Gone

by Shirlee McCoy

  She lay there. Stunned. Breathless.

  Grateful.

  A door slammed, and she jumped to her feet, grabbing her jacket and forcing the window closed again. She stood there for a moment. Not moving. Barely breathing. Just listening. Praying. Trying to come up with a plan.

  She couldn’t stay where she was forever. She knew that.

  The rest wasn’t as clear.

  The faint sound of voices drifted through the window, and she stepped away from the glass, sidling between two pews and stepping into a center aisle. The floor creaked and dust wafted into the air as she walked, tickling her nose and her throat.

  The sanctuary was small, the ceiling high, the church the kind that had been built a century ago—beautiful wood and vaulted ceilings, but no extra space for Sunday school classes or church socials.

  If there was an office, it would be near the front of the building. She moved in that direction, shuffling her feet to keep from tripping. The side windows weren’t boarded up, but the front and back were, and very little light illuminated the space.

  She reached the front of the building and slid her hand along the wall of the vestibule. It brushed across a doorjamb, and she found a knob, was surprised when it turned.

  She knew there wouldn’t be a phone in the office. If there was one, it wouldn’t be functional, but she checked anyway, running her hand over the desk and then a metal file cabinet. The place had been cleaned out. No lamps. No books. Nothing that would help her contact the authorities.

  Something thumped against the outside of the building, and she jumped, her heart beating so fast she thought it might fly out of her chest. Had they found her?

  She waited, listening.

  At first, she heard nothing. Then, another soft thump and the quiet slide of wood against wood as a window opened. She yanked open a desk drawer, searching frantically for scissors, a pencil, anything she could use as a weapon.

  She found a pen shoved up against the side of the drawer, and she clutched it in her hand as she moved across the small room and peered out the door.

  Icy wind wafted through the vestibule, and she knew a window was open, that someone may have already entered the sanctuary. She eased back into the room, away from the door and the danger beyond it.

  There was no place to hide. No escape route.

  The window was boarded, and removing the plywood would make too much noise. Her only hope was that whoever was in the church would search the entire sanctuary before finding the office. If he did, she might be able to slip through the darkness and out the window.

  It wasn’t a good plan.

  It wasn’t even a decent one, but it was the only one she had.

  She waited, listening to the pattering rain and the creak of the building. Whoever had entered the building was moving silently. No footsteps. No rustle of fabric. If she waited too long, he’d find her, so she moved toward the doorway again, stepping out into the vestibule. Feeling like a mouse sticking its nose out of a hole in the wall, waiting for the cat to pounce.

  She saw no one, so she eased along the wall, one silent footstep at a time around the corner of the vestibule and into the sanctuary. She could see the open window and the night sky beyond it. She stepped toward it, her view suddenly blocked.

  She didn’t have time to react or to fight.

  Someone grabbed her arm, spun her around. A hand slapped over her mouth and she was pulled against a rock-hard chest.

  She kicked backward, her foot connecting with a shin.

  Her attacker’s grip didn’t ease, and she tried the head butt she’d practiced dozens of times after Jarrod had attacked her. The self-defense class had stressed the importance of using the assailant’s momentum against him. If that didn’t work, a head butt to the chin could loosen his grip.

  But this wasn’t a class.

  The assailant was real, and he seemed to know exactly what she intended. He had her held so closely to his body that she couldn’t move her head, his hand so firm on her mouth that she couldn’t bite.

  She still had the pen, but her arm was pressed so tightly against her side, she couldn’t use it.

  She wouldn’t give up, though.

  She wouldn’t allow herself to be dragged away. Or, worse, killed in the church and left there. She slammed backward, her entire body used in the effort, but her assailant didn’t flinch, his grip didn’t ease, and he was dragging her back toward the vestibule, back toward the office, and there didn’t seem to be a thing she could do about it.

  * * *

  Ella was stronger than she looked, her wiry muscles taut as she tried to loosen Sam’s hold. He leaned down, his lips close to her ear.

  “Calm down,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. He’d seen the car pull into the gas station parking lot—a Damariscotta sheriff’s cruiser with no lights or sirens on. Just like he’d seen Ella climbing through the church window.

  He didn’t have time to speculate as to whether the men in the cruiser had seen her.

  He’d left the perp bound and gagged in the empty lot next to the garage and he’d headed her way, staying in the shadows as two police officers hopped out of the car and went to the body of the deceased.

  Apparently, they hadn’t called for backup.

  There were no sirens blaring in the background. No flashlights bouncing along the ground.

  Wolves in cops’ clothing.

  That’s how Honor had described them, and that’s what he thought they were.

  Ella stilled, her muscles going slack, all her fight gone.

  “Don’t say a word, okay?” he continued. “Any questions you have, ask them after we get out of here.”

  She nodded her understanding, and he took her hand, leading her to the window he’d climbed in. Beyond it, there was nothing but an expanse of overgrown grass that spilled out toward the forest. This must have been the edge of town, once upon a time, the church being the demarcation between the civilized and uncivilized world.

  Now it was a place where anything could happen and probably did.

  He motioned for Ella to wait and then climbed out the window. She followed quickly, dropping to the ground with a quiet splash. Rain fell in sheets, and that was to their advantage. It would mute the sound of their retreat and make it easier to escape without drawing the enemies’ attention.

  It would also soak them through and make them colder than they should be.

  Ella was already shivering.

  He didn’t mention it, and she didn’t complain. The woods were a hundred yards ahead, and he wanted to reach them before the phony officers decided to search the church property.

  He took Ella’s hand, moving quickly and quietly, his heart thudding a quick, even rhythm. This wasn’t the first dangerous situation he’d been in, but it was the first time he’d had an innocent civilian with him while he tried to escape notice.

  He could hear men’s voices and the swish of feet in wet grass. Close.

  Ella must have heard the same. Her muscles tensed, but she kept moving, heading away from the church and toward the trees. They ducked under the canopy of a huge maple tree as the two men walked around the side of the church. Casually. Easily. As if they had all the time in the world to find their victims.

  They sure didn’t seem to be in any hurry to help the guy Sam had tied up and left behind.

  Nor did they seem interested in calling for someone to retrieve the body of their fallen comrade.

  But then, this was a multitiered crime ring.

  He doubted they knew or cared about either of the hired gunmen. Their goal, their mission was to find and stop Sam and Ella.

  Sam’s goal and mission was to keep that from happening.

  He led Ella deeper into the woods, the fragrant scent of pine needles and fall rain swirling around them. The highway was due west of the gas st
ation. He was certain of that, and he glanced through the trees. The moon wasn’t visible, and he couldn’t use it to navigate, but he could hear the quiet rumble of traffic somewhere in the distance.

  He aimed for that, pushing through forest growth, so thick he thought it had been decades since anyone had walked there.

  He was tempted to take out his phone and call Honor, but he was afraid the glowing screen would be spotted through the woods and make them an easy target for a sniper’s bullet. The first two gunmen had been terrible shots. He couldn’t count on the second two being the same.

  Ella stayed silent as they navigated the hushed woods, her footsteps muffled by a thick carpet of pine needles and dead leaves.

  He’d told her to stay in the Chevy.

  She hadn’t.

  It may have saved her life.

  He’d been herding his captive back to the gas station when he’d spotted her at the church, standing on an old oil tank, trying to open a window. Seconds later, the police car had appeared. He had no idea if they’d seen her. He’d been too busy tying up the gunman to notice anything but the way his heart was racing, his adrenaline pumping. He’d had to use his utility knife to cut strips of the perp’s jacket and use those as bonds, and it had all taken way too long.

  She’d been inside the church by the time he finished.

  The fake cops had been looking in the Chevy.

  If she’d been there, things could have gone really bad really fast. He was a good shot, but he didn’t know if he could have taken down both men before they’d had a chance to kill her. He was glad he hadn’t had to try. Her choice to go inside the church hadn’t been a good one, but he couldn’t fault her for trying to find a place to hide.

  They were moving uphill, the tree growth sparser, and he could feel the rain again, falling on his head and neck in icy sheets. He glanced at Ella. Her hair was hanging in her face, sticking to her cheeks and the column of her throat. Rivulets of water streamed from her temple to her chin and dripped onto her shirt. She didn’t try to brush the water away. She seemed focused on moving forward, her jacket hanging open, the hood lying lank against her back.

  “Hold on,” he said, pulling her to a stop.

  “And let them catch up? I’d rather not.”

  “They’re probably still back at the church.”

  “You really think so?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder as if she expected the two men to appear.

  “I don’t know, but I doubt they’re going to want to hike through the woods in the pouring rain.”

  “That depends on how much they stand to lose if you and I get away.”

  She was right about that, and he wasn’t going to argue.

  “You’re right, but we have a second, and that’s all this will take.” He zipped her jacket, pulled up her hood and tugged her soaked hair beneath it. “There. Done. Let’s go.”

  “You do know that I’m capable of zipping my own coat and pulling up my hood, right?” she asked, as they started walking again.

  “I’m confident that you’re capable of whatever you set your mind to, but your mind was on other things. Like getting out of these woods and finding a way to safety.”

  “Is your friend anywhere nearby?” she asked, her teeth chattering on the last word.

  “I figure a glowing phone would be a perfect beacon in a dark forest, so I haven’t texted or called her.” They reached the crest of the hill, and the highway was a hundred feet below, cars and trucks flying past, rain dancing in glowing headlights.

  It was the best thing he’d seen in a few weeks, and if he’d been alone, he’d have navigated the steep grade that led down to it. He wasn’t sure if Ella could manage, though. She seemed fit and coordinated, but she was also cold. That could make movements clumsy and muscles weak.

  “Come on.” He took her arm, his hand cupped around her bicep as he walked along the edge of the precipice. There’d be an area where the grade was less steep, the descent less treacherous. Once he found it, they’d head down and he’d call Honor.

  “In case you haven’t noticed,” she said, her breath a cloud of white fog, “the road is right there.”

  She pointed, her entire arm shaking.

  “And climbing down with frozen fingers and toes will be difficult,” he replied. “So we’re going to find an easier path.”

  “If we don’t get shot before then?”

  “We’re not going to be shot.”

  “You want to know something, Sam?”

  “Sure,” he responded, eager to keep her talking and focused. She was colder than anyone should be, her body trembling almost violently. He pulled her close, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, trying to share some of his warmth.

  She tensed but didn’t protest and didn’t move away.

  Obviously, she felt as cold as she looked.

  “You were going to tell me something?” he prodded, and she shrugged.

  “Nothing important. I was just thinking that if anyone had asked me two weeks ago, I’d have told them that my cousin wasn’t going to die, that I wasn’t going to drive to Maine and that I wasn’t going to be kidnapped while I was there. But here we are, and all those things have happened. Maybe being shot before this is over isn’t so far-fetched.”

  “Maybe getting down to the road, getting in a vehicle and getting out of this alive isn’t, either,” he responded.

  “And getting back to Charlotte where it’s warm,” she added.

  “Charlotte, North Carolina?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought I heard some Southern charm in your voice.”

  “Yours is pretty thick with it, too.”

  “I’m originally from Houston. I moved to Boston a few years ago.”

  “To work at the FBI field office there?”

  “Yes.”

  “So who were you before you became Special Agent Sam Sheridan?”

  “A Houston police officer.”

  “Law enforcement all the way?”

  “It was that or become a criminal.” It was the truth, but he expected her to laugh like most people did when he made the comment.

  She didn’t, and he met her eyes, realized she was watching him through the darkness.

  “I get that,” she said.

  “Do you?”

  “Sure. My cousin had the same choice to make. Do good or do harm. Her mother was a drug addict. Ruby decided to be the opposite. She got her PhD in counseling, had a master’s in social work and devoted her life to helping people fight their addictions.”

  “She sounds like a great person.”

  “She is. Was,” she corrected herself quickly.

  “Was she originally from Charlotte, too?”

  “Chicago. Until she moved in with me and my grandmother when she was thirteen.”

  “What brought her to Newcastle?”

  “A job. She worked at the medical clinic. That’s why I was there. I wanted to clean out her office, but the door was locked.”

  His pulse jumped at her words, his mind shooting in a dozen directions it hadn’t gone before. “You mentioned she was a social worker at the Damariscotta Medical Center, right?”

  “Yes. She was employed by the county, but Damariscotta is the largest medical center in the area, so they set her up in an office there. She did a lot of things. Most of it involved working with recovering drug addicts, their kids and family.”

  “That’s interesting.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes,” he responded, the word almost drowned out by the sound of something or someone crashing through the woods.

  “What is that?” Ella whispered.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “I know you’re out here!” a woman called. “I’m tracking you on my phone.”

  “They’ve found us!” El
la hissed, and then she took off, scrambling down the steep incline toward the road below.

  FIVE

  She made it halfway down before she slipped, her feet losing traction in the loose wet soil. She grabbed for something. Anything. A rock. A branch. One of the scraggly bushes that jutted out from the face of the rocky hill.

  She found a hand. Warm. Calloused. Familiar.

  Sam. Of course.

  He dragged her back up the hillside without a word, navigating the path with an ease she envied.

  “We need to get out of here,” she panted as they reached the top. Terrified. Desperate. Ready to run, and not sure why he wasn’t.

  “I agree,” a woman intoned, stepping out from between towering pine trees. She was staring down at a phone, the glow of the screen painting her face with greenish light. She appeared to be young. Maybe twenty-three or four, her hair cut in a pixie style that framed her narrow face. She was waiflike—but with a gun peeking out from beneath her coat.

  “I was beginning to think you’d given up,” Sam said as she approached.

  The woman tucked the phone away and shrugged. “Sometimes it takes me a while to achieve a goal, but, generally speaking, I never give up.” She strode forward, offering Ella a firm handshake. “I’m Special Agent Honor Remington.”

  “Ella McIntire.”

  “Nice to meet you, Ella. Seeing as how you’re freezing, I’ll give you my coat.”

  “That’s not necessary,” she said as Honor took her phone from the pocket and shrugged out of the duster.

  “You can continue to freeze if you want, but I’m layered up, so I won’t be cold if you take this.” She handed the coat to Ella and glanced at her phone. “The tracker worked better than I’d hoped, Sam. I followed the signal from the highway and it brought me straight to you.”

  “I hadn’t realized you’d put one in my phone,” Sam said.

  “I thought I mentioned it before you left for Newcastle.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “Hmmm. I meant to. The tracking goes both ways. You punch this icon here—” she jabbed her phone screen “—tap the name of the person you want to find and there you are!”