Shirlee McCoy - Gone

“They know who I am,” she whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

“Shhhh,” he cautioned.

Just that.

No words of comfort. No reassurance. But his steady pace was calming, his focus on what lay ahead instead of what was coming at them from behind reassuring.

Strange how much she wanted to believe he was one of the good guys and that he was leading her to safety. Maybe he was. Probably he was. Why else would he be helping her escape? What other possible motive could he have for freeing her?

Aside from Ruby, she hadn’t trusted anyone in a very long time. Six years. She knew the exact day and hour she’d stopped trusting blindly. She knew the exact reason, too. Jarrod. Someone she’d loved without reservation. Someone she tried really hard not to think about anymore.

Something snapped in the woods behind them, and she jumped, glancing over her shoulder. Lights danced in the darkness, golden orbs sliding along the ground and bouncing off trees. One. Two.

Three.

She counted again. Just to be sure.

Three lights. Three people.

She tripped for the second time, her ankle twisting under her.

Sam pulled her against his side, whispering in her ear, “Careful. If you get hurt, I’ll have to carry you out. That will slow us down.”

She nodded and kept moving, ignoring the throbbing pain in her ankle and the hollow pulse of fear in her veins. She had to stay focused and play things smart.

The people behind them probably had weapons, and she didn’t want to find out what they planned to do to her or to Sam. If what he’d said was true, he was an innocent bystander, an FBI agent who’d stepped in to help and who could lose his life because of it. Because of her. She didn’t want that. She wanted both of them safe, but if only one of them survived, she’d rather it be him. She didn’t want to live knowing that he’d died helping her.

She shuddered, wishing she could close her eyes, open them and find out the last couple of weeks had been a nightmare.

Actually, she’d be happy to learn that the past seven years had been a nightmare.

Voices carried through the darkness. Her pursuers weren’t being subtle. They seemed to want her to know they were coming.

Maybe intimidation was the point.

Maybe they wanted to terrify her into surrendering or scare her into running deep into the wilderness. It would be easy to get lost there. Sam had been right about that. Just as he seemed to be right about staying silent and moving slowly. She didn’t think their pursuers had any idea how close they were. Panicking and racing through the trees, breaking branches and making noise would have given away their location.

And it’s exactly what she still wanted to do.

Run as fast as she could for as long as she could and pray they didn’t catch her.

Sam pushed through thick undergrowth, pulling her up a ravine and out into a field of tall grass. A house had once stood in the center of it. She could see the crumbling foundation, an old fence and an outbuilding. She could also see the road—a gray slash in the lush landscape.

They stepped onto the cracked asphalt. She’d have preferred to return to the woods. At least there she felt hidden, protected by the thick tree canopy and dense foliage.

Sam didn’t seem bothered by the lack of cover. He’d picked up his pace. First to a slow jog and then to a quicker run. He was moving fast, his longer legs eating up the ground at a speed Ella could barely match. Her lungs burned, her chest heaved, but she didn’t dare ask him to slow down.

She felt the danger like she felt the cold air and the hard thump of her heart. It was there. Right behind them. Every nightmare she’d ever had and all the ones she hadn’t.

“This way,” Sam said, yanking her toward the edge of the road.

She was certain she heard feet pounding on the pavement behind them. She didn’t look. She was afraid of what she’d see.

A shot rang out, the sound reverberating through the stillness. A bullet slammed into a tree near her head, bits of bark flying into her face and hair.

She didn’t have time to react. Sam dragged her into the foliage, pushing through brambles like they were air.

Another shot rang out, whizzing past somewhere to her left.

“Get down,” Sam said, his voice clipped and hard as he swung around and pulled a gun from a belt holster. Smooth. Practiced. Effortless. As if he’d done it hundreds of times before.

She dropped to the ground as he fired three shots in rapid succession.

He dragged her up and into an all-out run before the sound faded away. He veered right, and she finally saw what they’d been running toward—an old Chevy truck tucked behind trees and bushes and hidden from the road.

“Let’s go!” Sam opened the passenger door, and she slid in, every nerve in her body alive with fear and adrenaline.

Seconds later, Sam climbed behind the wheel and turned on the engine, his gun hidden again. He drove through undergrowth and sapling trees and pulled onto the road. Three people were standing in the center of the road. No flashlights. Just dark figures against the gray-blue landscape.

“Get down!” Sam commanded as he forced the truck into a one-eighty and accelerated. The back window shattered, and she ducked, pebbles of glass falling onto the bench seat beside her.

* * *

His truck had been seen. That meant his cover had been blown. Sam wasn’t going to regret it. His priority was to help civilians—innocent women, men and children who’d done nothing to deserve the trouble they found themselves in. Catching the people who preyed on them was always secondary to ensuring their safety.

Of course, he was assuming that Ella was an innocent civilian. He knew nothing about her other than what she’d shared. For all he knew, she was a member of The Organization and had become a liability the higher-ups couldn’t afford to keep. Even if she was that, he’d have helped her. No matter her story, he couldn’t let her die.

Justice should only ever be served by the court system or by God. Individuals playing judge and jury were prone to quick and regrettable action. That had been drilled into Sam’s head when he was a rookie cop in Houston. His partner and mentor, Mitch Daley, hadn’t appreciated some of Sam’s rougher edges. He’d helped smooth them out. Mitch was one of the good guys. Currently retired, he and his wife were spending their golden years cruising and camping and visiting their four kids and fifteen grandchildren.

“Are they gone?” Ella asked, lifting her head and glancing out the shattered back window.

“Yes.” For now. Hopefully, for a while.

“That should probably make me feel better, but it doesn’t.” Bits of glass shimmered on her arm and shoulder, and he was glad she’d had his coat for extra protection. As it was, the bullets had come way too close to finding their mark. A second later arriving at the truck, a minute later escaping, and he and Ella might not have been so fortunate.

“The Organization isn’t filled with people who want to make others feel better,” he replied, accelerating around a curve in the road, putting more distance between them and the danger behind them.

“You keep mentioning The Organization. Why?”

“Because the man who transported you here was a member.”

“I don’t remember being transported, so I have no idea who he is.”

“His name is Mack Dawson. He works as an orderly at the clinic—helping nurses, transporting patients from place to place.”

“Okay.”

“The name doesn’t mean anything to you?”

“Nothing about anything you’ve said means anything to me. I’d never heard of The Organization until tonight. I don’t remember meeting Mack Dawson.”