by Marlow Kelly
In the long months of his convalescence, he’d pictured the moment when he’d finally get to look Sinclair in the eye. But he’d imagined she would be staring back at him with affection. He was wrong. Considering the beating she’d endured, maybe he should focus on her safety instead of his feelings. He sighed. “Remember when David was in trouble and I went undercover at PDE to prove he was innocent?”
She nodded.
“I also discovered an organization that calls themselves the Syndicate. Marshall Portman was scared of them. They’re the ones who employed Harper, the gunman who shot up Big Sky News.” He paused, wondering how much detail she needed.
“And?”
“And when Tim’s neighbor was killed—”
“They killed that old mountain man?” Her voice rose, but she seemed less agitated.
“No. They killed the local police chief.”
“Chief Booley, the one that framed Tim?”
“The very same. I think he was trying to blackmail Lance Ackerman. A businessman, who I suspect, was part of the Syndicate.”
“Okay, but that doesn’t explain why I hid you.”
“That’s on me.” Finn pushed away from the desk and took a step closer, his arms still folded across his chest.
“Explain.” Sinclair mirrored his body language and crossed her arms.
Finn pursed his lips, obviously considering how much he could tell her.
“Finn, there are innocents involved. I need to know.” Her cheeks flushed, a sure sign she was getting angry again.
Finn sighed. “Okay, but this doesn’t leave this room. Got it?”
She nodded.
“In March, my superior, Special Agent in Charge Martin Deluca, asked Michael to join me and my partner, Special Agent Morris, for a meeting at our FBI field office in Salt Lake City. It was in this meeting we discovered that all the evidence Michael had collected was destroyed by someone within the Department of Justice. This mole, or moles, have accessed my personal information and tried to use it to silence me.”
Her hand flew to her mouth, but she said nothing.
“The Syndicate has managed to kill two potential witnesses. Brad Harper, who was in prison at the time of his death, and Paul Harris, the former mayor of Hopefalls. He was in witness protection when they put a bullet in his head. There is an ongoing investigation into his death, but I’m not holding my breath.”
Her gaze slanted to Michael. “You got hit by a car helping David, and it was all for nothing.”
Michael grinned. “It wasn’t for nothing. David isn’t rotting in jail for a crime he didn’t commit. I’d say it was a successful op.”
Except he had lost his job as a civilian agent with Army CID, and as much as he’d worked to recover from his injuries, he knew he would never get his old body back. The broken bones had knitted, but he didn’t move in the same way, and constant pain had become a new way of life.
Sinclair strode to the door and then turned to the two men and smiled. It was the kind of smile that caused fear to cramp his insides, like the moment of silence before a bomb exploded. “Here’s a question that’s burning in my mind… Did it occur to either of you to warn me that I might be in danger? What if they’d attacked when I was helping a group of children?”
She stepped closer. “What are we talking about here, rich businessmen who hire gunmen? That’s just lovely. They sound like upright members of society and not at all like the kind of men who would leave a child in slavery. Why would you have to warn me? I don’t travel to dangerous countries and help the vulnerable.” She punctuated the air with her index finger as she made each point. There was a tightness to her expression. Her cold, hard gaze settled on him and then Finn.
Finn backed up a step.
Michael held up his hand in an expression of surrender. He should’ve warned her, and he liked to think he was big enough to admit his mistake. “You’re right. To be honest, I was too tired and sick to consider all the consequences.”
The night she’d stashed him at the safe house, he’d been exhausted from forcing his fractured body to move. Something they never mentioned in the movies was how pain drained a person’s energy reserves.
Finn cleared his throat. “Sinclair, can you give me a description of the men who beat you?”
She dragged the chair closer to his desk, making an ear-splitting screeching sound. Then she grabbed the ice pack, sat in her seat, and held it across her face so it covered her eye and her lip.
She was detailed and concise in recounting her evening. She tucked a strand of dark blond hair behind her ear as she talked. The action drew him in and made him notice her features. Her small earlobes, the delicate slope of her jawline, and her dainty neck. His gaze dipped lower. He knew he shouldn’t stare, but he was a man with all the normal male urges. He remembered her breasts as being small and tight with perfect pink nipples.
She shifted, easing the ice to her hip. The movement drew his gaze to a small pouch attached to her belt. The purse, he realized, wasn’t just a testament to her practicality. It was a choice to leave her hands unencumbered for combat and spoke of her commitment to her work.
She stretched out her right leg, so the compress fit more snugly against her bone. That reminded him of the second ice pack. He stood and strode to Finn’s desk where he rifled through the first aid kit. “Here.” And held the ice to her black eye, without adding pressure.
“I’ll hold it.” She placed her palm over his.
He kept his hand in place for a moment longer than was necessary, stunned by her touch. It was as though she had sent a charge of electricity through him.
Get a grip. He stepped away and went to sit, once again, at Agent Morris’ desk on the other side of the room, leaving her to answer Finn’s questions uninterrupted.
He stared out of the window, looking out over the Granite City square. In his quest to figure out who the Syndicate were and what they were up to, he never once considered they might come after his friends. Which was stupid on his account because this had all started with an attack on David. Sinclair had paid the price for his lapse in judgment.
Once she had finished with her account of the evening’s events, Michael swiveled in his chair to face them and rested his elbow on the desk. “I’ve been thinking… They obviously know my real name, but how did they know that Sinclair knew my location? Why not Tim or David?” He pointed to Finn. “I can see them not wanting to tussle with an FBI agent, but how did they know I wasn’t in witness protection?”
Finn stood and faced Michael. “It’s like I already said. They have someone in the DOJ. You can stay in my apartment until we can figure this out.”
Sinclair fished her phone from her purse. Using a paperclip she’d snagged from Finn’s desk, she flicked open the compartment that held the sim card and removed the tiny piece of plastic. “Finn, that makes no sense. No one at the Department of Justice knew I’d hidden him unless you told them. Figuring out that I knew where Michael was has nothing to do with you. There’s something else…” She stopped talking while she concentrated on prying open the back and taking out the battery. She dumped it all into her purse. “Michael, what about your mom and sister? Are they still in Canada?”
“Shit. No, they’re here in Montana at my stepdad’s house, just outside of town.” The bottom dropped out of his stomach. He should’ve thought of them months ago. “I have to warn them.”
Finn pointed to Agent Morris’ desk. “Use Kennedy’s landline to call them. I’ll call David and Tim.”
He dialed the number to his parent’s home, silently begging them to pick up. He’d tell them to take off and head to his mom’s family in Alberta or to his cousin’s cabin on the reservation in the Cabinet Mountains. The area, which bordered Idaho, was considered one of the wildest locations in Montana.
The phone kept ringing, eventually going to voice mail. He hung up and dialed his mom’s cell phone. It went to voice mail, too. He got the same result when he tried his sister’s and
stepdad’s. Maybe they were out. There was cell service at his stepdad’s house but if they weren’t home, they could be in a dead zone. There were lots of places in the state where there was no cell signal.
He slammed down the receiver. “I need a vehicle.”
“We can use mine.” Sinclair waved goodbye to Finn who was talking on the phone.
As they reached the door, Finn said, “David’s good. Call me as soon as you know something.”
They sprinted across the street, heading for her rusted Volvo. He wasn’t a religious man, but as he climbed into the car, he started praying, hoping his family would be okay.
Chapter Three
Sinclair complied with Michael’s directions and headed west toward the mountains.
He was staring out of the window. “Do you have a spare weapon I can use?”
She couldn’t see his expression and his tone was flat and emotionless, making it impossible to read his thoughts.
In all the years she’d known him, she’d never met his family. At fifteen, he’d run away because he hadn’t liked his mom’s new husband. Michael had become part of their group when David had saved him from being snagged by one of the pedophile rings that roamed the bus terminal, looking for runaways. The four of them had been close, but David and Tim were tough guys who didn’t understand that sometimes she needed to talk about her feelings. Looking back, she wasn’t entirely sure that Michael understood, but he had listened and made her feel special.
“You can use the one in the glove compartment. It’s a Glock 19. I have a spare in the trunk.” She preferred the Glock 43 anyway.
He nodded and smiled at her, just the way he had all those years ago.
One day, she’d woken in the grim alley where they lived to find he’d left her a note, telling her he’d gone home. She’d been sick at the time and had been devastated by his departure. A week later, she, along with David and Tim, were taken in by Marshall House, a charity for street kids run by Marshall Portman.
He leaned forward and retrieved her handgun.
“There’s a round in the chamber,” she said. Given his law enforcement experience, he would probably check the handgun anyway, but firearm safety was second nature to her.
In the efficient manner of an ex-CID agent, he ejected and checked the magazine and then slid it back into position. “Thanks.”
Even if he wasn’t an ex-federal agent, his proficiency around weaponry was to be expected considering the four of them had reconnected when they were in boot camp at Fort Leonard Wood in Missouri. He’d appeared as if he’d known they would be there, and maybe considering his computer skills, he had. She’d fallen madly in love with him all over again. They’d spent a passionate weekend together. She hadn’t been a virgin—her stepfather had seen to that—but in every way that counted, Michael had been her first love. The next day he’d transferred to Officer Candidate School and was gone. It was as though he’d been conjured away. In that long weekend, when they’d laid in each other’s arms, he hadn’t once mentioned his plans for the future. He must have known about the transfer. She’d trusted him and believed they shared a unique bond. But he had left without even saying goodbye.
She’d tried over the years to get over him. She used to socialize and go on dates. But after a while, dating seemed like a waste of time, and she gave up on men and focused on her work. Maybe it would’ve been easier to forget him if he wasn’t so damned attractive. His intelligent eyes and chiseled good looks were always a punch in the gut.
When he’d knelt in front of her in Finn’s office, she’d been unable to move or breathe. It was as if she’d been waiting to drink him in. His almost-black eyes were more alert than the last time she’d seen him. His hair was now military short, and she could see by the muscle definition under his black sweatshirt that he was fit once again.
They turned off the highway onto a plot of land that was surrounded by forest. A black Chevy Suburban was parked on the road by the entrance. The sound of gunshots rang out in the cool night air.
She killed the lights and drove down the driveway. Eventually, they slowed to a stop in front of the house. Sinclair extracted her Glock 43 from its hiding place in the trunk.
“What’s that doing in there? Montana’s an open carry state.” Michael climbed out of the SUV.
She caught up with him on the pathway to the front door of a small log cabin. Why he was criticizing her decisions at this moment in time was a mystery. “Relax, I have a concealed carry permit.”
“Why?” He ducked behind a large lilac. The front door was off its hinges. A small black battering ram lay on the porch. It had obviously been used to gain entry. These guys were prepared and organized.
“I don’t want to pack my weapon with me everywhere I go, and I can’t take it with me when I travel,” she whispered.
“Considering everything that’s happened tonight, you might want to rethink that,” he replied in equally hushed tones.
She was about to give him a smart answer but stopped herself. Gunfire still sounded from inside the house. Picking on her was probably his way of dealing with tension.
He retrieved a small flip-phone from his pocket and dialed. “Finn, there are armed intruders at my family’s house.”
“Stay in the car. Do not engage,” Finn shouted loud enough that she heard him even though she wasn’t on the call.
Michael slipped the phone into his pocket. Without a word, he climbed the porch steps.
He hadn’t signaled to her or given her any indication of his intent. They needed to operate as a team, but telling him that would be a waste of energy. She could tell by his clenched jaw and the way he wouldn’t look her in the eye that he was fighting to keep his emotions under control. She suspected he was feeling a combination of rage, coupled with terror and guilt. For all that, he was focused and deadly, his Army CID training coming to the fore.
Michael peeked around the broken door jam. She went to the other side of the opening and did the same. The foyer appeared to be empty. The house was small. Two men stood in the hallway straight ahead. They fired down a flight of steps, which presumably led to the basement. Neither looked up, and the noise of the gunfire drowned out any sound they might have made.
With two rapid head shots, Michael took out the two gunmen. Both fell to the ground. He moved closer, keeping his Glock 19 trained on them, and then aimed his handgun down the stairs. Once he was satisfied there was no one at the bottom of the steps, he kicked their weapons away.
Sinclair covered his back while he searched the two assailants. Describing Michael as smart would be an understatement, but this was something else altogether. This showed he had abilities she hadn’t considered. His shots had been accurate and deadly. No one could shoot like that without weeks, if not years, of practice. It exhibited a commitment she hadn’t known he possessed. She’d always imagined his position in the cybercrimes unit of Army CID to be a desk job even though David had told her he worked undercover. He couldn’t have done that without intensive training, which would have included weapons. She’d allowed her own bias to color her opinion.
“It’s Michael. Who’s all down there?”
“The three of us, your mom, your sister and me,” answered a disembodied male voice before the sound of something scraping against a concrete floor echoed through the now quiet house.
“How many men were there?” Michael knelt on the ground and checked the pockets of the dead men.
“Three.”
He stood, instantly alert. “We only have two. Don’t come out until I give the all-clear.” He nodded in her direction. “How good are you?”
“I was trained by the US Army and my Special Forces brother. What do you think? You should’ve asked me that before instead of nit-picking about where I keep my weapon,” she snapped, unable to stop herself. She wasn’t anyone’s punching bag, physically or emotionally.
One corner of his mouth turned up in a half-smile. “That’s my girl. Let’s scour the house
. If he’s not in here, we’ll check outside. That’ll be a bitch in the dark.”
She nodded. They moved at a measured pace. First, they searched the ground floor, checking behind the doors and in closets, being sure to investigate every possible hiding place. Once they were certain no one was there, they climbed the stairs. Michael took the lead while she covered his back just in case their third man was outside and planned to rush them from behind.
They had finished searching all three bedrooms and two bathrooms and were standing on the landing. The log cabin interior was stylish, yet cozy at the same time. She was tempted to ask him if this was the home he’d grown up in but decided against it. This wasn’t the time to indulge in idle chit-chat.
“What do you think, is he outside? Her lip and cheek throbbed, as did her hip. She was tired and had a headache forming behind her eyes. She’d slept on the flight from Ukraine, but not much. Since arriving back in Montana, she’d gone from one emergency to another, and her aching body was telling her to rest.
He marched to a bedroom at the front of the house and nudged the edge of the curtain to peep outside. “Finn’s here, and I see our bad guys’ vehicle is still by the road, so either he took off on foot—”
“Or he’s outside.”
Finn announced his presence, “Michael, it’s me.” It sounded as though he had just entered the building.
Some of the tension eased from her shoulders. Backup had arrived.
Michael rushed downstairs where he met Finn on the bottom step. “There were three of them. We only found two.” He pointed in the general direction of the corpses.
“Your family?” Finn asked.
“Safe. They’re still in the basement.” Michael kept his weapon pointed toward the ground. “I told them to stay put until we find the last one. Their vehicle is still here—”
“He hasn’t gone anywhere,” Finn finished for him.
Sinclair eased around Michael, who was still standing on the bottom steps, and nearly bumped into Special Agent Morris. The attractive agent was dressed in a pair of cargo pants and a collared FBI issue T-shirt, and wore her long brown hair in a ponytail. If she was upset about being called out late at night, it didn’t show. She seemed to be trying to squeeze past Finn as she snapped on a pair of latex gloves. She probably wanted to inspect the bodies. The stairs to the basement ran parallel to the steps to the upper floor, which meant Michael and Finn were essentially in her way.
