“Wait!” shouted Worthington. He sprinted up to the tiny, rough-looking house near the lake. His hand was on his weapon, but he didn’t draw. As with the cabin, the door opened with one of the keys Grant had given them. Worthington was back outside in less than a minute. “All clear,” he said. “They have some cots inside, if we need them.”
“Neat. I never slept on a real cot before. But what about a boat? They’ve got to have a boat.” Sampson shot inside before the agent could answer.
Cassi heard a loud metal clang. “We’d better go help him.”
“While you do that, we’ll check out the rest of the area.” Anderson motioned to Worthington, and the two walked into the trees. But Cassi noticed that at least one of the agents kept them in sight at all times.
As soon as they returned, Sampson insisted on putting the canoe he’d found into the water. Jared, Cassi, and Anderson helped him lug the canoe down the short dock to the water. Sampson jumped inside.
“Wait, you need a life jacket,” Cassi said.
“I told you I know how to swim.”
Cassi met his defiant stare. “Look, I once had a friend drown in waist-deep water when he was jet-skiing. He was twenty years old and over six feet tall. A real strong guy. He still died. Now, make up your mind. Are you boating with a life jacket, or are you not boating?”
Sampson’s gaze wavered. He jumped out of the canoe and ran up the dock. In minutes he came back carrying an arm load of old orange life preservers. Cassi and Jared each put one on.
“I’m going to find a town to buy groceries,” Worthington said. “Any requests?”
When he was gone, Sampson threw Anderson a life jacket. “That canoe isn’t big enough for more than three,” said Anderson, shaking his head. “I’ll watch from here.” He settled against one of the huge posts that held up the dock, his blond hair reflecting the late afternoon sun.
The canoe could have easily fit one more, but Anderson was kind to let them have a few moments of privacy. Cassi climbed into the canoe and settled in the middle. Still feeling weak from the trip and from her ordeal the day before, she was content to let Jared and Sampson use the paddles. Jared also looked weary, his face sporting stitches on his brow. Cassi knew he had numerous bruises from his fight with the thug the day before and must be in some pain. That didn’t stop him from having a contest with Sampson to see who could paddle the strongest on their side of the canoe, turning the boat. Jared won, but eased up to make the victory not so apparent.
The day was beautiful and peaceful, the air clear. Birds called in the trees, and occasionally Cassi caught glimpses of other small animals. She could almost believe that the past few days had simply been a bad dream, and that this peaceful reservoir was the only thing real.
“Let’s go to the other side,” Sampson urged.
Jared gazed at the far shore, dismay on his bruised face. Cassi squinted through the sunlight reflecting off the water. Even the trees appeared small. She knew from the map that it was not the other side of the dam they were looking at, but the other side of one of the fingers of the dam. Not the thinnest part to cross, but much closer than actually paddling all the way to the other side. She wasn’t about to enlighten Sampson. “Maybe we should go back and see if Worthington’s come with the food. I’m hungry.”
“Me too,” Jared said.
Sampson darted one last longing glance at the other shore. “Well, I guess we can do that tomorrow. I could eat something.”
Jared gave Cassi a pained stare, and she knew his muscles must be more sore than he was letting on. She hoped Worthington remembered the pain pills she had requested, since Jared would be needing them.
“And tomorrow we’ll also go swimming. And fishing—I saw some poles in the cabin. My dad and I—” Sampson broke off, the terrible loss and pain returning to his face. He turned away and put his effort into paddling. Cassi wanted to reach out to him, but refrained. Better to let him recover on his own for a few minutes as they skimmed toward the shore.
At the dock, Anderson moored the canoe and Sampson jumped out. “Help me, Sampson,” Cassi said. The boy held out a hand, and Cassi grabbed it and stepped onto the dock. Her motions almost made the canoe tip.
“Whoa,” said Jared. “Are you trying to knock me into the water?”
Cassi laughed. “No, that’s for tomorrow.”
“You have to keep your weight centered on either side of the canoe.” Sampson jumped back inside to show her. He walked up the length of the canoe, hardly rocking it at all.
Cassi already knew that. Hadn’t she been to summer camp? But she smiled. “That’s great, Sampson.” He jumped back on the dock and Cassi put an arm around him. “I’m glad you’re here to show me how it’s done.”
He flashed her a grin, and Cassi saw that his pain had faded once again.
They left the paddles on the canoe, and the life jackets as well, tucking them into a small tarp they found in the boathouse. Grant had told them that there was little or no theft in the quiet community, which was just as well since they didn’t look forward to hauling out the heavy canoe each time they wanted to use it.
The sound of a car cut through the peaceful silence. Cassi instinctively froze, her heart racing. In a minute, they saw Worthington coming down the trail.
“He’s back. Yeah, food!” Sampson took off at a run.
Cassi breathed a sigh of relief. Why was she so worried? This was supposed to be a safe place.
Jared moaned softly. “I hope he brought the Ibuprofen.”
Cassi put her arm around him and together they walked up the path, Anderson trailing them.
They helped bring the groceries into the cabin. Only the few packages of meat and cheese needed refrigeration, and for these Worthington had purchased a chest and several blocks of ice. He and Anderson lit the stove and began frying steaks, while Jared gratefully took two pain pills.
They ate out on the porch, lounging on the few chairs or on the steps. A slight breeze began, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. “I could get used to this life,” Jared whispered to Cassi as they sat apart from the others on an old wooden bench near the left edge of the porch.
“Me too. But I do miss the gallery.” Now that Cassi had inherited Linden’s gallery, she was anxious to try some innovations that she’d had in mind for years—including free art classes for young children.
“I know what you mean. But things at the gallery are fine. They aren’t expecting us back for another week and a half.”
Cassi knew their manager was competent, and she had promoted one of the other buyers to take her old position as head buyer. Yes, things were under control and would go on without them. But she missed the work. Most of all, she missed the ordinariness of her old life. Why couldn’t people leave them alone?
“That was a great story you told Sampson about the life jacket. I’m sorry about your friend. At least maybe his death taught people to use their life jackets.”
“But that’s just it,” Cassi said, her voice low. “I didn’t tell the whole story. He actually was wearing a life jacket. They still had to drag the lake. He was found in a large area where the water was only waist deep. He was trapped under. I don’t know how. It was such a waste.”
Jared put his arm around her. “Sometimes it’s so hard to understand why things happen.”
Exactly. For instance, why was this happening to them now? She looked at Sampson’s face in the fading light. Was it all because of him, or was there some other reason?
“It’s getting dark,” Worthington said. “We’d better go inside and get some sleep.”
“Aw, didn’t you get marshmallows?” asked Sampson. “The guys at school say they always get marshmallows when they go camping.”
“They don’t have roasting marshmallows in Portugal,” Worthington said. “At least not at any of the stores I’ve visited.”
“And he’s the Portuguese expert in our office,” Anderson said, climbing to his feet. “You notice that he was the one who went in for the groce
ries. Me, I know England. They speak my language.”
The others laughed. Cassi stood and picked up her plate to go inside.
A snapping twig was all the warning she had that something was amiss before two armed men sprang up on either side of the porch. “Hold it right there. No, don’t reach for your guns or you’re dead.”
* * *
WHEN THE MAN WITH THE dark blue jacket came from the back of the room, Brooke looked up from the video. He must have shown it to her a hundred times in the past twenty-four hours. She had it memorized, but even so the desire to see it again had been ingrained into her subconscious.
The man switched the large-screened television off, and the image faded. “So let’s try it again,” he said. “Stand up and walk across the room.”
A part of Brooke rebelled, but her body arose from the hard chair and crossed the small room, which was dark except for the single spotlight above the TV. One, two, three—she counted the paces, already knowing there would be twenty before she had to turn and walk back across the bare hardwood floor.
The man watched her. She knew he was a doctor, and with his help, she was becoming better than she had been before.
No! No! a voice inside screamed. Brooke’s step faltered. In a moment the doctor was at her side, and something sharp pierced her arm. The voice inside faded.
“Don’t listen to that person,” the doctor told her. “You have been very sick. But you can conquer that other voice. It only wants to bring you down. You know who you are. You know what you have to do.”
His voice went on, explaining things over and over again, reasonably, comfortingly. Vaguely, Brooke knew that hours had passed. Her stomach complained. “I’m hungry,” she said.
“We’ll eat soon. Just one more time. Listen to me.”
Brooke listened. She had done well to employ him last year. Strange that she couldn’t remember doing it. But he remembered, and he was helping her to remember, too. The attack had been severe, but she had recovered. And there would be revenge.
Again the internal voice surfaced, screaming denial. Brooke’s breath came fast and hard.
“Just look at me,” the doctor said. “Breathe deeply. Everything is okay.” Again he injected something into her arm, and she sighed with relief.
The doctor’s comforting voice droned on. “You’ll be strong enough soon. And then tell me what you’ll do. Use your old voice when you talk. Don’t let that inner person take over. You are in control.”
“Then I’ll go to Portugal. To the cabin or thereabouts,” Brooke said. Her voice was soft and subtle as silk. She caught and held the doctor’s eyes, seeing that he was pleased with her words.
A door opened, and a slice of light came into the room from the corridor outside. “The clothing lady’s here, and the hairdresser.”
Brooke couldn’t see the speaker, only his silhouette, but she was glad the hairdresser had been called. Her hair needed rearranging, and her fingernails were too short. She wanted them painted a bright red, with lipstick to match. And what was this thin band on her finger? She wasn’t married, and if she had been, she would have insisted on at least a three-carat diamond. Slipping off the gold ring, she dropped it under the chair. It made a slight tinkling sound, but no one noticed.
The newcomer stepped into the dark room and shut the door behind him. Now she could see that he had olive skin and black hair and eyes, which seemed to never leave her. A large scratch covered his right cheek. “How’s she coming along?” he asked.
“Better than expected,” the doctor said. “It’s good she hasn’t built up a tolerance to drugs of any type. The ones I’m using work much better that way. And I don’t have to give her too much—that could damage her permanently. These are, after all, experimental drugs.”
The olive-skinned man shrugged, his dark, glittering eyes still on Brooke as though entranced. She abruptly recognized him, knowing that the scratch on his cheek had been caused by her own hand when he’d tried to become too friendly. Stupid, she told herself. I shouldn’t have reacted so strongly. He was attractive enough to look at, with that beautiful skin and those heavy-lidded eyes, and he obviously held some high level of esteem in his organization. She could put him to good use in time. Brooke waited for the voice inside to protest, but the doctor’s needle had silenced it. She smiled. She was in control.
“Are you sure she’s given you all the information she has?” the man asked the doctor.
“Yes. She doesn’t know the address to the cabin, just its general whereabouts.”
He rubbed his hands together. “It shouldn’t be too hard to pinpoint. We have the boy’s uncle under surveillance, and if he goes to Portugal, he’ll lead us right to them. We will soon be ready to act.”
“Not yet,” protested the doctor. “It’s too soon. In six months we could be assured of success.”
“We don’t have six months,” sneered the other. “You were recommended because you could get the job done in a short time. You have two days left, at most.”
“I will have to use more drugs. And more severe methods of hypnotism. Her spirit is strong.”
“Use them.”
Brooke knew they were discussing her, but she was really in control. Hadn’t she herself made the video and set everything in motion? They acted now only as she directed. With fluid movements that were becoming more and more natural to her, she took a few steps until she stood in front of the dark man. Their bodies almost touched. Her arms went around his neck, and she kissed him slowly and deeply.
For a moment he didn’t return the kiss, but then she felt him weaken. Yes, he will be easy to control. She drew away with a promise in her smile. His face was expressionless, but the turmoil in his eyes was easy to read. Child’s play. She kissed her finger and gently touched the scratch, her lips drawn into the pout she had seen on the video. His jaw tensed as though he made a great effort at restraint. If the doctor hadn’t been present, he would surely have put his arms around her.
“It seems she will be ready, after all.” The doctor wore a small, amused smile.
Brooke laughed, a light, sultry sound that she’d heard more than a hundred times in the past day. The tenseness in the olive-skinned man’s face increased. “What is your name?” she asked him, ignoring the doctor, who after all was only a simple employee.
“Giorgio. And who are you?”
She laughed again, enjoying the way he reacted to the sound. It maddened him, made him want to hold her, to kiss her again, despite the doctor’s presence. She had always had such an effect on men. She had always been in control. “Don’t you know? Then it’s high time we meet. I’m Laranda Garrettson.”
CHAPTER TEN
“WHO ARE YOU?” AGENT ANDERSON said to the men with the guns. The men stared into the dark, waiting. Neither spoke. Obviously they were hirelings.
Sampson looked at the men and backed away slowly to stand beside Jared and Cassi, fear written on his face. Jared put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He pushed the boy slightly behind him. “If you get a chance, run to the canoe,” he said softly. “We’ll catch up with you. But don’t wait for us. If we get separated, call Fred Schulte at the FBI.” There wasn’t time to tell the child how to go about doing that, but Jared knew the boy was resourceful and would find a way.
Anderson and Worthington had their hands poised, as though at any minute they would reach for their guns and pull them on the intruders. Jared exchanged a glance with Cassi; they would both be ready to escape if the chance came.
Lifting her head slightly, Cassi spoke. “What do you want with us?” Her voice was soft yet firm. Jared saw lines of determination in her face.
“I want what is mine,” came a voice from the dark.
They turned toward the new figure, nearly obscured by the increasing shadow. The man had dark blond hair and hard, dark eyes. Draped around his shoulders was a long black coat, despite the warmth of the evening. He was about Jared’s age but of average height and build. Jared knew he co
uld take the man in a fair fight, though the gun he carried in his right hand didn’t leave him that opportunity.
“Uncle!” The shout came from Sampson. He darted around Jared and threw himself into the man’s arms. The coat slipped aside to reveal a sling around the man’s left arm and shoulder.
“Are you all right, son?”
Sampson nodded. “I knew you’d come. Dad’s dead, and I didn’t . . .” Tears started down Sampson’s cheeks.
“Yes, he’s dead, but I’m here. I’ll take care of you. We’re family. We will go on.” His voice was hard, yet Sampson still clung to him.
“Who are you?” Jared asked.
The man’s hard eyes fixed on them. “I’m TC Brohaugh, Sampson’s uncle. His mother was my sister. It appears that I’m Sampson’s only living relative.”
“His father left him in our care.” Cassi didn’t flinch under Brohaugh’s glare.
“His father is dead, and any arrangement he had with you for temporary custody died with him. I am Sampson’s legal guardian now.”
“What if he doesn’t want to go?” Jared knew the words meant nothing. Sampson obviously wanted to be with his uncle.
“Of course he does. We’re family.”
But would you give him what he needs? Jared desperately wanted to grab Sampson and run. In Cassi’s eyes, he saw a similar emotion.
“How did you find us?” she asked. Jared knew she was stalling for time.
“We’ve been following you. My boys did lose you for a time in France after you left the cabin.”
“You’re the ones who shot at us?”
He shrugged. “I gave orders for my men to get Sampson at all costs. If you had turned him over, they wouldn’t have tried to hurt you.”
“Yeah, right,” Jared murmured under his breath.
“Luckily, my brother-in-law had set up a way to track your whereabouts by Sampson’s credit card. While Quentin was alive, the bank reported only to him. After his death, the notices came to me. That’s how we knew you were in England. We heard about the car bombing and searched the hospitals. We’ve been behind you ever since.” Brohaugh laughed. “It was simple.”
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