The Enforcer

by Anna Perrin

  McKenna’s eyes narrowed. “And that’s all you two talked about?”

  “She was the last one to see him the night he escaped. I did my best to calm her down, but she kept repeating that if he hadn’t gotten out of Ridsdale, he’d be alive today.”

  “She called Gene, too,” McKenna said, “and left a message with Lisa, which I was lucky enough to intercept. Now how do you suppose she knew his name?”

  Was McKenna toying with her? “Maybe she lost my phone number, called the Bureau and got redirected to his line.”

  He shot her a disgusted look. “Her message said you had told her to call. Why would you do that?”

  She grasped at a possible explanation. “I thought Gene should know that she was feeling some guilt about Forrester’s death, and he might want to ask her more questions about that night.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Claire.”

  She held his gaze without blinking.

  “I think she saw my picture on the news and spilled her guts to you.” He added slyly, “Of course, she regrets that decision now.”

  “What have you done to her?”

  “Nothing…yet. Before I left the city, I called to remind her how easily her three-year-old could disappear if she opens her big mouth about me to anybody again.”

  Relief that the nurse hadn’t been harmed was cut short by his next words.

  “I’ll deal with her…after I’ve finished with you.”

  A trickle of sweat ran between her breasts, and she racked her brain for a way to save herself and the young nurse. “Brent knows that you coerced Maria Gomez into helping Forrester escape. If something bad happens to her or me, he’ll know you were responsible.”

  “Brent doesn’t know anything and neither does Gene. I just came from a meeting with them—”

  “I talked to Brent after the meeting.”

  He looked skeptical.

  “When we spoke,” she continued, “he was more than halfway here.”

  Suddenly, she found herself staring at a wicked-looking ten-inch blade. Backing away, she made a last-ditch attempt to convince him not to kill her. “If you leave right now, Brent won’t be able to catch up to you.”

  “You think so?” His tone was rhetorical. “Well, it’s time you and I left, anyway.”

  Did he intend to kidnap her? Or was that just wishful thinking because death was the alternative?

  “Where are we going?”

  “I rented a speedboat at the marina and docked it not far from here.”

  “Brent will come after us,” she warned, “and he won’t stop until he’s arrested you.”

  He turned the knife in his hand, carefully studying the blade. “I’d like to see him try.”

  A moment ago, his tone had been casual, almost dispassionate. Now both his voice and body language conveyed an eagerness that terrified her. Desperately, she jerked her gaze away from the knife and scanned the kitchen, searching for something she could use to fight him off. In movies, there was always a butcher block of knives close at hand or a heavy cast-iron frying pan on top of the stove. But reality wasn’t like that. Reality was a plastic spatula in the dish drainer.

  She pressed her fingers against her temple, which had begun to throb.

  He gestured toward the hall. “After you.”

  She walked past him, shoulders slumped, outwardly obedient. But as soon as she pushed open the front door, she leapt off the porch, hitting the ground so hard she bit the inside of her cheek. The taste of blood spurred her on. If she didn’t get away, he would shed more of it with that lethal blade he carried.

  Sandals slipping on the grass, she darted around the side of the cabin and raced for the trees.

  A surprised shout rang out behind her, followed by pounding footsteps and ragged breathing. She pushed herself to run faster. The uneven ground made it risky to lengthen her stride. If she twisted an ankle, he’d be on her in a heartbeat. She had to make it deep into the woods where there might be a place to hide.

  She could tell he was closing the distance between them. She dodged left, then scrambled over a fallen log, her lungs burning, her muscles screaming. The denser part of the woods wasn’t far off now—

  McKenna tackled her.

  She sprawled onto the ground with him on top of her, unable to move, unable to breathe. The weight of his body—and her fear—threatened to suffocate her. He would kill her now. Plunge the knife into her and leave her body here, where it would be devoured by scavengers.

  He surprised her by grabbing her arm and jerking her to her feet. “That wasn’t a smart move.” He spat out the words through his teeth, his breath coming in short gasps.

  She struggled to catch her own breath, stumbled twice as she tried to regain her footing. She had lost this chance to escape. It wouldn’t be so easy to find another. As he navigated back through the trees without difficulty, she realized he must have scouted out the area earlier.

  He propelled her down the hill toward the water. Her footsteps slowed instinctively, until he laid the cold steel of his knife against her throat. She resisted the urge to shiver. “Where are we going?”

  “We’re taking a ride in the canoe I found in the boathouse.”

  When they reached it, he opened the door. But instead of going inside, he pushed her ahead of him toward the dock where the canoe was already waiting.

  “Why did you leave the door open?”

  “Just thought some crumbs would be helpful.”

  He was setting a scene. When Brent returned to the cabin and didn’t find her inside, the open door would automatically lead him to the boathouse and the missing canoe. That’s why McKenna hadn’t used the knife on her. He wanted to make her death look like an accidental drowning.

  She stiffened her spine—no way was she going down without a fight.

  The blade fell away from her neck as he pointed to the canoe. “Step in,” he ordered. “Sit in the front.”

  If she dove into the shallow water, McKenna would be on top of her in an instant. Better to wait for another opportunity. She gingerly set one foot, then the other on the wooden slats. The canoe bobbed in the water, giving her an idea. When they reached the middle of the lake, she’d hammer him with a paddle, then dive overboard and escape.

  “Let’s go,” McKenna said.

  She dipped the paddle into the water. With her heart pounding and her muscles quivering, it wasn’t easy to move them away from the dock.

  “Don’t get any bright ideas about using that thing as a weapon,” he warned. “I still have my knife, and I won’t hesitate to kill you.”

  She didn’t doubt him. He pointed to a rocky outcropping in the distance and instructed her to move in that direction.

  She was safe as long as she was paddling, so she made a determined effort to delay reaching their destination. Since she hadn’t been in a canoe in years, it took little pretense to be awkward with her paddle. Alternating the paddle from side to side, she barely kept the boat going in a straight line.

  Fifteen minutes later, they hadn’t made much progress.

  “Pick up the pace,” McKenna ordered.

  She swung her paddle out of the water. In her peripheral vision, she saw a flash of wood—the other paddle.

  Oh God. She was too slow, her paddle too heavy from the water—

  “So long, Dr. Lamont,” McKenna said.

  A searing pain turned her world black.

  Chapter Fifteen

  On his way back to the cabin, Brent mentally rehearsed what he was going to say to Claire. He wanted her to understand that his aversion to commitment was a self-defense mechanism. Sylvia’s betrayal had cut so deep, he’d relegated his heart to the deep freeze to protect it. Only Claire—with her warm and caring personality—had succeeded in melting away his defenses. Now he was ready to commit unconditionally to their relationship.

  His cell phone rang, and he answered it immediately, hoping Claire was on the line.

  “Erik Norman here. Sorry it took so long fo
r me to get back to you. I double-checked, and Forrester hasn’t been to evidence storage since February eleventh.”

  That was months before Sharratt had contacted Pete, months before Forrester had known his sweet deal was threatened. Why would the guy have risked stealing Totten’s gun back then? It didn’t make sense.

  “Any chance he could’ve slipped in unnoticed?” Brent asked.

  “It’s a secure area. The only way for an agent to gain admittance is to swipe his card, which automatically produces a computer record of his visit.”

  “Could the records have been tampered with?”

  “The Bureau has spent a fortune on security software to prevent that from happening,” Norman said.

  But if Forrester hadn’t been to evidence storage since February, how had he acquired that weapon? Maybe he really did have a partner—one who had known about Totten’s gun.

  “Who else was involved in taking down Hank Totten?” he asked.

  The sound of rapid keyboarding was followed by, “Feltz and McKenna.”

  McKenna.

  The agent who had survived the conflagration at Forrester’s house with only a bump on the head. The same agent who had shown up unexpectedly at the factory, claimed to see Forrester threaten Brent and shot the man dead.

  “See if there’s a record of Alec McKenna visiting evidence storage in the past six weeks.”

  As he waited for Norman to run the query, Brent became even more convinced that McKenna had been Forrester’s partner in crime. Which one of them was responsible for killing Sanderson and shooting through Claire’s window? Had McKenna passed Totten’s gun on to Forrester or had he used it himself?

  “Bingo,” Norman said. “McKenna was here on May thirtieth.”

  The day before Sanderson was shot. Too much of a coincidence.

  He thanked Norman, disconnected, then called Gene and explained what he’d discovered.

  “I’ll bring McKenna in for questioning,” Gene said grimly.

  “Can you ask Lisa about a note she passed to McKenna? He bailed on the meeting soon afterward.”

  “I’ll check into it,” Gene promised.

  Brent had driven another ten miles when Gene called back.

  “Lisa says she gave McKenna a phone message for me. She remembers Claire had recommended a woman named Maria Gomez contact me. Why does that name sound familiar?”

  “Maria Gomez was one of Forrester’s nurses at Ridsdale.”

  “I wonder what she wants.”

  “As soon as I reach the cabin, I’ll ask Claire.”

  “I had Lisa ring McKenna’s place. He’s not picking up.”

  The uneasiness in Brent’s gut escalated. McKenna had claimed he was going home when he left the meeting—so where the hell was he?

  “Keep trying,” he said. “And call me when you get in touch with him.”

  He increased the Mustang’s speed, a sense of urgency growing inside him. McKenna knew from Lisa’s note that Claire had talked to Forrester’s nurse. Could he have left the meeting early to try to find Claire? He wouldn’t find her. The only people who knew he and Claire were staying at the cabin were Gene and Lisa. Could McKenna have tricked Lisa into revealing the cabin’s location?

  He swore as he hit the cabin’s speed dial number on his cell. One ring. Two rings. Three. Four.

  No answer.

  He tried not to panic, but his palms were slick on the steering wheel and his heart hammered against his ribs. Maybe she’d gone for a swim. Maybe she was sitting outside or had the radio cranked up. Whatever she was doing, she’d likely return to the cabin soon because the weather was turning nasty.

  Dark clouds had rolled in, blocking out the sun. Whenever it rained, the dirt road near the cabin became treacherous so he pressed the accelerator to the floor, determined to beat the storm.

  The last section of the trip seemed to take an eternity. Finally, he turned off the winding lake road into his laneway. As he caught sight of the cabin, the tension in his shoulders eased. Shutting off the engine, he scooped up the red roses he’d bought for Claire and Gene’s envelope of e-mails and headed for the cabin.

  The front door stood ajar. He wanted to believe she was just airing out the place, but his instincts warned him otherwise. He vaulted onto the porch, then headed inside, calling her name as he went. The living area, kitchen, both bedrooms and bathroom were all empty. Was she down at the lake?

  After leaving the cabin, he set off down the hill, telling himself to calm down. She was fine. He was just on edge because of McKenna. A minute later, the shoreline came into view. Both Adirondack chairs on the dock were empty. However, the open door of the boathouse suggested she’d been there. When he checked inside, he saw the canoe was missing.

  He turned toward the lake and glimpsed something on the water’s surface.

  A canoe, holding a lone figure. Although the paddler’s back was to the shore, he could tell it wasn’t Claire.

  Oh, God. What had happened to her? His mind reeled at the possibilities.

  A cross-current wave rocked the canoe sideways, and he caught sight of an arm trailing over the side. Someone lay face down in the boat, and he suddenly realized where Claire was.

  He also got his first look at the paddler’s face.

  It was Alec McKenna.

  BRENT DUCKED inside the boathouse, a murderous rage swelling inside him. He shook it off. Only clear thinking would help him catch McKenna.

  Beside him, a shelving unit was piled high with fishing tackle and assorted swim gear. He grabbed a mask and snorkel, then kicked off his shoes and jammed his feet into a pair of fins. On an impulse, he pocketed a sizable fishhook. Wading into the shallow water, he quickly cleared the open end of the boathouse and struck out in a fast crawl.

  His stomach churned, and his heartbeat pounded in his ears. He had to reach Claire, had to find out why she lay so still. She couldn’t be dead. That belief alone allowed him to stay sane. The canoe hadn’t made much headway while he’d been in the boathouse, and he soon discovered why. The lake was choppy because of the approaching storm.

  Stroke, breathe.

  He tried not to think as he swam, but his mind wouldn’t shut off. The thought of losing Claire was unbearable—like fire consuming his flesh, the pain so intense he couldn’t endure it. He’d discovered so much in the short time they’d had together. He’d learned to laugh and love, and he did love her—he knew that without a doubt now. Just as he knew a future without her would be barren and joyless.

  Stroke, breathe. Stroke, breathe.

  After several minutes, he checked on his progress.

  The gap between him and the canoe had closed to fifty feet. McKenna seemed oblivious to being followed, but he could look behind him at any moment.

  Not wanting to lose the element of surprise, Brent shoved the snorkel into his mouth and submerged his body below the lake’s surface. Then legs and arms pumping like pistons, he propelled himself forward.

  When he raised his head, he saw massive rock outcroppings jutting out into the water. The canoe soon disappeared around one of the rocky bends.

  He kicked his legs harder, ignoring his aching muscles. He didn’t use the snorkel again since the threat of being spotted had ended, and he could make better speed swimming on the surface of the water.

  A few minutes passed before he came to the bend. His legs—and brain—stalled at the sight of a sleek, expensive-looking speedboat tethered to a dock less than twenty feet ahead.

  What was McKenna up to?

  Paddling up to the dock, McKenna carefully stepped onto the wooden platform. Then he tipped the canoe and dumped Claire’s limp body into the lake.

  Dragging air into his lungs, Brent dove deep, arms and legs straining toward the lake bottom.

  A blur of red appeared below him.

  Claire had been wearing red today.

  The vibrant color had contrasted boldly with her blond hair, and the fabric of the T-shirt had molded softly to her curves. He wi
shed he’d told her how great she looked in that red T-shirt. Dammit, he wanted another chance to tell her. He thrust his hands in front of him but couldn’t reach her. Panic bubbled up inside him. She was falling too fast. He couldn’t catch her in time. She was going to drown.

  No! He could still save her. They could still have the future he wanted for them.

  He kicked his legs harder and extended his arms until they felt as if they were pulling free from their socket joints. Come on. Just a few more inches…

  His fingertips brushed her shirt. A second later, he was able to latch on it and stop her descent. He felt her hands weakly gripping his forearms. His heart rejoiced that she had regained consciousness, but the relief was fleeting. She had to be perilously close to drowning and so was he. The surface of the water was far above them, and his muscles were flagging from exhaustion.

  Lungs bursting from lack of oxygen, he gripped her and with the last of his strength kicked toward the surface. The long shadow of the dock appeared above them.

  Three more kicks. Two. One.

  Their heads cleared the water in the same instant the speedboat’s twin engines roared to life. The noise drowned out Claire’s choking and coughing as well as his noisy gasps for air. He hooked a leg around one of the dock’s support posts and wrapped his arms around Claire. Although he wanted to savor the moment, he wasn’t about to let McKenna get away.

  When he eased back to look at her, Claire’s lips were moving.

  The engines stalled, allowing him to hear what she was trying to tell him.

  “McKenna…wants to kill…Maria Gomez,” she said.

  “I’m going after him.”

  She bit her lip. “He has a knife.”

  The engines started up again with an eardrum-piercing clamor. He swam around to the dock’s ladder, discarded his fins and quickly climbed it. The craft was drifting toward open water, drawn by the current. As soon as McKenna shifted the boat into gear, there’d be no hope of catching him.

  The speedboat surged forward, and Brent launched himself off the dock. By some miracle, he cleared the engines and came crashing down in the aft section of the boat.