Gone. Shirlee McCoyЧитать онлайн книгу.
him do that.
He glanced at Ella. He’d give her credit, she was moving well, pushing through brambles and late-summer growth with grim determination. She’d done as he asked—putting on his jacket and zipping it to her chin. Her booted feet slogged through dead leaves and trampled dry branches. If she was tired or in pain, she didn’t show it, and she didn’t complain.
But, alone, he could have moved at double the speed.
His beat-up Chevy was well hidden. He wasn’t worried about anyone from The Organization seeing it. Not until he pulled out from behind the undergrowth and onto the two-lane road that wound its way through a mountain pass and back to town. Once he was driving, his truck would be easily seen and recognized. The Organization kept track of its members. Where they lived. What they drove. Who they spent time with. He didn’t want his truck seen anywhere near the location of their escaped captive. According to his paperwork, he was IT Specialist Sam Rogers, an old buddy of one of their low-level operatives, a guy who’d run drugs across the Mexican border during high school and college. Someone who might be willing to do anything for a price. He wanted to keep it that way.
But at the rate he and Ella were going, his cover would be blown before the sun rose.
“I’m slowing you down,” Ella said as he held a thick pine bough and waited for her to duck under it. “Why don’t you go on ahead? Once you get somewhere with cell reception, you can call the police to come for me.”
“No.”
“Why not? It’s a sound plan, and makes a lot more sense than both of us getting caught.”
“That’s exactly why it’s not a good plan. I’m not leaving you here to face The Organization’s thugs alone.”
“What organization?”
“The Organization is the name of a crime syndicate that has cell groups all over the country. Newcastle is one of its newest,” he explained.
“What would a crime syndicate want with someone like me?” she asked, breathless, struggling to keep up.
“Funny, I was going to ask you the same question.”
“I don’t have an answer, Special Agent Sheridan.”
“Sam. And most crime syndicates don’t mess with people who aren’t of benefit to the organization.”
“Benefit? What does that mean?”
“Money. Favors—political or legal.”
She snorted. “I’m a freelance journalist. I write human-interest stories for local newspapers and a few national publications. I also teach online writing classes for the community college during the fall and winter sessions.”
“In Newcastle?”
She hesitated, maybe realizing she was giving away personal information and not sure she should be doing it.
“Not in Newcastle,” he guessed. “You don’t live in town?”
“No.”
“Look, Ella. I’m sure you think you’re helping yourself by keeping information from me, but I really do work for the FBI. I can find out anything I want to know pretty easily.”
“I live outside Charlotte, North Carolina,” she muttered, and he wasn’t sure if it was the truth or a lie.
“And you’re in Maine because?”
“My cousin passed away a couple of weeks ago. I came to clean out her apartment.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, offering a platitude that wouldn’t do a thing to ease her sorrow. He knew that, but it was all he had. Unlike the other members of the Special Crimes Unit, Sam wasn’t good or comfortable with the emotional aspects of the job. He’d been brought on board to work assignments like the one in Newcastle—undercover gigs that required someone who looked and acted the part the part of a criminal.
“Me, too,” she responded. “But Ruby always said death was a beginning. Not an end.”
“Ruby was your cousin?”
“Yes.”
“It sounds like she had the right idea about things.”
“She did.” She fell silent. Not adding anything to that, her harsh breathing and stumbling steps reminding him that his pace was too fast for her. Too slow for him.
The soft rumble of an engine broke the silence, and she tripped. He snagged her arm, keeping her upright and pulling her deeper into the shadows.
“That’s a car,” she whispered, as if her voice might carry through the darkness and drift into the interior of the vehicle that was approaching.
Gravel crunched beneath tires, and lights illuminated the forest up ahead. Someone was coming down the driveway. High beams on.
He doubted the light would reach them, but he tugged Ella down anyway, crouching behind thick brush. She was inches away, her face a pale oval in the darkness, her eyes light-colored—blue or gray—and wide with alarm.
“What are we going to do?” she asked, looking straight at him.
“Wait until they pass.”
“Once they do, they’ll figure out I’m gone. Then they’ll come looking,” she replied, her voice tight.
“We’re almost at the road,” he assured her. “Far enough ahead that we should be able to make it to my truck without being seen.”
“You would be able to if I weren’t with you.”
It was true, but separating wasn’t an option, so he said nothing, just motioned for her to be still and silent as the lights drifted closer. They passed slowly, a few feet away, sliding across trees and bushes, and casting the world in yellow-tinged color. He could see Ella more clearly now, still just a few inches away, gaze focused toward the oncoming vehicle. Light brown hair threaded with red and gold. The splotch on her neck was dried blood over a purple bruise. A puncture wound of some sort?
The forest darkened incrementally. Gold to gray to nearly black, and he knew it was time to move again.
“Ready?” he whispered, but she was already up, sprinting ahead, pushing through foliage and disappearing into the forest. Heading away from the driveway, away from the road, deeper into forest that stretched for miles in every direction.
He followed, not caring about making too much noise or drawing attention to their escape. He had to catch her before she got lost in a wilderness that was just as dangerous and deadly as the men who were after her.
It was a mistake to keep running. Ella knew it. Just like she knew she shouldn’t have panicked and taken off. Now she was committed to her escape—from the vehicle, the lights and Sam. The man who’d said he was an FBI agent. Who’d seemed to want to help her. Who’d probably be able to find his way out of the forest a lot more easily than she could.
She’d be lost soon, if she kept running.
Lost in acres of trees that blocked the moon and made her wonder which direction she was heading. Away from the driveway? Toward a road? Or deeper into the Maine wilderness.
There were bears here. Lynx. Moose. Animals that could maul, claw and trample a person. She’d researched the area before Ruby moved there. She’d been fascinated and worried by her cousin’s decision to leave everything she knew to take a job in a state she’d never visited. Ruby had called it an adventure. Ella had never been adventurous. And she certainly had no experience in the Maine wilderness. If she got lost, she’d probably stay lost. But she kept running anyway, compelled by fear and panic and some instinct that told her being lost in the wilderness would be better than being found by whoever had kidnapped