. Let Emelie go in peace.”
Colton closed his eyes. I can’t ….
“And if I know you—and I do—you’re taking two and two and getting five.”
“Always was bad at math,” Colton mumbled.
“Lumping Piper in with what happened to Emelie, and what Meredith did to you, well, it’s just going to leave you crazy. ‘Sides, you’re not giving Piper a fair shot.”
Guilty as charged. “In case you haven’t noticed, Pop, I don’t do real good with women. Only God knows why He gave me a daughter.” He shook his head again as he opened the iron gate to the outer pen and allowed Hershey to dart into the open.
“If you’d just show a girl the same care you give that there foal, I think you’d be off to a good start.”
“Somehow, I doubt Piper would take kindly to being harnessed.”
“What do you mean you can’t give me money?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but your name is on the list.”
“What list?”
The teller darted a nervous glance around the small bank. “The one from OFAC.” He shifted behind the counter.
“Look, I don’t care what list you put my account on, I want my money, na—right?” She gulped hard at nearly using the foreign phrase. Tried to keep her voice steady. This couldn’t happen. She needed that money. “I’m talking about my money I placed in this bank—”
“I’m sorry.” He straightened in his chair and took on the appearance of a brick wall. “Your account has been flagged by OFAC.”
Her pulse picked up speed. “What … what is that?”
“The Office of Foreign Assets and Control.” Fingers threaded he looked straight at her. “It’s a government branch that flags accounts with suspicious activity related to terrorism—”
“I’m not a terrorist!” She heard the shriek in her own voice and tried to catch her breath. Foreign Assets? How … how could they know?
“I’m sorry.” Face as stone, he remained unfazed as he handed her a piece of paper. “You can contact this number to rectify the situation.”
Piper tried to swallow against the adrenaline pouring through her veins as she pushed to her feet. That ten thousand dollars was her lifeline, her only means of survival now that she’d turned in her resignation at Hastings. She ran a hand through her hair, panicked. Flashed him a conciliatory smile. “Thank you. I’ll call them.”
Only, she wouldn’t—couldn’t. This was her last stop before she headed out of town. She’d spent the day closing accounts, paying debts, and turning off her cell phone. Now she had no money.
Piper stepped out into the early evening with a heavy heart but alert to her surroundings. Her gaze rose to the dull gray sky … so much like her life. What would she do?
Once she swept the parking lot and convinced herself the white minivan wasn’t filled with Palestinian terrorists, she climbed into her car and locked the doors. The twenty dollars in her purse wouldn’t fund another night at the hotel. She’d stayed at the Grand Inn last night, too afraid to return to her apartment and find men waiting to drag her back … to pry answers from her unwilling lips.
She shuddered at the same time her stomach gurgled. Too bad. Until she had more money in hand, she wasn’t going to squander her last bill when she could easily go a while longer without food. For now, the priority was finding a place to stay.
Her mind drifted to a handsome cowboy and a pair of blue eyes that made her warm and happy inside.
Absolutely not. Completely out of the question for two reasons. One, she’d have to tell him the truth or lie through her teeth. She wasn’t going to do either. She’d gotten this far on half truths and knew exactly what her father would say about that: A half-truth is a whole lie. And two, if she was followed back to the Neeley ranch, those intent on getting to the truth would use Colton and his family as a means to extract the information from her.
Trapped. Stranded. Alone.
Piper dug her fingers into her hair and screamed behind squeezed lips. Why? Why must it be this way? She just wanted some hope that the insanity that had stolen her life would end, that her father would be saved, and that she would have a chance at a happy life.
A familiar melody dropped into her mind—the Hatikva. Hope infused her to the very bones. The national anthem of Israel spoke of hope. Was that a sign, a message that things would turn out okay?
Yeah. Right.
The ache burned raw and hot. Every good thing in her life had been crushed or stolen. She banged the back of her head against the head rest. How could she be so idiotic as to think she could fall in love with Colton and have a happy life? Things didn’t work that way for her. Her mother and baby brother died. Then Bazak. When Dodie left her, the only family member she had left was their father … who also stepped out of her life. Yes, for her own safety, for his safety, for the safety of a nation, but that still left her alone. Utterly alone.
Tears streaked down her face. “Oh Yeshua, help me.”
Again, the Hatikva played through her mind. Sitting at a red light with the crimson blur splashed over her windshield, she let out a shuddering sigh. Then gasped.
The music box. She had to get the music box. Which meant she had to go back.
When the light changed, Piper drove on, peering in the rearview mirror at the ever-shrinking bank that had put a huge roadblock in her escape plans.
She slapped the steering wheel. How could the bank keep her ten thousand dollars like that? It was all she had left of the trust fund that had kept her afloat. It was her entire life—how would she survive on her own?
And how on earth did the griefer know?
Her heart skipped a beat. Then two. The only way he could’ve known was if her father had sent a message. Right? The griefer didn’t know who she was, so how could he tell her she was found?
Desperation chased her through the streetlamp-lit city, clogged with heavy traffic and a mountain of fear. She had to do something. Maybe … maybe if she parked at the strip mall and walked back, she could spy out her apartment, see if anyone was coming or going.
Parking in front of the pizzeria gave her little comfort despite the throng of cars. Still, she had to do what she had to do. Piper left the car and hurried down the street. Near the park, where she had a bird’s-eye, though distant, view of her apartment, she sat on a swing and waited. And waited. Once dark nestled in for the night, Piper made her way closer.
She tugged her lightweight jacket around her shoulders. Every shadow seemed to come alive as she passed it. The alley next to her building twisted the wind into howling ghouls.
Crossing the corner to her street, as the trees seemed to move aside and grant her unfettered access to what lay before her, she spied Mrs. Calhoun rocking on her porch.
Piper’s hopes soared. Of course! She quickened her steps until she came to the side of the neighbor’s fenced-in front yard. Gripping the iron bars, Piper waved at the lady, hoping to get her attention without yelling.
Mrs. Calhoun finally must’ve seen her. She looked over her shoulder. “Oh. Well. What are you doing over there?”
“Just out for a walk,” Piper said, trying to make her voice sound casual and light. “How’s the neighborhood tonight?”
Mrs. Calhoun wrinkled her nose. “Oh, you know that Jenkins kid is always causing trouble. But I did see Reverend Mason earlier. Nice man of the cloth.”
“Sounds like a quiet night.”
“Mm-hmm,” Mrs. Calhoun said, rocking once again.
Then maybe nobody had been to her apartment. Chewing her lower lip, Piper once again allowed her gaze to probe and stab every corner a
nd crevice of the building, of her front door, the windows. Was it safe? She no longer had a cell phone, so if she got in trouble, she was out of luck getting help.
“Girl, what are you doing standing there?”
Piper blinked out of her thoughts. “Just thinking.”
With leaden legs, she pushed herself down the sidewalk, her gaze glued to her apartment. Yeshua, guard my steps. Up the path to the stoop.
She drew the mace-flashlight out of her purse and held it down, low and out of sight.
“Night, Piper!”
Without looking away, Piper took the first step. Better not call out and alert whoever was inside … if someone was inside. She waved night to Mrs. Calhoun. Took the second step. Her two-year stint in the Israeli military made her wish for an assault rifle. The Tavor would do nicely against anyone in her apartment.
Her brown door loomed before her. Gulping the burst of warmth that squirted down her throat, she scraped her gaze along the jamb. Everything looked to be intact. Quietly, she slid the key into the lock and turned. With practiced agility, she flung the door open and stepped in, aiming the flashlight into the darkened apartment.
A flutter by the window made her breathing catch. The curtains. She dragged the flashlight over the couch and end table. Nothing. She must have rustled the curtains when she shoved open the door. Quickly, she flicked on the lights and checked behind the door—clear—and closed it. Flipped the locks. Now she had either locked herself in with an assassin, or she’d locked the assassin out.
Beyond her own ragged heart rate, she heard nothing save a car passing on the street as she searched the apartment. Instinct drove her to the music box … but she veered off. If someone was here, watching, she didn’t want to tip off her only passage to freedom. If they’d somehow bugged her apartment or installed a camera …
The thought drew her gaze around the room. To the air vents. To the lamps. The ficus tree in the corner. She cleared the kitchen and closet, the laundry room, the bedroom and its closet, then the bathroom—where her heart stalled.
Again, the washcloth she always set on the corner lay on the floor.
Heat splashed down her neck and back. She backed up. Glanced around. Behind her. Someone had been here. But they didn’t want her to know. Which meant they hadn’t found what they were after.
All the more reason to believe they’d planted a device to uncover her secret.
Back in the living room, Piper sat on the couch. Chewed her thumbnail. She didn’t have any money, so she couldn’t stay at a hotel. What if she went to the law library for the night until the bank opened?
The idea took hold. Better than staying here and waiting to be captured.
Piper darted into her room, packed a bag of clothes and necessities—just enough to get her through until she could buy more without notice. She grabbed her backpack and filled it with snacks, legal documents, and her MP3 player. As she passed through the living room, she went for the music box when the phone rang.
She hesitated. I put in a disconnect request. Why was it still ringing? She went to the kitchen counter and stared at the phone. The ID showed UNKNOWN NAME. If she didn’t answer it, would the bad guys assume she was gone and come in?
She snatched the phone from the cradle. “Hello?” Her voice cracked.
“Piper?”
The bass of Colton’s voice vibrated against her ear, soothing her instantly. “Colton.”
“You all right?”
She licked her lips. “Yeah, sure. I’m fine.”
“You’re not convincing me.” The concern that laced his words bespoke the manners that had told her he was the type of man who’d fight to the death to protect someone. Just like a soldier.
“No, really. I just … it’s late.” She set the heavy backpack on the counter, eyeing the music box.
“Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Right, sorry. I’ll be quick. I’m having a barbecue here at the house next Sunday with some good friends. I’d like you to be here, if you’re interested.”
He wanted her to meet his friends. “That sounds nice.” If only she’d be here. But she wouldn’t. And she couldn’t tell him. She closed her eyes and fought the tears. Oh, she didn’t want to do this to him, not to Colton. Or McKenna. The two had wormed into her heart. It’d be like losing Dodie and Bazak all over again.
“Great.” But he didn’t sound happy. “I’ll pick you up Sunday—is one o’clock too early?”
A tear squeezed past her resolve. “Um …” She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. Crying thickened her voice. “Yeah, that’s fine.” He’d hate her.
“Piper?”
She sniffled. “Yes?” The word squeaked.
“Are you crying? What’s wrong?”
Tilting her head back, she ordered herself to dry up the tears and not give herself away. “I’m … cutting onions.” She bit her tongue on the lie. And that made her want to cry all the more.
“All right.” He didn’t sound convinced. “I’ll see you Sunday.”
Crack!
With a gasp, Piper spun toward the front door.
CHAPTER 8
At least this time nobody could say he failed for lack of trying.
Colton rapped hard on the door three times. When he’d talked with Piper, she had hung up too quick. Or maybe too quick for his liking. With a step back, he planted his hands on his hips. He took a cursory glance around the darkened street, still not liking the way that black sedan sat hovering at the corner.
Piper had been off her game when he’d talked to her a half hour ago, and he’d be hanged if he just let it go. Something was wrong, and he had to know for himself that she wasn’t in some sort of trouble.
Truth be told, he’d have used any excuse to see her. He’d dropped by Hastings to invite her to dinner, but she wasn’t there. Called in sick. That just didn’t sit right with him. Had she found out about the general’s investigation? His gaze bounced to the car again. Was that bona fide U.S. government issue? Or was it trouble?
He shifted and pounded on the door again. Where was her car? Why hadn’t he seen it in its usual spot? And why wasn’t she answering? He raised his hand again to knock.
“Who is it?” Her soft voice carried through the door.
There it was again—that something off in her tone. He cocked his head, and his gaze hit the mucky spot on the stoop. Were it not for the street lamp and the way it struck the indention, Colton wouldn’t have seen the muck, which wasn’t a surprise. It’d been raining earlier. What bothered him was the footprint outline. Too big for Piper. Not his.
“It’s me, Colton.” Who had visited her? He should relax. Piper had friends—any of them could’ve come over. But in the rain? At least, the way the heel smeared right made him think the print had been made just as the rain let up. “Thought we could talk.”
“Uh …” Shuffling noises carried through the door.
The sound of her voice made his heart skip a beat. It sounded strained, nervous-like.
“Just a min—”
He couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like the word had cut off. No, not cut off, choked off.
His gaze scanned the doorframe. He spotted her tape and string in various spots. Oddest woman he’d known to be so uptight about security, but it’d kept her safe, he reckoned, so he hadn’t said anything. Then he hit the scrapes along the lock plate. He ran a thumb over the gouge. That wasn’t there before. With another step back, he let his gaze retrace the door. Was it off alignment, or was that just his overreacting mind?
Tension rolled into Colton’s muscles. Mentally, he checked the MEU.45 concealed at the small of his back. Hands to the side, he scowled as he honed his attention on the noise behind the door. Shuffling. He squinted when he thought he heard a whimper—
The door opened.
Colton let his recon-sniper skills loose, assessing and reconnoitering. Half a muddy footprint on the tile matched the muck on the stoop. Piper’s bare feet. The way Piper practically hugged
the door, using her body to shield the entry.
Warmth spiraled through his veins. “Evenin’, Piper,” he said, trying to keep things natural. If she was in trouble, he needed to figure out the best way to help her.
“Colton.”
Stiff, almost unfriendly. She sure hadn’t been the night before when she’d all but begged him to kiss her. In his periphery he saw a shadow shift in the one-inch sliver of space between the door and the jamb. “Thought I’d drop by, maybe talk awhile.”
Her eyes cut to the side—to the door. “I … uh …” She winced and froze.
That was all he needed.
Colton kicked the heel of his right boot into the door. A loud crack rang out. He let his momentum carry him forward and shoved Piper to the side. In one fluid move, he swung around the corner. A gun wobbled inches from his face. The man behind it had been stunned but was recovering. Colton snapped his right hand against the guy’s wrist and simultaneously grabbed the handgun with his left, effectively confiscating the weapon. He flipped it around and aimed it at the man before he could blink and realize what had happened.
The shock didn’t last long. Tango One lurched at him. Colton angled his shoulder down, spun around and rammed his elbow into the guy’s gut—doubling him over. Then he drove his elbow into the back of the man’s neck—raising his leg so the man’s face collided with Colton’s knee.
Crack!
The gunman stumbled and dropped like a rock.
Behind him, Piper gasped.
Colton shut the door, then cleared the weapon of chambered bullets, dropped the magazine, and removed the slide. “You okay?” he asked as he checked the assailant. When she didn’t answer, he glanced up.
Trembling hands covered her mouth. Eyes glossed behind tears.
“Piper!” He hated yelling, but he needed her with him. “You okay?”
She blinked. Several times. “Y–yes.” Then she sucked in a hard breath. “There’s another. I don’t know where he went.” Suddenly, her face paled.