And here Craig sat, five hundred feet from the King farm in his government-issued Hyundai, watching a squirrel search for refuge from the sun.
Movement caught his attention. Not at the farm, though. Instead, it was at the shore of the neighboring lake. A woman. Tall—lean—with long blonde hair...and strange pants that offered him a marvelous rear view.
Craig jerked his eyes back to the barn. Could this woman have come out of the King place? No, he had his eyes glued to the red wooden structure with its adjoining small house all this time. Surely he would have seen her emerge. Diego Carlo and most of his associates were from Bogotá, Colombia. This woman had alabaster skin—impossibly pale for this time of year. Not that this exempted her from suspicion.
Schooling himself that he should concentrate on the King property, nonetheless his eyes swung back towards the woman. It was a better prospect than the squirrel.
Agile legs scaled a boulder stacked alongside the lake. Atop it, she stood with her hand shielding her eyes as she scanned the placid water. To his surprise, she leapt fully dressed into the lake.
Well hell, there was someone else who suffered from this oppressive heat. To a certain degree, he was jealous of her release, but still—jump in with long pants on?
Concentrate on the King’s barn, Buchanan.
Craig cast a quick glance back at the building. It remained idle.
Drawn by the magnetic lure of the woman, his gaze returned to the lake, waiting for the blonde hair to crack the surface. There wasn’t even a ripple. Dividing his attention between the barn and the lake, his focus turned towards the latter as seconds ticked by and there was no sign of her. There was no need to glance at his watch. He knew how long a person could hold their breath because he had subconsciously been doing so from the moment he first saw the lady in the dazzling pants.
Taking a tentative step towards the shore, he waited for that telltale splash of water that never came. What if the lake was shallow? What if she had jumped off and hit her head?
You are here to watch the King’s farm.
You swore to protect the innocent.
The argument waged in his mind as the seconds stretched into minutes. Minutes. No one stayed underwater for minutes.
Craig reached the boulder. He placed his palm on that hot granite and used it for leverage as he leaned forward, looking for any sign of a current...any sign of life.
Nothing. It had to have been at least five minutes since she went under. Maybe he missed her. Maybe she had surfaced and slipped through the bushes. No, the bushes were at least fifty yards away. He would have noticed her wake.
There. A bubble cracked the surface. Was it a fish, or a last gasp for air? Already he was kicking off his shoes. Another bubble popped, but there was no trace of a blonde head approaching.
Goddamn.
The last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to himself, but the woman was drowning. What the hell else was he supposed to do?
Certain that it was well over five minutes since she had leapt off the boulder, Craig trudged through the muck at the water’s edge and then dove under the surface. On the perimeter it was still relatively shallow. He could probably stand, but the shadows ahead indicated a drop-off, and it was those shadows that he targeted. Algae stung his eyes, but he forced them open, searching for a trace of blonde hair. The murky green haze deepened to ominous shades of black, and the bottom was indiscernible.
Where was she?
There. A wisp of something pale—like the remnants of a disturbed cobweb. Tendrils of blonde hair reached up from the bottom, undulating in a beckoning spiral. Craig kicked his legs and narrowed in on the slim shadow hugging the depths. Hooking his arm around her waist, he started to haul her towards the surface. Shockingly, he was met with resistance. He was stronger, though, and hell-bent on getting her head above water.
Reaching the surface, the clash of the afternoon heat stole his breath. He leaned back, sliding the female form atop his abdomen so that he could cradle her and force her towards the air. If he made it to the shoreline quickly enough there was a chance that he could save her with CPR. As these desperate thoughts roiled through his mind, a voice invaded.
Goddamn it all to hell. Did the Kings pick this moment to emerge? There was no way he could chase them now. He had a life to save.
Wait. It was the woman that was speaking. At first he didn’t understand her, but then he swore she just called him a goat.
In his arms the athletic body wrangled for freedom, but he feared she was suffering from shock. There was always the possibility of brain damage from lack of oxygen too.
Slippery from moisture and the silky clothes, the woman squirmed out of his hold and climbed the grassy embankment. Wide green eyes watched him guardedly. Blonde hair clung to her cheekbones and her chest rose and fell on quick breaths—but there seemed no physical sign of trauma.
“Are you alright?” Craig asked, climbing out after her.
Long wet lashes blinked.
“I thought—” He leaned over, hands on knees, catching his own breath. Seeing that she was completely unbothered, he stood up straight. “I thought you drowned out there. I swear I never saw you come up for air.”
“I can hold my breath for a considerable time.”
Well, at least she spoke English. He was beginning to suspect otherwise. She sure as hell didn’t look like she was from these parts.
“For ten minutes?”
“I am not aware how long it was. I was busy, and you—interrupted me.”
“Interrupted?” his voice cracked. “I interrupted you?”
“Yes.”
Alert bells started blaring in his head. Trust no one. Not even thirteen year-old girls in pink. What if this woman was affiliated with Diego? What if she was hiding a secret stash in an airtight container at the bottom of the lake?
“Do you live there?” He tipped his head towards the barn.
Her eyes never strayed from his. “No.”
What did you expect her to say if she was hiding something?
“Where do you live?” he demanded.
Now her eyes strayed, only to look up to the sky.
“Nearby,” she responded evasively.
Oh yeah, this one was hiding something.
He needed to question her, but he didn’t want to draw the scrutiny of anyone lurking inside the barn. Already his cover was probably completely compromised thanks to this mermaid.
Digging into the saturated back pocket of his jeans, he extracted his ID and held out the dripping slip of plastic for her inspection.
“I’m going to need to speak with you in private. Perhaps you can show me where you live so that we can talk?”
A frown wove between dark gold eyebrows as she stared down at his identification. She glanced up at him quizzically and he felt dissected by those eyes. No vibes of anxiety or nerves flared from this woman. Neither the fact that a Federal Agent had just flashed his badge at her, nor the prospect of an interrogation seemed to have any effect. This chick was a cool one.
“Aimee said I should not talk to strangers—” she hesitated, “—you are strange.”
What?
“Who is Aimee?” He recovered, his impatience mounting. “And you are a grown woman, mature enough not to be given the ‘don’t talk to strangers’ speech by anyone.”
Damp blonde hair spilled across her shoulder as she cocked her head and roved over his body with a leisurely glance. Uncomfortable, and yet somehow stimulated by that roaming gaze, he found himself holding his breath when she lingered on his wet shirt.
“Are you a scientist?” she asked.
Even though he was soaked, perspiration started creeping across his forehead. Craig swept at it with his arm. “No. I’m not a scientist. I just showed you who I am.”
“Yes, your card. The Federal Bureau of Investigation. I figured it was your planet—” she coughed, “—your nation’s research team.”
Alright. It made sense now. She was
a head case. A damn attractive head case, but a quack, nonetheless. She must have wandered too far from home. At this point the best option was to return her to her family, and perhaps he could use it as a means to inquire about the Kings.
“You should move.”
“What?” Craig was deep in thought.
“You should move. Something is coming.”
Jerking his eyes towards the rutted lane that cut into the King property from the main road, Craig detected nothing but a spiral of gnats. Nonetheless, her fixed stare down that driveway made him uneasy. A second later he glimpsed the flash of sun against aluminum as the grill of a van passed through the trees.
The van was moving at a fast clip, the slap of tree limbs against it sounding like the broken spoke of a bike. He lurched, grabbing the woman’s arm and hauling her off the trail into a patch of poplars. Tucking her head down behind a trunk he watched as the blaze of a white panel passed by and pulled up alongside his Hyundai.
Son of a b—
He had parked there strategically, expecting any visitors to use the front driveway and not this rutted trail that wasn’t even listed on the acreage. Another tactical mistake on his part. Add it to the growing list of misjudgments he had recently made.
A mental inventory of the contents of the Hyundai assured Craig that nothing existed to identify him, but if this van was affiliated with Diego, then the occupants weren’t stupid.
On cue, the driver’s door opened and a handgun emerged. A short figure poured out after it. The echo of a door confirmed that he was not alone as someone shut the passenger side. When that person rounded the tail end of the van, Craig almost choked.
It was none other than Diego Carlo himself. Craig would know that profile anywhere. Black hair cut short to distract from imminent baldness. A black beard with gaps of skin at the corners of the mouth where it refused to grow. And the ever-present black Under Armour shirt to hug a physique that wasn’t as fit as Diego imagined it to be.
Diego Carlo was known for trafficking narcotics into the US, and he was also notorious for his brutal lack of patience with unpaid debts. For the most part he dodged the law by delegating tasks to soldiers throughout his organization, but it was suspected that Diego himself pulled the trigger on the murders of two undercover federal law agents in 2011. He was also the type of man to resort to using a thirteen-year-old to execute a heist right under the noses of agents.
Wally’s innocent sticky note proved to be the mother lode. But it had all gone to hell because of a gorgeous, but deranged female.
Distracted by the drama before him, Craig realized that the woman was murmuring at his side.
“They have weapons,” she whispered. “I thought it was safe here.”
Before he could analyze that statement, Diego had already inspected the Hyundai, and now raised his head like a lion on the hunt—using scent to track his prey. Waving his handgun in the air, he motioned his henchman to span out and search the area. That henchman’s trajectory included Craig’s hiding place.
“This way,” she urged.
Craig felt a tug on his arm. He looked at the woman as if she had five heads, when in fact she only had one, and it was staring at him earnestly.
Fortunately, his Glock 22 was tucked at the small of his back and not in the Hyundai's glove compartment. Even as he drew it out, he knew that there was no way in hell he was going to engage in a shootout in this rural area, with a probable civilian at his side.
“I know the way,” she encouraged quietly.
Oh, now suddenly she remembered where she lived?
Only ten yards away, Diego’s henchman moved in their direction with his weapon extended. The soft click of the safety provided an audible exclamation.
There was little choice. Craig could not jeopardize a mentally challenged neighbor. He had to get her out of here. With the handgun tight in his grasp, he threw one last glance over his shoulder before surrendering to the tug of the woman.
Her adroit frame slipped through the shoulder-high field grass. Within seconds, the King property was rendered invisible and they were cloaked in this feathery cocoon, where he was left with little recourse but to focus on the silver-coated rear before him. Yeah, he was definitely losing his edge. Too many years of chasing the bad guy. Chasing this tail was much more appealing.
The tail stopped and he had to grab her hips to keep from shoving her forward. He felt her tense under his touch and dropped his hands.
“There.” She nodded towards a blue two-story house fifty yards away. “That is where Aimee lives.”
Click.
Craig froze. At the pressure of the muzzle against his back, his arms rose in bitter surrender.
“Come on,” the woman urged, turning to frown at his stance.
Her arms hefted in imitation.
“You can still run,” Craig hissed at her, and then spoke over his shoulder. “She is just a neighbor. You don’t need to involve her in anything.”
“A nosy neighbor,” the hoarse voice stated. “We don’t know who either of you are, so it’s time to clear that up.”
There was an ominous ring to his declaration.
Dammit. How did everything spiral out of control so quickly?
Craig connected with the apprehensive green eyes before him.
“I promise,” he encouraged. I’ll get you out of this.”
Empty words, to which there was no response. She just stared at him as if she had never seen a human being before.
“Come on.” The henchman waved his gun in invitation.
Craig took the woman’s arm, and though it tensed under his touch, she yielded and fell into step with him.
* * *
Ushered inside the barn, Craig noticed two things. One, the building was nothing more than four empty wooden walls with a few poles and a slatted staircase to suspend a vacant upstairs loft. The second thing he noticed was the absence of Diego. Immediately, he entertained notions of overpowering the henchman. As if reading his thoughts, the man sneered.
“I have your gun,” he warned. “I control the situation. Now, both of you sit down with your backs against that pole.”
Seeking the blonde’s glance to reassure her, Craig found that her head was tipped back and she was busily scoping out the roof, tiny scores of sunshine lancing her face. Given the fact that she had a gun pointed at her and she was about to be bound to a wooden stake with a man she did not know, she looked remarkably calm.
Craig waited until she settled down on the hard-packed earth. With one final glare at their captor, he joined her, seething as the man bound their arms around the pole. Although he had labeled the guy as the henchman, he realized that it wasn’t necessarily the appropriate stereotype. Dressed in black jeans, a white polo shirt, sporting short-cropped black hair and a perfectly sculpted beard, their henchman had an affluent sharpness about him. Perhaps he was more than a subordinate. Perhaps he might even be Diego’s partner, although Craig’s team was not aware of anyone to equal Diego’s status.
Contempt-filled dark eyes fixed down on them. A faint hint of perspiration glistened against his tanned forehead and his nostrils flared slightly. “You smell like a fed. Your car smells like it belongs to the feds. So you found us, but I don’t see any backups. I see one pathetic man and one meddlesome neighbor. Pity for both of you.”
“You smell like corruption,” Craig countered. “I’m sure you are just another lackey in the Carlo chain, but we’ve been tightening the noose around Diego’s neck for quite some time now. You might consider bolting while you can.”
“Have you?” The man challenged with a raised eyebrow. “How did that work out for you in New Bern?”
Son of a bitch. Was this guy there?
“So, here’s what’s going to happen,” the man explained as he waved his automatic. “Diego and I are late for a meeting. He went ahead while I was left to deal with you two. Needless to say, this delay pisses me off. As soon as we return, we’ll decide what we’re going t
o do with you...so just sit tight.”
Sit tight. With this woman’s elbow digging into his side and the heat where their backs connected, Craig didn’t think they could possibly sit any tighter. If he was alone he would have more bravado. He would egg on this guy until the man committed an error out of anger. But with the civilian he could not risk it.
A crunch of dirt sounded as the henchman pivoted on polished black shoes and strode out of the barn. After the door slid shut, a clang of metal confirmed that a padlock had fastened it closed behind him.
Immediately, Craig began to strain against the rope. His biceps cramped with exertion and he heard a mewling protest from behind.
Waiting for her to berate him, or to complain...there was nothing. Just silence.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
A rustle might have indicated the nod of her head, but facing the opposite direction he had no way of knowing if it was in assent or denial.
“Aren’t you just the least bit curious about all of this?” He didn’t know why he raised his voice, but her silence was driving him crazy.
Yell. Scream. Condemn me for getting you into this mess.
Instead, he felt the back of her head knock against his. She must be looking up again.
“Aren’t you wondering who these people are, and why we’re tied up?” he demanded, focusing on the strip of light beneath the barn door, searching for tell-tale shadows.
“I’m not from around here,” came the soft response. “I don’t know how you do things.” A slight hesitation and she added, “I figured this was normal.”
“Normal? Normal? No, this is not normal.”
“Aimee did not warn me that the neighbors possessed weapons.”
“Who—” the hell “—is Aimee?”
“My friend.”
“Well, I’d like to ask your friend if she knows that her neighbors are drug dealers.”
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