Dangerous Sanctuary

by Shirlee McCoy

  She had to get Radley and get out. Find a phone. Call her uncle, Bennett. Make sure that Dotty was okay.

  She ran across the clearing, heading for the woods where Radley had disappeared. No plan in mind except for getting to him.

  It took seconds to realize there were no sounds of pursuit. Not feet pounding on the ground. No growled threats or shouted commands. No click of a gun safety. No bullet.

  Nothing.

  She glanced back, saw a pile of light fabric at the entrance to the yurt. No. Not fabric. Absalom.

  She skidded to a stop at the tree line, gasping for breath, still frantic, but thinking clearly and more like herself than she’d been since Radley pulled her from darkness.

  Absalom had a gun.

  She had nothing.

  If he were unconscious, it would be an easy thing to take his firearm. It would also be easy to go back into the yurt and grab Radley’s duffel. They were at least twenty miles from the nearest town, tucked away in the middle of the Vermont wilderness. From what she could remember, there weren’t many residential properties nearby.

  If they couldn’t obtain a vehicle, they’d have to walk out.

  If they had to walk, they’d need supplies and a weapon.

  She watched Absalom for a minute, counting the seconds in her head and praying that she wasn’t making a mistake. Time was always precious. She’d learned that the day her parents had been killed in a car accident. She’d been twelve. An only child who’d been given everything she’d needed and most of what she’d wanted.

  She wouldn’t call her younger self spoiled, but she’d had it good. Horseback riding lessons, dance, gymnastics, archery. She’d had a puppy, her own bedroom and parents who were devoted to helping her become her best self.

  She’d been too young to appreciate it.

  And then they were gone. Killed on the way to her mother’s doctor’s appointment.

  Just like that.

  And, at twelve years old, she’d learned just how valuable time was. She’d have given everything she owned to have more of it with her parents.

  When Absalom didn’t move, she walked back to the yurt, approaching him cautiously. He was breathing, his shoulders rising and falling, his body limp.

  “Absalom?” she said, staying just out of reach.

  When he didn’t respond, she crossed the distance between them, crouching next to him and touching his shoulder. The syringe was gone. He had to have pulled it out as he was running after her.

  He was out, too. Not in distress. Just knocked out cold, his breathing heavy and deep, his pulse slow and steady.

  She rolled him to his side, lifted the tunic and grabbed the gun, checking to see if it was loaded before backing away.

  She walked into the yurt and grabbed the duffel, glanced around the room and spotted her backpack leaning against the wall. She hefted it onto her shoulders, the gauze on her hands unraveling. She removed it, wincing as it pulled away from raw skin.

  Absalom had said she’d fallen into a firing pit and burned them.

  She didn’t remember, but the skin looked burned, opened blisters dried out and cracked.

  She didn’t have time to think about it. Eventually, Absalom’s guards would be back. She and Radley needed to be far away from The Sanctuary before then.

  * * *

  The camper they’d tossed Radley into was boarded up, the interior pitch-black and filled with the scent of rotting wood and mold. He lay on his back, waiting for his eyes to adjust, his fingers working at the knotted rope that had been used to bind his wrists.

  They’d been tied in front. That had been the guards’ first mistake. The second was leaving him alone inside a camper that looked more like a crumbling tin can than a prison. He’d gotten a decent look as he’d approached, noting the position of the door and windows.

  Muffled voices drifted through the thin walls, and he imagined the guards felt successful. They’d subdued him, bound him and imprisoned him. The scent of tobacco and nicotine drifted on the still, stale air. One or more guards smoking as Radley slowly worked free of the rope.

  It took more time than he wanted it to, but he finally managed to loosen the rope. It slid from his wrists, and he sat. His eyes had adjusted enough to turn pitch-black darkness into dark gray shadows. There was a small table jutting out from one wall. No chairs. A double bed shoved up against the far end of the camper. Moonlight gleamed through holes in the ceiling and walls. He moved silently, reaching for the rope that bound his ankles and untying it quickly. He shoved it and the rope that had been used on his wrists into his jacket pocket and stood.

  The rotting floor gave a little, bowing as he walked to the door.

  The murmur of voices had ceased, but the scent of cigarette smoke remained strong enough that he was certain at least one guard was outside. He could have gone on the offensive, kicked open the door and disarmed the man, but he’d rather his escape go unnoticed for as long as possible. He needed to get out of the camper and get back to Honor before anyone set off an alarm.

  Whatever was happening in The Sanctuary could be determined after she was safe.

  He walked to the bed, climbing onto the musty mattress and feeling for the edges of the plywood that covered a window just above it. It moved easily, and he pulled it down, revealing the open hole where glass had once been. Not a large opening, but he could squeeze through.

  The guard was on the move, his footsteps audible—boots on packed earth and dry grass, fabric rustling. He seemed to be moving away rather than toward Radley’s position. Bored and restless, maybe. Definitely not worried about his prisoner escaping.

  Radley eased his shoulders through the window and lowered himself to the ground. The night had gone quiet again. He did the same, waiting and listening as the guard changed directions and moved toward him.

  He ducked beneath the camper, shimmying on his belly, hands pressed into damp earth and decaying leaves. If the guard noticed the missing plywood and uncovered window, he’d have to be taken down. Minutes passed, the scent of cigarette smoke filling the air again. A shadow moved to his right, and he watched booted feet walk in the direction of the camper’s door.

  That was what he wanted and had been hoping for.

  He shimmied out, ready to make his escape.

  But something moved in his periphery—a shadow separating from the trees. There. Gone. There again. He watched as it approached, tried to determine whether it was a guard or Absalom.

  It didn’t occur to him until it was almost too late that the shadow could be Honor. That she might have escaped Absalom and be making her way to him.

  He knew, of course, that she was tough.

  Everyone who worked in the Special Crimes Unit was.

  They saw the worst of the worst, the debased and the vile. Men and women who were as close to irredeemable as anyone could be. Dealing with people like that required sharp edges, keen intelligence and good training.

  Honor had all those things.

  But she worked on computers, spending most of her time in a chair, with her eyes on the screen. She followed electronic footprints and found her way in and out of the cyber world.

  She did not fight her way out of danger, throw punches or disarm dangerous criminals. Maybe that was why he’d underestimated her resourcefulness and her willingness to attempt an escape.

  Whatever the case, he wasn’t expecting her, and he was ready to rush the shadow, slam it to the ground, subdue it. Start what could only turn into a fight for survival, because two against one weren’t good odds. Especially when the two were armed.

  But moonlight glinted off pale skin and light cotton, and he realized he was watching Honor approach. She moved like a sprite, darting here and there, trying to find a way into the clearing that wouldn’t allow her to be seen.

  He slipped through long grass, staying low
and moving as silently as he could, heading in her direction and trying to stay out of the guard’s line of sight.

  He couldn’t call out to her.

  He couldn’t warn her that he was approaching.

  He couldn’t count on her not crying out when he suddenly appeared.

  He slipped into the woods fifty feet away from her position. The fact that she didn’t notice bothered him. If she were going to play cat and mouse, she needed to learn to play it well. She also needed to learn that it wasn’t just the cat she needed to be concerned with. There were always larger, more aggressive predators, and it was smart to be on the lookout for them.

  He glanced at the camper. The guard was on the move again, pacing in front of the door, lighting another cigarette and walking around the side of the structure.

  Out of sight and maybe moving toward the back where the missing plywood would give away Radley’s escape.

  He was behind Honor in seconds.

  She faced the clearing, his duffel at her feet, a backpack on her shoulders. She looked vulnerable, her hair a wild mass of flyaway strands, her body seemingly dwarfed by the pack she carried.

  He didn’t want to startle a scream out of her, didn’t want a fight. He meant to whisper her name, let her know that he was there, but the guard sprinted around the side of the camper, radio out, yelling into it as he bounded up three steps that led to the door and kicked it open.

  Time to go. Now!

  Radley grabbed Honor’s arm as she jumped back, apparently startled by the guard’s behavior.

  She was startled by his touch, as well.

  She yanked away, grabbing the duffel and swinging it in his direction.

  He caught it easily, pulling it from her hands.

  “It’s me,” he said, but she didn’t seem to hear. She was fighting all-out, swinging her fists and attempting a sideswipe to his knee that would have worked if he weren’t as well-trained in self-defense as she was.

  He grabbed her forearm and pulled her into his chest.

  She struggled, but he was larger and stronger, one arm on hers, the other wrapped tightly around her waist. Not enough space between them for her to use hands or feet against him.

  “It’s me,” he repeated, whispering the words in her ear because the guard had appeared again, sprinting to the back of the camper, his radio buzzing with activity.

  Out of sight. Armed. Dangerous.

  Backup coming, and Radley didn’t have time to ease into his escape plans or to be gentle in his approach. “How about you stop fighting me, so we can get out of here while we can?”

  “Radley?” she whispered, her breath hot through his shirt. She’d stopped struggling, seemed to finally understand who he was.

  “Yeah,” he responded.

  She nodded, her head bumping his chest, her body suddenly limp.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, his heart thundering with the need to get away, his mind screaming that they had to go while they still had the chance.

  “Fine,” she murmured, her voice weak.

  She was lying, because she had no choice but to be okay.

  She knew it.

  He knew it.

  If they were caught, if they were imprisoned again, it wouldn’t be in a ramshackle camper. If they were imprisoned. The other option was burial in a shallow grave somewhere deep in the forest. By the time Wren realized they were both missing, it would be too late. Even the best-trained cadaver dogs would have difficulty finding remains in a wilderness of this size, and proof of any crime would be long gone.

  “All right,” he murmured against her hair, the scent of candle flames and rich earth filling his nose.

  He told himself she wasn’t a victim, reminded himself that she was a trained law enforcement officer, a special agent prepared for whatever came.

  But she was trembling, and when she stepped away she swayed.

  “Honor...” He didn’t know what he would have said, what he could have said.

  “I managed to get Absalom’s gun.” She cut off before he could finish. “It’s in your duffel. So at least we’re not unarmed. Let’s go.”

  She stepped deeper into the trees, moving nearly silently, the shadowy forest embracing her.

  He followed, because there was no other choice.

  They had to put distance between themselves and the enemy.

  They had to get to a town, find a phone, call for backup.

  And once Honor was safe, once she’d been transported back to Boston, he’d return. Because there was no way he was going to let Absalom keep whatever dirty secrets he was hiding.

  THREE

  The thing about life, Honor had learned, was that sometimes you didn’t get a choice in how it played out, but you always had a choice in how you responded to it.

  After her parents had died, Uncle Bennett had become her legal guardian. Honor’s mother had been an only child whose parents had moved to Florida a decade prior. Aside from Bennett, Honor’s only other living relative had been Dotty. Her grandmother had lived on a five-hundred-acre farm that had been in her husband’s family for generations. Ninety minutes outside of Boston, the property was far from the Boston suburb where Honor had been living with her parents.

  Bennett had been single, childless and focused on building his career as a defense lawyer. Honor figured he’d probably agreed to be her guardian because he’d felt like he had no choice.

  Whatever the case, he had agreed and, after her parents’ deaths, he’d moved into their suburban house and done his best to shepherd Honor into adulthood.

  But he’d been busy.

  She’d been nearing her teen years.

  They’d both tried, but it had been Dotty who’d held them together. Every weekend, Bennett had shipped Honor off to the farm. He’d done the same on holidays. Summers were always spent on the lush acreage, helping Dotty with the garden, mucking stalls and riding horses.

  Honor had loved that.

  She’d loved Dotty.

  She and Bennett, on the other hand, had never been close. He’d often made it clear that he’d be happy when she was eighteen and they could go their separate ways.

  She’d purposed not to let that change her. She’d studied hard, graduating from high school a year early and attending MIT on full scholarship. She’d worked full-time, attended classes full-time and maintained her GPA by skipping sleep and parties. There’d been no time for other things. Not hobbies. Not vacations.

  Not relationships.

  She’d tried a few times, dating men she thought were as driven as she was. It always seemed that they asked too much, demanding time and attention she’d wanted to expend on other things.

  And, now, she was nearing thirty. Alone.

  Her best friend suddenly gone from her life.

  She’d been telling herself for months that it was okay. That she would make the best of it the same way she’d made the best of other things in her life.

  And, now, she was here: putting one foot in front of the other, trudging through thick forests without any plan beyond getting away.

  She’d make it work.

  She had to.

  She just wasn’t sure how.

  Somewhere in the distance, people were charging through the woods, branches breaking, leaves crackling, voices calling. She and Radley moved silently. No discussion. No communication. Just heading away from the danger.

  Hopefully, not into something worse than what they were leaving behind.

  Vermont was a beautiful state, filled with gorgeous vistas, but the wilderness could be deadly. Getting lost out here could end just as badly as staying at The Sanctuary.

  “We should probably have a plan,” she murmured, keeping her voice low because sound carried, and she didn’t want Absalom’s thugs to hear.

  “We do,” Radley replied
.

  “Would you care to share it with me?”

  “We keep heading south until we reach the road. Follow that to town. Unless we find a residential property before then. If we do, we’ll try to borrow a phone.”

  “I’m glad one of us knows where the road is and which direction we need to go to find it.”

  “The moon has nearly set.” He stopped, pulling her up so that they were arm to arm. “See it?”

  She did. Now that he mentioned it. A yellow-white orb gleaming through the trees to their left.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m using that as a guide.”

  “What are you going to use when it’s set?” she asked, still not certain they were heading in the right direction.

  “I’m hoping we’ll hit the road before that happens.”

  “And if we don’t?”

  “We’ll camp for the night and use the sun to guide us in the morning.”

  “I don’t think camping out with Absalom’s men on our trail is a good idea.”

  “You think getting lost is a better one?”

  “What I think is that I should have stayed in Boston and let the local authorities locate Mary Alice. Just like Wren said.”

  “Why didn’t you?” He started walking again, and she followed, picking her way through thick undergrowth, thorns catching at the gauzy cotton pajamas she wore.

  “Because Mary Alice is my best friend, and I didn’t want to wait for the slow wheels of justice to turn. Plus, I was worried. Disappearing like this is out of character for her.”

  “Do you have any idea why she did it?”

  “She called off her wedding in December. Maybe that. Maybe something else. She wasn’t talking much these past couple of months. Her parents gave me access to her computer. I looked at her search history, her email accounts. There was nothing there that hinted she was looking for a place like The Sanctuary.”

  “Cults have a way of finding vulnerable people.”

  “They usually don’t prey on people like Mary Alice.”

  “What kind of person is she?”

  “Successful. Has a loving family. A good network of friends.”