by Sharon Dunn
She stumbled onto a smuggling ring—
and had nowhere to run
When two thieves arrive at the Montana mansion where Isabel Connor is working, undercover investigator Jason Enger isn’t sure if she’s in danger...or an accomplice. Either way, with a snowstorm trapping the pair with the violent thieves, survival depends on working together. But how can they trust each other when he’s concealing his identity...and she’s hiding dark secrets of her criminal past?
“What are you doing up here anyway?”
Isabel turned, her expression filled with challenge.
If they were going to get out of this mess, Jason needed her to trust him. “I’m with the law—that’s all you need to know.”
She bent forward with her arms folded over her chest. “He thinks we’re partners.”
“What?”
She stopped and stared at the sky. “When he held that knife to my throat, he accused us of working together to steal his fortune.”
“Really?” Maybe he could still salvage this investigation. As long as the thief didn’t think he was connected to law enforcement. “I’m sorry about the knife.”
She shrugged. “It wasn’t you that did it.” She did a double take as though she were trying to ferret out some hidden motive in him or see beneath his skin.
She still didn’t trust him.
Isabel stared up at the house, her voice filled with worry. “Maybe he’ll just go away.”
Jason doubted that.
Ever since she found the Nancy Drew books with the pink covers in her country school library, Sharon Dunn has loved mystery and suspense. Most of her books take place in Montana, where she lives with three nearly grown children and a spastic border collie. She lost her beloved husband of twenty-seven years to cancer in 2014. When she isn’t writing, she loves to hike surrounded by God’s beauty.
Books by Sharon Dunn
Love Inspired Suspense
Dead Ringer
Night Prey
Her Guardian
Broken Trust
Zero Visibility
Montana Standoff
Wilderness Target
Cold Case Justice
Mistaken Target
Fatal Vendetta
Big Sky Showdown
Hidden Away
Texas Ranger Holidays
Thanksgiving Protector
Witness Protection
Top Secret Identity
Texas K-9 Unit
Guard Duty
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HIDDEN AWAY
Sharon Dunn
Remember ye not the former things, neither consider the things of old. Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth; shall ye not know it?
—Isaiah 43:18–19
To my Lord, savior, friend, counselor and king. Jesus, for more than thirty years, we have walked this journey together.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
DEAR READER
EXCERPT FROM FATAL RECALL BY CAROL J. POST
ONE
Despite the windows being shut against winter temperatures, a chill skittered across detective Jason Enger’s skin. Hidden in the trees that surrounded the property, he stared at the monitor in his surveillance van as a man made his way toward the door of the secluded mansion.
Ten miles from the house and nestled in the Montana mountains was the town of Silver Strike. The booming tourist spot was not only a place for world-class skiing and fly-fishing, but also ground zero for an international smuggling ring. Couriers used empty vacation homes as pickup points for valuable smuggled items that were often of cultural significance to the country they’d been taken from.
As a private detective, Jason had been working with the FBI for months to identify the couriers and the buyers in hopes that one of them would lead to the mastermind behind it all. The Bureau coordinated with US Customs to track when artifacts had been stolen from museums or personal collections.
As Jason watched the man type in security codes on the keypad by the door, look around nervously and step inside, he was pretty sure he’d hit pay dirt. Figuring out how the thief had gotten the security codes was a piece of the puzzle for the Bureau to discover. Jason’s job was to take photos that would lead to identifying all the players involved.
Three weeks ago, an eighteen-karat-gold bookmark that had belonged to Mussolini had been stolen from a museum in Italy. The Bureau had been watching several empty properties ever since.
Jason took a deep breath. His camera hadn’t recorded a clear picture of the man’s face, so he’d wait around until the perp came back out. That way he’d be sure of a positive ID. The thief had walked up to the mansion. He must have parked his car in some out-of-the-way place so it wouldn’t be spotted in the driveway of a house that was supposed to be unoccupied. The falling snow would cover the man’s tracks in a matter of minutes, leaving no trace.
Jason stared at the monitors. A car pulled up, and a woman stepped out. His heart beat a little faster as he leaned closer to the screen. She tilted her chin and squared her shoulders with none of the nervous body language the man had displayed. Everything about her, from her posture to the way she dressed, projected confidence and money, very Ivy League. Who was she?
The woman punched in the security codes and disappeared behind the ornate wooden door. Jason’s throat went dry. Was she an innocent homeowner unexpectedly walking into a dangerous situation or was she allied with the thief?
If she was not involved, he needed to get her out of there before she crossed the thief’s path. Most of the men in the crime ring who had been identified had a history of violence. The thought of harm coming to a woman made Jason’s chest tight. He wrestled with indecision. He couldn’t risk blowing this operation either; months of work would go down the tubes if the smuggling ring found out the Feds were onto them. Arresting the couriers would be an act of futility, since only finding the kingpin would end the syndicate.
He reached for a work shirt with the name Mel written on the pocket and a clipboard he kept in a tote, part of his go-to kit for his work as a PI. Walking around a neighborhood in a uniform meant most people didn’t notice you. He put his zip-front hoodie and coat back on.
His chest muscles squeezed tight. He was taking a huge risk in showing himself, but a woman might get hurt if he didn’t.
He pulled the van into the driveway, grabbed his gun from the glove compartment and placed it in his waistband so his winter coat covered it. He prayed he wouldn’t have to use the gun. Snow cascaded and twirled from the sky as he hurried toward the door.
Usually it was easy enough for him to get a read on people. If the woman was innocent, he’d find a way to convince her to leave. If guilty, he’d get a good look at her face, assuming she would even answer the door. Not answerin
g would be a giveaway that she was involved. It would take an Oscar-worthy performance to not give away his real reason for being here if she was in on the operation, but he was confident of his abilities.
He touched the doorbell with a gloved finger, took in a breath and prepared to play Mel the concerned county worker.
* * *
From the moment she’d stepped into the Wilsons’ house, something felt off to Isabel Connor. The hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention as her heart thudded faster. She couldn’t let go of the feeling that she was being watched.
She shook her head, trying to free herself of her uneasiness. Maybe it was just because the Wilsons had chosen to show up three days earlier than expected. They’d texted her directly instead of getting in touch with her employer, Mary Helms at Sun and Ski Property Management. It was Isabel’s job to get the houses ready for the clients. Stock the refrigerator, make sure the property was in working order, place fresh flowers in the vases, whatever it took to make clients feel comfortable in their vacation home.
Grabbing some books that had been left on an entryway table, she headed toward the upstairs library, stopping to turn the thermostat up a few degrees. She put the books on the shelf and then ran back downstairs to inspect the kitchen, where some papers and boxes had been left on the counter, probably by a cleaning crew. Since she still needed to unload flowers and groceries from her car, she’d left the alarm off so she could run in and out of the house quickly. She’d reset it when she left.
The doorbell rang.
Her breath caught in her throat as that gut feeling that something was off rose to the surface. Who on earth could that be? The Wilsons’ house was miles from downtown Silver Strike and other homes. They hadn’t been back here in months. News of the Wilsons’ early arrival couldn’t have gotten out that fast. Not even her boss knew the Wilsons had had a change of plans. She hurried from the kitchen but walked a little slower as she approached the front door.
Through the window by the door, she could see a man with a clipboard. Her heart raced a little faster as she swung the door open.
The man offered her a warm smile. “Afternoon, ma’am. It seems there’s been a gas leak at one of the homes under construction. We’re advising all nearby homeowners to vacate their premises until we can be sure there is no danger.”
Though she remained calm on the surface, a hurricane of suspicion raged through her. “What construction?” Isabel managed to hide her fear by squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin. A posture she had practiced in the mirror for hours. The way she dressed and how she carried herself were pieces of the professional image she’d taught herself to project so no one would ever guess her dark past.
“Up the road. I’m with the county. This is just a precaution.” There was something genuine about that smile, but she wasn’t about to be taken in. Charm was an inch deep. What if this man had come to rob this place, thinking it was going to be empty, and now he was trying to get rid of her? She had a responsibility to the Wilsons.
There might be construction up the road. She had no idea. Silver Strike was booming and people were willing to pay for building even in the winter. She knew there were other houses around here. The area was actually considered to be a subdivision, though each property was at least five acres. She angled her head to look past him. His van seemed somewhat official, though there was no logo on it.
He ran his hands through his dark hair and flashed blue eyes at her.
Trust your gut, Izzy.
She wasn’t about to be dazzled by his good looks or his blue eyes. That always led to heartache. It had taken her seven long years to rebuild her life after falling for the charming petty criminal Nick Solomon when she was a teenager. Trusting a man on any level was never a good idea.
“You said it was just a precaution.” She read his name tag, which was visible beneath his open coat and zip-front sweatshirt. “I’ll take my chances, Mel.” She lifted her hand toward the door to close it. “I have work to do.”
“Work?” Now his voice sounded suspicious. He put his foot between the door and the frame.
The aggression of his move set off alarm bells for her. “Yes. I work for a property management company. I have to get the house ready for clients.” She was pretty sure there was no gas leak. Her priority needed to be with her job. Mary Helms, the owner of Sun and Ski Property Management, had taken a chance on her in the first place. Though she’d turned her life around and over to God, Isabel had a criminal record that made employment tricky.
“Please, I think you need to leave the house...just for a short time. What is your name?”
“Isabel...” She stopped. It was none of his business who she was. She lifted her head to meet his gaze. The tone to his voice had been almost desperate. Though there was nothing plastic about his expression or the pleading look in his eyes, she was pretty sure he was up to something. He was probably just a very good actor—that was why she had doubts. Most men were good at pretending to care. “Thank you, sir, for the warning, and have a good day.” She pushed the door into its frame so he had to step out of the way.
Hands shaking, heart racing, Isabel pressed against the wall by the door and took in a prayer-filled breath. What if that man meant to rob this place? She just didn’t buy the gas-leak story.
I can do all things through Christ Jesus who strengthens me.
She peered through the window by the door, watching the man’s van pull out of the driveway. She didn’t like being here alone.
Tension coiled tight in her chest. What should she do? She hurried to the entryway table where she’d left her purse and phone. The Wilsons didn’t have a landline. What if she was totally wrong? Other than her gut feeling, she really didn’t have any evidence the man was up to something. It would not be good for Sun and Ski’s reputation to have police swarming a client’s property for no reason.
She clicked open her purse and felt for her phone. Maybe the smart thing to do would be to call her boss first.
She stepped back into the living room and stared at her phone, prepared to dial Mary’s number. She hit the first number.
An arm wrapped around her waist and a knife pressed against her neck.
“So you and your partner are trying to horn in on my good fortune.”
Her heart raged in her chest as her body stiffened against the prospect of having her throat slit.
The man pressed his cheek against her ear. The voice was not that of the man in the van.
Isabel jammed her elbow hard into the man’s stomach. He grunted and loosened his grip on her. She twisted free of his hold and hurried toward the kitchen. She had only a few seconds’ head start while the man recovered from the blow. Stepping into the large pantry of the kitchen, she slipped behind a shelf of canned goods, hoping the darkness would hide her from view. She knew the layout of the house well enough. This was probably the best hiding place on the main floor.
She’d lost her phone in the struggle. Closing her eyes, she listened to the raging of her own heartbeat, praying that the man with the knife only glanced into the dark pantry. If he left to search elsewhere, she could make a run for the door and get to her car. But she wondered if the man who had come to the door was in on this home invasion. Even if she made it to her car, she might have to deal with Mel. Her life now depended on all those what-ifs.
Isabel drew a prayer-filled breath and pressed deeper into the pantry.
* * *
Midway down the long driveway, Jason hit the brakes and listened to the engine hum. The smart thing would be to return to his hiding place and wait for the two thieves, the man and the woman who called herself Isabel, to emerge from the house, then do his job—get the photos the Bureau had hired him to take.
His job was to be invisible. If the smugglers knew they were being watched, the investigation would fall apart. In order to get to the mastermind, they
had to let the petty criminals do the thefts and not involve local cops making low-level arrests.
No part of that plan made the tightness in his chest subside. He prided himself on being able to tell friend from foe. Discerning motives in people was part of what made him a good PI. Still, he was uncertain about the woman in the house. Yes, she’d given him the brush-off, but something about her had been so vulnerable, afraid even. Was she telling the truth about being the hired help or just trying to get rid of him so she and her partner could finish the job? Or maybe she’d been brought in on this against her will.
He had to know for sure.
He killed the engine and slipped out of the van, dashing toward the side of the house and pressing along the wall. The van would only be visible from upstairs north-facing windows, not from the downstairs. He crouched down beneath the window by the door and peered inside. Pieces of a shattered vase lay on the floor by the foyer table. A woman’s purse was flung against the wall. Signs of a struggle?
He didn’t want anyone to die here today.
Jason steeled himself and opened the door. He slipped into the dark house. Still determined not to blow this operation but to get the woman out of danger, he padded noiselessly through the foyer.
The silence on the main floor was eerie. The contents of a purse lay scattered across the ornate tile. Turning in a slow circle, he stepped over the shards from the broken vase. He scanned the main floor and then his gaze traveled up to the mezzanine and the second floor, where a creaking noise had come from.
He climbed stealthily up the stairs, his heart drumming in his ears. Once he made it to the second floor, the polished floorboards of the interior balcony didn’t creak when he placed his foot on them. He hurried down the hallway, checking each room, bathroom, den, first bedroom. All empty.
Back at the mezzanine, Jason pressed against the wall and listened.
Down below, noise rose up from what was probably the kitchen. Isabel darted past his field of vision and disappeared through a door on the other side of the house. He sprinted to the top of the stairs.
