A stubborn refusal to allow her life to be forced down this path of misery again roared to life. Adrenaline hardened her resolve. This was wrong. She couldn’t let this happen!
She thought about the hurt she’d harbored since her father’s desertion, the resentment she’d felt when she’d learned of Connor’s deception, the fear of offering her whole heart to him because of their impossible circumstances. Had she let her insecurities and old wounds keep her from doing everything in her power to surmount the obstacles between her and Connor? How could she give up on something as important to her as Connor’s love?
“I can’t accept this,” she said, voicing the determination that was gaining ground in her mind, her heart. “There has to be a way to make this work.”
Morris shoved his hands in his pockets and sighed. “Darby, we’ve explained why—”
“I know what you’ve said! Savannah’s medical needs made it impossible for her to be hidden in WitSec. That’s why we aren’t going with him. The only reason! But I can’t accept that. I can’t give up without trying!” She grasped Morris’s arms and shook him. “Isn’t there any way, any way at all, that we can make this work?”
“Darby, if there were, don’t you think I’d—?”
“No ifs! I can’t lose Connor again. I’m tired of life happening to me. My father left me, and I could do nothing about it. Connor faked his death and gave me no choice in it. My daughter got cancer, and I could do nothing for her. But this time... This time I won’t accept ‘no’ for an answer! You have to help me find a way to hide Savannah in WitSec so we can be with Connor. Please!”
Morris’s eyebrows furrowed. “A family like yours should be together. I agree. After all the risks he’s taken, the sacrifices he’s made, I think Connor deserves to see his little girl grow up, but—”
“No!” She gripped his arms and pinned a hard look on him. “No buts. Just say you’ll help me find a way to make this work!”
Morris glanced away, swiping an agitated hand over his face. “I don’t know where we’d begin. We’d have to be able to eliminate all the risks to you and make sure all your ties, all of Savannah’s ties to this life are severed.”
“I don’t care how long it takes or what I’d have to give up. My place is with Connor. We should be a family, whatever it takes. However long it takes. I won’t quit looking for a way to be with him. All I ask is that you promise to help me.”
Morris scowled and shook his head. “It would take so much—”
“Marshal!” She fisted her hands and drew back her shoulders. “‘Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it,’” she quoted, and he snapped a startled gaze to her.
“Rumi,” he whispered, letting her know he remembered the walk in the woods when he’d first shared the poet’s wisdom.
She nodded. “I’m trying to remove the barriers. Please, help me. I belong with Connor. Savannah belongs with her father. Help me find a solution.”
Morris raised his chin, squared his shoulders. “No guarantees that we’ll find a way to make it work, but...I’ll do my damnedest.”
Hope blossomed in her chest and filled her with a radiant joy. “Good enough. I can work with that.”
Six months later
John Lancaster answered the door of his suburban home and found Marshal Morris standing on his porch with an adorable four-year-old girl in his arms. Her cheeks were thin but rosy, and she had a head of short brown hair the same color as his. Her golden-brown eyes twinkled when she saw him, and she chirped, “Hi, Daddy! We’re here!”
John laughed. “So I see!” He pulled his daughter into his arms and hugged her tightly. Over his daughter’s shoulder, he met the gaze of the auburn-haired woman beside Marshal Morris. The beauty gave him a playful grin and, juggling a tabby cat he knew well, held out her hand, “Allow me to introduce myself. My name’s Karen. I’m your fiancée.”
He took her hand, but instead of shaking it, he tugged her into his arms, squishing Toby between them, and bent his head for a kiss. “Indeed you are, my lovely.” He glanced back at his little girl, marveling at how happy—how healthy—she looked. “And who are you?”
“I’m Savannah, silly!” The girl giggled.
He cut a glance to Darby...er, Karen...for confirmation. She set Toby on the ground in front of the open door, and the cat trotted inside as if knowing he was at his new house and ready to claim it. “It’s less confusing for Savannah to let her keep her name,” she said.
“Gotcha.” He smiled, bent to give his fiancée a lingering kiss, the first of many to come.
Raising his gaze to the marshal, he asked, “And you’re sure they’ll be safe with me? What about Savannah’s medical records?”
“What records?” Morris gave him a sly grin and tugged Savannah’s earlobe. “She looks pretty healthy to me.”
He smiled at his daughter, his chest full to bursting with love and happiness. “Same here, but...”
“Dr. Reed checked her out and ran tests the day before we left,” Dar—er, Karen said. “She’s still in remission. There’s every hope she’ll stay cancer free, but you and I will need to be vigilant and watch for any signs of relapse. If she does get sick again...” She shuddered visibly at the mention of it. “We’ll find a doctor here to treat her. We’ll start from scratch.”
“We vetted this situation fully, John.” Morris grinned when he used the new alias. “You have the full resources of the U.S. Marshals behind you and your family. We haven’t lost a witness in our program yet, and I don’t intend to let anyone in your family be the first.”
“Oh, my God,” he said, heaving a sigh of disbelief. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“Believe it.” The woman he’d loved since college leaned close to him and whispered, “I never quit working to find a way to be with you. I couldn’t accept being without you. I loved you too much to lose you again.”
He kissed her hard and squeezed his daughter and fiancée in a group hug. “I am the luckiest man in the world. And the happiest. I love you, Darby.”
“Karen,” she whispered, and he winked.
“Right.” He swept a hand toward his front door. “Welcome home, honey.”
* * * * *
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Chapter 1
Creed Thomas Ruckman’s smart phone buzzed and he pulled the rental SUV he’d picked up at the Portland airport to the side of the road just outside Cape Churn, a quaint Oregon seaside town. The caller ID displayed Blocked Sender. Probably The Man, his boss, who’d sent him on the red-eye flight from Alaska late the previous night, bumping mission status to urgent and a matter of national security.
Royce Fontaine orchestrated the band of Stealth Operations Specialists from their headquarters in Washington, for the most part. On occasion, he ran missions himself. The man was fearless and demanded no less from his operatives than what he expected of himself.
Creed hit the button on the headset hooked over h
is ear. “Thomas.” He used Thomas and other aliases as his last name when he went undercover—Ruckman had become just a name in his file back at headquarters.
“You in Cape Churn yet?” Royce’s deep voice filled his head as if he were there in the vehicle with him.
“Just pulling into town. Any word on Phillip Macias’s whereabouts, or the location of the yacht I tagged in Russia?”
“That’s what I’m calling about and why you’re where you are. The GPS tracking device stalled off the coast of Cape Churn. Satellite images aren’t picking up the boat at the location. Either they scuttled the boat or the boat sank. That’s where you come in.”
“I figured as much. None of my associates in Russia could tell me what’s on board, or why it’s so important to Macias.”
“I put a bug in the ear of one of my contacts in the National Security Agency’s electronic surveillance and monitoring division. He just sent word that something big is about to go down on the west coast, and Macias is at the center of it. There’s a lot of subversive chatter by some of the people on their watch list.”
“Any idea what?”
“Only hints at some type of explosions with the potential of killing entire cities of Americans.”
Creed’s heart sank to the bottom of his belly, then bounced back with a kick of adrenaline. “I figured it was something big. Macias is known for drama. When he’s involved, it’s go big or go home. Though they couldn’t prove it, my informants told me he was responsible for last year’s attacks on Chicago and D.C. in an event similar to the Greek Conspiracy of Fire Nuclei of 2010.”
“Right,” Fontaine agreed. “And he was only using pressure-cooker bombs in those instances. From what my NSA source said, he’s going for a bigger bang, possibly dirty bombs.” Royce paused, then continued. “The situation is critical. Since all of this is conjecture at this point, keep it on the down low. We don’t know who Macias’s contacts are, and we can’t trust anyone. If it leaks to the press, we could lose the connection. You have to find out what Macias is up to, his contact for uranium, if that’s his angle, and stop Armageddon from happening. Millions of lives are depending on you.”
“No pressure, right? And what you’re saying is that for all these years people have been prophesying California would one day fall into the ocean, that event may come earlier than we think.”
“As soon as I can pull some of the others in on this mission, I’ll send them your way. In the meantime, you’re the lead man.”
“Sounds like I’m the only man.”
“For the moment, you are. I’m working intel from this end. I’ll feed you everything I know as soon as I know.” True to his word, Royce would do everything in his power to help him. The head of SOS kept his promises. “You’ve got all the information and the cover you need to find that yacht. Go get ’em.”
“I’m on it.” Creed hit the button on his earpiece to end the call, drew in a deep breath and drove into town, to the Cape Churn police station. He climbed out of the rental and entered the office, wearing shorts, flip-flops, sunglasses and a T-shirt with the image of a sailboat emblazoned across his chest. Pasting his friendliest insurance-adjuster grin on his face, he extended his hand to the man he presumed was the chief of police, the one person in town who would know a local from a transient, and where to go to get what he needed. “Hello, I’m Creed Thomas. Are you the police chief?”
“That would be me.” He gripped Creed’s hand in a firm handshake. “Tom Taggart. I don’t believe I know you. New resident in town, or here on vacation?”
This was where his cover came into play. Until he knew the trustworthiness of the locals, he couldn’t reveal the potential danger lurking in the quiet seaside town. “Actually, I’m here on business.”
“What kind of business brings you to Cape Churn? Setting up a golf tournament? Team building weekend? Searching for a vacation home?” The chief smiled. “Just ask—we’re likely to have what you’re looking for.”
Creed removed his glasses, liking the older man’s open, friendly face. “I’m looking for a boat.”
“A boat?” Taggart’s brows rose. “Renting, buying? Anything special you got in mind?”
“A missing boat, to be exact.” He handed the chief his fake business card with Thomas Brothers Insurance written in bold lettering across the top. “I underwrote an insurance policy on a yacht we believe went down off the coast of Cape Churn in the past couple days.”
“Is that so?” Taggart scratched his chin. “I don’t recall receiving any reports of a ship in distress or BOLOs on missing persons.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. The owner probably didn’t know he was in distress until the ship went down, and his family won’t be missing him for several days. I understand there was a significant amount of fog the night before last?”
“True.” The chief nodded. “Folks around here call it the Devil’s Shroud. Nothing but misfortune happens when it slides into the coast. Could be your boat got caught up in it.”
“That’s my bet. Fortunately, we have tracking devices on the yachts we insure, and I believe I can locate it. All I need is a guide to get me out to it. That’s what I was hoping you could help me with.”
“Depends on where you’re going. The shallows around here are pretty treacherous, even on a calm day. If you have the GPS coordinate, and it’s not in the middle of the rocks, I recommend Dave Logsdon’s dive boat and Emma Jenkins as your guide. She’s not a full-time diver, but she has the most diving experience all around the cape.”
“Where can I find them?”
“Logsdon docks his boat at the Cape Churn Marina. It’s early in the summer season, and schools aren’t out yet. You might catch him, if he’s not chartered.”
A man wearing a navy blue police uniform entered the building behind Creed and removed his uniform cap.
The chief turned to the officer. “Gabe here can show you the way.”
“Where to?” Gabe stuck out his hand. “Gabe McGregor.”
Creed introduced himself.
“Mr. Thomas needs to hire a boat and a guide to look for a potentially sunken yacht his company insured.”
“Think it got caught in the fog the other night?” Gabe ran a hand through his dark blond hair. “We haven’t had any distress calls or bodies wash ashore.”
“The GPS tracking device we installed on the craft indicates it’s offshore, not moving. Too far to be anchored, which leads me to believe it’s at the bottom.”
“You’ll want Dave Logsdon and—”
“Emma Jenkins,” the chief finished. “I’ve already briefed him on the best guide in the area. Would you show him how to get to the marina? I’ve got a meeting with the mayor in fifteen. We’d send a diver with you, but we’re short staffed, and diving isn’t necessarily a requirement for the job. I can put a call into the coast guard and have them start a search for survivors.”
“Thanks.” Creed would rather not get the coast guard involved just yet. “In the meantime, I’d like to check the location and make sure the boat wasn’t stolen or the GPS device tossed overboard.”
“I’ll put out the word to be on the lookout for any casualties that might have washed ashore.” The chief stepped around Creed and Gabe. “Gabe can take you to the marina and get you set up.”
Gabe waved toward the door. “I can take you there, or you can follow me.”
“I’ll follow,” Creed said.
“Dave’s the most reliable captain in the area. He can get you just about anywhere, or close enough you can swim in. And Emma is the most experienced diver. Can’t go wrong with her.”
“Good to know.” He didn’t really care as long as he had a boat to get him to where he needed to go. He didn’t necessarily need a local dive master to guide him in. Having received his training courtesy of the U.S. Navy SEALs, Creed could
dive circles around most recreational divers. But to keep his cover, he’d go along with the locals and maybe learn something about who Phillip Macias was planning to meet with his Russian cargo.
The sooner the better. He had a feeling the yacht going down wasn’t part of the plan, and whoever was expecting it would be in a hurry to get his hands on whatever was on board. If that happened, it could initiate a chain of events that could potentially destroy the entire western coast of the United States.
* * *
They’re cancelling the Children’s Wing Project.
The words echoed in Emma Jenkins’s head as she shoved her duffel bag with her wet suit and regulator into the backseat of her Jeep. She slipped behind the wheel and headed for the marina, her chest hurting so badly she could barely breathe.
If she hadn’t scheduled the week off, she might have been tempted to call in sick to the hospital where she worked as a nurse. The same hospital her former fiancé had swindled out of the funds raised to build the new children’s wing eight months ago.
Laura Kurtz had called that morning with the news. “I wanted you to hear it from me first, and to assure you it’s not your fault and no one thinks that way.”
Yeah, right. If she hadn’t introduced Randy Walters to the board of directors, he wouldn’t have been offered the consultant position for raising funds for the new children’s wing.
“If you’re at fault,” Laura had said, “then so am I for not seeing through his lies.”
Emma had been so gullible, thinking Randy was trustworthy, loved her and really had planned to marry her in June. Her wedding dress still hung on her closet door, a painful reminder of the fool she’d been to trust a man.
The Return of Connor Mansfield Page 25
