Shoving the phone in her pocket, she hopped a fallen branch and dodged the boulder on the other side. As she picked up speed, she heard a man grunt as he tripped and hit the ground behind her.
“Where are you going? We need your help!” Harrington called.
Beating back the tentacles of fear, she searched for a trail, or at least a more even surface. She’d left everything at the campsite but the clothes on her back, so her odds for survival weren’t great, especially considering the cold temperatures in the mountains this time of year.
Stop going to that dark place, she scolded herself. She had to figure out how to contact her boss and report the murder before the men reported it as an accident.
Call her boss, right, the man who’d ordered her to take time off. He didn’t even know she was chasing a lead he’d proclaimed was a dead end.
“David fell and we need your help!” Harrington yelled.
David fell? Is that what you call it when you fling a man off a cliff?
She sucked in the cool mountain air, pumping her arms, trying to get a safe distance away where she could get a cell signal and call for help.
“Let’s talk about this!” Harrington pressed.
Like they’d “talked” to David Price? The memory of his desperate cry sent shivers across her shoulders.
She found the trail, but if she found it, so would they. They were taller than her five foot three, their strides longer. It wouldn’t take them long to catch her.
And kill her.
They’d probably fabricate a story about how she was responsible for David’s death. That would wrap everything up in a neat bow—just in time for Christmas.
No. She wouldn’t let them win.
A gunshot echoed across the mountain range.
She bit back a gasp. How would they explain her body riddled with bullet holes? Unless they hoped wild animals would rip it apart, making cause of death that much harder to determine.
Suddenly she ran out of trail. She peered over the mountain’s edge into the black abyss below.
“Think,” she whispered.
She realized her rope was still hooked to her belt. She hadn’t planned to drift off to sleep earlier, so she hadn’t taken off her gear. She wrapped the rope around a tree root jutting out from the side of the mountain below the trail and pulled it tight.
For the first time in her life, she appreciated Uncle Matt’s insistence that she take wilderness survival courses, along with self-defense. She used to think he’d forced her to take the classes because her small frame made her a target for bullies. She eventually realized it was because of the nightmares. He thought the classes would empower her, make her feel safe.
Sara had never felt safe.
She dropped to her stomach and shimmied over the edge. Clinging to the rope, she let herself down slowly, hoping to hit a ledge or plateau where she could wait it out. She clicked off her headlamp. At least if she could disappear for a few hours until sunrise, she might be able to make her way out of Echo Mountain State Park.
She calmed her breathing, questioning her decision to follow this lead on her own. Was her boss right? Was she too determined for her own good?
Sara gripped the rope with gloved hands and steadied herself against the mountainside with her boots.
“What do you want to do?” Harrington said.
His voice was close, right above her close. She held her breath.
“We’ll send Bill to find her,” LaRouche said. “He’s got climbing experience.”
“Wouldn’t it be better if we—”
“No, we need answers, like who sent her and what she heard. Then she needs to disappear.”
Disappear. They were determined to kill her. Sara’s pulse raced against her throat.
As she hung there, suspended in midair, she searched her surroundings, trying to see something, trying to stay grounded.
All she could see was a wall of black, which reminded her of...
Stay in here and don’t make a sound.
But, Daddy—
I mean it. Take care of your brother.
Suddenly someone tugged on the rope, yanking her out of the memory.
“Sara Long, is that you?” LaRouche said.
She was relieved they only knew her undercover name, Sara Long. That should keep them from discovering her true identity.
Then, suddenly, they started pulling her up. No, she wouldn’t let them get away with it, killing people, innocent people.
Killing her.
She released the rope and grabbed the tree root, then edged her way down the side of the mountain, grabbing onto whatever felt solid.
She grabbed onto a branch...
It pulled loose from the earth and she started to slide. Flailing her arms, she reached for something, anything, to slow her descent.
But it was too dark, and the fall too steep.
It wouldn’t surprise the guys in her field office if she died out here like this: alone, on some rogue assignment gone south.
She didn’t care. At least this time she’d taken on the enemy instead of hiding from him.
I’m sorry, Daddy. I should have done something to save you.
She came to a sudden stop. Her head whipped back, slammed against something hard, and she was swallowed by darkness.
* * *
Will Rankin approached the end of the trail and made the final turn. His breath caught in his throat at the stunning view, sunlight sparkling off the calm, turquoise water at the base of Echo Mountain, with the Cascade Mountain range spanning the horizon behind the lake. This was it, the perfect place to open his heart to God, hoping for peace to ease the resentment lingering in his heart.
Intellectually Will knew it was time to let it go for so many reasons, not the least of which being his daughters. They needed a loving, gentle father, not a bitter, angry one.
Will thought he had coped with Megan’s death pretty well over the past two years, but the dark emotions continued to have a stronghold over his heart. He was still angry with his wife for shutting him out as she battled cancer, and he struggled with resentment about his mother-in-law, who challenged nearly every decision Will made about Claire and Marissa.
I love my girls so much, Lord. Isn’t that enough?
Apparently not to his mother-in-law.
No, he wouldn’t think about that today. Today he’d commune with nature and pray: for his daughters, for emotional peace and for the strength to get him through the upcoming Christmas season, the girls’ second Christmas without their mom.
It was unseasonably warm at the base of the mountain. Although a recent light snowfall dusted the area around the lake with a layer of white, it would probably melt off by noon. He smiled, thinking about how much the girls were looking forward to playing in the snow.
Then something else caught his eye across the lake.
A splash of red.
Curious, he pulled out his binoculars and peered through the lenses. It looked like a woman in a red jacket, jeans and hiking boots. Her long brown hair was strewn across her face.
She looked unconscious, or worse.
Will shoved the binoculars into his pack and took off. He had to get to her, had to save her. He glanced at his cell phone. No signal.
Please, Lord, let me save her.
As he sped toward the unconscious woman, he wondered how she’d ended up here. Was she a day hiker who hadn’t brought enough hydration? He didn’t see a backpack near her body, yet even day hikers knew better than to head into the mountains without supplies since the weather could change in a flash.
By the time he reached the unconscious woman, his heart was pounding against his chest. He shucked his pack and kneeled to administer first aid. “Ma’am?”
&nbs
p; She was unresponsive.
“Ma’am, can you hear me?”
What had happened to this fragile-looking creature? He wondered if she got separated from her party or had fallen off a trail above.
He gently brushed jet-black hair away from her face. She had color in her cheeks, a good sign. He took off his glove and pressed his fingers against her wrist to check her pulse.
“No!” She swung her arm, nailing Will in the face with something hard.
He jerked backward, stars arcing across his vision. He pinched his eyes shut against the pain. Gripping his nose, he felt blood ooze through his fingers. He struggled to breathe.
“Don’t touch me!” she cried.
“I’m trying to help.”
“Liar.”
He cracked open his eyes. She towered above him, aiming a gun at his chest.
“Please,” he said, putting out one hand in a gesture of surrender. “I’m sorry if I upset you, but I really do want to help.”
“Yeah, help them kill me.”
He noticed a bruise forming above her right eye and lacerations crisscrossing her cheek.
“You’re hurt,” he said.
“I’m fine.”
Will guessed she was frightened and confused. Maybe even dehydrated.
“I’m Will Rankin, a volunteer with Echo Mountain Search and Rescue.”
“Sure, and I’m Amelia Earhart.”
“Check my pack. My driver’s license is in the side pocket.”
It was worth a try, although he knew all the sensible conversation in the world may not get through to someone in her condition.
Narrowing her eyes, she grabbed his backpack and stepped a few feet away. Never lowering the gun, she unzipped the side pocket.
“May I sit up to stop my nosebleed?” he asked.
She nodded that he could.
He would continue to act submissive so she wouldn’t see him as a threat. It was the best way to keep her from firing the gun by accident. He sensed she wasn’t a killer, but rather she was disoriented and frightened.
Sitting up, he leaned forward and pinched his nose, just below the bridge. He’d have dual black eyes for sure and didn’t know how he’d explain that to his girls, or their grandparents.
You’ve got bigger problems than a bloody nose. He had to talk this woman down from her precarious ledge.
She rifled through his wallet and hesitated, fingering a photograph of Claire and Marissa.
“My girls,” he said. “They’re in first and third grades.”
She shot him a look of disbelief and shoved his wallet and the photos haphazardly into his pack.
“Did you fall from a trail above?” he asked.
“I’m asking the questions!” She straightened and pointed the gun at his chest again. “And you’d better give me the right answers.”
“Please,” he said. “My girls... I’m all they’ve got. Their mother...died.”
He thought he’d gotten through to her.
She flicked the gun. “Get up.”
He slowly stood, realizing how petite she was, barely coming up to his chest.
“Where are they?” she demanded.
“Who?”
“LaRouche and Harrington.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Right, you randomly happened to find me.”
“I did.”
“Uh-huh. And you’re out here, in the middle of nowhere, why?”
“I’m spending a few days in the mountains for—” he hesitated “—solitude.”
“You’re lying. There’s more to it.”
“I’m not lying, but you’re right, there is more to it.”
She waited and narrowed her eyes, expectant.
“I come to this spot by the lake to find emotional peace—” he hesitated “—with God’s help.”
“Yeah, right. Great story, Will.”
He didn’t miss the sarcastic pronunciation of his name, nor the paranoid look in her eye.
She dug in her jacket pocket and pulled out her phone. She frowned.
“You have a phone?” she asked.
“I do.”
She shoved hers back into her pocket. “Give it to me.”
He pulled it out, dropped it between them and raised his hands. “You won’t get a signal here, but there’s a spot by my cabin where I can usually find service.”
“Your cabin?”
“I’m renting a cabin about a quarter of a mile north.”
She eyed his phone, must have seen there weren’t any bars, and shoved it into her other pocket.
“Let’s go.” When she picked up his pack, a groan escaped her lips.
“Do you want me to—”
“Walk,” she demanded, her eyes watering.
They were obviously tears of pain. He guessed from the rip in her jacket and strained look on her face, she might have cracked a rib or two.
With a nod, he turned and headed toward the cabin. She was hurt and confused, and the worst part was, she wouldn’t accept his help.
He’d have to rely on patience, kindness and compassion to make her feel safe. That would go a long way to ease her worry and earn her trust.
Hopefully that would be enough.
* * *
Sara wasn’t sure how far she’d get before passing out from the excruciating pain of her headache, but she’d fight until she dropped. She had somehow survived the fall, and wouldn’t allow herself to die at the hand of a hired thug.
It figures LaRouche and Harrington would send a handsome, clean-cut guy to find her—a real charmer, this one. Will or Bill or whatever his name was, had to be over six feet tall, with chestnut brown hair and green eyes, and he spoke with such a gentle, calming tone. What a story he’d crafted for himself: he’d come out here to pray?
He’d laid it on thick, all right. Those were probably his little girls in the photograph, girls who had no idea what their daddy did for a living.
In her ten years with the FBI, Sara had learned plenty about sociopaths and how they used their cunning intelligence and polished charisma to convince an interrogating agent of their innocence.
Clutching the gun, she took her finger off the trigger in case she stumbled and pulled it by accident. He wouldn’t know the difference. As long as Will thought she aimed a gun at his back, he’d do as she ordered.
The trees around her started drifting in and out of focus. She blinked to clear her vision, and stumbled on a rock jutting out of the ground.
Strong, firm hands gripped her arms, keeping her upright. Will’s green eyes studied her face, as if assessing her head injury. He must have realized his mistake, that he was still holding on to her, because his hands sprung free and he raised them, as if to say, please don’t shoot me.
She stepped back and dropped the backpack on the ground. “It’s throwing me off balance.”
He picked up the pack and adjusted it across his shoulders with ease. “That bruise above your eye—” He hesitated. “Are you experiencing blurred vision?”
“I’m fine.” She flicked the gun barrel toward the trail.
He continued walking.
“I have ice packs at the cabin,” he said. “And pain reliever.”
She hated that he was being so polite. It was an act, his strategy to discover how much she knew. Those were LaRouche and Harrington’s orders, right?
Much like her official orders had been to leave it alone, put aside the LHP, Inc., investigation due to lack of evidence. But she’d pushed and pushed until Bonner had had enough, and told her to take a couple of weeks off.
So she did, and spent her vacation going undercover and buying her way on to the
trail guide team that LaRouche, Harrington and Price had hired to take them up the mountain. Her goal: watch and listen, glean whatever information she could from the men who were on vacation with their guards down.
“Would you like some water?” Will offered.
She ignored him. Sara might be hurting, but she wasn’t stupid. It would be too easy for Will to slip something into her water, rendering her unconscious.
“Guess not,” he said softly.
She took a deep breath and bit back a gasp at the stab of bruised ribs. She decided it was a good thing because the pain would keep her conscious and alert.
He slowed down, closing the distance between them.
“Keep walking,” she said through clenched teeth.
“I thought you might need to rest.”
“I don’t.”
With what seemed like a frustrated sigh, he continued. Sure, he was frustrated. He wanted to finish this job quickly and move on to his next high-paying assignment.
She focused on his backpack as she struggled to place one foot in front of the other without losing her balance. It wasn’t easy when she felt as though she’d stepped off the Tilt-A-Whirl at the county fair.
They continued in silence, her pulse ricocheting off the inside of her skull with each step. She had to make it, had to put these arrogant criminals behind bars.
She hoped they could pull the video recording off her phone, even though she’d noticed it had been damaged in the fall.
Will’s phone was working just fine. Maybe they were close to getting reception. She pulled his phone out of her pocket, but her trembling fingers dropped it. She snapped her gaze to Will, fearing he’d seen her weakness. He continued up the trail.
She waited until he was a good distance away and knelt down to retrieve the phone. When she stood, her vision blurred and she could barely make out Will’s form. She squinted through the haze to see him.
He was no longer within sight.
She shoved the phone into her pocket and clutched the gun grip with both hands. Where did he go? Had he taken off up ahead, waiting to ambush her? She approached a sharp turn, blocked by a boulder.
Took a slow, shallow breath...
Darted around the corner.
And spotted Will, on his knees, with his hands interlaced behind his head.
Perfect Alibi Page 21
