The doorbell stopped him midstride. Detouring, he headed to the living room to open the door and was more than a little surprised to see Noah McCall standing there. The LCR leader had recently moved to Virginia with his family, but he rarely stopped by without calling first.
Raphael’s quick smile of welcome dropped away immediately at Noah’s solemn expression. “What’s wrong?”
“Can I come in?”
“Of course…sure.” Raphael backed away, his heart still at a steady beat, but a growing dread was spreading through him.
“Sarah called me yesterday.”
Having Giselle’s mother call Noah wasn’t that unusual. They had become friends over the last couple of years. Still, Raphael could see that the call had disturbed Noah. “Is she okay?”
“Yes and no.”
McCall was obviously struggling with words. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be worse than what Raphael was imagining.
“Just spit it out.”
“Reddington’s made some threats. Sarah and the children are going into the WITSEC program.”
His heart sank like a stone. Sarah’s testimony had put Reddington behind bars. Her agreement with the prosecutor’s office had been that if Reddington made credible threats to her or her family at any time, they would be put into witness protection.
“Why now? He’s in prison…never going to get out. What’s the point?”
“His last appeal was denied yesterday. He’s out of options.”
Understanding came quick. “All he has left is revenge.”
“Exactly.”
His jaw clenched with fury at what the bastard continued to put Sarah and Giselle through. Knowing there was no other option for them, he asked, “So when do we leave?”
At the look on Noah’s face, an icy chill swept through Raphael.
“Noah,” he said hoarsely, “where is Giselle?”
Instead of answering, Noah held out an envelope with Raphael’s name on it in Giselle’s handwriting.
Grabbing it from his hand, Raphael ripped it open and withdrew a single sheet of paper. Denial beat a heavy drum inside his head even while he read the words she began with:
Raphael, it’s been fun.
Chapter One
Seven years later
Birchwood Sanitarium
Trenton, Vermont
Screams. Screams. They surrounded her, inside her head, outside in the darkness. Everywhere. Her hands covered her ears, tried to muffle the sounds. They wouldn’t go away. Was it her? Was she the one screaming?
She touched her mouth, thankful that it was closed, that she wasn’t the one making that hideous sound.
Her eyes darted left and right, the terrible dread filling her once again. They would be coming soon. With their fake smiles and devious plans. Why didn’t they just kill her and get it over with? Did they expect her to take care of it for them? Do the deed herself so they would have fewer questions to answer?
She refused to give them that satisfaction.
She dropped her hands and stared down at them, almost surprised to see that they were soft, slender. A young person’s hands. How could they belong to her? She felt old, ancient.
Odd that she could have these coherent thoughts now, but then when they came, with their fake smiles and little pills, her mind would go cloudy, and she would drift away once again, forget. She searched for more of that coherency, clawed through the thick, dark clouds of her mind. The answer was there. She just needed to reach out and grab hold.
When the darkness came again, as it inevitably would, when she knew nothing and no one, she would close her eyes and see a man. She couldn’t describe him, but she knew his face as if he was imprinted on her heart and soul. Why couldn’t her mind hold the image? All she could truly remember were his eyes. They were dark, deep, beautiful. Full of warmth and compassion. Love. Gentleness and humor often glimmered in the dark, golden depths. They were eyes you could fall into, drown, and be reborn. Who they belonged to and what this man meant to her, she had no idea. She only knew she wanted to get to him, find him, and forget this nightmare she was living.
A door slammed shut, and she jerked up on the bed, her heart thundering with awful anticipation. They would be coming soon. Another meal laced with drugs. Another pill. Another beverage tainted with something noxious. They liked to mix it up, keep her guessing, but it was all for one purpose, one reason. They wanted to destroy her. When would it end? Why didn’t they just do the deed and get it over with?
No, no, no. A sob built up in her chest, and she wrestled it back down. There was someone waiting for her, someone who needed her. She didn’t know who or why. She only knew she had to get out of here. Someone was depending on her, and she could not, would not, fail.
A scream like that of a banshee sounded only a few feet from her door. The cry echoed in her soul. She wanted to join in, to scream and beat her fists against the walls until they stopped, until they listened. But she wouldn’t let loose. No…no. They couldn’t know that she was having these odd moments of clarity. They pretended…they lied. They acted like they cared. No one did. Not even the man with the beautiful eyes. She was alone…completely alone.
Another scream sounded. Men shouted. Lights flared all around her. More screams. The madhouse had erupted!
Voices sounded outside, close-by. She shuffled as quickly as she could to the door. They rarely spoke in the hallway, but tonight they were vocal.
“What the hell’s going on? Everybody’s gone crazy.”
“What else did you expect in a place like this?”
“Tonight’s worse.”
“It’s the full moon.”
“That’s a crock of shit.”
“No, it’s not. I’ve worked here for almost a year. Happens a lot. Even though most of the crazies can’t see the moon, they know it’s full. It’s like it calls to them.”
“Sounds like you’ve been here too long.”
“You got that right. Depressing as hell, but the pay’s all right. As long as we keep ’em drugged and out of everyone’s way, everybody’s happy.”
“Except these poor fools.”
“Yeah. Well. Shit happens and all that.”
Another voice, this one female and authoritative, snapped, “Hey, you two. You want to stop gossiping and actually do some work around here?”
The two men mumbled some curses and moved away from her door.
The crazies.
Was she one of them? Had she been put here because she had a mental illness? She didn’t feel mentally ill. But did people with a mental illness recognize they were sick? Or did they rely on others to tell them?
If she was sick, had she agreed to come here, or had someone brought her here? No. No. They hated her. Wanted her dead. Who? Who hated her? Who wanted her dead?
Why couldn’t she remember? She pulled at her hair, barely registering the pain. Looking down, she noted her clothing—soft, loose pants, a long-sleeved T-shirt, thin, white slippers on her feet. The clothes hung from her body. Were they the wrong size to start with or had she lost a lot of weight?
Her hands slid beneath her shirt. Her ribs were prominent, her stomach concave, her hipbones protruding. This wasn’t right. She felt like she was touching a stranger’s body.
She glanced around the room. Usually, it was so dim in here, she could barely make out her surroundings, but for some reason the lights glowed brighter tonight. A hospital bed was against one wall. Beside it was a nightstand holding a plastic cup and a water pitcher. A thin, blue robe lay on the bed. A toilet sat in the corner. There was a bookshelf with some books along the wall. She shuffled closer. Picking up the most interesting-looking one, she flipped through pages and then dropped the book, panicked. She grabbed the next one, then another. The books were fake, the pages blank. There was nothing in them. Why would she have fake books on her shelf?
Panic spiked again, and though she did everything she could, she couldn’t stifle it this time. She had to get out of here!
&nbs
p; A cacophony of noises spiraled up around her, whirled inside her brain, making her head hurt. Were they outside, or were they all in her mind? She tugged at her hair again. A shrill, ear-piercing siren ripped through the air. She slapped her hands over her ears. Too loud, too loud. It was too much.
The door to her room opened. A large man stood there. He wore white and was holding a tray. More drugs, more things to make her forget. Forget what? How could she forget what she didn’t remember? She laughed…she didn’t know. She laughed harder, feeling free, not caring that the sound was like the cackling of a demented witch.
“There, there,” the man said in a soft, soothing tone. “Take this, and the noises in your head will disappear. Everything will be fine.”
Was he right? Was all of this in her head? Would the noises stop if she did what he said?
He took her hand and placed a white pill on her palm. It was deceptively small. The power this small pill had was breathtaking, mind-blowing…mind-stealing. It would suck her soul from her body, make her disappear. Soon she would no longer exist. And they would be happy. Who? Who would be happy?
No. No. No.
A voice screeched outside the room. The man turned slightly to look behind him. She didn’t think, she acted. Grabbing hold of the nightstand behind her, she swung with all her might. She heard the thud. The vibration of the impact to his head went through her body. With a small grunt, the man dropped to the floor. She hurriedly rifled through his pockets. Came up with a wallet, candy bar, and, sweet heaven, keys!
She raced to the door and into the hallway. People were everywhere. Were they the crazies or the not-crazies? Was there a difference?
She darted through the milling crowd. Some were sobbing, others screaming. A few shouted and cursed. She made eye contact with no one…just kept moving.
A door several feet away caught her attention. Something told her if she got through that door, she would be home free.
“Stop!”
She didn’t turn, didn’t stop. If they caught her, they would kill her.
Her legs pumped faster and faster. She had to do it, had to make it. There was someone out there for her. Someone she loved…needed to protect. Who, she didn’t know. She only knew if she didn’t escape tonight, she would never have another chance.
Her breath heaved as her lungs worked to full capacity. She could feel them behind her, hear their warnings. With all her remaining strength, she gave it her all and reached for the door. Jamming a key into the lock, she twisted. It wouldn’t work. Swallowing a panicked sob, she tried another. Then another. They were coming toward her, yelling at her. Please, oh please, oh please. Let the next one work. She shoved in the key. It worked! The door swung open, and she ran. She couldn’t stop. She wouldn’t stop until she was in the open, away from here.
She raced down the stairway. One flight, two flights. When would it end? They were behind her. She could hear them running. Hear them shouting. Their hot breath was practically on her neck.
Her lungs ached, her endurance depleted. She fell forward and tumbled down the stairway, landing on the harsh, unforgiving tile floor. Pain was secondary to desperation. Bumps and bruises, even broken bones would not stop her.
Ugly, ungodly sounds surrounded her, and she knew they came from her. Part wailing, part rasping breaths. Her lungs felt as though they could explode any moment. Ignoring all the pain, she surged to her feet. A brief look around showed her another door with a bright red Exit sign only a few feet away. Sobbing her relief, she hobbled toward the door, pushed.
The door slammed shut behind her. Darkness surrounded her. The only light was the brightness of the moon above her. She was outside!
For the first time in she didn’t know how long, she was breathing fresh air. But she couldn’t stop and appreciate any of it. Just because she was outside didn’t mean she was safe.
Thankful for the brightness provided by the moon, she followed a rocky trail that led into the woods. She would have to go on foot until she was far away. She had no plans after that. For right now, her only goal was to get as far away from this place as possible.
As she stumbled into the woods, she looked over her shoulder. The night was clear, and the moon was indeed full, allowing her to see what she had escaped. A building, at least ten stories high, spiraled toward the sky. Surrounded only by deep, thick woods, it was austere and isolated. Whatever the place was, it was evident that it was meant to be hidden, meant to stay hidden.
When she had time…when she was safe, she would sit down and think. She had so many questions, so many things she didn’t know, couldn’t remember. One question burned in her brain above all others. She fought for the answer and almost cried when she couldn’t come up with one. Who was she?
Chapter Two
Bucaramanga, Colombia
Raphael swatted at the biggest mosquito he’d ever seen. Damn thing had to be on steroids. The mosquito repellant he’d sprayed on a few hours ago had melted off in the stifling heat, but he wasn’t sure that would have deterred these bloodsuckers. When he got back to camp, he’d be dousing his entire body with anti-itch ointment and alcohol.
He glanced over at Brennan Sinclair, one of his partners for this particular mission. Rivulets of sweat rolled down the man’s face. Raphael huffed out a small laugh when Brennan growled softly as he, too, backhanded one of the giant bloodsucking insects.
Hearing his amusement, Brennan glanced over at him and grinned. Even as miserable as they were, he knew that neither one of them wanted to be anywhere else at this moment. They were about to bring down some major shit on some very bad people and rescue a truckload of kidnapped victims. Didn’t get much better than that
Sinclair had come to LCR a few years back, before Raphael came on board. Brennan Sinclair was dedicated to saving lives, just as he was. Rescuing innocents no matter the cost was LCR’s motto.
More than once he’d heard Sinclair say that LCR had not only saved his sanity but had brought him the love of his life. Sinclair was married to one of the world’s top models, and as a former NFL player he likely didn’t need to work. If there was one thing Raphael had learned, though—LCR operatives didn’t do this job for money. The money was good, but there were a lot of easier ways to pay the bills.
He’d come to LCR in a different way. Once a victim…one whom LCR rescued. And from that moment, being an LCR operative had been his number one goal. Working for Last Chance Rescue in any capacity would have been an honor. To be an Elite operative was beyond his wildest imaginings.
Hadn’t been easy, but as McCall had told him more than once, nothing worthwhile ever was. The man should know. The LCR founder hadn’t had an easy road either, but the things he’d been able to accomplish inspired Raphael. Thanks to Noah McCall and LCR, he found a family and his destiny.
Whoever said dreams didn’t come true was wrong. You just had to work your ass off to get there.
Sure, there had been some bumps along the way. Things he’d wanted that hadn’t worked out the way he had thought they would. He still thought of her on occasion, the girl he’d once loved. That had been a tough time, one he wouldn’t relive for all the money in the world. But that was life. You took the good with the bad.
Seven years was a long time to pine for something that hadn’t been real in the first place. They’d both been young, too damn young to make life-altering decisions. They were both older now, and hopefully wiser. They likely wouldn’t even look twice at each other if given another chance.
Not that he would ever see her again. She was married now, probably had a kid or two. He hadn’t checked. Didn’t want to know. Checking would have been a weakness, an indication that he wasn’t over her. He was. Had been for years. It was done.
His life was full, he had what he needed. Family, friends, and the best damn job in the world. Someday he’d give some thought to settling down, but for right now, he was exactly where he wanted to be.
“See some activity headed your way. Looks like two
vans and a couple of SUVs.” The voice that came through the earbud was that of operative Jake Mallory. He and his partner, Angela Delvecchio, were parked in a truck about a quarter mile down the main road.
“About damn time.” Discomfort was obvious in Aidan Thorne’s growl. Raphael couldn’t blame him. While he couldn’t say anyone was in a comfortable position, Thorne had the worst of it physically, as he was in the trunk of an abandoned rust-bucket car just outside the compound. Good thing the guy wasn’t claustrophobic.
“I agree.” The soft voice of Olivia Gates revealed the tension she likely felt. While everyone outside battled mosquitoes and stifling humidity, Olivia and Elite operative Sabrina Fox were inside the compound dealing with subhuman turds. They’d definitely drawn the short end of the straw. Dealing with bloodsucking insects was a damn sight more pleasant than having to associate with the scum who kidnapped and sold people for a living. Couldn’t get much lower than that.
The op was months in the making. Knowing a human trafficking ring existed and actually being able to infiltrate and bring it down took planning, coordination, and a whole lot of luck.
The first phase had begun three months ago with gathering intel. Two tech analysts had worked around the clock, digging deep to find the head of the organization. The group was both well organized and well funded—one of the largest LCR had encountered. The entire Elite team, along with LCR operative Dylan Savage, was involved in this mission.
Deep cover was Savage’s forte. In the dark underworld, lives were bartered with or destroyed on a whim. It was in this world where John Wheeler, Dylan’s undercover persona, existed. Dylan created the identity years ago to bring down Stanford Reddington and had maintained Wheeler’s reputation of sleaze and filth for operations such as this one.
There was no one better at deep cover. Period. It was a testament to Savage’s strength and fortitude that he was able to work with such garbage and still remain a decent human being. Raphael figured Jamie, Dylan’s wife, had a lot to do with that. More than once, Raphael had heard the man refer to Jamie as his sunshine.
Running Strong Page 2
