She just had to stay that way.
She wanted to walk back the way she’d come, but every direction looked the same. She’d spent childhood summers camping with her parents and brothers. She’d hiked parts of the Appalachian Trail with friends. She was used to rough terrain and thick forest, but she wasn’t use to navigating without a compass.
“You should have thought of that before you came here,” she muttered.
“Thought of what?” someone asked, and she jumped, whirling around to face the shadowy figure of a man.
She didn’t panic. She was too cold for that. She didn’t run, because her slow-moving brain finally recognized the voice.
“Mason,” she said. “I thought you were down near the lake.”
“I’m not,” he said. “I heard the gunshot. Where did he go?”
“There’s a logging road somewhere through there.” She pointed in what she hoped was the direction of the road.
“I know it. It’s actually to the west,” he corrected, gesturing in the opposite direction.
“He brought me there, so I think he might have a ride waiting.”
“That’s not what I wanted to hear,” he said, pulling out his cell phone and sending a quick text. “Judah will send some cars out, but the guy is probably long gone by now. If he’s smart. That’s up for debate.”
“He was smart enough to figure out how to get into your house,” she pointed out.
“I didn’t make it difficult to get in. Not for someone who’s trained to do it,” he said, not offering any details or giving any reasons.
“You don’t have a security system?”
“Yes. I also have cameras. Unless he wore a mask, he’s on the security footage.”
“The FBI has face-match technology. They can probably figure out who he was.”
“How about you let law enforcement worry about that. You have enough problems of your own,” he responded. “You’re in trouble. Probably more than you imagined when you came out here tonight.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“So maybe it’s time to rethink things and take a new approach to the situation.”
“I drove out to see you. I can’t undo that.” She started walking, and he grabbed her elbow, forced her into a one-eighty.
“My place is the other way,” he murmured. “And I’m not talking about undoing anything. I’m talking about coming clean.”
“About?”
“Your reason for being out here tonight.”
“I already told you my reason.” But she’d be happy to tell him again, because the more she told him about Henry, the easier it might be to convince him to help. “My friend’s son has cancer. He’s an athlete. A runner. Probably Olympic-level one day,” she continued in a rush, hoping to get the whole story out before he cut her off. “He’s going to lose his leg, and I promised his mother that I’d—”
“You know how easy it will be to check your story, right?” he cut in.
“I’ll be happy to give you Bryn’s number.”
“She’s the friend?”
“She’s more than a friend. We’re like sisters. I’ve known her for most of my life.”
“So she’d lie for you?”
“That would depend on the circumstances.”
“Let’s say the circumstances were you going to jail. Or not.” He pushed through thick brambles, holding a branch as she followed.
“That would depend on my guilt or innocence. If I were innocent and she knew it, she might lie to help me,” she admitted.
“I see.”
“No. You don’t. If I were going to make up a story to get myself out of trouble, it wouldn’t be one that involved my best friend. First, because I wouldn’t want to pull her into my trouble, and second, because I’d figure that you wouldn’t believe a word she said.”
“You’d be right about that,” he responded.
“You want a little more truth? I make my living getting people in and out of really tough situations. I know how to spin a story and how to plant plenty of evidence to make that story seem true.” It’s what she did at her brothers’ company. HEART was a hostage rescue team, a cohesive unit of men and women who reunited families and rescued people from terrible situations. Trinity was glorified office help. She did the research before missions, created travel plans and coordinated the missions from home. When there was trouble, she often contacted local authorities in places like South Africa, China, Egypt. Sometimes, she had to get team members out of really dicey situations. When that happened, she said what needed to be said to save their lives.
“I’m surprised you’re admitting that,” Mason said.
“I’m admitting it because I don’t have anything to hide. I came out here to try to help a friend. I’m hoping I’ll still be able to do that.”
He didn’t respond.
She wanted to try to get some kind of reaction out of him, but her teeth were chattering and she was shaking so hard she could barely walk. She wanted out of the woods. She wanted a nice warm room, to be wrapped in a nice warm blanket, far away from the icy rain and the guy with the gun.
Maybe adventure wasn’t her thing, after all.
She’d thought it was when she’d been sitting at the desk in her office in DC, pouring through internet files and old documents. But maybe the idea of going on rescue missions with her brothers had been as silly and childish as they’d always seemed to think. Maybe she really wasn’t cut out for this kind of thing, and maybe she’d be smart to acknowledge it. At least to herself.
Then again, maybe she was just frozen and tired, her thinking clouded by cold and fatigue. Maybe she’d done just fine escaping the gunman, coming up with a plan to keep from being kidnapped, proving to herself that all the hours of in-class, self-defense training had paid off.
She tripped and Mason’s hand shifted from her elbow to her waist. She couldn’t feel it. Not through the layers of cloth and ice.
“I’m okay,” she said as if he’d asked.
“Our ideas of what okay means are vastly different,” he responded.
“I’m alive. I’m moving. I’m...” She couldn’t think of any other positives.
“Freezing?” he supplied.
“I’m too cold to know for sure, but it’s a good possibility.”
She thought he chuckled but she might have been mistaken. Her ears were as cold as the rest of her.
“They’ll warm you up when you get to the police station. Hot coffee. Blankets.” He steered her through the woods without any hesitation. Obviously he didn’t need a compass, a guide, a helping hand.
“I’d rather go to the hospital,” she responded.
“You’re hurt?”
“I’m worried about the deputy who was shot.” That was true. She was worried, but she also thought she’d have a better chance of walking out of a hospital than she would the sheriff’s department. Aside from trespassing, she hadn’t done anything wrong. She knew that but she wasn’t sure the sheriff did, and she was certain Mason didn’t. She needed to find a place to go to ground, contact her brothers and get some help. Otherwise she might end up spending the night in a jail cell, being held on a trumped-up charge designed to keep her close until the sheriff and Mason could figure out what was going on.
“He’s going to be fine. He had a Kevlar vest under his shirt. Might have a few bruised ribs and a lot of bruised ego, but he’ll recover.”
“I’d still like to see him.”
* * *
Mason was sure she would.
He was also sure she was hatching an escape plan, trying to come up with a way to keep herself out of the sheriff’s office. That could mean she had something to hide or it could mean she was afraid.
“Good idea,” he said, and she stumbled.
He tightened his grip, his hand
curved around her narrow waist. She was small but muscular and he figured she could move fast if she needed to.
He wasn’t going to chance a foot race. He could catch her, but maybe not before she led them both into more trouble.
“You think me going to the hospital is a good idea?” she asked. From the tone of her voice, he’d say she was surprised by how quickly he’d acquiesced.
“Yes. You can get checked out, make sure you’re not hypothermic.”
“I’m going to the hospital to make sure the deputy is okay. Not because I need medical attention.”
“I’m sure your family would want you to see a doctor.” He’d shot an arrow in the dark, wondering if it would hit its mark. She seemed like the kind of person who’d be all about family and friendship and love. He wasn’t sure what it was about her that made him think that. Maybe her story about traveling six hundred miles to help a friend.
“What do you know about my family?”
She stopped short and looked him straight in the eyes, and he knew he’d been right. She was all about family.
“Not much. Yet.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You told me a story about why you’re here. It makes sense for me to check it out.” He took her arm again, leading her back toward his house.
“By checking out my family?”
“Why not?”
“Because my family has nothing to do with this. If you want to confirm my story, call Bryn Laurel. She’ll tell you about Henry’s diagnosis. She’ll explain how upset she’s been, how desperate to give Henry some kind of ho—”
“We can discuss it at the hospital,” he cut in. He wouldn’t ask again, wouldn’t let her give him more of an explanation. Not about the woman with the son who had cancer.
He could imagine the mother.
He could imagine the kid.
He could imagine getting pulled into their tragedy, and he didn’t want it to happen. He’d been down that road before and it had nearly broken him. He’d seen a lot during his time in the army. He’d said goodbye to way too many comrades, but the hardest thing he’d ever done was watch his daughter suffer and then die.
Ten years ago, but it still hurt.
His relationship with his ex-wife, Felicia, hadn’t survived. They’d been too different. He knew that now. Then? They’d been high school sweethearts, and he’d been joining the army. Marrying her had seemed like the right thing at the right time.
Until it wasn’t.
Until months of separation and countless arguments and a beautiful baby girl who was suddenly sick and dying and gone.
He was a different man now. Older. Hopefully smarter. The past couldn’t be changed, though, and he couldn’t go back and offer Felicia the support he should have given her. He couldn’t try to grieve with her instead of leaving her to grieve alone. He wasn’t sure that would have saved the marriage. Felicia had been seeing someone else for months before their daughter’s diagnosis. Maybe, though, it would have helped him move on without the boatload of guilt he carried.
Another lifetime, and not something he thought about much, but it was there—a backdrop to every decision he made.
He’d file away the information Trinity had provided. He’d check into her story, but he had no intention of contacting Bryn to ask about her son or to listen to the story of her heartbreak.
“No more questions?” Trinity asked. Her teeth weren’t chattering and she’d stopped shaking. He’d like to think that was because she was warming up. They were nearly jogging along a deer trail that wound its way through the woods and out onto his property. It was more likely that she really was hypothermic.
“I have plenty of questions,” he responded. “Now isn’t the time to ask them.”
“You know what my father always says?” she replied, her words slurred. She was slowing down, her gait uneven.
“What?”
“There’s no time like the present.”
“For asking questions?” He tightened his grip on her waist, trying to steady her. She was going to crash into a tree or tumble into a bush, but she didn’t seem to know it.
“For anything.”
They’d reached the edge of the forest and he could see the side of the house, the workshop where he met with clients and fitted prosthetics. An outsider would believe that he did all of his work there—computer programs and office work, designing and crafting.
That was the way he’d wanted it because his clients deserved and needed their privacy. The men who’d broken into his house had known the computer system was hidden away. They’d known about the office. They hadn’t known how to access it. Mason assumed that was because he’d changed the password after John had left, but there were other possibilities. Several of his employees knew about the office. Two were able to access it. He trusted them, but he’d trusted John, too.
A group of men stood near the corner of the house and he moved toward them, Trinity stumbling along beside him.
“You need a blanket,” he muttered.
“That would be nice,” she said. “A blanket. A fireplace. A hot cup of tea.”
“I’m not sure about the fireplace, but the hospital should be able to provide the rest.”
“About that,” she responded, swaying a little as she pulled away, “I’ve been thinking—”
“No.”
“You don’t know what I planned to say.”
“Sure I do. You were going to say you’ve decided not to go to the hospital.”
They’d reached the group of men. Three deputies, a state trooper and a guy who looked like a federal agent—overcoat, suit, tie, gleaming dress shoes.
He stepped away from the others. “Mason Gains?”
“That’s right.”
“I’m Special Agent Liam Michaels.” He offered a hand and a firm shake, his gaze shifting from Mason to Trinity. “And you’re...?”
“Cold,” she answered, surprising a laugh out of Mason.
Agent Michaels didn’t look amused. “Your name, ma’am?”
“Trinity. Miller.”
“Miller?”
“Yes.” She glanced past him and Mason was certain she was looking for an escape route.
“Any relation to Jackson Miller?”
“I’m his sister.”
“Does he know you’re here?”
“Probably not.” She sidled past the agent, moved beyond the group of law enforcement officers. Mason didn’t know where she thought she was going, but he followed. So did Agent Michaels.
“Would you like me to call him?” Michaels asked, shrugging out of his overcoat and dropping it around her shoulders. It was longer than the coat Mason had leant her, falling nearly to her ankles.
“Are you a friend of his?” She sidestepped the question but kept the coat, pulling it closed around Mason’s.
“We’ve worked on a few cases together. He’s a good guy.”
“Yes. He is.” She was heading toward the front of the house and Mason took her arm, tugging her in the other direction. “The ambulance is on the access road.”
“My Jeep is around front.”
“You’re going to the hospital, remember?”
“Yes, but I thought I’d drive there.”
“That’s probably not a good idea,” Agent Michaels said. “Someone attempted to kidnap you. We don’t want to give him another chance.”
“Is that why you’re here?” Mason asked, because a federal agent didn’t just happen upon little towns like Whisper. They didn’t appear every time there was a gunfight or a break-in
“Yes,” Agent Michaels responded.
A lie.
Mason knew it, but he wasn’t going to point it out and he wasn’t going to ask more questions. Not in front of Trinity. If she was as innocent as she claimed then
the less she knew, the better.
An EMT jogged toward them, a pile of blankets in her arms. She handed one to Mason, then wrapped Trinity in another. “Not a good night to go for a swim, huh?” she said. “How about we get you on the ambulance and start warming you up?”
Trinity allowed herself to be led away.
Mason planned to follow but Agent Michaels stepped in front of him.
“You know who that is, right?”
“A lady who trespassed on my property.”
“Her brothers own HEART.”
“Should I know what HEART is?”
“A hostage extraction and rescue team. Probably the best privately owned one in the country.”
“And?”
“They’re not going to be happy when they find out she’s involved in this.”
“Care to tell me what this is?”
“That’s what I’m here to find out, Mr. Gains.”
Mason was pretty certain it was about Tate. He couldn’t think of any other reason for the feds to be involved. He could have hashed it out with Agent Michaels, but he wasn’t going to let Trinity leave without him. He had a few more questions to ask, and he wasn’t going to let her leave before he got the chance.
“How about we discuss it at the hospital?” he asked, tossing the words over his shoulder as he jogged to the ambulance. The EMT was climbing aboard and she frowned when he stepped up beside her.
“I’m sorry, sir—”
“I’m worried about Trinity,” he said. “Her family isn’t around and I’m all she has.” Not quite the truth. There were a couple dozen law-enforcement officers around and any one of them could have traveled to the hospital with her. He was worried, though.
He had no obligation to get her out of the mess she was in, but he felt an obligation to the truth and to keeping her safe. At least until her family arrived.
“Fine. You can ride along.” The EMT motioned for him to climb aboard.
He found a seat next to the gurney Trinity was perched on. She’d pulled the blanket tight around her, tucked her feet up under it and covered her head. The only thing showing was her face—pale, pretty and worn. She had dark blue eyes. Something he hadn’t been able to see before. Tiny lines fanned out from their corners, and he thought she might be a few years older than he’d thought. Late twenties rather than early. Someone who spent time outdoors.
Mistaken Identity Page 5
