Killshadow Road

by Paula Graves

  He nodded slowly.

  “Get Darcy out of here, and then I’ll help you with whatever you’re up to. Just give me my life in return, and I’ll disappear. Nobody will ever see me again.”

  “I don’t believe you,” he said again. But this time, she heard a hint of uncertainty.

  “Fine. Let Darcy get taken prisoner or worse. Then you’ll wish you’d never heard his name. Because there are people out there, very powerful people, who haven’t forgotten he’s the son of an influential former US ambassador. He has friends in very high places. And they won’t stop trying to find out what happened to him until they have all the answers.”

  Boyle held her gaze for a moment before he looked away. Slowly, he crossed the small room and started climbing the steps.

  But before he got there, the door opened and Calvin Hopkins filled the doorway. “Just the man I was looking for,” he said, a feral grin splitting his bearded face.

  Boyle took a step back, almost losing his balance. But Hopkins grabbed him by the front of his shirt, jerked him through the door and shut it behind them with a loud slam.

  The ensuing silence seemed thick and oppressive. Left alone for the first time since they’d brought her to the cellar, McKenna started twisting the rope holding her tied to the water pipe, trying to loosen the knots enough to give her a chance of breaking free.

  For several minutes, the only thing she heard was her own accelerated breathing and the rasp of the hemp rope against the metal pipes as she struggled to loosen her restraints. But as she felt the bindings finally begin to loosen around her raw wrists, she heard a furtive snick sound, followed by the quiet thud of footsteps on the wooden stairs.

  She looked up, blinking away the sweat dripping into her eyes. Blinked again to be sure she was really seeing what she thought she was.

  “Darcy?”

  He came the rest of the way down the steps quickly, hurrying to her side. “Are you all right?”

  “How did you get in here?”

  “I did someone named Cal a favor. Calvin Hopkins, I presume.” He tugged at the knots around her wrists until they finally loosened enough to pull her hands free. He then ripped the duct tape away from her ankles and pulled her to her feet. “We have five minutes to get out of here before they come back from dealing with him. Don’t ask questions. Don’t look back.”

  He took her hand and pulled her with him up the steps, pausing only when her knees started to wobble as she reached the top landing. He bent to look at her. “Do you trust me?”

  She stared back at him, her heart pounding. “Yes.”

  He kissed her forehead, his lips lingering for a breathless moment. Then he tugged her hand again. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  Epilogue

  Night had fallen over Knoxville, Tennessee, after a long day of debriefing. SAC Robertson had brought in a doctor to check on her gunshot wounds, but she’d talked them both out of admitting her for treatment. “They’re practically healed by now,” she’d protested, and they’d been able to tell by her stern tone that she wasn’t going to agree to any attempts to trundle her off to the hospital for further tests. Besides, the doctor had been forced to concede that Darcy had done a good job of keeping the wounds clean and treated.

  “You should follow up with your own doctor in a day or two,” the bureau doctor had told her with a firm look before he gathered his supplies and left her alone with Glen Robertson.

  The next few hours had been a series of in-depth interviews, not just with Robertson but video interviews with high-ranking officials at FBI headquarters in Washington. She’d told them everything she knew about Darryl Boyle’s involvement with the Blue Ridge Infantry, including the fact that she’d been forced to leave him behind when making her escape.

  “I suppose that doesn’t exactly cover me with glory,” she said.

  “I’m not sure any of us is in a position to judge your choices, under the circumstances,” Robertson murmured. “And you have no idea where they could have taken Boyle?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t. There are places in the hills where secrets have stayed hidden for centuries.”

  Finally, close to 10:00 p.m., apparently everyone interested in what she had to say ran out of questions. The video links shut down and Robertson finally turned to her in the silence of his office.

  “I don’t think you have a chance in hell of going anywhere in the FBI, Agent Rigsby.”

  She nodded, unsurprised. “I know.”

  “It’s a damned shame. You’re a good agent.”

  “I’m not. I can’t play by the rules enough to be a good FBI agent.”

  Robertson put his hand lightly on her shoulder. “Maybe not. But I think you did more to stop a terror attack these past few days than you realize.”

  She hoped so. She just wasn’t sure the Blue Ridge Infantry would let one little setback stop them.

  “Am I free to go?” she asked.

  “You need to stay in the area until the case is officially closed. But yes, you’re free to go. Do you need a ride?”

  She wasn’t sure what had happened to her car. She’d have to see if it was still where she’d left it before everything went crazy, or if it had been towed already. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

  A little while later, SAC Robertson pulled up in front of her apartment building and let her off at the curb. “You want me to park and walk in with you?”

  She couldn’t help but laugh. “I think I can probably handle it.” She headed up the sidewalk to the awning-covered double doors.

  Inside, the apartment lobby was quiet and mostly empty, except for a man sitting on one of the white lobby chairs. He looked up as she entered, and for a moment, she thought she was seeing what she wanted.

  Then he stood, tall and lean and so familiar, her heart started to ache.

  “Thought you’d never get here,” Darcy said with a smile.

  * * *

  SHE LOOKED TIRED, he thought. No doubt the FBI had put her through the wringer before letting her leave. He’d undergone similar questioning from the Ridge County Sheriff’s Department, especially since one of their deputies had been tangentially involved in what had happened the night before.

  “I heard you found Fitz, Calhoun and his wife safe and alive.”

  “They managed to free themselves from the shed where they’d been stashed,” Darcy told her, waving off her offer of something to drink. She looked strangely out of place in this clean, utilitarian apartment she apparently called home. Wild-haired, makeup-free and still wearing the grimy clothes she’d been wearing when she was abducted by Hopkins and his crew, she seemed like an alien presence in this city flat.

  “Everybody’s okay?”

  He nodded. “And Quinn took me off paid administrative leave. I’ve been cleared to resume duties.”

  She smiled. “Good. About damn time.”

  “That’s what I told him.” He fell silent, wondering how to approach the next topic.

  Them.

  Before he could speak, McKenna grimaced. “I need a shower.”

  “I could use one, too.” He crossed to where she stood by the kitchen counter and took a deep breath before speaking. “We could share.”

  She looked up at him, smiling as if she thought he was kidding.

  He wasn’t.

  Her smile faded. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “I thought I’d lost you.” He touched her face, let his fingers tangle in her hair. “I thought you were dead. And I realized that I’ve been in love with you for over eight years.”

  Tears filled her eyes. She let them fall. “Oh, Darcy. I love you, too. I always have. I just didn’t think—” She knuckled the tears away.

  He tugged her closer. “Didn’t think you could put up with such a
priggish rule-keeper?”

  She laughed. “You are anything but priggish. And I’m pretty sure you broke more rules than I did over the past few days.”

  “I try.”

  She touched his face. “I thought you’d never be happy with someone with one foot still in the hills. I am what I am. These hills made me who I am, and I don’t know how to be anything else.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to be anything or anyone but exactly who you are.” He cradled her face between his hands. “I depend on you being you. I need you, just the way you are. So, tell me. If I said I wanted you to come to Purgatory and be with me for good—could you do it? Would you?”

  She tugged him to her, kissing him deeply. He pulled her closer, his heart starting to race as she pushed him back against the kitchen counter.

  He dragged his mouth free. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  She laughed again, the sound beautifully free and light. “That’s definitely a yes. And while we’re at it—think you can talk Quinn into giving me a job?”

  “What about the FBI?”

  She arched her eyebrows. “I’d be a dead-ender like Landry.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Did you hear about Landry?”

  She shook her head. “SAC Robertson didn’t mention him. Did something happen to him?”

  “Nobody knows. He didn’t show up for work this morning, and when his supervisor sent an agent to check on him, his apartment had been cleared of any personal items. His landlord said he’d paid up the remainder of his lease, told the manager to dispose of the furniture as he saw fit and left.”

  “Wow. I thought you said he tried to help us.”

  “I think he did,” Darcy admitted. “He seemed honestly worried about you and what Darryl Boyle was up to.”

  “Robertson said there’s no sign of Boyle.” Her expression darkened. “I don’t know that I feel very good about leaving him to the tender mercies of the BRI.”

  “I didn’t, either,” Darcy admitted. “But it was the only way to get you out of there without a standoff. And a standoff with that many armed, reckless men never ends well.”

  She pressed her cheek against his shoulder. “I was so afraid for you.”

  “I was so afraid for you, too.” He kissed the top of her head. “But we’re both safe now.”

  “Till the next time we butt heads with the BRI.” She kissed his shoulder and looked up at him. “Quinn’s not through with them, is he?”

  “No.”

  She shot him an impish smile. “Well, we’ll worry about that later, okay? We have a shower to take.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, tugging at the hem of her T-shirt, “we do.”

  She dodged free, laughing. “Race you, Jeeves!”

  “Not a Brit!” he protested as she darted toward the hallway.

  She stopped in the doorway and turned, gazing at him with so much happiness it made his chest ache. “You are. You’re my Brit.”

  He closed the distance between them, pulling her tightly into his arms. “I guess that makes you my hillbilly, then.”

  “It does.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss.

  * * * * *

  Award-winning author Paula Graves’s miniseries

  THE GATES continues next month with

  TWO SOULS HOLLOW.

  You’ll find it wherever

  Harlequin Intrigue books are sold!

  Keep reading for an excerpt from KANSAS CITY COVER-UP by Julie Miller.

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Intrigue story.

  You crave excitement! Harlequin Intrigue stories deal in serious romantic suspense, keeping you on the edge of your seat as resourceful, true-to-life women and strong, fearless men fight for survival.

  Enjoy six new stories from Harlequin Intrigue every month!

  Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!

  Other ways to keep in touch:

  Harlequin.com/newsletters

  Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks

  Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks

  HarlequinBlog.com

  http://www.harlequin.com/harlequinexperience

  Chapter One

  “How is this a cold case?” Detective Olivia Watson squatted down beside the body with the bashed-in head lying on the plush office carpet.

  The pool of blood looked fresh enough. The alleged murder weapon, a civic volunteerism trophy from the dead man’s own desk, had already been bagged and packed away by the CSI trading notes with the medical examiner nearby. A uniformed officer and two building security guards were holding back a bevy of shocked and grieving office staff from the Kober & Associates PR firm, as well as curious onlookers from other businesses in the building beyond the yellow crime scene tape that blocked off the victim’s outer office door. The two Kansas City PD detectives on the far side of the room interviewing the distraught secretary who’d discovered her boss’s body after her half-day spa appointment seemed to have the crime scene well under control. So why call in representatives from the Fourth Precinct’s Cold Case Squad?

  Olivia rested her forearms on the thighs of her dark wash jeans and studied the sixtyish man’s still features again. The glass-and-steel high-rise in downtown Kansas City was almost as new as the murder itself. She was used to working cases with pictures out of dusty boxes and autopsy reports that raised a lot of unanswered questions. She’d worked with skeletal remains and mummified corpses and alleged victims whose bodies had never been found at all. Most people assumed the Cold Case Squad was an easier gig than working a fresh investigation. She liked to think of it as a smarter assignment, requiring more insight and diligence than other divisions at KCPD.

  Olivia was a third generation cop, like two of her three brothers. And the third one worked in the medical examiner’s office. After two years in a uniform, five years in vice and the past year working cold cases, she’d learned that killers who’d eluded capture and thought they’d gotten away with murder often proved to be more devious and more dangerous than any other criminal out there. It was her job to track down those killers and finally get justice for those forgotten victims whose memory often died with their closest family and friends.

  So why was she here to assist two perfectly capable detectives when there was a stack of her own investigations back at HQ to sort through?

  “There must be a connection to one of our dead file cases. But if there is, I don’t see it yet.” She glanced up at her new partner, Jim Parker—back from the dead himself after a particularly harrowing undercover assignment for the Missouri Bureau of Investigation. “Do you?”

  Jim’s green eyes surveyed the room the way she had. “I recognize Ron Kober from the newspapers. Besides owning a Top 50 company here in KC, he helped get Adrian McCoy elected to the State Senate a few years back. Looks like he was doing pretty well on his own, without the senator.”

  Olivia arched a dark eyebrow. “Until today.”

  She liked Jim well enough, respected his reputation as a cop, appreciated that he got her sarcastic sense of humor. But after that humiliating debacle with her last partner, learning to trust him was hard. Thankfully, Jim was a newlywed, completely crazy about his wife, Natalie, and showed nothing but a friendly professional interest in his relationship with Olivia. Still, she found herself thinking about her words before she spoke to him, guarding her thoughts and feelings, which was no mean task for a woman with her volatile Irish roots.

  “A man with this kind of money probably has plenty of enemies,” Jim suggested.

  An angle which she was sure the lead detectives were already exploring. Still didn’t explain why she and Jim were here. She looked back down at the body, willing the corpse to speak and share his secrets. But she wasn’t psychic a
nd dead men didn’t talk. However...

  Her eyes went past Kober’s body to a scrap of torn paper underneath the desk. She snapped a picture with her cell phone before reaching over the dead body to pick it up with the sterile gloves she wore.

  Jim crouched down beside her. “What did you find?”

  Olivia turned the tiny square over between her thumb and index finger. “Four numbers. I don’t know. It may just be a piece of trash.”

  “Looks like a torn-up piece of stationery.” Jim picked up the wastebasket beside the desk and set it between them to sort through its contents.

  But there were no other little hand-torn shreds like this one. “Could be the last digits of a phone number.”

  Jim replaced the wastebasket and stood. “Or part of an address or social security number.”

  “Or a locker number or part of a combination lock.” Olivia straightened beside him, spotting a pad of dove-gray paper on the desk that matched the piece in her hand. She picked it up and angled it in the light to see if she could read any indentations in the surface. But there were too many marks from previous notes to make out anything specific. “Maybe it’s just a testament to their housekeeping service not doing its job, and isn’t related to the crime at all.”

  Just in case, though, she jotted the 3620 in her notebook before handing the scrap of paper and Kober’s scratch pad over to the CSI.

  She tucked her own notepad into the pocket of her short leather jacket and peeled off her gloves, following Jim to the door. “So if this isn’t our case, why are we here?”

  Jim nodded to the detectives hovering over the weeping woman across the room. “Hendricks and Kincaid are taking lead on Kober’s murder here. Sawyer Kincaid called us in as a courtesy.”

  Frowning, Olivia stuffed the gloves into the back pocket of her jeans. “And he didn’t say why?”

  “He just said it was a directive from higher up.” He touched her shoulder to indicate he was taking a detour. “Looks like they’re wrapping up that interview. I’ll go ask if they can make sense of any of this yet.”