Aimee Thurlo - When Lightning Strikes

From the road sign, Hannah realized she was south of Shiprock, heading west up the road that led to Narbona Pass. A cop car suddenly raced past her in the other lane, sirens wailing. She hit the horn, but he kept on going. He probably hadn’t heard her over the siren and that meant she was out of luck.

She needed a new plan, and she needed it fast. Remembering that her assailant had been speaking to someone else, and afraid that the other person would show up to help him, she turned off the highway and drove down the first dirt road where she could see a roof among the trees. She needed to get to a phone and call for help, and the roof she’d seen was bound to be attached to a house back here somewhere.

Hannah had only gone about a quarter of a mile when she suddenly heard a dull pop and the steering wheel jerked out of her hands, pulling the car toward the piñon and juniper trees that lined her route. As she wrestled with the wheel, she took her foot off the gas pedal and slowly braked to a stop.

Still fearful of pursuit, Hannah looked up and down the road but, for the moment at least, it appeared deserted. She climbed out, guessing she’d blown a tire, and a quick look proved her right. There was no spare in the trunk. From now on she’d have to travel on foot but first she had to hide the car, in case the man came after her.

Hannah climbed back into the sedan, started the engine, and managed to coax the vehicle down to a low spot among the trees before it got stuck. Here, below the road level, it would be hidden somewhat from her attacker if he came down the road.

Hannah climbed back up to the road and, using the soles of her shoes, smoothed out the tire tracks as best she could that showed where she’d left the road. Then she looked around again carefully, trying to spot the roof she’d seen from the highway. Up ahead was a well-constructed fence, a graded road, and a metal gate with a sign that read Private Property. With luck, she’d find a cabin or someone’s house up that road.

The fence was strong and tightly constructed, and it was easy to climb over, but the hike became difficult after that since it was mostly uphill. As she pressed on, she searched her mind for answers. She still didn’t know how she’d ended up in that man’s car. The last thing she remembered was going to the church where she worked as an accountant part-time to search for her uncle, who was a deacon there.

As Hannah concentrated, willing herself to remember, vague images of out-of-focus faces and the sound of angry voices echoed in her mind, filling her with cold terror. She held on to that fragmented vision, trying to make sense of it all, but answers eluded her.

Focusing on the present again, she looked around, unable to suppress the feeling that danger was still close by. There would be time to remember later, after she’d reached safety. Right now she had to concentrate on finding help.

The road was not graded here, and the going was rough. Hannah jumped as a squirrel darted out in her path. The small, frightened animal froze, stared at her, then raced off into the bushes.

Sympathy filled her heart. Fear was the common denominator that bound all of nature in its daily fight for survival. But, in order to stay alive, she’d have to push back her fears and allow instinct and intelligence to guide her. It would be dark soon and she didn’t want to be wandering about then. She was alone and no one, except the wolves, ever spared a thought for those lost and seeking shelter in the night.

It was such a great morning to be outside that Daniel Eagle was reluctant to step into the warehouse that housed Gray Wolf Investigations. The sky was a clear blue, and the weather cool though it was late September. It was his kind of day. Even having a flat tire to change on the way here couldn’t spoil his mood. He felt energized, and the last place he wanted to be was inside the stark warehouse on the eastern outskirts of Farmington, New Mexico, sitting through a briefing. Unfortunately, it was his job. Using his key, Daniel let himself in through the windowless metal door, then walked over to one of the four overstuffed leather chairs that occupied the small office area.

“Lightning,” an electronically altered voice coming over a microphone said in greeting. “You’re late.”

“Couldn’t be helped,” he answered curtly, facing the video camera attached on the wall opposite the chairs. If “Handler” wanted a long explanation, he’d ask for it.

“You’re part of the Gray Wolf Pack. We have an impeccable reputation, and that’s partly because I won’t tolerate unprofessional behavior like tardiness.”

Daniel said nothing. A warning had been given, and excuses about car trouble wouldn’t help. At Gray Wolf Investigations the only thing that mattered was results. The agency specialized in catching thieves, finding missing people, and retrieving lost or stolen property around the Four Corners area, or beyond if required. They were the best. Gray Wolf usually took on cases the police wouldn’t or couldn’t accept, and their reputation had been built on the nearly one hundred percent success rate they maintained.

The agency also assured secrecy and privacy for both clients and personnel. Cases were kept strictly confidential, and known only to Handler, who was the owner of the agency, Mr. Silentman, his assistant, the operative assigned to the case, and the client. Names were kept to a minimum, once the case was accepted. Each operative had a code name assigned to them by Handler. Daniel’s was Lightning, and his cases usually involved a high level of action and/or quick extractions that suited his nature and training perfectly.

The fact that none of them, except possibly Mr. Silentman, ever saw Handler had certainly piqued Daniel’s curiosity, especially at first. To make sure everything was legit, he’d done an exhaustive background check on the agency before applying for a job with them, but everything had checked out.

He’d speculated that Handler had chosen to keep his identity a secret because he was a public figure, or maybe Handler and Mr. Silentman were one and the same. Mr. Silentman looked like a man who wanted to be thought of as polished, but knew he didn’t quite make the grade. Perhaps inventing “Handler” had been his way of adding a touch of mystique to the agency so that clients were bound to remember. But no matter what the explanation, the bottom line was that Handler continued to be a mystery.

Yet, despite all the open questions, being associated with the best private investigation agency in the southwest had certainly appealed to Daniel. He’d worked hard to get the job though it hadn’t been easy. At first Handler had been skeptical about hiring him. Daniel was told that all the operatives were required to carry a firearm, something Daniel refused to do. He’d obeyed that policy during his eight years as a cop, but he’d sworn the day he left that he would never pack a gun again.

Yet, after seeing the full extent of Daniel’s skills as a master of several martial arts disciplines, Handler had changed his mind and offered the tough Navajo loner the job. As Lightning had proven, even something as innocent as a straw, in the right hands, could become a deadly weapon.

Now, even after three years with the agency, Daniel only knew two other members of the Gray Wolf Pack—as Handler called them—his cousin, Ben Wanderer, who had recruited him, and Riley Stewart, a former Denver cop they’d both known for many years.

“Lightning, I’m going to turn you over to Mr. Silentman now. As always, he’ll be your contact,” Handler said.

A tall Navajo man with black hair and brown eyes strode into the room. He was a big, self-confident man who could appear threatening simply by changing his posture and standing ramrod straight. Daniel always got a feeling that Silentman was a street kid who’d spent most of his life trying to forget his roots, and the taint that had left on his soul. Although Daniel knew his first name was Burke, Silentman had made it clear that he preferred to be addressed by his last name.