Perilous Trust

by Barbara Freethy

  PERILOUS TRUST

  Off The Grid: FBI Series #1

  Barbara Freethy

  Also Available

  Off The Grid: FBI Series

  Perilous Trust (#1)

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  Take Me Home (A Callaway Novella)

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  Bachelors & Bridesmaids

  Kiss Me Forever (#1)

  Steal My Heart (#2)

  All Your Loving (#3)

  Before I Do (#4)

  Falling Into You (#5)

  Forever Starts Tonight (#6)

  Dreaming of You (#7), Coming Soon!

  PERILOUS TRUST

  In PERILOUS TRUST, #1 New York Times Bestselling Author Barbara Freethy brings you the first book in a new romantic suspense series! OFF THE GRID: FBI Series offers breath-stealing books filled with action-packed plot, heart-stopping romance, and page-turning suspense.

  It was one dark night that brought Damon Wolfe and Sophie Parker together. They were two tortured souls, looking for escape, and they weren't supposed to see each other ever again…

  Four years later, Sophie's FBI father, who is also Damon's mentor, is killed in a suspicious car crash after leaving Sophie a cryptic message to trust no one. When Damon shows up looking for her, she isn't sure if he's friend or enemy, but she knows he could easily rip apart what is left of her heart.

  The last thing Damon wants is to get involved with Sophie again. It was hard enough to walk away the first time. But she's in trouble, her father's reputation is under attack, and the lives of his fellow agents are at stake if there's a traitor in their midst.

  When someone starts shooting at them, they have no choice but to go on the run and off the grid. Everyone in their world becomes a suspect. They want to uncover the truth, but will it turn out to be the last thing they expect? Proving her father's innocence might just cost them their hearts…and their lives…

  Perilous Trust

  Off The Grid: FBI Series #1

  © Copyright 2017 Barbara Freethy

  All Rights Reserved

  ISBN: 9781943781621

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  For information: barbara@barbarafreethy.com

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  Prologue

  "Sophie, I'm sorry." It wasn't the best start to the worst message he would ever have to leave, but it had to be done. He'd spent the last six hours creating a trail that would hopefully lead away from his daughter. He'd left New York City hours ago and was now driving along lonely, rural, winding roads in northern New Jersey, the beautiful scenery barely registering in his brain as he escaped from his life.

  His left hand tightened on the steering wheel as he cleared his throat and tried to find the right words. "I've made a mistake—more than one. I thought I could stay out of the mud, but it turns out that I'm covered in it. I don't have time to explain, but—" He stopped abruptly as the beep from her voicemail cut him off.

  He punched in her number again, knowing she wouldn't answer. It was two o'clock on a Wednesday, and she'd be teaching a class in archaeology at NYU, probably getting her students ready to go on one of the summer digs starting next month. Ever since she was a little girl, Sophie had been fascinated with history, with the past, with finding answers to century-old questions. Now she taught during the school year and went on digs in the summer—the perfect combination.

  It had been worth it—giving Sophie everything she wanted. Hadn't it?

  He glanced back at the phone. With Sophie's schedule, he doubted she'd get the messages for a few more hours. Maybe by then he'd be somewhere safe and they could actually talk. But if that didn’t happen…he had to tell her what to do. He couldn't wait another second. He couldn't keep pretending everything would be all right. He'd been preparing for weeks…just in case. He now had to execute the plan.

  Her voicemail encouraged him to leave another message.

  "Remember how much your mom loved spring cleaning and how we hated to get rid of the things we loved—like my beer bottle collection? Remember our secret stash? Well, I've left you something there. But in order to get it, you'll need to find the key that's hidden away at your favorite place in the world."

  He was being cryptic, but he couldn't risk the information being heard by the wrong person. Hopefully, only Sophie would be able to figure out what he was talking about. While she might wonder why he was sending her so far away, he needed to get her out of town as quickly as possible. That would buy her time.

  "Get the key and follow my instructions," he continued. "I know you'll have a million questions about this message. You'll try to call me, and I won't answer. You'll wonder why I didn't talk to you before now. You'll think twice about doing what I'm asking you to do, but you can't do that, Sophie. Above all, you have to be safe. You have to live a long life. It may not be the life you planned, but it can still be happy. So, no questions, no second thoughts, no wondering if there is another way. You can't trust anyone. Not the police and definitely not the Bureau—no one. Whoever you think might be my friend or yours—isn't." The phone cut off again.

  "Dammit," he swore, seeing a vehicle appear on the road behind him. It could be just another motorist, but as the car picked up speed, he realized that his sins were gaining on him fast. He hadn't been smart enough. He hadn't done enough to make a clean exit.

  He pressed his foot down on the gas pedal, his small sedan almost trembling with the speed required to get away. He'd once been an incredible driver, able to avoid almost any tail, but so many of his skills had broken down in recent years, he could barely remember the person he used to be. He had many regrets, but if he lost his life on this road, maybe no one would ever really know why. Maybe that was a good thing.

  He called Sophie again. "If I can find a way out of this, I will. In the meantime, do exactly what I told you. I want you to know how proud I am," he said, his voice choking with emotion. "Everything I did—the choices I made—were to make our lives better, especially your life. I feel sick at the heartache you may have to go through. The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you. You have always been my everything. If something happens to me, don't try to find out who is responsible. Don't go to my house. Don't go to your apartment. Don't trust anyone, especially not those you think are my friends."

  He should give her a name, but then she might think that was the only person to avoid, and there were more…more than he knew…

  "Just run," he continued. "Get rid of your phone as soon as you finish listening to the
se messages, so they can't track you. I'm sorry again, Sophie. I hope you can make a new life for yourself, and I pray one day you'll be able to forgive—"

  The phone flew out of his hand as his car was rammed from behind. He pushed the pedal all the way to the floor, but the vehicle behind him had more power. He swerved around another turn, down a straightaway, to a harder curve. He saw the narrow bridge ahead as his car took another hit.

  He yanked the wheel, trying to regain control, but the car skidded across the concrete. He was headed straight for the guardrail. He had some impossible hope he might clear the water and land on the other side of the pond, but that would take a miracle.

  The last thing he deserved was a miracle.

  One

  Her second-year university students were restless and as eager as she was for the academic year to be over. It was the first of June, and with the unusually hot weather, Sophie Parker could see their gazes straying to the windows as she spoke, the lure of summer interesting them far more than the study questions for the final exam they would take next week. She couldn't blame them.

  Six weeks from now, she'd be out of the classroom, too, taking eight of these students on an archaeological dig in Egypt. They would finally get a chance not just to read about history but to experience it, to feel the heavy, haunting atmosphere at a century-old site, to dig for something real, something from the past, something that could change what they knew of history.

  Discovery was an addicting thrill—one she'd never been able to shake. Unfortunately, she had to limit the thrilling moments to the summer months. The rest of the year, she was a professor at NYU, where she shared her passion with her college students.

  Glancing over at the clock, she realized it was one minute to four. Time to free them for the weekend.

  "That's it," she said. "I'll see you for our final exam next Wednesday. If you have questions, you can email me, or come by my office hours on Monday from ten to noon. Good luck with your studying."

  As the class ended, she answered a few questions about the exam, then gathered her things together. She was about to leave when a man in a dark suit entered the room. He was in his fifties and had short, pepper-gray hair and dark eyes. He walked toward her with a deliberate, purposeful step, the expression on his face intensely serious.

  Peter Hunt was an FBI agent, and one of her father's best friends. He'd gone to Yale with her dad. He'd been in her parents' wedding. He'd been Uncle Peter to her for as long as she could remember. And he had never, ever, visited her at work.

  A chill ran through her.

  Something was wrong—terribly wrong.

  Following Peter into the classroom was Karen Leigh—a tall, stylish blonde in her late-thirties, wearing a navy-blue pencil skirt and cream-colored silky blouse. Despite the hot weather, Karen looked impeccably cool.

  She'd met Karen once when she'd stopped in at her dad's office. He'd told her how much he respected Karen's instincts, which was why he'd made her assistant special agent in charge of the organized crime division, of which he was the head. The fact that both Peter and Karen had come to see her did not bode well.

  She tried to stay calm, not jump to conclusions, breathe, but her chest was tight, and she couldn't get any air into her lungs.

  "Sophie," Peter said, his dark eyes somber. "I'm afraid we have terrible news."

  "I'm sorry, Sophie," Karen added, compassion in her gaze.

  "Sorry about what?" She didn't really want an answer, because she knew that whatever they were going to say would not be good. "Where's my dad? Has something happened to him?"

  "He was in an accident," Peter said gently. "A car accident. He didn't make it, Sophie."

  "What?" she gasped, putting a hand to her heart. "What do you mean—he didn't make it?"

  "Your father drove through a guardrail and flipped his car into a pond. He died at the scene." Peter delivered the statement in a slow, purposeful manner. "I'm truly sorry, Sophie. This is not the kind of news I ever wanted to give you."

  She immediately started shaking her head in denial. "There must be some mistake. My father is not dead. He can't be dead. He's healthy. He runs every day. He's going to barbecue ribs for me this weekend—his famous pork ribs. We're getting together on Sunday to watch the Yankees. We're going to talk about my trip to Egypt next month." She blew out a breath. "Oh, God!" Her legs felt suddenly weak as she realized none of those things were going to happen.

  Peter grabbed her arm and led her to the chair by her desk.

  She practically fell into her seat.

  He squatted down in front of her and looked into her eyes. "Breathe, Sophie."

  "Tell me it's not true." She silently implored him to say it was some awful joke, but she could see the pain in his gaze.

  "I wish I could. I really do. Alan was a good friend. I can't believe he's gone, and I know how difficult this is going to be for you. The two of you became so close after your mom died."

  Burning tears pressed at her eyes. She put a hand to her mouth, feeling like she was going to throw up. His words reminded her of the last time she'd heard horrible news. But her mom had been sick for years. They'd said their good-byes more than once. She'd known the end was coming, and it had been a blessing, because her mom had been suffering.

  But this? This sudden end to her dad's vibrant life was impossible to accept. It had been him and her against the world since she was sixteen.

  "Where did it happen? The accident? Was it here in the city?" she asked.

  "No, it was a few hours away—in northern New Jersey," he replied, as he stood up.

  "What? What was he doing way over there?" she asked, even more confused. "Did it have to do with a case?"

  "To be honest, we're not sure why he was in that location," Karen interjected. "We're trying to figure that out. When did you last speak to your dad?"

  She had to think for a minute. "Two days ago—Monday night. We haven't seen each other in a few weeks, and he asked me to come by on Sunday. I didn't actually commit to going to his barbecue, because I have finals next week, and I need to finish writing the test this weekend." She drew in another tight breath. "You're sure there's not a mistake?"

  "I'm sure," Peter said. "There's no mistake."

  "Was there another car involved? Were other people hurt?"

  "We're not sure if another vehicle was involved."

  His answer confused her more. "My father just drove off the side of the road? That doesn't make sense."

  "It appears he was driving at a high rate of speed."

  "What time did it happen?"

  "Around two o'clock this afternoon."

  Two hours ago. Her dad had died two hours ago, and she hadn't known, hadn't felt anything change. How could that be?

  "Where is my father now? I want to see him."

  "He's at the medical examiner's office in New Jersey, and you can't see him yet, Sophie," Peter said. "Not until they're done with the examination."

  She looked at him in confusion. "They're doing an autopsy?"

  "Yes. We need to know if Alan had a medical emergency, or if there were any substances impairing his judgment," Peter replied.

  "My father did not take drugs. He was in great health. He barely drank. You know that." Anger ran through her. How could Peter speak so clinically about her father?

  "It's protocol," he said. "We're also working with the New Jersey police to determine whether another vehicle might have caused the incident and left the scene."

  "Who found him?"

  "There was a 911 call from a hiker. He saw the accident from a good distance away, so he couldn’t render aid, but the police arrived within minutes. It appears that Alan was killed on impact, Sophie. He didn't suffer."

  "But you don't know that for sure, because no one was there for at least a few minutes." The thought of her father knowing he was trapped and dying made her sick to her stomach.

  "Sophie," Karen said, bringing her focus back to the conversation. "I know you're d
evastated by this news. We all are. But I need to ask you a few questions."

  "Like what?"

  "Did your father tell you about any problems in his life, at work, with friends or coworkers?"

  "No, but he rarely spoke about his job with me. He always said there was so much he couldn't talk about that it was easier just to avoid everything."

  "What about a woman? Was there someone in his life?" Karen continued.

  "I don't know. He went out to dinner sometimes. He had female friends. He didn't discuss them, and I didn't ask."

  "When you spoke to your father on Monday, did he say anything about any meetings or plans he had this week?" Karen continued.

  "I don't think so. We mostly talked about me and the archaeological dig I'm organizing." She felt guilty now that she hadn't asked her dad more about how he was doing and what was going on in his life. Perhaps she'd missed some important clue or sign of what was to come.

  "What about Harrison Delano?" Karen asked. "Your father had a dinner on his calendar with Mr. Delano scheduled for tonight. I understand from Peter that Mr. Delano was a friend from Yale."

  "Yes. They kept in touch." She glanced at Peter. "You know Harrison. Why don't you just ask him?"

  "We will; we haven't had a chance yet," Peter replied. "We wanted to speak to you first."

  "Why are you asking me these questions? What do my dad's dinner plans have to do with his death?"

  "Karen has been going through Alan's calendar to see if we can find any clues," Peter said.

  "I'm trying to piece together a timeline for the week," Karen added. "Your dad was in the office yesterday and left before three, which is early for him. He didn't come in this morning, and he didn't call in sick. I tried to reach him on the phone several times, but he didn't pick up or return my calls. I was concerned because we have several important cases that require his attention, so I went to his house, but he didn't answer. As far as I can ascertain, the last person to speak to him was the security guard in our office building when he left yesterday afternoon. I would love to find someone else."