Covert Christmas

by Hope White

  “Whatever’s bothering you. I have to know because it’s driving me nuts and I’m making up stories in my head.”

  “Stories?”

  “Yes, like you don’t want me around, or you remembered something terrible, or—”

  “I want you around.” He glanced back out the window. “I want this whole thing over.”

  “It will be. You have to have faith.”

  “I wish I knew how to do that.”

  “Just ask.”

  He frowned at her in question.

  “Close your eyes and ask God for guidance in helping you navigate through this challenge.”

  “I have no right to—”

  “You do, Scott. We all do.”

  With a sigh he closed his eyes for a few seconds, and when he opened them he seemed better, less tense. They still didn’t speak much during the ride up to the plant, but she didn’t push it.

  Thirty minutes later they pulled into a long driveway that led to a large parking lot. There were only a few cars scattered throughout the lot, which seemed odd.

  “It’s the middle of the workday. Shouldn’t there be more cars?” she said.

  “You would think.”

  “There’s my uncle’s cruiser.” She found a spot nearby, but Uncle Chuck wasn’t in the car. “Maybe he’s already inside.”

  They shared a concerned look, then got out of the car. As she stepped up to Scott he put out his hand. “Stay behind me.”

  “Okay.”

  She appreciated that he was being cautious, but she wasn’t too worried since her uncle was here. They approached the main door.

  “There’s got to be an intercom or something to let them know we’re here.”

  Bree observed that the door was ajar. “Scott.” She nodded.

  He pushed it open.

  The first thing Bree noticed was how quiet it was inside the building, as if it was abandoned. “This is creepy.”

  Scott pointed at a sign down the hall that read Research & Development. “Let’s try there first.”

  They went down the hall and followed the arrows. Turning the corner, she wondered if this could be considered trespassing. She also wondered what happened to Uncle Chuck. Was he inside speaking with an employee?

  “What are you looking for?” she asked, placing her hand against Scott’s back.

  He pushed open the double doors and froze. “This.”

  Bree glanced around him into the room. There was nothing there, no research equipment, computers or even furniture.

  “Did they close the plant?” she said.

  “Not that I know of.”

  They wandered around the room looking for something, anything to help make sense of the situation.

  “It’s almost like it never existed,” she said.

  “Or everything was destroyed.”

  “By whom?” she said.

  He shook his head. “No clue.”

  “We should find my uncle.”

  Scott took her hand and led her out of the empty research room. As they headed back to the main office, Bree peered through office windows as they passed. Desks and bookshelves were empty—no computers, books or supplies. The place was definitely closed for business.

  “Hang on.” Scott paused beside a set of double doors.

  The sign above read Assembly.

  He pushed open the doors and they entered a huge room with high ceilings, cement walls and no windows. Twenty-foot metal racks were lined up in rows.

  “Where is everything?” he said.

  “What should be in here?”

  “According to the website, portable refinery containers and braces to hold them in place while the chemical is infused into the containers.”

  “Maybe they’ve been shipped out?”

  “There’d still be equipment to assemble the product,” he said.

  Something sparkly caught Bree’s attention on the floor. She bent down to pick it up.

  A shot rang out.

  She instinctively stayed down. Scott dropped to the floor and got in her face. “Stay here,” he ordered, shifting her further behind the metal rack.

  “Don’t—”

  He stopped her protest with a kiss. His lips were warm and soft, and she was so shocked by the tender and loving gesture that she couldn’t speak when he broke the kiss and took off. Scott darted down the side of the wall, using the metal racks as cover. She guessed he was going after the shooter.

  She slipped out her cell phone to call 9-1-1, but realized it would take them too long to get here. She decided to call her uncle instead.

  Two more shots rang out. Biting back a shriek, she eyed her phone and willed her trembling fingers to press the right buttons.

  Another shot rang out.

  Her eyes watered with fear. If anything happened to Scott after everything he’d been through...

  She searched her phone’s address book for her uncle’s number.

  A crash bounced off the ceiling and the sound of grunting men echoed through the room. She eyed the door. To get there, to escape, she’d have to expose herself to the gunman.

  Bree stuck with plan A and dialed her uncle’s number.

  Another shot rang out.

  Then silence.

  She hit Send on her phone.

  And the sound of Uncle Chuck’s cell phone rang across the room.

  THIRTEEN

  By the time Scott got to Bree’s uncle he was down on the cement floor, gripping his shoulder. Scott pulled him behind the metal rack.

  “Go, go protect Bree,” Chuck said.

  “You’re coming with me.”

  “I’ll slow you down.”

  “Make sure you don’t.”

  Uncle Chuck glared at Scott and Scott glared back, challenging the older man to reach deep down and find the strength to get up.

  “Where is she?” Chuck asked.

  “Down there by the door. Ready?”

  Chuck nodded, his expression unsure.

  “On three. One, two, three.” Scott shielded Chuck against the wall and they jogged toward Bree’s hiding spot.

  Scott couldn’t move fast enough, but the pain from Chuck’s wound was obviously slowing him down. A shot pinged above Scott’s head. It wasn’t easy hitting a target shielded by metal racks. From this angle, Scott had a pretty good guess where the shooter was positioned.

  Scott would get Uncle Chuck and Bree safely to her car; then he’d conceal himself and wait for the guy to leave. Scott wasn’t looking for trouble, but this guy was his best lead to figuring out why he had come to Echo County in the first place.

  When they got close to Bree, a knot formed in Scott’s throat. She was huddled like a little girl afraid of a monster in her bedroom closet.

  “Bree, it’s okay,” Scott said, kneeling beside her. She glanced at him with those big green eyes. “Come on.” He helped her up. She noticed Uncle Chuck’s bloody hand gripping his arm.

  “Uncle Chuck,” she gasped.

  “I’ll be fine once I get you out of here.”

  A bullet hit the cement wall above them and Bree yelped as they all took cover.

  “New plan,” Scott said to Uncle Chuck. “I’ll draw his fire and you get her out of here.”

  “Scott, no,” she said.

  Scott ignored her and nodded at her uncle.

  “Let me call it in first.” Chuck grabbed the radio on his shoulder and called in the code for shots fired and officer down. That would get local cops and state troopers racing to the scene.

  Another shot echoed through the assembly room and Bree leaned against Scott’s chest. He gave her a solid hug, waiting until her uncle was ready to make a run for it.


  “Why don’t we wait for the police?” her muffled voice said against Scott’s jacket.

  “It’ll take too long. Get ready to run.”

  “I won’t abandon you,” she said with a tight jaw.

  “This isn’t your decision to make,” Scott said. He released her and shoved her at her uncle. “If anything happened to you I’d never forgive myself. If you care about me, you won’t do that to me.”

  Her expression softened. “Be careful.”

  Uncle Chuck grabbed her arm and leaned in the direction of the door. He nodded at Scott. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  Scott took a deep breath, peered around the metal shelves he was using as cover, and took off. He’d had experience outmaneuvering the enemy but this was different. There was more than just his life at stake; Bree’s life was at stake, as well.

  A bullet pinged the metal behind him, but didn’t ricochet and clip Scott. He swerved one way, then the other, focused on the exit, not the marksman. No use letting that image mess with his head: Scott as a duck in a carnival shooting gallery.

  He was almost to the door when the shooting stopped. He sprinted outside, finding a spot behind a cluster of trees to wait for the shooter to exit. Struggling against the adrenaline rush, he planned his next move: getting to the shooter without being shot himself.

  But the shooter didn’t leave the building, at least not through any door that Scott could see. Had he followed Bree and her uncle out front?

  “No,” he ground out and took off around the perimeter of the plant. When he got to the front, Bree’s car was gone.

  A door slammed. Scott jerked his head around and saw a short, stocky guy running for a black sedan—the same car that had tried to pick up Bree the other day.

  The shooter must have emptied his clip and was fleeing the premises.

  Scott charged the guy, tackling him before he could get to his car.

  “Why are you shooting at me?” Scott demanded.

  “Because I’m bored.” The guy struggled against the hold.

  “Tell me!”

  Instead, he slugged Scott in the stomach.

  Scott’s grip loosened.

  Stocky guy pummeled Scott in the arm where he’d been shot. Scott fought to keep a tight hold, but the guy flipped Scott over and they rolled, Scott fighting the burn of his gunshot wound. He threw a few punches and hit his mark, but was at a disadvantage thanks to his previous injuries.

  The shooter nailed Scott in the jaw and he saw stars, but managed to stay conscious. He had to restrain the guy, get him to talk. Scott broke free and reached for a nearby rock to use as a weapon.

  Three shots rang out.

  Scott hit the ground and scrambled behind a car in the lot.

  His arm burned and his jaw ached but it was nothing compared to the fear flooding through his body. Did the guy have an accomplice?

  “Scott!” Breanna’s voice cried out.

  He fisted his hand and slammed it into the quarter panel of the car. Not only did the guy have an accomplice, but he’d also gotten his hands on Bree.

  Scott had no choice but to sacrifice himself for Bree’s safety. He needed to convince them to let her go.

  With a deep breath, he stood and raised his hands in surrender.

  Instead of seeing Bree restrained by a heartless thug, she was running in Scott’s direction. Confused, he slowly lowered his hands and spotted the stocky guy sprawled on the ground, blood staining his jacket. In the distance Uncle Chuck clutched his gun, looking a little stunned. Scott wondered if the guy had ever killed a man.

  Reality struck hard: if the guy was dead, so was Scott’s best lead.

  He caught Bree as she launched herself into his arms. “I told you to get out of here,” he said.

  “Lecture me later. I’m so glad you’re okay.”

  Only then did he realize she was trembling. He held her tight and stroked her hair. “Shh, it’s okay.”

  Scott would have been a lot better if he could have forced information out of the guy lying on the ground.

  Chuck went to the body, pressed his fingers against the man’s throat and glanced at Scott. “He’s gone.”

  Bree glanced down at the body. “That’s the guy who tried to pick me up outside the police station.”

  Scott turned her away from the dead body.

  Sirens echoed in the distance.

  “I had no choice.” Uncle Chuck stood, looking a little pale.

  Scott released Bree. “Hang on, buddy.” Scott went to steady Chuck, who started to waver on his feet. “Let’s find you a place to sit down.”

  As Scott and Bree led Chuck to a nearby picnic bench a man came out of the plant. He was in his forties, wore a uniform and winced as he pressed his hand against the back of his head.

  “Who are you?” the guy asked.

  “Scott Becket, this is Breanna McBride and Police Chief Trainer.” Chuck sat down with a dazed expression.

  The uniformed guy joined them. “Police chief?”

  “Of Wallace Falls,” Chuck said. “And you are?”

  “Pete Baker, security guard.”

  “Where were you when all this was going on, Pete?” Scott challenged.

  “Inside. Some guy nailed me in the back of the head and I was out.” He glanced at the stocky guy, then back at Scott. “What’s going on here?”

  “It’s a long story,” Scott said.

  “Scott lost his memory and is trying to get it back,” Bree said as she pressed her scarf against her uncle’s wound. “Someone told us Scott had been up here so we came to check it out, maybe jar something loose. Do you remember meeting Scott?”

  It struck Scott how incredibly trusting she was, and focused. She’d seen a man shot down in front of her but was still on task: she wanted to help Scott remember.

  Pete studied Scott. “No, I can’t say we’ve met, but there are five other security guards who work twelve-hour shifts.”

  “When did the plant close?” Scott asked.

  “I’m not sure. I came on board a few weeks ago and the place was already empty.”

  “Then why hire you?” Bree asked.

  “Vandalism,” Chuck chimed in. “Bored teenagers get into mischief.”

  “So far only broken windows.” Pete hesitated and glanced at Chuck, then at the stocky guy. “Until today.”

  “I told you not to hang out with this guy, he’s trouble,” Chuck scolded Bree.

  “Don’t get snappy. I’m not the one who shot you, Uncle Chuck. And Scott saved your life back there,” she countered.

  Pete eyed them with curiosity.

  “Sorry, family spat,” she said.

  Two squad cars headed in their direction, followed by an ambulance.

  Scott took his last chance to get information before local law enforcement shut him out. “You have no idea why the plant closed down?” he asked Pete.

  “None.”

  “Who do you report to? Is he onsite?” Scott pressed.

  “No, sir. I work for Magnum Security Service. Companies contract with us for jobs like this all over the country.”

  Scott glanced at the plant. “Another dead end.”

  “Hey.” Bree touched his arm. “This eliminates one thing off the list and puts us that much closer to the answer.”

  * * *

  Bree wasn’t going to let Scott drift into that sinkhole of despondence. She knew depression could be a side effect of a brain injury. She’d been there herself once, depressed and pulled down into the darkest corner of her mind, feeling as though nothing would ever work out again.

  After being questioned by the local authorities, Bree and Scott were released and stopped by the E.R. to check on Uncle Chuck. He must have called Bree’s mom because she
was at the hospital by the time she and Scott arrived.

  “Oh, honey,” Mom said, giving Bree a hug.

  “I’m okay.” She broke the embrace. “How’s Uncle Chuck?”

  “He’ll be okay. It was a through-and-through.” Mom glanced at Scott. “How are you, young man?”

  “Fine, thank you.”

  “You don’t look fine.” She nodded at his arm. Blood was seeping through his shirtsleeve.

  “Come on, let’s get that looked at.” Bree started to lead him toward the registration desk.

  “I can manage. You stay with your mom.”

  Bree sighed. “I’ll be right here.”

  Scott offered a pained smile and walked away.

  “Should I be worried?” Mom said.

  “He probably pulled a few stitches,” Bree said, watching him disappear around the corner.

  Mom touched Bree’s shoulder. “I meant, should I be worried about you?”

  “No, why? I’m fine. We’re all fine.”

  Mom led Bree to the waiting area and motioned for her to sit down. Bree didn’t like what was coming next, undoubtedly a lecture.

  “What were you doing up there at the plant?” Mom asked.

  “Helping Scott check something out.”

  “And someone shot at you?”

  “Mom—”

  “You could have been seriously hurt.”

  “I wasn’t. Uncle Chuck and Scott were there to protect me.”

  “You wouldn’t have needed protection if you weren’t trying to help Scott,” she countered.

  “What was I supposed to do? The guy needs to figure out his life. He doesn’t have a car or—”

  “He’s an adult. He can rent a car,” she said. “I think it’s something else. I think you’re falling for this man.”

  Bree studied her fingers. Busted.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Bree said. “Once he resolves his situation he’ll head back to Chicago and I’ll never see him again.”

  “Oh, honey, then why put yourself in emotional and physical danger for him?”

  Bree looked into her mother’s eyes. “Because he’s a good man and I haven’t known many of those.”

  Mom placed her hand over Bree’s. “Sweetie, don’t let—”