Elizabeth Goddard - Undercover Protector

She was behind in vehicle maintenance, no doubt there, but her CJ had never let her down before. Another curve in the road approached, and she shifted to the lowest gear, gripped the wheel with both hands and groaned with the effort to make the turn.

She’d driven the road that bordered the fenced-in area of the sanctuary enough times to know what to expect—more switchbacks. The road was dangerous on a good day. She hit the brakes harder. Still the CJ picked up more speed. She turned the steering wheel left, barely making another switchback.

Her beloved CJ was out of control.

Heart hammering, the realization slammed her—this was a matter of survival.

She might actually die. The possibility sucked her breath away.

Mud oozed from the rocky wall to her left as it poured from the hillside above. God, please help me! I don’t want to die today. And please keep the sanctuary intact. Please don’t let those fences give way.

She couldn’t imagine that would happen, but, then again, she hadn’t dreamed her steering would give way on the same day as her brakes. What were the chances? A question rose from the shadows in her mind. Had this been intentional?

And on a treacherous, rainy day.

Images from that night long ago accosted her. Headlights glinting off a wall of water. The grinding crunch. The wreck that left her uncle dead, the Tiger Hills sanctuary her father had founded dismantled and Gemma with nerve damage and a limp.

Focus, Gemma! She gripped the steering wheel tighter, mentally skimming the road ahead. Another bend. She’d never make it with her steering out like this. But if she could make it around the next outcropping of the rocky wall—before the dangerous bend—and remain on the road, there was an incline to her right, a turn out that she could use to slow the CJ to a stop.

Would it be enough?

Come on, come on, come on...

“God, if You’re listening, and You don’t want me to die today, I need some help.” Gemma wrestled the wheel even harder and yanked the emergency brake, getting no return for her efforts.

Up ahead, mud and rocks washed over the road.

A mudslide!

Though it could be dangerous, deadly even, she could use the mudslide to slow the CJ, except she would have another battle for survival. But it was moving slowly enough she might just be able to make it.

Was that the answer to her prayer?

The incline appeared ahead in the thick of the mud. She pumped the brakes again, but they were completely dead. Gemma shifted into a higher gear and sped over the mud before it carried her away.

The roar of the torrential rain and the sight of the mudslide filled her with dread and morbid memories, erasing all other rational thought. Gemma fought the rising terror.

She gripped the wheel and steered toward the incline, shifting down once she’d gained enough momentum because she’d need to stop this vehicle, once and for all, on the other side of the mud.

Regardless of her momentum, the CJ shifted as the mud gripped the tires, but Gemma persevered and evened out the pressure on the accelerator, adjusting her steering until the vehicle lifted up, the front tires gaining traction on the ground that rose above the mud, and sped forward.

But fast, much too fast.

The CJ slammed into a tree. Her body ricocheted against the seat belt. There were no airbags in an old Jeep CJ.

Stunned, Gemma blinked. Sucked in a breath. I’m alive!

Then she groaned.

“I’m alive.” She breathed slowly to calm herself. “I’m...alive.” It could have been much worse.

Gemma squeezed her eyes shut as memories overwhelmed her. Déjà vu. Her uncle had been driving the night he lost control of the vehicle and they hit a tree. He’d died and Gemma had lived. Why had she lived—then and now?

Drawing in a few more calming breaths until she could breathe normally, she shook away the daze. Felt the ache from her skin to her bones. But that was good news. She could feel everything, even the nerve damage pain in her left leg from the wreck that took Uncle Dave’s life.

The CJ jerked to the right. What was going on?

Gemma turned her attention to the environment around her. The rain and the mud had risen even more and caught her rear tires. She had to hurry!

She tried to unbuckle her seat belt. Stuck. She searched for something sharp to cut herself out, but, strapped in the seat, she couldn’t reach the tool kit in the back. Regardless, she tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. The front end had crumpled as the CJ twisted against the tree. Since she’d opted for a hard top, she couldn’t cut her way out through the top, even if she could escape the seat belt trapping her inside.

She spied her cell phone—out of reach on the floorboard on the passenger side.

Gemma was going to die today, after all.

* * *

Grayson Wilde had picked the worst day for surveillance of the Tiger Mountain sanctuary. Now he paid the price as he searched for cover on the hillside to wait out the storm. He had an appointment in an hour to interview with Gemma Rollins, Tiger Mountain’s founder, for a part-time volunteer position. A senior special agent for the United States Fish and Wildlife Service, Gray worked undercover to investigate and infiltrate a wildlife trafficking ring.

Shivering in the cold, he pushed deeper into a shallow cave to shield himself from the brunt of the wind and rain while he waited it out. He scraped a hand over his face and wiped away the water. As miserable as it was to be in this place right at this moment, he reminded himself of the importance of his assignment. For starters, his mission in life was to thwart wildlife traffickers and poachers abusing God’s creations. It was crucial, dangerous work, considering illegal exotic pet trade and trafficking had become a multi-billion dollar industry, and came in right under drugs, firearms and human trafficking. And, as a source of funding for terrorist groups, it was a significant threat to both global and national security. But even aside from that, Gray had his own reasons for shadowing this sanctuary.

He’d gotten a tip from an informant that the person responsible for killing game warden Bill Garland—Gray’s friend and mentor—was connected with the project. It was the kind of tip he’d been waiting on for what seemed like a lifetime. Bill had stumbled on a potential trafficking ring years ago, and turned the information over to the feds then ended up dead. With only two hundred fifty USFWS special agents to investigate the entire country, justice was never fully served.

And Gray needed a chance to make things right.

He had started as a game warden but worked his way to becoming a federal agent and he finally had a solid lead on his ongoing investigation. Someone to connect with an extensive trafficking ring, though he didn’t yet have a name.

His new mission was to gain Gemma Rollin’s confidence and work the business with her so he could discover the truth. Find the person responsible for Bill’s death. Arrest him and everyone else involved.

He might have to show up for the interview soaking wet, but that could work in his favor.

Over the deluge he thought he heard a cry for help. Who would possibly venture out in weather like this? Well, other than himself. But unless they were conducting surveillance and working undercover, nobody should be out in the wilderness region that hedged the tiger sanctuary.

Gray quieted his thoughts and listened.

There it was again, only this time it was not a cry for help but an actual scream.

He darted from the cave back into the rain, wishing for goggles—a snorkel and a pair of flippers might even work. “Where are you?”

But he wasn’t sure how he could have heard the scream over the torrent to begin with and doubted they’d heard his response.