Mistaken Identity

by Shirlee McCoy

  Mason was right beside him, his body humming with adrenaline, his muscles taut with it. He wanted this guy caught as badly as Chance did.

  They reached the edge of the forested area and the path wound through an open field. Just beyond it, Mason could see the church, its siding white in the darkness, its steeple straight and elegant.

  He was surprised at how stately it looked—darkness nearly hiding the boarded-up windows, the spray-painted front door. Years ago, the building had been abandoned when the church moved closer to town. Since then, it had been empty. When Mason had first moved to Whisper Lake, there’d been a For Sale sign sitting in the churchyard, faded and worn from too many years being out in the elements. It had disappeared sometime in the last couple of years. Maybe taken by one of the teens who liked to meet in the churchyard to party or tell ghost stories or attempt to get into the old building.

  He scanned the area, looking for signs of the perp. The guy had been moving at a quick clip. He either knew the area well or he’d spent time getting the lay of the land. Considering how quickly things were moving, Mason was leaning toward the first scenario.

  “See anything?” Chance asked, his voice barely carrying over the rain and the wind.

  “Nothing that makes me want to go exploring.”

  “What’s on the other side of the building?”

  “About the same as what you see on this side.”

  “How about we split up, then? You head around the front. I’ll head around the back. We’ll see if we can head the guy off. You have a gun?”

  “No.”

  “I won’t ask if you know how to use one. You were military.” Chance reached under his coat and pulled out a handgun. “It’s loaded. Safety is on,” he said as he handed it to Mason. “I’ll meet you around the other side of the church. Whistle if you spot the perp. Try not to engage in a gun battle. We want him alive. I have a lot of questions I’d like to ask.”

  So did Mason.

  He moved away, skirting the edge of the overgrown yard and then cutting across the crumbling parking lot. He planned to go straight to the other side of the building, but something caught his attention. A hint of movement in his periphery. He dove for cover, sliding across the icy ground and scrambling behind bushes that butted up against the facade of the church.

  He probed the darkness, spotting the movement again. In the yard. Close to the road. It looked like fabric fluttering in the breeze. He flashed his Maglite toward it, caught the movement in its beam—cloth fluttering, a pale hand. Dark hair. A dark stain beneath a still body.

  Blood. Mixing with the rain and the ice, puddling on the broken pavement. His mind flashed back ten years. His fiftieth helicopter flight. Racing from the scene of an IED explosion to the trauma team waiting at their military outpost, three young soldiers hovering between life and death.

  For a moment he was frozen, caught between two worlds, two times, memories of what had been and the reality of what was.

  Then he was moving, all the old training kicking in as he raced across the lot and knelt beside the fallen man.

  EIGHT

  She should have stayed at the inn.

  That would have been the safe thing to do. It might even have been the prudent thing to do, but it had only taken Trinity three minutes on the internet to figure out the best place for a person to park if he wanted to walk to the inn. It had taken her ten minutes longer to convince Cyrus to drive her to the location. Three miles by car. Less than one through the woods. If the perp had done what she thought he had—parked far enough away not to be heard—they might be able to head him off before he escaped.

  She’d told Cyrus that, and then she’d told him that she planned to go to Whisper Lake Community Church with or without him. If she didn’t have a ride, she’d find one. Of course, he knew she didn’t have a ride, and he knew there wasn’t a ride to be found anywhere in the vicinity. He probably still would have refused if Annie hadn’t returned to the inn, heard the discussion and offered to lend her car.

  That had been enough to get Cyrus to concede defeat.

  He’d taken the keys to Annie’s beat-up Cadillac Seville, muttering under his breath as Trinity had shrugged into her borrowed coat and walked outside.

  Now they were less than a mile from the church, the old country road shiny and slick, the sky an odd gray-black. She’d been in this part of the country when she was a kid, traveling with her parents to a campground on a lake. She couldn’t remember the name of the lake or the campground, but she could remember the sky in the summer—clear azure blue—the feel of the cold water and the gravely bottom of the lake.

  This part of Maine was nothing like she remembered. It was cold, austere and dangerous.

  Or, maybe, she felt that way because of everything that had happened since she’d arrived.

  She glanced at her cell phone, eyeing the direction to the church. “We’re less than a half mile away. You might want to kill the lights.”

  Cyrus grunted but did as she’d suggested. “If I get fired for this,” he growled, “you can explain it to my wife.”

  “You’re not going to get fired.”

  “Tell that to your brother when he finds out I let you talk me into this.”

  “You came to protect me, because I was coming with or without you. That’s our story. We’re sticking with it. No matter what my brother says.”

  “Right. Sounds good. We’ll see if your brother buys it. If we ever get to the church.” He’d slowed the Cadillac to a crawl, the dark road and blowing rain making visibility difficult.

  “We will,” she reassured him, but she wasn’t nearly as confident as she sounded. She was good at certain things. Finding information was one of them. Breaking into computer systems was another.

  Her sense of direction, though...

  That left a lot to be desired.

  But she was using Google Maps.

  That should get them where they needed to be.

  Except that she was beginning to think that where they needed to be was back at the inn. It wasn’t that she was afraid of the weather, the dark road or her brother. But the uneasy feeling she’d had earlier, the one that she’d ignored, had returned. She felt it at the back of her skull, nudging at her mind, warning her that something wasn’t right.

  “I think you should pull over,” she said, her heart hammering in her chest.

  “Find a place and I will,” he responded.

  He was right.

  There was no place to pull over. Nothing but fields of uncut hay, copses of trees, gnarly bushes and the darkness. Anything could be hiding there.

  Or anyone.

  “What’s wrong?” Cyrus said quietly, all the annoyance gone from his voice.

  “Just a feeling.”

  “What kind of feeling?”

  “One that’s telling me that we shouldn’t be here. Not right now.” She felt silly saying it, but Cyrus nodded.

  “I’ve got the same one. But, look...” He gestured to their left and she could see an old church that stood on a gentle knoll overlooking the road. “That must be the church we’ve been searching for. Your brother is already there.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I texted him before we left the inn.”

  Of course he had.

  Of course he couldn’t do what Trinity wanted without checking with one of her brothers.

  That’s the way everyone at HEART was.

  “You didn’t tell me that before we left.”

  “And you didn’t tell him that you planned to leave. Maybe we both should have been more forthcoming.”

  “And maybe the reason we both have a bad feeling about this place is because we can feel the wrath of my brother swirling through the stormy air.”

  “Nice imagery, Trinity, but I don’t think it’s that.” He glanced in h
is review mirror and frowned. “Looks like the local police have arrived.”

  She glanced back, saw emergency lights flashing in the distance. “Did you call them, too?”

  “Your brother must have. Or Mason.”

  Mason?

  She’d been trying not to think about him or the way he’d tossed her over his shoulder and carried her to safety.

  Not that it had been romantic or thrilling or in any way a moment she wanted to repeat. No. Humiliating was more the word she’d put with it.

  Cyrus managed to find the church parking lot and turned into it, bouncing over a few speed bumps as he made his way toward the old building.

  He still had his lights off and Trinity still had the feeling they shouldn’t be there. Maybe it was the creepiness of the church with its boarded-up windows and vandalized door. Maybe it was the way the wind was whipping the old elm tree that stood in the center of the churchyard. Whatever the case, she felt uneasy, anxious, a little scared.

  “Did my brother say where he was going to be?” she asked as Cyrus parked the Cadillac. “I’m surprised he’s not standing here waiting to lecture me.”

  “He said the parking lot. That’s where we are, so how about we stay put and—”

  He said more but she didn’t hear. She’d spotted something in the churchyard—a dark figure hunched over in the long grass.

  Cyrus must have seen it, too. He’d gone silent, was pulling out his gun. “Stay here,” he said as he got of the Cadillac and slammed the door.

  She watched as he walked toward the figure, heard a muffled shout, and was surprised when Cyrus holstered his weapon. Another muffled shout and he ran toward the hunched figure.

  She hopped out of the car and followed, knowing he’d have never put his gun away if he thought there was danger.

  She reached his side in seconds, was a few feet away from the hunched figure when she realized what she was seeing. A man lying prone on the ground, blood staining the ground beneath him. Chance was to one side of him, trying to staunch the flow from a wound in the guy’s stomach.

  Mason was doing chest compressions, trying to pump whatever blood remained back to the guy’s heart.

  “What happened?” she asked, dropping down beside him and feeling for a pulse. Nothing.

  “That’s a question we’ll only get an answer to if this guy lives,” Chance responded, his voice tight with worry.

  “Twenty-one-and-two-and-three-and-four.” Mason counted compressions aloud, ignoring Trinity, Cyrus and Chance, his focus on the man he was trying to help.

  A young man.

  Trinity could see that as she leaned close, listened for breath sounds. “Did you check his airway?”

  “Yes,” Chance said. “It’s clear.”

  “Nine-ten,” Mason continued, stopping compressions, feeling for the pulse. “Still nothing,” he said grimly.

  “I’ll breathe,” Trinity offered, leaning in, blowing two quick breaths into the guy’s lungs.

  She saw his chest rise and fall, felt for a pulse again.

  They worked like that as vehicles pulled into the church lot and men and women climbed out of marked cars and ambulances. Trinity was only partially aware of the activity. Her focus was on the man who lay lifeless on the cold grass.

  When someone tried to nudge in beside her, she stayed put. Would have kept right on working if Chance hadn’t grabbed her arm and hauled her away. “Let the experts take over,” he said quietly. She could hear the sadness in his voice and knew what he was thinking.

  “Who is he?” she asked because she could imagine a mother or father or wife or girlfriend being given the news that no one ever wants hear.

  “A human being,” Mason responded. “Knowing that is enough.”

  He walked away, moving across the yard and then the pavement, walking up the church steps. He sat there, back to the spray-painted door.

  She could have left him alone.

  She probably should have. She thought it was what he wanted, but Chance was talking to the sheriff and Cyrus was speaking with a deputy, and Trinity was alone, looking at a man who seemed lonelier than anyone should ever be.

  She walked slowly, telling herself with every step that Mason would tell her to go away before she ever reached his side.

  Telling herself that his loneliness was none of her business, that his sadness was nothing to do with her.

  He’s a human being, he’d said, and the words had been filled with a depth of compassion and heartache that had made her throat tight and her breath catch.

  She made it to the church steps.

  They were as old and neglected as the building, the cement cracked and weathered, the wrought-iron railings pulling away from their moorings.

  She stood there for a moment, the chaos of the rescue crews and police investigation behind her, Mason’s stillness a complete contrast to it.

  He was looking right at her.

  She knew that.

  Despite the darkness and the rain and the chaos, she knew it. He didn’t tell her to go away. He didn’t ask what she wanted. She started up the stairs, her heart thumping painfully, her mind filled with words she wanted to say, her heart filled with Mason’s silence.

  She didn’t know him.

  She didn’t really need to.

  She understood what she was seeing—the hurt of a past was sometimes too much to bear.

  She reached the top of the stairs and he scooted over, leaving enough room for Trinity to sit. The cement was coated with ice and water, and it seeped through her sweatpants, but she stayed where she was, looking at the world from Mason’s perspective—the lights that shone near the road, the flashing emergency lights, the shadowy figures moving through the scene. The man, still and lifeless, surrounded by people who desperately wanted to help him.

  She shivered. Not from the cold but from the stark reality of what could be lost. No matter who the young man was, no matter what he’d done, if he died, there would be no second chances.

  “You’re cold,” Mason said, his voice gruff and hard.

  “No. I’m sorry,” she responded, touching his hand.

  He wrapped his fingers around hers, tugging her to her feet. “Do you even know what you’re sorry for?” he asked.

  “If you tell me, I will.”

  “Maybe another time, Trinity. When we’re not standing out in the freezing rain watching a young man lose his life.”

  “He may live.”

  “Let’s hope he does. Everyone needs a second chance.”

  “I was thinking about that.”

  “Second chances?”

  “My sister didn’t have one.”

  “I thought you had two brothers.”

  “And an older sister. She was kidnapped while she was on a mission trip in South America.”

  She normally didn’t talk about her sister, but Mason seemed to need the distraction and she was willing to provide it.

  “I’m sorry. That must have been tough for your family.”

  “It was. My sister was almost twenty years older than me, so I only have a few really good memories of her, but she left a hole in the family. It’s one we all try to fill in our individual ways.”

  “Is that why your brothers started their company?”

  “HEART isn’t a company. It’s a mission, and my brothers are very dedicated to it.”

  “A mission?” He led her down the stairs and, when they reached the bottom, he didn’t release her hand.

  She didn’t pull away, either.

  She could have.

  Easily.

  His grip was light, his palm warm against her chilled skin. She told herself that’s why she held on—for the warmth. “A mission to reunite families. To find the missing. To bring them back to the people who love them.”

  “Th
at’s a heavy burden.”

  “Not for them.”

  “You say that as if you’re not part of it.”

  “I work for the organization, but I’m more office help than team member.”

  “That’s not what I heard,” he said, stopping at the edge of the parking lot, the emergency lights flashing across his face.

  “What did you hear?”

  “That you could find anything or anyone.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Your brother and Agent Michaels.”

  “They’re both exaggerating.”

  “They also said you’re a computer forensic expert.”

  “I’m good at following cyber trails, if that’s what you mean.”

  “I do.” He watched her intently, his eyes dark in a hard and handsome face. He wasn’t the kind of guy she’d ever been attracted to. She preferred guys who didn’t look like they could scare a criminal into confessing.

  But there was something very appealing about Mason.

  “Okay, then. Yeah. I’m good at it.”

  “You can get in back doors of computer systems.”

  “Most systems. Is there a point to this?”

  “I don’t usually engage in idle conversations, Trinity.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes. So how about you tell me what the point is. It’s been a long day. I’m tired and I’m in no mood to answer a bunch of questions.”

  “I’ll cut to the chase, then. I want you to try to hack into my computer mainframe.”

  “What? Why?” she whispered, looking around as if they were having an illicit conversation about illegal things.

  “Because I think the guys who were at my house tonight were trying to get their hands on my computer system. I have files that they might want.”

  “Okay.” She wasn’t sure where the conversation was heading but she was willing to go there with him.

  “If I’m right, this might not have been their first attempt to access the files. They might have tried to access the files remotely. I’m assuming it’s possible to retrace cyber trails, find hackers at their source.”

  “Of course.”

  “Have you done it before?”