by Robin Perini
Kneeling down, he studied the prints. “Who are you?”
Then he caught sight of a small impression. A kid’s sneaker.
Aah. Quietly, he topped a hill. Below, a man hurried his wife and son across the terrain. The guy looked at him, and Garrett knew he recognized the sheriff’s uniform, even without the star.
His face erupted in terror, but he didn’t pull a weapon. He shoved his wife and son behind him and stared up at Garrett.
Not a great place to cross the border. Especially with a family. Was a coyote nearby? Most of the men who made a living illegally bringing people across the border made Garrett’s stomach turn. They charged thousands of dollars to cross into the United States, and if their “customers” were lucky, the coyote got them to civilization. The unlucky ones ended up dead of thirst in the desert.
Garrett scanned the horizon, searching for signs of a coyote, but he didn’t see anyone.
With a quick nod to the man, he turned and hurried back toward the clearing. He had to get Laurel and Molly to safety.
They might end up much like that man and his family. Living under the radar.
Unless Garrett succeeded where he and James had failed for the past eighteen months.
Garrett shoved his Stetson on his head. Now, though, he had to succeed for more than just revenge—he had to succeed to protect two innocent lives.
He wouldn’t lose. He couldn’t.
* * *
LAUREL CARRIED MOLLY back into the cabin. Her niece was way too quiet. The little girl toyed with the collar Ivy had placed around the neck of her lion.
Garrett followed her in. “I’m canvassing the area once more. Lock the door behind me. I’ll knock three times when I get back. And keep the gun handy.”
“Shoot if someone else tries to get in,” Laurel said. “Got it.”
“Not if it’s me.” Garrett shut the door, putting the box of food on the floor.
Molly wiggled from Laurel’s arms. “I want to go into my fort,” she muttered. “I want Mr. Hairy Houdini to come with me.”
“Want me to play with you?”
The little girl whispered into her stuffed animal’s ear and shook her head, disappearing beneath the afghan.
Laurel sighed and put away the groceries, keeping a close eye on Molly.
Within a few minutes, the little girl was rubbing her eyes and yawning. It had been a tough few days. Not to mention just getting over strep throat.
Massaging her temple, Laurel scanned the room. They couldn’t stay here forever. The only way out was to find who was behind Ivy’s murder. And her father’s disappearance. And stop them.
Garrett knew more than he was revealing. She believed that, and she didn’t know who he was, really. That uneasy feeling at the base of her neck increased the urgency. She needed to do something. To protect Molly and herself. Not just for the moment, but for the future.
Laurel checked once more on her niece, but the little girl had zonked out.
Careful not to make any noise, she opened Garrett’s office door and walked inside. She propped the door open so she could hear Molly or anyone outside and turned the machines on.
She’d had an idea. Maybe, just maybe, it would work.
Growing up with her father’s ability to discover what his daughters were doing, Laurel had become adept at hiding her tracks. She’d joined the computer club at school. Yeah, it had helped her get into college, but more important, it had taught her a few tricks. Tricks that came in handy at her job, and that might come in even handier now.
She risked a lot doing this without Garrett here, but she had to try. It was her last chance or they’d have to go with Garrett’s plan.
She navigated to a portal leading into some of the intelligence organization’s unclassified databases.
When the log-in came up, she tapped her finger on the keyboard.
If she entered her information, she was starting a ticking clock. Eventually they would know she’d entered the system; they’d know what she discovered.
Garrett still hadn’t returned.
She took a deep breath. She had to take the chance.
Her finger trembled typing in the password.
She was in.
Glancing at the time on the computer screen, she quickly navigated to the travel database. Relatively low priority. She entered her father’s name.
Access denied.
Interesting. She backed out, this time searching for Ivy’s name, then hers. Finally, with her own name, she received a different screen.
Clicking on a link pulled up her personal data.
Status: Missing, presumed dead.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Chapter Six
Strickland cursed. “Waiting around in this godforsaken town is getting us nowhere.” The December Texas sun heated up the SUV and sweat trickled down his neck. He wiped his arm on his forehead. “Garrett Galloway isn’t coming back.”
“Do you think he knows the boss has found him?” Krauss asked, rolling down the window enough to allow a small crack. A soft, cool breeze flowed in. “I sure wouldn’t stick around.”
“Could be he ran. Or maybe he’s hiding the woman and the girl.”
“We’re screwed either way, you know.” Krauss’s tone held nothing but resignation. “The boss’ll find out we lost him, and we’ll be dead. We’re expendable and you know it. We both know it.”
Krauss was right. But there had to be a way out. Maybe that deputy... Derek Bradley, aka Garrett Galloway, had lived in this town awhile. Strickland had discovered the people liked him. The waitress at the diner, the deputy, the local motel owner—they all thought the guy walked on water. Though that motel guy had shown Strickland the door too fast when his loopy sister had shown up and started yammering.
Maybe the tattooed freak knew more than he let on.
Strickland drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “So, Krauss. You think Galloway would come back if real trouble visited Trouble, Texas?”
Krauss slowly nodded his head, a glimmer of hope reaching his eyes. “After what we know about both his identities, yeah. He’s just enough of a hero to take the risk...if the bait is right.”
“And I think I know exactly who—” Strickland’s phone sounded. One glance at the number appearing on the screen and he could feel the blood drain from his face.
“It’s the boss, isn’t it?” Krauss said, a string of curses escaping from him. “What are you going to say?”
“I don’t know.” Strickland rubbed the back of his neck and tapped the phone. “Strickland.”
“Imagine my surprise when I discovered your current location. Why didn’t you tell me you were already in Trouble, Texas?”
At the biting tone of his boss’s voice, he shivered, then gulped. He didn’t have a good answer.
“Don’t bother lying. There aren’t a thousand people in that town. You come clean, Strickland, I might let you live...minus a body part or two.”
Strickland met Krauss’s gaze. The man’s expression looked as if he’d scarfed down a large helping of bad fish. He’d seen the boss’s handiwork. Missing fingers, missing toes, missing eyes...and worse.
“I—I saw a note Ivy Deerfield wrote when we went to set up the bomb.” Strickland couldn’t prevent the squeak in his voice as he lied. “She wrote down this sheriff’s name. I just wanted to make sure she hadn’t given anything—”
“How did you discover the connection between the McCallisters and Galloway?” his boss asked sharply.
“I didn’t know about a link. I just had a bad feeling.” More truth in those words. Strickland swallowed again. “You ordered us to follow up on loose ends. And to get rid of them.”
“Which you enjoy a little too much,” his boss muttered. “Okay, Strickland, I’ll let you fix your little problem, but if I find out you’re keeping something from me—”
“I’ve worked for you too long, boss,” he said. Yeah, long enough to know that if he
told her the truth of how he’d had them and lost them, she wouldn’t just take a body part—she’d make him suffer and want to die.
Krauss just shook his head.
“Perhaps.” The boss paused for a moment. “Well, Strickland, this may be your lucky day. I have Garrett Galloway’s location for you. A gift from...a good friend.”
The boss gave him a frequency. Krauss entered the number into the small tracking device. A red dot appeared on the screen. “He’s in the mountains not far from here,” Krauss said. “Rough country.”
“Are you sure it’s him? Or could this be his laptop or something?” Strickland asked.
A chuckle filtered through the phone. “It’s inside him. You track that frequency, you’ll have your target.”
Strickland scratched at a surgical scar from a rotator-cuff repair a year or so ago. “That’s not possible.”
“Really? You have an inside track on the latest research and development of the agency, do you?”
Strickland gulped at the disdain in his boss’s voice. “Of course not.”
“You better be glad the chip isn’t widely available. If I’d had one inserted inside you, I have a very good feeling you’d already be paying the price for some extracurricular activities.”
The muscles in Strickland’s back tensed. The only way out of this mess was clean it up and beg...or find out something he could bargain with.
“Find him, Strickland. And kill him. No mistakes.” The phone call ended.
He grabbed the map from Krauss’s hand and smiled for the first time since he’d realized the McCallister woman had escaped the bomb. “We have a pointer to Galloway. Which means we have McCallister and the kid, too. They’re out in the middle of nowhere.”
“Easy to dispose of bodies out there. No one will ever find them.”
“Yeah.” Strickland stared down at his phone. Now if he could only find a way that he wouldn’t disappear either.
* * *
AT GARRETT’S BITING WORDS, Laurel’s hands froze above the computer keyboard. She winced and whirled her chair around. If she’d thought he might be glad she’d taken the initiative to use her skills, that notion vanished the moment she took in his tight jaw and narrowed gaze.
“I had an idea,” she protested. The niggling doubts that had skittered up her spine when she turned on the machine gnawed through her nerves. But what choice did they have?
“You’ve started the ticking clock.” His cheek muscles pulsed.
That she had an answer for. “The clock would have started anyway. We both know that. I just happened to control the start.”
“Explain.”
“I set up the signal to bounce all over the world. We’re on a ticking clock—like you wanted, but thirty-six hours from now. Maybe forty-eight.”
“How certain are you?”
“I wouldn’t play with Molly’s life like that. Or yours.”
He studied her expression, then finally nodded his head. “Then sit down in the damn chair and get us some information. You started this. Let’s see what your stint at the CIA can do for us.”
Garrett snagged a kitchen chair from the other room and flipped it around, sitting astride the hard wood. She let out a long, slow breath. She knew her business, but her nerves crackled at his constant stare. Leaning forward, she focused on the monitor.
Soon she lost herself in the task, following path after path. She didn’t know how long she’d been beating her head up against dead ends when a folder suddenly appeared.
Laurel stilled. “Look. The directory belongs to Ivy, but it’s not official.”
Garrett straightened in his chair. “Unauthorized?”
She nodded and clicked on the folder. It contained only one file. “It could be a trap.”
“You’ve been at this awhile. What’s your gut say?”
“To open it.”
“Then do it.”
She held her breath and double-clicked the file.
A password box came up.
“You know it?” Garrett asked.
“Maybe,” Laurel said. She typed in her sister’s anniversary.
Access denied.
Her children’s names.
Access denied.
Her birthday.
Access denied.
“One more shot and I’m locked out. I’ll have to start over,” Laurel said, rubbing her eyes. “I may not even get access to the file again.”
A long, slow breath escaped from Garrett. “You know your sister. Most of these passwords require at least one capital letter, one symbol and one number. And once you encrypt a file, if you forget the password, you’re screwed. She’d have to be able to remember it.”
Laurel drummed her fingers on the desk and sat back in the chair. She closed her eyes. “Ivy, what did you do?”
The room grew quiet, just the fan of the equipment breaking the silence.
Garrett didn’t chatter, didn’t interrupt her thoughts. She liked that about him. So many people didn’t know when to simply be quiet.
“I may have it.” She turned her head, meeting his gaze. “Ivy was older than me. She’d just started to date when Mom died. They had this special code. Even while Mom was in the hospital, she made Ivy promise to let her know if she was okay at nine o’clock. If there was trouble, there was a special message she’d leave on the pager.”
“What was the code?”
“Mom’s name, then nine-one-one, then an exclamation point. But if I’m wrong...”
“What do your instincts say?”
“That Ivy knew she was in danger and that she would pick something I knew.” Laurel kneaded the back of her neck, her eyes burning. “She knew there was trouble.”
“Do it.”
Laurel swerved around and placed her hands on the keyboard. She couldn’t make her fingers type in the password. What if she was wrong?
“Trust your gut.” Garrett placed his hand on her shoulder. “Do it.”
Laurel picked the keys out one at a time, taking extra care. Finally, she bit down on her lip and hit the enter key.
The machine whirred. The screen went blank.
“Please, no.” She half expected a message with red flashing lights and alarms to appear stating the file had been destroyed.
A few clicks sounded and the word-processing program sprang to life.
Ivy’s file opened. Laurel blinked. Then blinked again.
At the top of the file in bold letters were just a few words.
Derek Bradley is alive.
Alias: Sheriff Garrett Galloway.
* * *
THE WORDS SCREAMED from the page. Garrett groaned and gripped the wooden slats of the chair until his fingers cramped. Ivy had found out about him. This couldn’t be happening. If she knew...others knew as well.
James’s plan had failed. And God knew who he could trust.
Laurel launched out of her chair and faced him. “You are Derek Bradley? The traitor?” She backed away, shaking her head.
“Laurel—”
“You caused the deaths of dozens of agents. My father told me. He said you finally got paid back. You died with your wife...and daughter.” Her hand slapped against her mouth, and her eyes widened. “It was a car bomb.”
“I should have died. My wife and daughter did die,” Garrett said, his voice holding a bitterness that burned his throat. How many times had he begged to die only to have first James, then the doctors, fight to save him? How many weeks had he lain in his hospital bed planning revenge when he discovered who had taken them from him?
Laurel’s eyes were wide with horror. “Like Ivy.”
Garrett gave a stiff nod. “I was running late on my way home from the office. I’d promised my wife I’d get home early, but I’d been hell-bent on tracking down an insider. I’d discovered a few hints, nothing concrete, but enough to keep me asking questions, pursuing leads in areas where I had limited need to know.” He could barely look at the knowledge in her eyes. She knew what was co
ming, but he had to get it out. She had to understand. “I was running late, tying my tie. Lisa took my daughter and put her in the c-car.” He cleared his throat. “I’d just walked out the door, dropped my keys. Lisa was tired of waiting. She turned on the engine and it blew. I had my back to the car or else the explosion would have taken me out.”
“But why doesn’t everyone know you’re alive?”
Garrett shoved his hands back through his hair. “Your father. I don’t know how, but he knew something was wrong at the agency. He’d seen some questionable information cross his desk. I was being framed. He came by right after the bomb went off. Just lucky, I guess, because he fixed it.” Garrett raised his chin and met Laurel’s gaze. “Derek Bradley died that night with his family.”
Laurel’s entire body shook. “My father called you a traitor.”
“Your father didn’t know if I would survive. He knew I wouldn’t if whoever set the bomb realized their mistake. So he created a new identity and took me to a hospital in Texas, and I recuperated there. By the time I came out of the coma, I was dead and buried, and Garrett Galloway was born.”
“How could no one find out?”
“I was in a coma for months, under another name. James tried to identify the leak, but there were no leads. By the time I woke up the case was closed. I had several months of physical therapy.”
“If you’re telling the truth, why didn’t he warn Ivy?” Laurel’s pleading gaze tugged at Garrett. She paced back and forth, her movements jerky, uncoordinated. She swiped at her eyes. “Why didn’t my father protect Ivy? He could have told her to quit. She might still be alive.”
“I don’t know.” Garrett stepped in front of her and took her shoulders, tilting his head to force her to look him in the eyes. “I know your father. James McCallister loved his family more than anything. If you want to blame anyone, blame me. I shouldn’t have stayed Garrett Galloway this long. I let your father convince me he was closing in on the traitor, that if they thought I was still dead they’d eventually get complacent. I agreed to let him continue the search.”
