Seconds to Live (Scarlet Falls)

by Melinda Leigh

  “If she was dead or unconscious, how did she disappear?” Stella asked.

  “That’s the important question, isn’t it?”

  Dena Miller went missing after a violent altercation. Why would she be lying across a rural road, miles from her house? And if she was, how did she get there? Mac’s story was plain crazy, but what were the chances a thin woman with short hair disappeared and he saw another thin woman with short hair under equally strange circumstances the same night?

  Stella shifted gears. “How did you get shot?”

  He closed the donut box and sat back in his chair. “I spent the last few weeks in the Amazon on assignment. My partner took some photos of coca dealers. They didn’t appreciate it.”

  “But you study river otters.”

  He studied her face for a few seconds. “Not exactly.” He set his coffee down, and his eyes turned serious. “Do you trust me, Stella?”

  “In what way?” A vague sense of discomfort tossed the sandwich in Stella’s belly. What had Mac gotten himself into?

  “You’re going to find my story a little hard to believe, but I need your assistance.”

  She planted both palms on the table and held his gaze. “If you’re in some sort of trouble, you need to be straight with me. I can’t help you if you’re holding back important information.”

  Mac leaned his forearms on the table and leveled his eyes with hers. “I’m a DEA agent.”

  Chapter Ten

  Mac needed her help to find that woman and prove he hadn’t imagined her.

  If he was really going to be honest with himself, he wanted Stella to know he was one of the good guys. Since he was a teenager, he’d been unable to shake his reputation. He’d been clean and sober for twelve years, and his family still doubted him.

  Tonight it felt suddenly and inexplicably important that Stella believed his story.

  “I thought the DEA had a strict policy of not hiring anyone with prior drug experience.”

  “I didn’t ask for the job. They came to me.” Mac knew the DEA’s policies. “I had a particular skill set they needed.” Lately, he’d wondered if he was listed as a disposable asset. His former boss had sought Mac’s help, but the region was under new management. Mac’s new boss didn’t want to give up a valuable source of information, but he didn’t seem to mind putting Mac into dangerous situations. A few years ago, Mac hadn’t cared, but Lee’s death had changed his perspective.

  Her lips pursed. “Dangerous job.”

  His hand strayed to his bandage. He probably shouldn’t have told her, but he couldn’t take back his admission now. Maybe that was the point.

  Stella frowned, deepening a vertical line between her brows. “How long?”

  “Three years.”

  “Three years of hanging out in the jungle, snooping on drug traffickers, and pretending to be studying otters?”

  “Well, I actually do observe the otters. I’ve published several papers on family group behavior. Local kids are always wandering into camp. It’s important that my cover be well-established.” Mac sank back into his chair. “And I like otters.”

  She deadpanned.

  “What?” He raised a hand, palm up. “Otters are badass.”

  “Seriously?” Stella shook her head in disbelief.

  “They eat piranha. Once, I saw four adults kill a young caiman that showed too much interest in their den.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” She stabbed the table with a forefinger. “When I first met you, everyone treated you as if you were a space cadet, but I knew it was an act. You’re smart, and you were too good at planning that search last November. Now it all makes perfect sense.”

  Mac felt heat rise into his face.

  “Do your brother and sister know about the job with the DEA?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I didn’t want them to worry.”

  Her head tilted. “Why did you tell me?”

  Good question. The first time he’d met her, Stella Dane had left an impression on him that he hadn’t been able to shake. But he could hardly tell her that. “You’re a good cop, and I want you to take this disappearing woman seriously.”

  Her face turned solemn. “I would have anyway. I only asked for a drug test because your story was so strange, and I was concerned.”

  She’d been worried about him. The idea pleased him. Most people simply assumed the worst, but Stella was different, which brought on a whole other set of concerns. Mac would be heading back to Brazil in eight weeks. He was spread thin trying to establish a connection with his family. But Stella . . .

  She made him think about things he’d never considered before, like not coming home to an empty house. Like having someone to share a late-night meal.

  Or his bed.

  “So that’s what you were doing when you were shot? Investigating drug traffickers.”

  “I’ve been working in that region studying wildlife since I was an undergraduate. I know many of the villagers. Until I went to work for the DEA, I was a simple wildlife biologist studying the effects of deforestation and pollution on giant river otters. Now my expeditions are funded by a fake university that’s actually a front for the DEA. Before this trip, I always worked alone, but my new boss wanted me to have a team.” In reality, his new boss hadn’t trusted him. “So this time I was paired with a special agent and a guide. We were only supposed to observe,” he said. “There’s been an increase in traffic on the Amazon River from Peru and Colombia into Brazil. Our job was to report who was moving what.”

  “How did you end up with the DEA?”

  “I am a wildlife biologist, but three years ago, I accidentally ran into drug traffickers who’d captured two agents. They were in the process of torturing them. I couldn’t walk away.”

  “You saved them?” Stella slid her cardboard cup back and forth between her hands.

  “I set the place on fire. When the traffickers left the men inside to burn, I went in after them.”

  “Interesting tactic.”

  “I was outnumbered twelve machine guns to my machete. Not good odds.” Mac traced a scar in his oak table. Even if he’d failed and the agents had burned, a quick death by fire would have been better than an entire night of having their bits and pieces lopped off one by one. Mac had known from personal experience that drug traffickers were the bane of humanity, but seeing them in action had flipped a switch inside him. Before that night, he’d never taken a life. But he’d killed three men, easily, almost automatically, as the Colonel’s training and Mac’s muscle memory had taken over his body.

  Respect crossed Stella’s face, and maybe a little shock, as if the true risk of his job was just sinking in. Was that why he’d told her? To impress a pretty girl? She wasn’t just a pretty girl, he reasoned. She was a cop. They were on the same side. Maybe it was time he gave up being the Lone Ranger.

  “So the DEA recruited you?”

  “It felt good to strike back at the people who flood our country with the poison that ruins lives.”

  “Like yours?”

  “Yes. Like mine.” And everyone else in his family who’d been affected by his bad choices.

  Stella nodded. “What happened to the rest of your team?”

  “My guide conveniently disappeared, and my partner was killed.” In his mind’s eye, Cheryl reached out to him through the rain. He blinked it away. In his heart, he knew the bureaucrat who’d assigned an inexperienced field agent to his team was to blame, but that knowledge didn’t ease his conscience.

  “I’m sorry.” She digested that tidbit for a minute. “Was your cover compromised?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “If it was, going back there would be suicide.”

  And it wouldn’t be a pleasant way to go. The drug cartels liked to make examples of people who crossed them. Mac was attached to all his bits and pieces. “I haven’t decided yet. But I’m pretty tough. Thanks to the Colonel, I could probably survive a zombie apocalypse.”

&nbs
p; But his joke didn’t erase her worried frown.

  “I don’t want anything to happen to you,” she said.

  Mac tapped his bandaged side with his fingertips. “I have at least eight weeks to think about it.”

  “Don’t take any stupid risks. No job is worth that.”

  Three years ago, Mac had thought making a dent in the drug trade was worth his life. But two things had changed since then. His efforts had very little effect on drug trafficking, and Lee’s death had made him feel new connections with his remaining family.

  “You could always go back to being a biologist—a badass biologist,” she corrected, her eyes teasing.

  Had a woman ever made him blush? No. Stella was definitely an original.

  But Mac couldn’t think about his future. Not yet. “So you’ll look for the woman?”

  “I told you I was already looking for her.” Irritation sharpened her voice. She clasped her hands on the table. “Earlier today I caught the case of a missing woman. Thin. Short dark hair. Possibly taken from her house while she was showering. We’ve had a BOLO alert out since this afternoon.”

  The relief that swept over Mac was staggering. He hadn’t imagined Cheryl’s body was lying across a dark, rainy road. He hadn’t gone crazy. The woman he’d seen was real. “I want to help.” The offer was out of his mouth before his brain had a chance to consider it. “Please. I need to.”

  “I don’t know. I’ll have to clear it with my boss. In order to do that, I’ll have to tell him everything. Brody, too. And I’m sure he’ll tell Hannah . . .”

  Hannah would tell Grant. The only question remaining was how early all the fan-hitting would happen and could he get out of bed and escape into the forest before the family drama ensued. And there he went again, trying to avoid the people in his life who cared about him. No more running. Tomorrow he was going to be straight with his siblings. He owed that to Lee. He owed it to all of them.

  “I’m tired of secrets,” he said. “You know I’m going to look for this woman with or without your help.”

  “I wouldn’t expect anything else. You are a Barrett.” She yawned. “I’ll call you in the morning.”

  “My cell is in my Jeep, and I don’t have a landline.” He ducked back into the kitchen for a notepad but settled for the back of an envelope. “If you give me your number, I’ll call you when I get my phone back.”

  “You’ll be stranded here.” She wrote down her number.

  “I have a bike in the shed. I can ride into town. But I plan to be unconscious for the next eight hours.” He rolled his shoulder. His body ached from the accident and everything else he’d put it through over the last two days.

  Stella reached into her pocket and pulled out the vial of pills from the hospital. She set it on the table. “In case you want a decent night’s sleep.”

  The woman could read his mind. Her gaze lingered on his face. Would it be too rude to ask her to come and wrap him in plastic again tomorrow? Probably.

  “Get some rest,” she said.

  Walking out onto the porch, he watched her get into her car and then drive away. The forest loomed deep and dark around his cabin. An owl hooted. A few seconds later, the high-pitched death squeal of a small creature pierced the humid air. Isolation closed around him. Usually, he considered solitude his best friend, but not tonight.

  His back ached, and he studied the prescription bottle. Maybe he should stop punishing himself. He filled a glass with water and swallowed one tablet. Then he put fresh sheets on his bed and checked under the bed and behind the headboard in case any brown recluses had decided to make a new home. He respected spiders, but he didn’t want to sleep with one. Stripping off his clothes, he stretched out on the cool sheets. Warm night air and forest sounds drifted over him.

  He must have fallen asleep because when he opened his eyes, pale gray light brightened the room. A scratching sound in the front of his cabin sent a burst of adrenaline into his veins. He raised his head, reaching for the knife he kept in his nightstand, just as his bedroom door squeaked open and a hulking figure shadowed the doorway.

  Chapter Eleven

  The smell of rubber—and the balled up piece of cloth he’d shoved into her mouth—gagged her. Pain roared through her neck, hot and sharp, blotting out the minor aches in the rest of her body and the sting of the glass cuts on her hands and feet. Not even the adrenaline of terror could dull its force.

  Running away had been a very bad idea.

  With her hands bound behind her back, Dena curled on her side in the trunk of a car, her shoulder pressed into the thin carpet that covered the spare tire well. She breathed through her nose, the thin fabric of the hood he’d fastened around her neck flattening against her face. It was soft and smelled of fabric softener. A pillowcase?

  The trunk was hot, nearly suffocating, but a full-body shiver quaked her bones. She breathed through a wave of terror, but fear seized her by the lungs. Despair cut off her next breath. Lightheaded, her mind spun.

  Why?

  The car lurched, and Dena bounced. The delicate skin of her breast rubbed as her body slid on the scratchy carpet. The sudden movement jarred her out of her paralysis. Her lungs expelled stale air in a whoosh, and she gasped around her gag to refill them. Tears leaked from her eyes and ran hot over her skin.

  She couldn’t give up. But fighting wasn’t an option; she was trussed like a suckling pig. She had to survive. Bide her time. Wait for an opportunity.

  An opportunity to do what? Escape again? She was naked, blindfolded, gagged, and bound in the trunk of a car. How the hell could she possibly save herself?

  He couldn’t keep her in here forever. Eventually, he’d need to stop. Of course, he’d be more careful this time. She’d lost the element of surprise when she’d leaped from the trunk at a stop sign. He’d removed the trunk release lever, but she’d had a lucky find of the cable. Unfortunately, she’d been in the middle of nowhere and hadn’t been fast or clever enough to get away. But running barefoot through the woods in the driving rain for hours had been hopeless. With clothes and boots and a flashlight, he’d tracked her down like an animal.

  Like prey.

  Surely, after all he’d gone through to kidnap and keep her, he wouldn’t just kill her quickly. He must have a plan. She’d have time.

  Please, let there be time.

  Irony nearly made her giddy. Laughter that bordered on insanity stirred in her chest.

  She should have left last week. She’d been planning for months, hiding money, researching bus and train schedules, recruiting a trusted friend to help her disappear, friends Adam didn’t even know existed. But she’d waited too long. If she had left when she’d originally planned, she’d be in the Keys by now, sipping a margarita and digging her toes into the sand.

  Alone. Free. At peace.

  Now she would never be free.

  The trunk opened, and through the thin fabric over her eyes, she saw a shadow lean over her. She recoiled, instinct driving her to squirm as far away as possible. But the space didn’t allow for much movement. Her bare back hit the carpeted rear of the trunk.

  His hands closed around her arms. He pulled her forward and scooped her under her knees and back. Grunting, he hoisted her over the lip of the trunk and dropped her into a container of some kind. The skin of her side and arm hit wet, cold metal. The pain in her neck exploded. Her vision dimmed and her body went limp. Her legs dangled over the side, the rim digging into the back of her knees. A wheel squeaked as she lurched into motion.

  A wheelbarrow?

  They stopped. A door opened and closed. She jolted as they moved forward again. Terror drove her heart to pound faster, as if she were still running away. As if she still had a chance.

  Where was she?

  She strained to hear anything above the slamming echo of her own pulse. Her fear and pain were deafening.

  She held her breath for a few seconds, then forced her lungs to expand slowly, drawing air deep into her belly. If she
meditated long enough, she could make her muscles relax and chase the pain into a corner. But there was no relaxing in the face of her current situation.

  The wheelbarrow squeaked onward, tipping forward as if descending a ramp. They went down and down, seemingly into the bowels of the Earth.

  Another door opened. Rough hands lifted her from the wheelbarrow and deposited her on what felt like cold tile. Fingers at her throat loosened the tie, and he yanked the pillowcase hood from her head.

  An overhead light blinded her.

  A quiet voice sent fresh horror sliding through her veins. “We’ve been over this before, but I’ll repeat myself. If you resist, I will hurt you. As you know, I am a man who keeps my word.”

  He stared at the woman on the tile. Her naked body was covered in mud, bits of wet grass, and dead leaves. Tears ran in clean streaks down her filthy face. Mucus leaked from her nose.

  Disgust curled inside him. “You are a dirty, dirty girl.”

  She’d been clean when he’d taken her from the shower. Well, she could just as easily be clean again. With a gloved hand, he turned on the faucet. Old pipes groaned. Water rained down on her, and mud sluiced from her bony frame. A few droplets bounced off the tile and onto the legs of his coveralls.

  She was pale and thin-skinned. Makeup and clothes usually gave her an attractive outward appearance, but without the commercial beauty trappings, her true ugliness shone through her facade. She had no fat over her bones. Blue veins streaked across her body and the outline of her ribs was clearly visible. If he hadn’t known better, he’d think she was a corpse.

  This was the real Dena.

  Pathetic. Weak. Deceptive. She was no better than the rest.

  How would she handle the test he’d designed for her?

  A sob seeped out from behind the gag in her mouth. Her eyes pleaded.

  “I told you what would happen if you didn’t cooperate. You’ve given me no choice. It’s all your own fault.” Grabbing the showerhead, he lifted it from its hook to better direct the spray. Sturdy nylon rope bound her ankles and wrists, making it difficult for her to worm away from the cold water.