“How did I know,” Shadrach said, “that you were going to say that? We have nothing. No leads. No answers. Nada.”
Shadrach rubbed his face. The calluses on his hands scratched against the stubble. Even his hair was getting long. He needed a cut and shave, or this spiral of disappearing into someone who was not a soldier anymore wasn’t going to quit. It was like the marine in him had started to evaporate.
Then there was Remy, in the hospital and telling everyone she didn’t want to see him.
His spotter was dead, his career was over. His twin was gone. He couldn’t help Remy after what Tommy did to her. Life had dealt him this hand, and Shadrach had to play it out.
“Remy will heal.”
Shadrach studied the small town stores across the street. He didn’t want to know how Ben knew what he was thinking. Maybe the man read minds. It would explain a lot. Super-spy with hero powers. That made Shadrach—the sidekick. That couldn’t have been the plan.
He shook his head. “Remy didn’t want me to touch her.” He swallowed. “But she let you do it.”
“And if you got over yourself and actually thought about it for a second you would realize why that was.”
Shadrach whipped around. “What did you just say?”
“Exactly.” Ben looked ready to laugh. “What. I. Am. Talking about.”
“You think I need to get over myself?”
“I think you’re too caught up in your hurt feelings to realize the reason why Remy let me help her on that plane.” Ben paused. “You know what Tommy did to her.”
The blood. Her clothes. It had been obvious what the rogue SEAL had done.
“That’s the reason she didn’t want you.”
“I was trying to help her!”
Ben shook his head. “She wanted someone she knew but didn’t care about. Not the one person she didn’t want to see her like that. She wants you to see her as strong. Not broken.”
Shadrach shook his head. Why was Ben so certain about something that made absolutely no sense whatsoever? Remy didn’t want to see him, and Nadia Marie was gone. He had to figure out his stuff later and instead concentrate on what was within his power to fix.
“So where are we at?” Shadrach ran his hands through his hair. At this point, he would have begged for coffee. But since he’d lived through much worse than a need for caffeine, he kept his mouth shut. “The sheriff didn’t tell us anything except that we weren’t the first people to ask about Bolton and Nadia Marie, and the helicopter wreckage hasn’t even been cleared away yet.”
“So they’re watching the necklace. Whoever they are,” Ben said. “And it pinged on their radar, so they came looking.”
“Before we even got here. Now we have no idea who they were or who sent them. Only that they showed up and asked questions.”
“It’s a lead.”
Shadrach wanted to punch someone. He should have brought Dauntless with him, but the dog didn’t like to fly if he could avoid it. “It makes more sense that Bolton and Nadia Marie would have stayed here and waited for help. Not that they’d take off in the middle of the night and steal the pastor’s car.” Shadrach thought for a second. “Bolton must have known that activating the necklace so we could find Remy would bring whoever is looking…right to the source of the signal.”
Ben nodded. “Precisely.”
The man was testing him? Shadrach liked tests. “Where’s the necklace now?”
“Remy still has it.”
“And someone is protecting her?”
“Yes. Plus Dauntles is there.”
“So when these people who are asking about Bolton and Nadia Marie come to Remy, wanting to know where she got the necklace from so they can find them, what’s going to happen?”
Ben smiled. “That’s why you need to get over yourself and convince her to keep you around.”
Chapter 3
Six Weeks Later
Shadrach tossed the screwdriver back in the tool box and sighed. Six weeks since the sheriff’s office. Six weeks of working this problem and they still had nothing, just a name they’d dug up.
Dante Alvarez.
A name and a broken back door. It’d been jimmied open so the assailant could gain entry to Remy’s house in the middle of the night. Thankfully Shadrach had been on the couch with his German shepherd, Dauntless, two feet away from him on his dog bed. Neither man nor dog had slept in such cushy accommodations in a long time, and not at all in the years they’d been Marine Force Recon. But those days were over, and Dauntless wasn’t the only one moping.
Remy stepped into the room, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t turn around. They’d gotten her back from Tommy, but two days in the hospital and weeks at home and she still wouldn’t even look him in the eye.
Shadrach wondered if they’d ever get back what had been between them before—even if it had been little more than the promise of what could be. Their lives were so different. Remy had multiple degrees, a genius level IQ, and her pick of jobs, many of which were independent government contracts. Yet she chose to work for Ben.
Which made them co-workers.
Shadrach stood. “Door’s fixed.”
“Thank you.” Dauntless’ tags jingled. She was petting him. Had she just thanked the dog?
Sure, Dauntless was the one who had bitten the assailant who’d broken into her house before Shadrach detained him. Some no-name thug, low level enough whoever sent him could keep their hands clean. Ben had come and picked the man up to get some answers through whatever interrogation method Ben used—which Shadrach didn’t want to know about. Been there, done that.
Now they had the boss’s name. Except that Dante was in federal prison, with a Grand Canyon size grudge against Bolton Farrera.
“Thank you, as well.”
He glanced at her. Remy’s big round eyes were like gray-blue marbles. They held him captive until she blinked, and for a moment he was released before she ensnared him once again. Shadrach had never met a woman like her, a woman he couldn’t seem to shake off no matter how pointless it felt to hang around.
Her head tipped to the side. “Are you mad at Ben?”
Shadrach looked away from her eyes and took in all of her. She’d ditched the nerd get-up she’d worn in Sanctuary that had fit her hacker persona. Now she was back in the dress pants and knit sweaters she’d worn when he met her. A business woman with a medical degree, who spent her days researching infectious diseases. Until that road had led her to witness protection. The outside was different, but Remy was still that same woman. The one who’d caught his attention when the military had brought them into the same briefing room in Iraq.
Shadrach, on the other hand, wore the same pair of jeans he’d had for two years. They were just about broken in. His sneakers had seen better days, and the Henley was more about staying warm in spring than fashion. They were polar opposites. Remy was more like Shadrach’s sister, his twin. Nadia Marie had more style than anyone he’d ever met—she’d probably stolen his share in the womb.
“You are.” She sighed. “You’re mad at Ben. It was my idea to keep the necklace.”
“I know that.” When she flinched at his voice, Shadrach pulled out a chair and sat to make himself look smaller. “I know, Rem. That’s why I’m here. The necklace was going to draw out whoever is after Bolton, and thanks to this break-in, we’re a step closer to finding Bolton and Nadia.”
Dante. The man Bolton had testified against, a DEA agent now in federal prison. Something told Shadrach that Ben had already known the answer to that even before the tech guys told them. What Shadrach wanted to know was whether the man who had broken into Remy’s house had any information on where Nadia Marie and Bolton were, or if this Dante and his men were as much in the dark as they were. Shadrach would know if something happened to his twin, but he still wanted to see she was okay with his own eyes.
He gave Remy a small smile. “You could have given the necklace to Ben. Been rid of it. Keeping the necklace was a bo
ld move. Brave.”
Remy touched her red hair with a shaky hand and swiped it back from her face. It hung in loose curls that fell over her shoulders. “I needed to do something strong, even if I didn’t feel that way.” She returned his smile. “Thank you for being here. I don’t think I could have done it if you weren’t.”
Shadrach got up slowly. “Anytime, Remy. Every time.” He stepped closer to her. The more he did it, the more she would get used to him being close and feeling comfort instead of the violation Tommy inflicted on her.
With Remy was where he wanted to be. Where he’d always wanted to be.
He started to move closer.
Her smile shook. “I should get some work done before the whole day is wasted.” Remy was out of the room before Dauntless could even raise his head from the kitchen floor.
Shadrach gave him the command to guard, and headed out the back door. He needed a run.
**
Downtown Seattle, WA
“Darling! You, my dear, are a true artiste!”
Nadia blinked. The customer stared at her in the mirror, and her boss, Melanie Schaffer—of the Boston Schaffers—grabbed her face. She kissed Nadia on both cheeks and tugged on the ends of her chin-length hair. “I knew I did right, hiring you.”
Nadia returned the woman’s bleached smile. An artist? Melanie didn’t know how right she was, even with that painting hanging on the wall in the foyer. It was one of Nadia’s favorites of all the work she’d done.
The customer ripped off the cape and stood, like a ballerina coming out of a bow. “You said she was good, Melanie. You were right.”
“Of course I am!”
The two wandered off to the front counter. Nadia cleared away her scissors, the comb she’d used, and unplugged the curling wand. Familiar smells of hair products and dye saturated the air. This was one of the few moments of peace she had through the day before she went back to the tiny ground floor apartment that was more depressing than the man she shared it with.
Nadia grabbed the broom and started to sweep up the hair. She didn’t understand him.
“You look like a fly could knock you over.”
She smiled but didn’t look up. Between work, extra shifts, and helping Bolton at home, exhaustion had set in about a month before. Makeup helped, but it didn’t fully disguise the dark circles and lines she now had on her face.
Nate, who stood waiting for her to rise to his bait, had a station beside hers. His specialty being the charming of little old ladies who left fat tips. The salon was high end, catering to the wives of bankers, football players, and local millionaires. Nadia was beyond grateful Melanie had given her a shot, even when Nadia had asked for some money up front to buy a couple of outfits for her first week of work.
“How does lunch at Pasquale’s sound?”
Like heaven. But Nadia couldn’t afford heaven. Not when Bolton had found a surgeon to perform the procedure—an experimental and risky surgery—that would hopefully allow him to have full mobility for the rest of his life. They almost had enough money to pay for it.
As soon as the procedure was done, Bolton wouldn’t need her anymore. Then Nadia would find a way home.
Six weeks of hiding from the man who wanted Bolton dead. They’d either done an excellent job of staying out of sight, or the man who hated him just wasn’t coming.
It was time for Nadia to face the fact Bolton wasn’t going to let her in, and there was no way to draw him out. She wanted to know what his plans were for after the surgery, but the man wouldn’t even share where he was getting the cash he came home with every day. He was saving, like her, but what work he did was a mystery.
“Right. You’re probably having lunch with that boyfriend of yours.” Nate paused. “It’s the wheelchair, isn’t it?”
Nadia held the broom handle in front of her and looked at him.
“Okay, so it’s not. But seriously, why are you with him?” Nate waited again. It was his thing—pause long enough for thoughts to begin to gather and then cut them off. “Does he make you happy?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Girl.” Nate hopped off the chair and sauntered over. Women young and old drooled over the slender man and his baby face. Nadia just rolled her eyes. “It’s always complicated.”
To his credit, he didn’t seem concerned that she didn’t respond to him the way everyone else did.
“It won’t last much longer,” she said. “He’s having surgery. When he’s healthy again, I’m going to go find my life.”
“Girl…”
Nadia grabbed the sandwich she’d packed that morning and went to the break room. A sandwich Bolton had made. Every morning she had to work, there was a fresh sandwich in the fridge for her to take with her. But she didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Even if Nate cared for real, Bolton was too much of a mystery. One she couldn’t figure out.
The salon was quiet when she preferred busy days. They kept her mind from the fact Bolton hadn’t talked to her in weeks. Not really. When it was quiet her thoughts drifted back to that small town hospital. The sheriff’s uncomfortable questions, and disappearing from town in the middle of the night in a stolen car. Hiding for weeks, no phones, using only cash from odd jobs. No record of who they were, no licenses. A nasty apartment, but one they could lease under false names from a man who accepted cash rent and didn’t ask questions.
She’d been Marie since the helicopter exploded. A semblance of who she was that she’d been able to retain even through all this. Though Bolton had bought awful box color and made her cut her hair to disguise her appearance, while he wheeled around in a ball cap to hide his face. Two weeks after the helicopter, they’d driven into Seattle. The first thing Nate had done when they’d met was fix her hair for free. Nadia had been so happy she’d nearly cried—she’d felt like herself again. Almost.
Dante will find us, and he’ll make us beg for death before he kills us.
Both of them had diminished in the weeks since, always looking over their shoulders. She would wake in the middle of the night to hear Bolton moaning on the floor across the room from her. In the midst of his own bad dream. Still, he wouldn’t open up. The man she had thought she’d had feelings for was gone, and Nadia didn’t know how to get him back.
We have to do this. It’s not for much longer, and then I’ll be back on my feet.
But what would come after that?
Shadrach had to be crazy with worry. Who knew what Ben or his brother thought about her disappearance? Or the sheriff. Andra. Nadia’s heart ached for her friends. Her town. Her church.
Part of her didn’t want to believe her life in Sanctuary was over, but the rules stated that once a person left they could never go back. Children who grew up in Sanctuary could leave for college but could never return. Anyone who left the safety of the ring of mountains that protected their town from the rest of the world opened themselves up to danger. Stepping outside was hard enough, given no roads led into town. The only way out was by helicopter or small plane, like the ones the military used to deliver the mail once a week. Now she was out. But not by choice. Nadia hurt—the ache to go back was so strong.
Melanie walked in, shut the door, and sat down at Nadia’s table.
“Melanie.” Nadia swiped crumbs into her hand and discarded them in the trash with her balled up plastic wrap.
“Marie. How are you doing?”
Nadia sighed and sat back at the table. Melanie wasn’t going to let her go back to work if she thought something was wrong. The woman understood the nuances of people’s moods, but she was also a shrewd business woman when she needed to be. Nadia had seen her diffuse a trophy wife’s claim her hair had been ruined, to such an extent the woman had left smiling ten minutes later. Nadia knew she was Melanie’s good deed for the year. The pity-hire. But she wouldn’t be there unless she could also do great work.
“I’m fine, thank you.”
Melanie sat straight in her chair, her posture that of a care
er model or dancer. “I don’t believe you.”
Nadia opened her mouth.
“I’ve been wondering for a while now how to say this, and I’ve decided to just come out and tell you.” Melanie leaned forward. “I know.”
“You…know?”
“I figured it out a couple of days after you started working here.”
“You know I’ll always be so grateful to you for taking a chance on me.”
Melanie patted Nadia’s hand. “I know, dear. Do you remember me commenting on the painting above the front desk? It’s my favorite. I’ve redecorated the salon four times and never once changed that painting for a newer one.”
Nadia swallowed. Melanie did know.
“I like to keep abreast of what’s happening in the art world, and so I was astounded to hear that the painter of that very piece had been involved in dealings of forgery and murder.”
Melanie didn’t blink.
“A young woman, very young at the time. Flamboyant, a woman of the world who adored style. I would have given my fortune for her to walk in my shop and allow me to work on her hair.”
Nadia felt the smile curl the edges of her mouth.
Melanie lifted her phone so that Nadia could see the screen. The picture was from years ago, right after her first gallery showing. She’d been impulsive, idealistic, and ecstatic at the sudden influx of money. A starving artist no more, only her brother had been able to pull her back from total indulgence.
But it wasn’t the picture that arrested her. Nadia had wanted to get her hands on a phone for weeks. There were no payphones, not anymore. She wasn’t allowed to tie up the desk phone with personal calls, and she had yet to ask someone if she could borrow their cell. If she could get on a computer, she could find the number for the Marshals’ office in D.C.
With access to a phone, she could reach out to someone who knew who she was. Someone who could help her.
Melanie set the phone down. “I refuse to believe that woman—you—are satisfied with this life you lead now. You were a true artist, and you do great work here. Don’t get me wrong.” She leaned forward. “But, whoever you are now. It isn’t you.”
Sanctuary Deceived WITSEC Town Series Book 4 Page 3
