True Shot

by Joyce Lamb

  She went still. “Flush you out?”

  “Flinn has been under investigation for months.”

  She was stunned. “Investigation? Are you serious?”

  “About three months ago, Andrea noticed some unusual notations in the medical files of some of the female N3 operatives, as well as some budgeting shortages that couldn’t be accounted for. She started doing some digging and discovered that Flinn and Toby had gone off the reservation. Way off.”

  “Wait. Andrea, Flinn’s boss? FBI Assistant Director Andrea Leigh?”

  Sloan nodded. “She put together a team of operatives to investigate Flinn and Toby. We were getting ready to bring you and Zoe in on the undercover op when Zoe freaked out. After Flinn had her taken out, everything with you went to hell so fast we lost track of you. Since then, we’ve been trying to get to you before Flinn does. He’s been single-minded, Sam. You’re the only one he has left.”

  “The only one what?”

  “He and Toby impregnated three operatives. You, Zoe and Mikayla.”

  Sam jolted at the name of another friend and coworker. “Wait. He did this to Mik, too? Where is she? Is she okay?”

  “We’ve got her stashed in a safe house. As far as Flinn knows, she’s undercover with black ops in Afghanistan.”

  “Not an FBI safe house, I hope.”

  “No. It’s in Chicago. Andrea has connections with the police department there.”

  Sam let her shoulders sag. “So Mik’s safe. That’s good.”

  “Relatively speaking. She didn’t know she was pregnant when we got to her. We don’t think any of you were ever supposed to find out.”

  “I don’t get that part. Of course we were going to find out. I mean—”

  “He doesn’t want the fetus to come to term, Sam. We don’t know the specifics, but we think he wants to harvest stem cells from the embryo.”

  She put a protective hand over her belly. “But that would kill the . . .”

  Sloan didn’t give her time to dwell. “There’s more, Sam.”

  She didn’t want to hear any more. She wanted to find Mac and run as far as necessary to escape this insanity. As long as she had him, the rest of the world didn’t matter. Except . . . no, that wasn’t true. Her family mattered. And eventually Flinn would use them against her. The only option was to stop him.

  “Flinn is a small cog in a big wheel,” Sloan said. “Andrea has evidence that he has partners in other N3 satellite networks in the U.S. and abroad.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “Using N3 operatives’ psychic abilities for personal gain.”

  “Flinn most definitely did that when he blackmailed Arthur Baldwin for research funds.”

  “He’s not alone. There are others just like him. We have to stop them.”

  She looked away and thought about what Sloan was saying. Stopping Flinn and his cohorts wouldn’t be a weeklong mission, or even a month. It would take years, maybe more, depending on the extent of the corruption. But what about Charlie and Alex? She’d missed so much of their lives. They needed her. She needed them. And what about Mac? And the baby she carried? What about the rest of her life?

  “I was never meant to be a spy,” she said finally.

  “S am—”

  “Flinn blackmailed me into it. He took away my choices. Forced me to comply with his demands or die trying. He’s used me as a science experiment for the past fourteen years. And now he’s trying to use my body for some kind of twisted project.”

  “None of those things were sanctioned by N3. None of them. We need you in this fight. Whatever it takes.”

  “I don’t know. I can’t think straight right now. Everything is so—”

  He covered the hand she rested on the table and lightly squeezed, an awkward gesture from a man who usually kept his emotions locked down tight. “You don’t have to decide right now. The main thing is we need to get you to a safe place so we can figure out our next move.”

  “Nine o’clock, sir.”

  Flinn turned his head at Marco’s direction and spotted Mac Hunter, Charlie Trudeau and her male friend striding toward the parking lot of the Hotel Sandpiper. He and Marco had arrived in St. Petersburg an hour ago and had parked across the street from the hotel in full view of the front entrance. They’d been discussing their next move, but now that the people in question had arrived on the scene, that plan was shot.

  “No Samantha,” Flinn murmured. “So either she’s in the room alone or they’re going to see her now.”

  “I can check the room.”

  “Just give it a minute.”

  Hunter, Charlie and the other man paused in the parking lot for a short discussion before Hunter hugged Charlie, shook the other man’s hand then climbed into a new red Mustang.

  “Whose—” Flinn broke off as he realized. “Rental car.”

  Charlie and the man linked hands and started walking toward the beach.

  “We can grab the sister now, sir. Use her to flush out Samantha.”

  Flinn shook his head. “No. Too public. And the gentleman with her is a cop.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Just look at him. And normal men don’t know how to drive like he did to lose their tail. Let’s follow Hunter. He’ll lead us to Samantha.”

  “Are you sure, sir? What if she’s still in the hotel?”

  Flinn flashed Marco a smile. “If she were still in the hotel, her sister wouldn’t be casually strolling down the beach and Hunter wouldn’t be leaving in a rental. They’d stick to her like glue. She’s not here.”

  “What if Hunter doesn’t lead us to her?”

  “Then we’ll use him as bait to bring her to us.”

  Flinn’s heart kicked into a higher gear. He was so close to Samantha. The certainty hummed in his blood like a hive of bees.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Mac did his best to keep his brain blank as he drove. He put the Mustang’s top down and turned the stereo up as loud as his ears could tolerate, hoping the steady noise would drown out the angry, hurt, worried words in his head.

  Sam had left him.

  Sam didn’t trust him to help her.

  Sam was going to die.

  And he couldn’t wrap his brain around Charlie’s reasoning to let Sam go without a fight. He got it on one level. Charlie knew her sister would do whatever she wanted to do no matter who argued against it. Sam was wired for hero. When it came down to a choice between friends-family-love and duty-honor-justice . . . well, Sam had fourteen years of duty-honor-justice experience under her belt. Whatever Flinn Ford’s objectives, she’d always thought she’d been doing the right thing, fighting the good fight.

  The prospect of a life with a man like Mac was not going to change a woman like Sam.

  So, yeah, he got it. Sam was wired in a way he would never understand. Charlie understood, though. And, really, when you came right down to it, Charlie had the right to choose between letting Sam go and making her stay. Charlie and Sam shared blood and a childhood. Mac and Sam shared . . . three days on the run and a couple of bouts of mind-altering lovemaking.

  So, Charlie’s choice. He just, unfortunately, had to live with it. Thank God Charlie had Noah to help her deal. Mac? He had his journalism career waiting for him at the Lake Avalon Gazette. He had good friends. He had a sister to cheer on through college.

  Maybe he’d get a dog. Alex probably had a stray or two on her radar. She always did. And a pooch wouldn’t bail on him for the greater good.

  Yeah, it really helped to make plans for a future he dreaded without the only woman he’d ever loved so deeply his body, heart and soul ached now that she was gone from his life.

  In Lake Avalon, he headed for the beach, not ready to go home to his empty house, a pile of mail and . . . silence. He wanted to see Alex anyway. Since he’d learned of how horrible life had been for her lately, he felt compelled to reconnect, to let her know she could count on him, no matter what. Charlie had given him the address f
or the friend, AnnaCoreen Tesch, who’d insisted Alex and Logan stay with her while Charlie and Noah headed to St. Petersburg.

  He glanced at the note Charlie had scribbled: “1237 Sandy Beach Way. Don’t judge a book by its cover.”

  Whatever that meant.

  He knew AnnaCoreen had become a staple in Alex’s and Charlie’s lives shortly after their beloved nana died. He had no idea how they’d met her or why they’d grown so close so quickly, but he looked forward to meeting the mysterious woman.

  In the next minute, he knew what Charlie had meant about book-cover judging. The address she’d jotted for him belonged to an ugly, fuchsia hovel that appeared as if the next strong breeze would topple it. Even the three little pigs wouldn’t have expected the structure to hold up to a couple of deep big-bad-wolf puffs.

  He laughed under his breath at the sign propped against a warped, weather-beaten wall: PSYCHIC READINGS, $10 FOR 10 MINUTES.

  A beach psychic. Now he got it. Alex and Charlie had sought the counsel of an expert about their own psychic abilities. Made perfect sense.

  Based on the shack, Mac decided AnnaCoreen knew how to lower a potential customer’s expectations. And judging by the cheerful yellow house visible behind the ramshackle hut, white shutters gleaming in the afternoon sun, the woman did well for herself.

  After parking on the street’s sandy shoulder, he strode through a lush, fragrant garden to the house. A petite strawberry blonde with model-like cheekbones, sparkling blue eyes and skin so perfect he couldn’t guess her age beyond “over forty,” answered his knock. A welcoming smile immediately spread across her peach-painted lips.

  “Mac Hunter,” she said, grasping his hands in both of her cool ones. “Oh, I’m so pleased to meet you, my dear, sweet young man.”

  The warmth of her greeting—and the fact she knew him on sight—surprised him. “Hello,” he said, a bit reserved but already glad he’d come.

  Her bright smile fell into an abrupt frown. “You poor thing, please come in and have some iced tea. I have unsweetened, just like you like.”

  Okaaaay. So Charlie and/or Alex apparently had already had a lot to say about him. Charlie, probably, considering his dick-itude so long ago.

  He followed the woman into a bright, homey kitchen. The predominance of white—appliances, floor, cabinets—was set off with accents in bright blues, reds and yellows. “I hope I’m not—”

  “Not in the least,” she said, gesturing at the white wicker table. “Please sit. Let’s talk. Alex is out for a walk on the beach. She’s due back in a few minutes.”

  He sat on a comfy chair with wide arms and a red seat cushion, not sure what he and AnnaCoreen would talk about. The weather, probably. Living on the beach. The sad state of Florida real estate prices.

  He was suddenly hungry, realizing he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Even then, he hadn’t choked down much, his stomach filled with knots. It was still too knotted, but that didn’t stop it from complaining about its emptiness.

  AnnaCoreen approached the table with a glass of tea and a plate of scones. “I just made blueberry scones this morning. Frankly, I’m shocked there are any left after Logan was finished. That giant of a man eats like there’s no tomorrow.”

  Mac chuckled. That did indeed sound like Logan.

  “Not that I mind, of course,” AnnaCoreen added with a wink as she sat across from him.

  She didn’t speak again until he’d taken a sip of tea—even more refreshing than he’d anticipated—and a bite of the best blueberry scone ever. He’d have to ask for the recipe and send it to Jenn at Florida State. His sister loved scones. While he munched, he got why people drowned their sorrows in their vices. Comfort food, drugs, alcohol . . . for the few minutes it took to consume them, the bone-deep ache eased just a tiny bit.

  AnnaCoreen nudged the plate toward him. “Nothing wrong with an occasional indulgence in sugar, especially when your heart is broken.”

  He gazed at her with a scone midway to his mouth. The woman had an uncanny ability to respond as if she knew his exact thoughts. Before everything that had happened with Sam, he might have scoffed at the idea that she actually might be psychic. But not now. His formerly closed mind had been flung wide open.

  AnnaCoreen gave him a sympathetic smile. “It’s all a bit much to take in, isn’t it? Charlie and Alex came by their enhanced abilities by accident, and Sam’s were prevalent from an early age. Their father’s mother—the girls’ nana—visited me many moons ago to ensure that her granddaughters would have a place to go if they ever needed . . . support for their abilities. Charlie likes to call me their tech support.”

  He chuckled. “Nana obviously chose well. Charlie and Alex adore you.”

  She beamed at him. “You’re very kind. I can see why Sam fell so hard for you.”

  He snorted. “Guess you’re not that psychic. She blew me off to go chase after . . . whatever she’s chasing after.”

  “Deep down, you know she didn’t leave you willy-nilly.”

  He sat back with a crackle of wicker. “She didn’t even bother to say good-bye.”

  “You’re hurt and angry right now. But in time, you’ll understand that she did what she thinks is best for you and her family. We can only imagine how difficult that was for her.”

  Mac offered a polite nod, but he was thinking, How could this woman possibly know that when she didn’t even know Sam? Psychic abilities went only so far. He supposed it was likely, though, that Charlie and Alex had talked with AnnaCoreen at length about their sister.

  AnnaCoreen reached out and gave his hand a grandmotherly pat. “Sam is a Trudeau girl. Their mother might have struggled, but their father instilled in every one of them an ironclad sense of honor.”

  Before he could respond, Alex walked into the kitchen in bare feet, denim shorts and a white tank top. Her auburn curls looked windblown, streaked with subtle highlights from the sun. When she saw him, a smile curved her lips. “Oh, hey, Mac.”

  He rose to greet her, wanting to give her a hug but holding back now that he knew what a simple touch could do to her. “Alex, hi. How was the walk?”

  “Perfect way to clear my head.”

  “I take it Charlie called you with an update.”

  “Yeah. Said she and Noah are taking care of some stuff before heading back.”

  AnnaCoreen bustled up from the table. “I’m going to let you two catch up.”

  “You don’t have to leave,” Alex said.

  “No, no, I know. But I have early dinner plans with my sweetie, and I’m already running late.”

  Alex grinned. “Tell Richie hi for me.”

  AnnaCoreen’s cheeks flushed slightly. “Hush, you.” She turned to Mac. “You will do me a favor, young man.” It was more of a demand than a question.

  Mac couldn’t resist her. “Okay.”

  “You will not give up on Sam. Trudeaus always do the right thing by the people they love.” She grasped his cheeks in cool hands and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. “Everything will work out. I know it will.”

  Her confidence made his eyes burn. “Thank you.”

  She smiled into his eyes. “Believe in her, Mac. You won’t be disappointed.”

  And with that, she left them alone.

  Mac tried to right his equilibrium before he looked at Alex. “AnnaCoreen has a sweetie?”

  “Richie Woods. They’ve been hot for each other for years and are finally together. It’s inspiring. Oh, good, you have tea. I’m dying of thirst.”

  “This is unsweetened, or I’d hand it over, Ms. Sweet Tooth. Besides, I thought you didn’t like tea.”

  “The way AnnaCoreen brews it changed my mind. It’s weird, though. She never makes unsweetened. She must have known you were coming.” She grinned, dark brown eyes sparkling with some of their old life. “I swear, it’s like the woman is psychic.”

  They laughed together as Alex went about pouring herself a glass of tea from a second pitcher in the refrigerator. When she leaned
back against the counter, the silence stretched a few more moments, until she sighed. “So what’s Sam like? I mean, I remember her, of course. I was fourteen when she took off, so I knew the rebel who loved fast cars and motorcycles and ticking off our parents. But what’s she like now?”

  He gave her a sad smile. What he knew of her sister was likely as close to Sam as Alex was going to get. “Tough. Smart. Strong.” His lips quirked. “Pretty much like you and Charlie.”

  “Charlie said you’re in love with her.”

  Mac laughed, the sound abrupt and not especially amused. “Cut to the chase, why don’t you?”

  Alex held his gaze for a long moment, her eyes filled with sympathy. “I’m sorry, Mac.”

  He shrugged and drank more tea. “I’ll get over it. That’s what I do. Get over stuff.” Shit, how pathetic could he sound? “But, hey, I had a great vacation. Shot a guy in the arm.”

  Alex winced. “Geez, Mac.”

  He set aside his glass. “You know what? I should go. I just wanted to stop in and say hi. Say thanks for getting me out of town before the stress drove me to drink. You and Charlie are good friends.” He went to the door.

  “Why don’t you stay for dinner? Logan’s going to be here as soon as he’s off work. Shouldn’t be more than an hour.”

  He shook his head and opened the door, flashing a reassuring smile at her over his shoulder. “In a few days, okay? I need some time to—”

  “Mac.”

  He focused on her face, struck by how quickly she’d gone pale. She was staring past him, her eyes wide.

  He turned to see Marco Ricci striding up the walk, gun drawn.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Shoulders touching, Mac and Alex knelt side by side on AnnaCoreen’s pristine white tile floor while Flinn Ford’s muscle, big and menacing and eager to do some damage, hovered behind them with a cocked gun. Mac tried to cast Alex as reassuring a glance as he could manage. She responded with a small shake of her head, as though saying, “Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “Stupid is my middle name,” Mac returned with his eyes.

  He thought maybe she understood, because she shook her head again. Then Flinn Ford, in all his bald-headed glory, ambled into the kitchen from checking the house for other people.