The Enigma Series Boxed Set

by Tierney James

  The children hugged their mother, patting her like she did them when they were hurt.

  “The police are on their way, Tessa.” He kissed her before walking toward the bedroom and the scene of the “robbery”.

  ~ ~ ~

  The man hopped over the fence into the neighbor’s yard. He crouched for a minute to make sure no one saw him—dressing in black came from living in the shadows a number of years. With the teeth coverings removed and shoved inside his jacket, the man proceeded to move to the backdoor of the modern-style house, so unlike the one he’d invaded. He already knew the location of the spare key. The old couple who lived here were predictable; kept it under the doormat, like so many other people in the neighborhood. The woman next door had been different. It had taken him thirty minutes to find it. The security system needed to be updated, so he’d only had to pull the outside wires to disconnect it. Rather than pay a few dollars more a month to get a wireless system, they left themselves vulnerable to someone like him.

  A rotating red light flashed in the darkness as a police car pulled into the drive of the house he’d escaped. He felt amused remembering the blue of the woman’s eyes, the firmness of her lips, and the bite of her teeth. He stuck his wounded finger into his mouth to suck the oozing blood. He wanted to savor how she molded perfectly beneath him. If her husband had not returned home, he might still be enjoying himself. The thought occurred to him their friendship was headed toward a slippery slope.

  He peeked through the door panel into a dark kitchen as he turned the key in the lock. Someone was home. Lights filled a distant living room, and the sound of the television caught his ear as he moved with the skill of a cat burglar. Voices filled with excitement as the two figures appeared and moved to the front door. He couldn’t understand what they were saying but he imagined it had to do with the police car next door.

  The doorbell rang as he stepped toward the refrigerator. He leaned against it, hoping the caller would not want to come in. Too many surprises in one night for his liking. Hungry and exhausted from the physical confrontation, his body also craved a very cold shower.

  He heard the police ask the usual questions; had they seen anyone, heard anything, did they lock their doors, etc. He imagined the officer handing them a card with his information and number in case they thought of something. The door clicked shut, and the sound of a dead bolt being thrown made him wonder if the couple might be afraid.

  The television became silent, followed by footsteps moving toward where he lurked. They spoke in soft voices until they entered the kitchen, flipping on the lights.

  He felt a kind of amusement when they didn’t see him at first. But they appeared to see him at the same time. Suddenly the man trembled and the woman gasped, her hand trying to cover her mouth. All three stood staring at each other in silence.

  The woman stepped toward him and snatched off his ski mask with the gentleness of a grizzly bear. After tossing it onto the table, she shook a crooked finger at his nose. “What in goodness name have you done?” Hands dropped to a narrow waist.

  He ran his hand across his face before opening the freezer door. He took out a package of frozen peas and laid it across his cheekbone where Tessa had managed to make contact.

  “Did you hurt Tessa?” she demanded in a thick Irish accent laced with irritation. “And what about those babies? Were they home?”

  “Do you have any ice cream, Martha?” Unconcerned, he dug in the freezer.

  “Answer me, Chase Hunter, or I’ll flog you here and now.”

  The old man pulled out a chair and sat down. “You’d better give us a full account or she will make your life miserable, Chase.”

  Pulling out the vanilla ice cream, Chase frowned as he scanned the label. “Is this all you got?” He tossed the peas back inside before shutting the door. Martha handed him a spoon and moved to the china cabinet. The moment she took out a bowl, he opened the container and ate from the carton.

  “I didn’t hurt her. The kids and What’s His Name were gone, at least until the end of the training session.” Chase leaned against the counter and scraped the last bite of ice cream from the bottom of the box. He licked the spoon and met Martha’s angry expression. “She’s fine. This time she shot me.” A halfhearted chuckle slipped out as a drip of ice cream slid down his chin. “Samantha did a heck of a job breaking her in. I guess we’re done with the training to see if she can protect herself.” He tried to smile with the spoon clenched between his teeth. “I don’t know when I’ve had more fun.”

  Martha grabbed a damp dish towel and snapped it against Chase’s leg, making him yelp.

  “What the hell?”

  “Watch your mouth in this house, young man, or I’ll shoot you myself.”

  Chase winked at her husband. “Yes, ma’am.”

  The man, Francis, pointed a finger at the Enigma team leader. “I’ve seen how you watch Tessa. She’s a married woman, Chase. Don’t mess up her life.”

  He didn’t like being told what to do or how to live his life. “I’ve gotta go. It’s getting late.” He tossed the empty ice cream carton in the trash can and laid the spoon in the sink then leaned over and kissed Martha on the cheek. “Care if I shower and change before I hit the road? The police might be at the entrance to this happy little subdivision. I don’t want to fit any description Tessa gave.”

  They both waved him away.

  As Chase left the room, he heard Francis speak to his wife in a low voice. “I don’t like where this is headed.”

  Chapter 1

  Foothills of the Pamir Mountains in Afghanistan

  H er sense of smell forced her to wrinkle her nose at the same time her throbbing head begged her to be still. Then, as she ignored the warning, a sharp jab of pain traveled up to her hip. The floor where she sat felt like compacted dirt. Even in the dim light seeping through the ragged covering over the window, she understood this place meant danger. But where was she? How had she gotten here? Why were her hands tied with something like baling twine? Her face felt puffy as if she suffered from allergies, or had she been crying? The taste of salt coated her tongue. Dry, cracked lips needed moisture.

  Who were the small people cowering along the wall near her? A small child rested her head on the edge of her shoulder. She flinched away in panic as the downward movement landed the child in her lap. The little one offered up a sleepy grin at her before snuggling back against her shoulder.

  The child had light-colored eyes with skin neither tan nor white but something in between, as if she spent a great deal of time outdoors. She smelled liked boiled onions or was it cabbage? The overpowering scent of wood smoke confused her ability to piece together the events leading to this point in time.

  Panic raced through her body as her heart accelerated. Even though her arms and legs felt cold, sweat beaded up across her neck and forehead. A sticky substance covered her hands. Lifting them up into the ribbons of light, she squinted to see her palms.

  Blood. Her hands were covered in blood. Whose blood? Her body ached. She rubbed her hands up and down, over and over against the torn robe she wore. The fibers, rough and shaggy, pulled the blood from her hands as she worked to be free of the dried substance. The child’s head grew heavy against her shoulder. She wanted to check herself for open wounds. Would she find more blood? I need to get up and move. She nudged the child to push her back against the wall made of mud bricks.

  Standing with a grunt and the grace of an eighty-year-old woman, she staggered up. She bit her bottom lip so hard the taste of salt and blood seeped onto her parched tongue. An awkward attempt to feel her body for open wounds with tied hands helped her realize the bindings remained loose but she still couldn’t wiggle free of them.

  Her hands trembled against her body locating a number of bruises but no wounds. She stretched out her arms then rolled her shoulders. The movement helped her to relax. A step on weak legs propelled her forward faster than she intended. The pain now resembled stiffness rather than an i
njury.

  Something skittered across the floor. Mice. She sucked in her breath and fell back against a table propped up by a cardboard box. It flipped over with her weight against it. She cried out as someone touched her neck. The sudden movement caused her to jerk away and lose her balance. Outstretched hands pulled her back to steady feet.

  A reflex to fight kicked in, and she rammed a shoulder into the man who stood no taller than her. He looked like a young oak tree, strong and unmoving despite her attempt to escape. Instead of retaliating, the young man chuckled and grabbed her by the twine around her wrists. He pointed toward the door and added a tug indicating she needed to follow him outside. She dug in her heels to no avail. The next jerk sent her staggering into his back as he led her outside into the light of day.

  The burst of brightness forced her head down. Seeing that she wore what looked like combat boots, the fleeting thought, they’re not even cute, popped into her head. The cool wind created shivers as she cocked her head to the side to glimpse the surroundings. A scarf slipped off her head onto the ground. With the sound of excited voices of men, she stole a glance to see what had gotten them wound up. They pointed at her face then at their own eyes and hair. Their black garb and headdress told her she wasn’t in Kansas anymore, as the saying went. Lumbering yaks swaying their heads and the stomp of restless horses added to the confusion as to her location.

  Self-conscious, she touched her hair, and realized strands twisted free from a loose ponytail. The curls blew across her face as she pushed them back with unsteady hands. She remained clueless as to the reason her appearance caused such excitement. A fleeting thought her mascara smeared on what felt like a puffy face caused her to swipe at her cheeks. The young man who had dragged her outside wore a pillbox-like hat. He stormed up to her and cupped her chin in his hand and squeezed. She guessed he might be seventeen or eighteen, just a kid.

  She took a step forward and rammed her knee into his groin. He collapsed on the ground with the rest of his sketchy friends laughing. Several others stepped forward then back, followed by mocking her actions. The young man on the ground moaned as he staggered to his feet then held himself. The defense move felt familiar, as if she’d used it a number of times. Had she done it wrong? The kid acted like she’d given him a swat on the rump.

  A step back landed her against a bigger man. She spun around and stepped away. He wore a brown fur hat with flaps drooping over his ears and a stained, ragged scarf wrapped around his temples. A tattered ski mask covered his nose, but the other openings revealed almond-shaped eyes. From the large openings, it couldn’t offer much warmth. His exposed mouth was wide with full, thick lips that turned down in an impatient frown.

  Startled, she took another step away but tangled her foot in her robe and landed her on the ground. The man’s solemn glare bore down on her as he reached to grab her by the arm and lifted with an unexpected gentleness. The strength in his hands reminded her of someone else, but she couldn’t remember who. Someone tall and menacing walked through a hazy memory. That memory carried a weapon, military issued. Why she knew such a thing remained a mystery. Then the shadowy image vanished. The man in the brown hat watched her with interest, not lust, which both alarmed and comforted her. She spotted a dagger sheathed at his waist and wondered for a split second what he used it for since she noticed a smear of blood on the handle.

  “Miss Melanie?” A small child peered in from the door of the shelter. Running to her, she slipped tied hands over the child’s head, and pulled her into her body. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m hungry, Miss Melanie. We are hungry.”

  Desperation in the small arms circled around her lower body. The child choked back tears. What had she called her? Melanie? My name is Melanie? The name evoked the dark image of another man again. An angry man in the bowels of an underground lab pushing her to give him more information than she thought she had. Darkness covered his face as the image evaporated at the chatter of more children coming to the doorway.

  Five more girls appeared, dressed in dirty robes of once pale blues and greens. They pulled their head coverings across their faces when the men stared at them. Another girl, around fourteen or fifteen, stepped through the little ones to stand before her. The pale-green eyes bore the sadness of someone who had experienced too much suffering in her lifetime. Strands of brown hair peeked out from the faded red scarf tied around her head.

  “The government lady is awake, Miss Melanie. She is asking for you.” The teenager put her comforting hands on several of the children to guide them back inside.

  She didn’t feel like this Melanie person. What was a government lady and why would she be asking for her? The snorts of restless horses drew her attention back to the men. They appeared to be getting ready to leave. Where were they going? Maybe they should follow. It would be safer. Safer from what, she couldn’t speculate.

  The man in the brown hat approached and took out his dagger. She froze. The man’s narrowed expression revealed little about his intention. He stopped an arm’s length away as he raised the sharp weapon. Her gaze fell upon it then looked up at the man. He jerked his chin up and pointed the knife at her wrists. When she extended them, he reached out and sliced through the twine. As the constraints fell to the ground, Melanie continued to hold her hands out toward the stranger.

  For the first time, he appeared to show some interest as he took in her hair then face. The closer examination reminded her of someone getting ready to purchase a horse. Being in a land dominated by males who valued livestock more than the women who bore their sons, gave her an uneasy feeling. How she knew this information succeeded in adding to an already-foggy memory.

  Melanie, or so she decided to call herself, pointed to her mouth then the children inside. She rubbed her stomach then pointed toward the inside of the shack. “Food.” The words came out in a tongue she didn’t recognize. How did she know this word? “Food,” she insisted again.

  This time the man in the brown hat raised his eyebrows in surprise. With a snap of his fingers to the other men, he made his wishes known. Several of them approached with what Melanie thought might be food, but her stomach lurched at the possibilities. She took a parcel from a man whose sour expression looked like he’d been chewing on green persimmons most of his life. She mumbled what she hoped meant “thanks” before slipping into the shack.

  “Miss Melanie.” The children surrounded her as she handed the teenager the parcel. She tore it open to reveal stale bread smeared with something smelling like bad hummus. She refused a portion, knowing the children needed it more than her.

  The government woman sat on the floor in the corner. Her face, shrouded with the dim light of the room, revealed an uncovered head of auburn hair. She stood with an awkward push then moved toward Melanie, standing a few inches taller than her. One of the girls lifted the makeshift curtain over the window, letting light spill across the bruised face of a woman she didn’t recognize. The auburn hair revealed gray roots as if it had been a while since she’d gone to a salon. Were there hair salons in this place? If so, maybe she could get a pedicure. Her feet were killing her.

  The government lady opened her mouth, revealing a chipped tooth and some dried blood on several others. Her clothes were splattered with blood. Melanie let her stare trail down the woman’s stomach then back up to her face.

  “I know. It’s shocking.” The woman glanced down at herself and shook her head. “Are we leaving?”

  Melanie turned toward the open door and saw busy men and dust clouds caused by noisy horses. She rubbed her head for clarity.

  “I see they cut you lose.” The government woman spoke in a thick Boston accent. “I hope it’s a good sign. Right?”

  “I have no idea.” Her words sounded like she’d been gargling gravel.

  “Thank goodness they came along when they did.” The woman slipped her arm through Melanie’s and squeezed.

  “I’m a little fuzzy on the details.” To admit that to a total
stranger who appeared to need reassurance, added yet another layer of imposed responsibility she still didn’t understand.

  The government woman walked back to a stool and sat down with a sigh as if it were her biggest accomplishment today. “Guess those Pashto lessons paid off for you. I forgot every single word when I saw the Taliban come down the street.”

  Melanie stared at her in bewilderment. She couldn’t remember any Taliban. The pain in her head intensified, and she rubbed hard enough to turn it red. The children crowded at the window and door. She joined them there. These men reminded her of mountain tribesman with supplies piled on nearby yaks. A few of the children pointed, others giggled as they watched. Little girls all over the world loved horses, it seemed.

  Whatever brought the tribesman to this place didn’t seem to be weighing on the little urchins as much as it did on the government woman. Deep creases around her downturned mouth made her look worried.

  “Children, bring me my bag.” The government woman pointed to the corner. The teen hurried to retrieve a battered backpack that may have once been an expensive accessory from a shopping mall.

  “Can I help, Miss Finley?” The teen, who spoke and understood English, peeked inside the bag as the woman unzipped the side pocket.

  “Yes, I think you can. Here,”—the Finley woman reached in and took out a small plastic container—“take this to Miss Melanie.” The teenager carried the container to Melanie as if she were one of the Three Wise Men bringing gifts to the baby Jesus.

  Melanie took the container from the young girl with the perfect cherub face. “Thank you,” she whispered. “What is this?” Melanie unscrewed the lid and peeked inside. “Aspirin?” Miss Finley raised eyebrows at the obvious.

  “They’re baby aspirin I take each day for my heart. Preventive medicine. Heart disease runs in my family. The doctor called me overly cautious. Take several. I’m afraid I loaded up, after, well you know.” The woman avoided finishing the thought as she turned toward the window.