Colton's Amnesia Target (The Coltons of Kansas)

by Kimberly van Meter - A Sinclair Homecoming (The Sinclairs of Alaska)

  She only had birdshot on her at the moment, having left buckshot locked in a basement safe in the part of the farmhouse that had remained intact after the explosion. Birdshot would give enough of a kick, though, to at least scare off the intruders. At a minimum it would buy her time to get away. All of this depended on them not having their own firearms, of course.

  Coral wanted to crawl into her camper, lock the door and pretend she’d heard nothing. It’d be easier. But it might be a deadly choice. Why had she allowed her mother’s fear to seep through her peace of mind?

  Another loud verbal exchange ricocheted across the field. Whoever was here didn’t realize she was on the property, or they’d be a lot quieter. She made her way toward the voices, and within twenty yards or so she saw flashlight beams swinging across the field on the far side of the barn’s foundation. Where the barn had once stood, the framework for the new building had begun to take shape. She looked through the skeletal structure to where at least two men methodically ran their lights over the ground. Using the darkness and her knowledge of the property to stay concealed, she crept forward until she reached one of the large construction vehicles, where she crouched out of the trespassers’ line of sight.

  It was the exact place where she’d found the locked fire-safe box yesterday, among the other rubble and debris the construction workers had piled as they cleared the barn site. And now there were strangers who appeared to be searching for something in her field. She knew she should have tried to get the safe open right away, but she’d been too busy. If there was money in the box that Aunt Brenda had hidden, the box was vulnerable in her tiny camper.

  Coral shoved down the fear that clawed at her. She had to call the police without being detected by the intruders.

  She made out two large figures standing over a spot they had their flashlights pointed to. A third person seemed to be doing something on the ground. The familiar sound of a spade hitting dirt, and then a rock, echoed off the machinery she hid behind. As their flashlight beams landed on each other, she took note of their features as best she could. Until one mark, a tattoo on one of the men’s arms, made her pulse trip.

  Bratva. Written in Cyrillic, the Russian word for brother was stamped on the man’s forearm. She’d only seen a tattoo like that once before, on Trevor’s arm as he signed their divorce papers. She’d googled its meaning and knew it was related to Russian Organized Crime gang activity. Since her ex-husband did undercover work, it made sense he’d have it, and she’d never thought about it again. Hadn’t needed or, heck, hadn’t wanted to think about the kind of danger he put himself in on a regular basis.

  Until tonight. She knew there had to be thousands of Russian gangsters with the same tattoo. A sudden deep longing for Trevor to be here, to help her, stunned her as much as terrified her.

  She had to shake this and take care of what was in front of her. Trevor was long gone, her ex, part of her history. Right now she had probable criminal activity in front of her nose.

  Three strange men on her property, digging. Her mind raced with possibilities. She fought against her shaking hands as she pulled out her phone and dialed 9-1-1.

  “Emergency Services, what is your emergency?” The dispatcher’s voice was calm, competent. And too loud, even pressed against her ear, with no chance of the men hearing it.

  “Please send police ASAP.” She whispered the farm address, her hand cupped over her mouth and phone in an effort to muffle her voice.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, can you speak up?”

  “No.” The digging sounds stopped, and her heart pounded in time with her fear.

  “Did you hear that?” A man’s deep, heavily accented voice reached her, and she stayed still, frozen as she prayed he wasn’t talking about her.

  “Yeah. Over there.” Another voice. Flashes of light beams bounced off the ground surrounding her as they aimed their flashlights toward the machinery. They couldn’t see her hiding behind the construction vehicle’s huge tire yet, but she heard their steps as they approached.

  Coral left her phone on so that the police could track her, send help. It wouldn’t arrive in time, though. All she had left for defense was her rifle. She couldn’t afford to speak to the dispatch operator again, so she turned the volume down as she set the still-connected phone atop the construction digger. SVPD was competent—they’d saved her life along with those of hundreds of patrons during the winter gala—and she had complete faith that they’d arrive as soon as they could. Problem was she had to defend herself now.

  “I don’t see anyone.” The man sounded grouchy, as if being out here was beneath him.

  “Quiet!” A strong, lethal voice. Its owner wasn’t going to leave until they found her. Coral released the safety, unable to keep the click of the older rifle from sounding. She inwardly groaned.

  The footsteps stopped, and she made her move. Standing quickly, she aimed at what she now saw were three men. She prepared to fire her rifle, its butt nestled in her shoulder, her legs propped wide.

  “Stop. What are you doing on my property?”

  Flashlights in her face but not her vision—she deliberately kept her gaze lower than she pointed the barrel, at the men’s feet. She’d anticipated their action. A sense of power, albeit tiny, gave her confidence.

  “Who the hell are you?” The cranky one.

  “Answer him now. Who are you?” The one in charge, the one with the scary tone. The third man remained silent.

  “You are on private property. You are trespassing. Turn and leave now or I’m calling the police.” No way would she let them know she already had. If they took off for the main highway, they’d be easier for SVPD to pick up.

  The men’s dark laughter drew her up short.

  “We never take orders from anyone else, lady.” The angry man’s voice was all she heard before a shot rang out. The whir of the bullet sounded next to her ear right before the loud clang erupted as it hit the digger’s shovel right next to her head. She flinched but held her position. Without a second thought, Coral fired off two rounds, aimed at the legs of her trespassers.

  Howls and grunts filled the air, but she didn’t wait to see whom she’d hit. She turned and ran in the opposite direction, toward her parked car. She kept the keys under the mat. All she needed was enough of a lead to get in, lock the doors and take off.

  Suddenly the car that was always right at hand during her working hours seemed miles away. Her flip-flops were no match for the loose gravel underfoot, and her thrice-weekly sweaty gym workouts didn’t appear to make any difference as the sound of pounding footsteps behind her grew louder and louder, her pursuer closing in. It was one of the men she either hadn’t shot or hadn’t injured seriously enough to stop. His breath became audible, emphasizing how close he was. Unlike how her gasps for air felt, out of control and nowhere near giving her enough oxygen, his pants were deeper, more even. As if he chased down women on a daily basis.

  Her worst nightmare came true when his hand grabbed her by her shoulder, which she wasn’t prepared for. In the self-defense classes she’d taken at Trevor’s insistence, she’d been taught that her long ponytail was most likely how she’d be grabbed from behind. Adrenaline surged with hope, and she twisted to escape, but a painful pull on her hair, followed by her feet going out from under her, made freedom a fleeting dream.

  Was this how she was going to die? At the hands of some random killers, on a warm Silver Valley night, on the land where she’d learned to walk?

  Images of her childhood were quickly engulfed by her last image of Trevor as she packed her bags and left what had been their only home together.

  Her brain’s attempt to review her life crashed to a halt as her body landed hard atop a pile of rubble cleared by the construction workers. Her head snapped back, and the harsh contact of her skull to rock took her breath away. She thought she might throw up. A moan escaped her as the sparks
dimmed behind her eyelids.

  “She’s not so bad. We could have fun before we finish her.” The mean one, with the heavy accent.

  “Not a bad idea.” The one she’d thought was in charge, but he sounded out of breath. Panting. She’d shot him, then. “But we have to get out of here now.”

  “Yeah, she probably already called the cops.” A third voice with the same accent, but also something...familiar. She’d taken a huge whack to the head, and it was messing with her perception.

  Her bearings leveled, and while her head pounded, she was able to open her eyes. One man stood over her, as if pondering what to do with her. Was she going to be tortured, raped, killed?

  Their flashlights weren’t on her for a brief few seconds as they argued. She took advantage of reaching to her side for the rifle, lying where it had dropped when she was knocked down. These didn’t sound like the smartest criminals, but she knew they were deadly. They had weapons more lethal than her rifle. All she had to do was incapacitate them until the cops came.

  A siren sounded, and she wanted to shout in relief. Until the flashlight was in her face again.

  “Kill her now, before the police come. She’s heard our voices.” The leader, still sounding as if he was in pain. Good.

  She didn’t hesitate as she brought the rifle up and turned onto her knees, shooting at the two men on the ground. But she couldn’t see and didn’t hear any groans or cries. She’d missed.

  “Kill her now, Adam.” The grouchy one.

  “I give the orders.” The leader. “We could have fun with her first.” A belt being unbuckled, followed by the sound of a zipper sent a cold shock of fear through Coral. They wouldn’t risk being caught by the police, would they?

  “Wait. I’ll take her out.” The third, steady voice. It still reminded her of—no. It was the head injury playing tricks with her. She tried to see past the flashlight in her eyes, held up her arm to protect her vision. Only when the man held his flashlight to his face and his features came into view did Coral know she wasn’t hallucinating. She had recognized a familiar voice. The only man she’d ever loved, the man who’d broken her heart, the man who’d promised to always be there for her but then left their marriage in favor of his career, time and again.

  “Trevor?”

  * * *

  Trevor Stone never took his eye off the ball while undercover. Never. But as he fought to keep these thugs from harming Coral while processing the fact that he still had to get her out of here, he was distracted. The last several days, working alongside ROC gang members, he’d felt her nearby, as if the invisible thread that connected them had come alive again.

  He’d known she lived here, knew this was the farm she’d inherited. He knew what one rogue ROC member had done to the barn last January and hadn’t been able to fight his protective instincts toward his ex, years after they split. He’d volunteered for the mission, stupidly thinking that he’d be able to ensure her safety while not coming into direct contact with her.

  What he could never have predicted was how he’d react when face-to-face with Coral again.

  His hands clenched painfully tight, and all he wanted was to throw Coral over his shoulder and run for the Appalachian Mountains that surrounded Silver Valley. Take her far from this night, to a place where ROC couldn’t touch her. And yes, away from seeing him again, especially like this.

  The raw fact that she was about to be assassinated by one of the two lower-level ROC crooks was all that kept him focused. The complication that she’d just blown his cover, carefully cultivated over the past two years, was a sideshow. One he’d have to address, but later, after he got her out of here alive. When he was far from her, and knew she was safe.

  “What did she call you? Who is Trevor?” Disbelief, suspicion, anger snaked across the ground as the two other men cried out, and he figured he had about two seconds to act.

  “Stupid bitch took a hit to her head.” He spoke as Grisha, the undercover identity he’d adopted to help the Trail Hikers, the secret government agency that he worked for, and his sole focus was to break up the ROC’s hold on the East Coast.

  “I’m not a bitch, and my head isn’t that messed up. It is you, isn’t it?” At least she’d lowered her voice. It wouldn’t be a surprise to her to know he was still doing undercover work. How could she forget? It had been the death knell of their marriage.

  Coral’s initial appearance of frailty after the conk on her head had morphed into righteous anger. He didn’t blame her, but he couldn’t keep looking at her. Three long years without one glance at her, without her eyes on him, without the sound of her voice, threatened to destroy any focus he had left.

  He gave himself a quick mental shake. If she didn’t get them killed with her words, he was going to blow it with his inability to block out the distraction that was Coral.

  “We have to get out of here.” He addressed the other two men, both young and not the brightest, working for Ivanov, the ROC head honcho. “The cops are coming. You two take off. I’ll meet up later. I’ll take care of her, trust me.” He nodded at the road, and the two men craned their necks to verify his claim. The sirens screamed in the night, and he saw the flashing lights move down the highway in the distance. He took the opportunity to lift Coral from her bent position and pulled her up against him, his arm raised as if he was going to strike her.

  “Don’t talk. Follow my lead. And don’t say my name again.” He murmured into her ear, his lips against her skin out of necessity. He couldn’t risk the others hearing him. “Now yell when I move my arm, like I’ve hit you.”

  Coral’s strangled gasp nearly threw him out of his reality as an undercover agent posing as a working ROC stiff. Her voice tried to drag his mind back to hazy, hot California days when they’d spent all day in bed, getting up only to eat. It wasn’t fair that a single sound from her still did this to him. That the surreal connection they shared hadn’t perished with their marriage.

  “Kill her now, Grish.” Adam was pissed, in pain from the gunshot wound, and wanted Trevor to prove he wasn’t Trevor, that Coral really was suffering from a severe head trauma. ROC agents weren’t high on trust, and Trevor, as Grisha, was new to their local group.

  “It’d be stupid to do it here. She’s easier to move while she can still walk. Let me take care of her, then I’ll come back for you both. Stay low, don’t use your flashlights. The police will stop at the farmhouse first. We’ve got time.” He wrapped his arm around Coral’s waist—she was thinner, but still steely strong—and half dragged, half ran with her to where he’d seen her car earlier in the day, when he’d made his own excursion out here.

  Self-recrimination threatened to stop him in his tracks as he knew he should have made doubly sure she wouldn’t be on the property when ROC came looking for Markova’s treasure. But he’d run out of time to verify his source who’d told him she’d be out tonight. Even with her being here, he’d never have expected she’d catch them—usually his ROC associates were somewhat competent. Unlike these two.

  Thank God for inept thugs.

  When they were what he estimated was halfway to her car, he pulled out his pistol and held her tight with his other arm. “Hang on. I’m going to shoot at the ground, to let them think it’s you.” He quickly fired two shots at the dirt, making sure the bullets had nothing to bounce off, making it sound like he’d just eliminated a witness.

  The sirens were close, and he saw the patrols turn into the long drive leading to the barn area.

  “What are you doing here, Trevor?” Her voice shook, but he couldn’t tell if it was shock or anger. Probably both.

  “I’ll explain later. Right now we can’t be seen by anyone.”

  “But that’s the police—I called them.”

  “I can’t be spotted, and for now you’re with me.” He had no way of knowing which officers were reporting, and he couldn’t risk being taken
into custody. Only two SVPD officers were cut in on his deep undercover work.

  Now the woman on his arm was one more added to the list of people in the know. The woman he’d never forgotten, whom he’d still go through hell and damnation for. His ex-wife, Coral.

  Don’t forget she’s your ex.

  “Where are your car keys?”

  “In my car, under the mat.”

  “Is there still a back way out of here, through the woods?”

  They were even with the car, and he indicated she should get into the passenger seat and he’d get behind the wheel.

  “The road’s still there, but right now there’s a huge pile of debris from what was left of the barn after the explosion. The workers started moving it there this week.” He felt her gaze on him through the darkness as he drove without headlights toward their escape.

  She pointed at a side road, not more than a dirt path.

  “You’ll have to drive around the pile of burned-out barn. And then how about you let me out, and I’ll wait for the police to get those other two men. You can go ahead on your own, Trevor. I don’t want anything to do with this.”

  “I don’t want you to have anything to do with this, either, Coral, but neither of us have a choice. You’ve been identified by ROC—Russian Organized Crime.”

  “I know what ROC is. They took out my barn.” No sense of martyrdom, only resignation. Coral’s ability to deal with whatever life threw her way had always impressed him. He’d had to fight to learn adaptability, first in the Marines and then working undercover.

  “Then you know they play for keeps.” He reached the eight-foot-tall heap of charred wood and stones and drove around it, the ground bumpy and uneven off the gravel road.

  “You mean like you said you did?” Slam, right to the heart of where they’d left off, why their marriage had failed. He’d never held up his end of their commitment. The divorce had been his fault, as had the irreparable harm he’d caused her.