Perilous Trust

by Barbara Freethy

  During the restless and interminably long hours, he thought about where Sophie might have gone if she was in danger. He kept coming back to the place where they'd met, the last time he'd seen her—in a small lakeshore cabin in the Adirondacks.

  He didn't know if Sophie's family had a place there or if she'd just gone there with the Rowlands—with Cassie and Jamie. But he did know that she'd spoken fondly of summers at the lake. The Adirondacks were a good five hours north of the city. Maybe it was a place where she'd feel safe.

  But would she be safe there?

  He kept coming back to one puzzling question. Sophie had grown up with the FBI as her second family. If she was in trouble, why would she run away from her father's friends? She had to have had a really good reason.

  Tired of his thoughts running endlessly around in a circle, he rolled out of bed around four, showered, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, and checked the baseball forum.

  He was thrilled to see a message from Wyatt. His friend was still alive and had set up a time to meet that night.

  Checking his watch, he calculated the time it would take to look for Sophie at the lake and get back to meet Wyatt. He decided he could do both. He hopped into his car, made a quick stop to grab coffee and a breakfast burrito and then it was onto the interstate. He could be taking a five-hour drive for nothing, but he could be at the lake by ten and back in the city by early evening.

  Sophie might not be at the lake. She might not have run at all. She could have been kidnapped. She might not even still be alive. His stomach rolled with nausea at that horrific thought. But he couldn't dwell on it. He could only do what he could do, and that was to check out the cabin. He wasn't going to accomplish much at the office. Alan's team hadn't exactly shut him out, but they definitely hadn't felt compelled to share information with him. Apparently, they didn't trust him any more than he trusted them.

  Maybe Bree would get him some information. She might not be on Alan's team, but she had friends who were. Which reminded him—he was supposed to meet her for lunch. He'd text her later and cancel. She wouldn't be awake this early.

  As the miles passed, it felt good to be in his car with the air conditioning blowing in his face. He'd been stressed out and overworked since he'd joined the Bureau four years ago. Most days he liked the hectic pace. He wasn't good with downtime—too much opportunity to think. He preferred to be busy, moving forward, making things happen. But now seemed like a good time to take stock in his situation.

  His mentor and the man he'd come to work for was dead. Where did that leave him? He wasn't sure he wanted to work for Karen Leigh, if she got moved up. On the other hand, the FBI could bring someone new in to replace Alan. But nothing would happen too fast. He could easily be in limbo for a while, but that might be a good thing. He'd have more time to help Wyatt and to look for Sophie.

  His jaw tightened as he thought about the last time he'd been on this road, when he'd made the trip to the lake for Jamie's wake.

  He could still remember the first time he'd seen her. The room had been packed with people, and he'd actually been looking for Cassie, but when his gaze had connected with Sophie's, everyone else in the room had faded away. He'd felt a compelling need to get closer, and that's exactly what he'd done. In fact, he didn't think he'd spoken to anyone else there.

  He'd listened to stories of Jamie shared by various people, but he hadn't told any of his stories. It was just too painful to talk about someone who shouldn't have died so young.

  His chest tightened. Damn! It still hurt to think about that day.

  He'd almost quit Quantico after Jamie's death. But it was Alan who had convinced him to keep going. He was so close to graduation, to a new career, and it's what Jamie would have wanted him to do, so he'd done it.

  But first he'd spent one incredible night with a beautiful woman, whose attraction had terrified him so much that he'd left before she woke up, before she could smile at him, beckon him with her eyes, tempt him with her body, make him forget all his plans, all his goals.

  Maybe if he'd met her at another time, in a different place, things would have been different…or not.

  He didn't believe in love, and Sophie had that love-ever-after vibe about her. Stay or go—he would have ended up disappointing her with either choice, so he'd left, and deep down inside, he'd always been a little afraid to see her again.

  He was going to have to get over that…and fast.

  He owed Alan Parker a lot, and if he could help Sophie, he would.

  Then he'd leave her—again. Hopefully, it would be easier the second time around.

  * * *

  Sophie couldn't find the damn key, and every passing minute reminded her how fast time was flying. It was nine-thirty on Thursday morning, and the sun was rising higher in the sky.

  The cabin was set back from the shoreline and tucked between tall, thick trees that separated the structure from neighboring buildings by a good twenty-five yards. The nearest cabin belonged to the Rowlands, but she couldn't see it from here. From the front windows, she had a partial view of the water, and in the past several minutes, she'd seen a few dog walkers and kids heading down to the lake. The town was waking up, and she needed to be gone before anyone realized she was there.

  She'd tried to look for the key when she'd arrived around midnight, but when she'd finally gotten to the cabin after hiding her car behind a boathouse a mile away, she'd realized the electricity was off. No one had used the place in forever, and a caretaker only came by a few times a year in the daylight to dust away the cobwebs and make sure the property was intact.

  She'd tried looking for candles but without even a cell phone flashlight, she'd gotten nowhere fast. Finally, she'd laid down on the couch and fallen into an exhausted sleep.

  She'd been surprised she could sleep at all, but her brain and her heart had obviously needed a time-out from the pain and the worry. She'd woken up an hour and a half ago and had started her search, but she'd found nothing.

  It was ridiculous. The place wasn't that big. There were two bedrooms, one bath, a living room, and a small kitchen. There was a hall closet that was still filled with beach supplies, chairs, paddles for the two kayaks that sat in the garage, beach towels and other random items that she had already looked through. She'd also gotten into the attic space and searched through old boxes that had gotten stashed up there at some point.

  That venture had taken her down a very sad memory lane, and she'd had to push back more tears as she'd seen old, loose photographs taken of her and her family during various summer vacations.

  So, what next? She'd looked through her dad's bedroom and the dresser that held only musty linens. The bathroom was empty. She'd dug through the kitchen drawers, tossing the loose items onto the counters, and she had come up with a couple of keys, but they were all for the front or back door of the cabin, or a boat that had been sold long ago.

  She moved back to the doorway of the second bedroom, the one she'd always used. There was a queen-sized bed; she'd already pulled off the quilt and checked under the pillows, which hadn't been easy since the bed had reminded her of Damon and the night they'd spent together.

  She hadn't been in the cabin since that night. Like her dad, this lake house held too many memories, both good and bad, and while she loved to dig into the pasts of people from centuries ago, she tended to leave her own past alone.

  Turning away, she walked into the middle of the living room.

  What was she missing?

  Had she made a mistake in coming here? Had she thought her dad meant this cabin, when in fact he'd been talking about some other happy place?

  But nothing else jumped into her head. Although, she did wonder why he would have sent her so far away to get a key. Why not leave it somewhere in New York City? If not her house, or his, why not somewhere closer, easier to find?

  He had to have had a reason. Maybe he'd just wanted to get her out of town quickly. Or he'd left the key here a long time ago and had never
come back to retrieve it. She certainly couldn’t remember him talking about any trips to the lake in recent years, but then she knew little about what he did on the weekends. They were close, but they were also busy, and while they talked or texted often, they didn't see each other in person more than a few times a month.

  As her gaze swept the room, an old memory poked at her brain, telling her to pay attention.

  She'd been about ten or eleven. Her mom was making cookies in the kitchen. She'd left the kitchen and come into the living room to ask her father to take her out on the boat.

  "What are you doing, Daddy?" she'd asked, as her father carefully pulled a brick out of the wall above the fireplace, revealing a small space.

  "Making a hiding place," he replied, the tension in his eyes warring with the smile on his face.

  "For what?"

  "Whatever we need. It will be our secret place, just like this is our secret house. You can keep a secret, can't you, Sophie?"

  "I won't tell anyone," she promised.

  "You're a good girl. I hope you always know how much I love you."

  The last words of her memory stung, but she walked quickly across the room, running her fingers over the rough-edged bricks, trying to remember which one was loose. He'd said something about her age marking the spot—eleven.

  She counted eleven up from the bottom and pushed at the brick. It wobbled, and she grabbed it more firmly, pulling it out of the wall.

  Her heart leapt against her chest as her gaze fell on a silver key.

  She'd found it.

  But the key wasn't the only item in the hiding place. Next to it was a small 9 mm gun, similar to the one she'd seen her father carry.

  Her breath came short and quick. She wasn't a stranger to guns. Her dad had taught her to shoot when she was a teenager. But the gun and the key made her think about the person or people who had taken her father's life.

  She took out the key and put it in her pocket, then retrieved the gun.

  She'd no sooner done that when she heard heavy footsteps on the porch.

  Someone was coming!

  Was it a neighbor, a friend, or an enemy?

  Through the window, she saw the shadow of a man.

  He knocked.

  She didn't answer.

  Maybe he'd go away.

  He didn't.

  He knocked again, and then he kicked open the door.

  She raised the gun and pointed it at him. "Stop right there. Hands up."

  Five

  "I didn't expect you'd be happy to see me again, Sophie, but I didn't think you'd want to shoot me," Damon said, putting up his hands.

  "Damon," she said in shock.

  He was the last person she'd expected to see. Four years had passed since their gazes had last met. She wished he'd gone bald or gray or gotten fat, but that hadn't happened. He looked just as mouthwateringly delicious as he had the first time she'd seen him.

  His dark-brown hair was still thick and wavy, perfect for running her fingers through. His blue eyes were as mysterious and enticing as the sea, changing colors with his mood, with his passion. His full-lipped mouth was still oh-so-sexy, and his broad shoulders, lean hips, and long legs made shivers run down her spine that had nothing to do with the danger lurking in the shadows, and everything to do with him, and a ridiculous attraction that, apparently, she still hadn't gotten over.

  "Want to lower that gun?" he asked, his voice quiet but purposeful.

  She started, realizing she'd already gotten lost in him, and that couldn't happen—not this time. "What are you doing here? Why did you kick down the door?"

  "I was looking for you, and when you didn't answer, I decided to make sure you weren't hurt—or something."

  "Or something? You heard about my father, didn't you?"

  "I did. I'm really sorry, Sophie. I mean that."

  He probably did mean it. He'd been one of her dad's star pupils and someone her father had kept in touch with over the years.

  It was ironic that Damon was probably the one man she could have introduced to her father who he would have liked.

  Or maybe not.

  Her dad had never encouraged her to get involved with anyone from the FBI. In fact, he'd made a point of keeping his work relationships away from her. That had made it easy for her to never see Damon again.

  "We need to talk," Damon continued. "I'd like to do that without a gun in my face."

  "How did you know I was here?"

  "I had a hunch. When we were at the wake, you said this place meant a lot to you and to Jamie."

  Her gut clenched as she thought about Jamie again. Just about everyone she'd ever loved was dead. "Did you tell anyone else you were coming here—anyone from the Bureau?"

  Damon gave her a steady, measuring look. "No, I came alone. But a lot of people are looking for you. Did you know that your apartment was broken into?"

  "Yes. A friend of mine left me a message. But I couldn't call her back."

  "Why? Because you lost your phone hundreds of miles away from here?"

  So, they'd traced her phone signal. She'd figured they would.

  "It was a good move," he said. "To throw people off the track."

  "Well, it didn't work. You're here."

  "I wasn't going off your phone signal." He paused. "I'm closing the door. Don't shoot me."

  She didn't know if she could shoot him, and he didn't seem to be too worried, but she kept the gun pointed at him anyway, just because it made her feel like she had a little more control over the situation.

  He closed the door, but it didn't latch, not after he'd broken the lock.

  "You'll have to get that fixed," he said. "Not that it was doing much for you anyway."

  "You need to go, Damon."

  "Let's talk first. Why did you run away from your apartment, your friends, your father's coworkers? Why did you just disappear, Sophie?"

  "Because someone killed my dad."

  "It's possible it was an accident."

  "You don't believe that any more than I do," she said sharply.

  "Maybe not, but I think something specific spooked you."

  "You mean like the two men I saw going into my apartment building?"

  "You saw the men who broke into your apartment?" he asked in surprise.

  "I don't know if they were the ones, but they could have been."

  "What did they look like?"

  "Law enforcement, maybe—I don't know."

  Damon stared back at her, and she could see him running through her words in his head. "Why would you be afraid of law enforcement when your father is FBI?"

  "Gut instinct," she lied, knowing she wouldn't have been afraid at all if her father hadn't told her to be. "And it looks like I was right to run. If I'd gone to my apartment, who knows what would have happened?"

  His lips drew into a hard line. "Look, Sophie, I want to help you."

  "Why? Why on earth would you want to help me?"

  His gaze darkened, and the air sizzled between them as they found themselves back in a place probably neither of them wanted to revisit, but they were there all the same.

  "We're not friends," she said quickly, needing to break the tension. "We're not anything. We haven't seen each other in four years. Why do you care where I am, what I'm doing? Is it because of loyalty to my dad? That has to be it, right? Nothing else could have made you drive all the way up here."

  "I should have called you after that night," he said.

  "I'm not looking for an apology."

  "Aren't you?"

  "No. Maybe. No," she said, hating to sound so uncertain. "None of that is important. I have bigger problems."

  "Then let's talk about now," he said, relief in his eyes as he changed the subject. "I respected your father. He was a mentor to me. I owe him for that, and I know that he would want me to help you. He trusted me, and I hope you can trust me, too."

  "I don't know if my father trusted you," she said, shaking her head.

 
Surprise and anger flared in his eyes. "Why would you say that?"

  "Because he told me not to trust anyone from the Bureau, and since you're an agent, that includes you."

  "When did he tell you that?"

  She realized she'd said too much. "A while ago."

  "Really? A while ago? Or was it today? What else did he say?"

  "That's my business."

  "Every word could be important, Sophie. You need to tell me."

  "No, I don't need to tell you. If he wanted you to know anything, he would have left you a message."

  "So, he left you a message?"

  Damn, the man was sharp. "It doesn't matter how or when he said it, I'm still not going to trust you. I'm not going to go against him."

  "I'm not just some agent from the Bureau, Sophie."

  "Oh, please. Just because we've seen each other naked doesn't mean anything."

  He frowned at her comment. "Look, we're wasting time. Here's what's going to happen. You're either going to tell me what your dad was worried about so I can help you figure out who killed him and keep you safe at the same time, or you're going to have to shoot me. Those are your options. Because I'm not leaving here without you."

  "You think I can't pull the trigger?" she challenged. "Because I can."

  "And where will that get you? Will you be any closer to finding your father's killer?"

  She really hated his calm, pointed questions. She was running on emotion, and he was using logic. "Fine, I can tell you this much. My dad said that he was in trouble and that he wanted me to be safe. He told me not to trust anyone, to run away and hide. Do whatever I needed to do to stay alive." She deliberately left out the part about the key and the next step she was supposed to take.

  "Was that it?" Damon challenged.

  "There was some stuff about him being sorry and how much he loved me, but the last message ended abruptly." She drew in a shaky breath. "I think he was calling me from the car right before he went off the road. I heard a crash and then nothing."

  "Did he say who was after him? Did he name names? Did he call out a case he was working on? Anyone who had a grudge against him?"