Читать книгу Classified Christmas Mission - Lynette Eason - Страница 11

ONE

CIA officer Amber Starke pressed the gas pedal and prayed that she wouldn’t slide over the cliff and into the ravine below. She was trying to escape killers, not plunge to her death because she got careless in bad weather. But she couldn’t see the road she needed. It was around here somewhere, but her childhood memory was vague, the exact location of the drive refusing to rise to the surface. Of course it was dark and her windshield resembled a field of white.

The sun continued to drop along with the temperature and the snow-stressed windshield wipers slowed as ice started to form on them. Amber knew it would be time to find a place to hole up and she had just the destination in mind.

If they could get there.

She’d been driving for the last seventeen hours stopping only for restroom breaks and food. She hadn’t planned to do so, but her young passenger hadn’t protested so she’d kept going. Yesterday it had been fifteen hours of the same. She didn’t know why Sam had been so agreeable in riding almost nonstop, but she just counted her blessings and kept going.

She glanced in the rearview mirror and breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the sleeping child. The six-year-old who didn’t like change had just had his life turned upside down. With a dead mother and killer for a father, Amber knew she was the child’s only hope to live to see seven. She just prayed she could make that happen. But in order to do that, she had to figure out how to coax the secrets from his brain before his father caught up with them. Fortunately, Sam loved road trips. She had a feeling it was because there were very few distractions and plenty of game time on his phone to entertain him. She’d gotten him a special phone that was encrypted and untraceable. He didn’t know that, but it sure made her feel better.

Amber saw the sharp curve ahead and lightly pressed the brakes. The sedan slowed, but she could feel the ice building on the road.

Great. She remembered the harsh winters from her childhood and this looked to be one of the harshest. She wanted to kick herself for not checking the weather before heading east from California, but getting away from the people trying to kill them had taken precedence.

The wipers continued to slow, becoming heavy with snow and she knew she couldn’t keep going much longer. She had to get to the cabin. They’d be safe there, she was certain of it. In all the years she’d been with the agency she’d never been traced to her hometown of Wrangler’s Corner. But the deciding factor in making a beeline for home was that she had documents, passports and money hidden away that would allow her and Sam to disappear for good. She just had to get to it.

She slapped the wheel. The weather! She did not need this snow. Her brain kicked in, trying to come up with a plan should she need it.

She supposed as long as she could keep the car running and the heater on, they’d be all right but after a glance at the gas gauge, Amber saw that wasn’t going to be an option. She was pushing empty. She hadn’t liked the looks of the two men at the last gas station so had simply circled the pumps and kept going.

She might have enough to get to the cabin. She glanced behind her. Had she been followed? She didn’t think so, but the people after her and Sam were good. Scary good. Her fingers flexed on the wheel. Her heart still cried for her friend, Sam’s mother, who’d died two days ago, killed by Sam’s father before the cancer could claim her life. She’d died too soon. A violent senseless death that caused the rage to boil in Amber’s soul when the memories pressed in.

“Home. Number One Mom.”

“What?” She looked in the rearview mirror. Sam was awake.

His dark eyes wouldn’t meet hers. “Home.” He clasped his arms around his middle and began his familiar rocking back and forth. “Go home.”

She blinked against the tears that wanted to well. “Hey, Sam, I know you want to go home, but we can’t right now, okay?”

“Home! Number One Mom.”

With Sam’s autism, Amber wasn’t sure exactly what he understood and what he didn’t. He was verbal sometimes. Other times the day would pass without him uttering a word. And he loved numbers. He numbered everything and it seemed to appease him even if she didn’t have a clue what it was he was numbering. She knew Number One Mom referred to the woman who’d given him birth. Amber’s friend who now lay cold in her grave.

One thing she’d learned while watching Sam grow up these past four years and becoming his Number Two Mom as he called her, no two autistic kids were alike so it was best to treat them individually. And Sam was definitely unique with a quirky personality and a photographic memory.

With her right hand, she reached into her purse that rested on the passenger seat and pulled out a different device. It held only one game and it was his favorite. She’d been saving it for just this moment. She held it toward him. “Here. You want to play?”

“Yes. Favorite game Number one game.” He snatched it and powered it on.

“What do you say?”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

His head bent over the game, she breathed a sigh of relief. She’d known Sam since he was two. His mother, Nadia Pirhadi, had become her best friend after Amber had recruited her as an asset for the agency approximately four years ago. The woman had proven extremely capable. Forced into an arranged marriage by her family, she loathed her husband’s evil activities and, unbeknownst to him, had vowed to use her position to bring him down. It had taken her almost six years to seize the opportunity to contact the CIA, but she’d managed to do it—and that brought Amber into her life. A deadly mistake as far as Amber was now concerned.

Her jaw tightened as she slowly rounded the curve. She should have known better. She’d been undercover so long, she’d relaxed her guard. Gotten slack. Whatever. She stiffened and looked back to check on Sam. His attention was ensnared by the game and her mind went back to Nadia.

No, she hadn’t gotten slack. She’d been on edge for four years, though. She’d missed something. Something that should have told her Nadia’s husband was suspicious, that he suspected his wife was snooping, looking for information to pass on to the CIA. But Amber had missed it and as a result, she’d gotten her best friend killed.

Now it was up to her to protect the woman’s son and bring her killers to justice. Amber’s jaw tightened. Being on US soil would serve in her best interests. If this had happened two weeks ago while she’d been in Ibirizstan, she’d really be in trouble. But Nadia had insisted that Amber accompany her to the States. She wanted her friend there to be her support while she saw the oncologist. And Amber hadn’t been able to refuse. Nor had she wanted to.

She glanced in her rearview mirror and tightened her grip on the wheel. Headlights were coming up fast even on this growing-more-treacherous-by-the-minute back road. She ordered her pulse to slow. It could be nothing. Just someone who hadn’t expected the weather to get so bad. She looked at Sam once more. He hadn’t moved, his attention completely on the game in his hands.

She pressed the brake and the car slowed without a problem. The vehicle behind her slowed as well, the headlights still beaming in her back window. With her right hand, Amber lifted the edge of her sweatshirt and unclipped the strap that held her Glock 17 in the holster. She’d never carried a gun before the past week, but recent circumstances had dictated that she put her concealed weapons permit to use.

Another glance in the rearview mirror had her nerves tightening. The headlights were still there and closing in fast. She had a feeling that meant danger had found them. She curled her fingers around the weapon and pulled it from the holster.

* * *

Deputy Lance Goode figured he’d be at the Starke ranch in time to eat a home-cooked meal and catch the football game with brothers, Clay and Seth Starke. The Titans versus the Raiders. Should be a shutout, might even be a little boring, but he wanted to see it. Actually boring sounded good to him right now.

He’d made two arrests today. One for a DUI and the other for assault. Mark Jessup had broken his wife’s nose, and she’d pressed charges. For now. He grimaced. Domestic violence. Not usually a problem in the small town of Wrangler’s Corner, Tennessee, but this had been his third call to the home in the past three weeks and, as he suspected, the situation had escalated and the husband had finally done some real damage to his wife. So now the man could sit in a jail cell for a bit. At least until she dropped the charges. Which he knew she would.

In the meantime he planned to hang out with the Starkes. Lance knew they considered him a part of the family and, when he wasn’t on duty, Sunday nights were the highlight of his week. He’d just punched himself off the clock, showered and changed clothes at the station. The only thing remaining from his uniform was the Glock 17 strapped to his hip. Now he was ready for some good food and fun.

Fighting to see through the drifting snow, Lance kept the SUV steady, grateful for the chains on the tires. The forecast had called for cold and snow and the meteorologists had actually gotten it right for once. He wished they’d been wrong. His phone rang and he hit the button that would allow the call to come in through the speakers of his car. “Hello?”

“You headed over here?” Clay Starke asked.

“Should be there in about fifteen minutes.”

“It’s looking nasty out there. You have a bag in your car in case you need to stay the night?”

“Yep.” He often stayed in the guest room on Sunday nights. Not because he didn’t have anywhere else to stay, but because he was invited.

He caught sight of headlights just ahead on the sharp curve and slowed. “Let me go. I need to concentrate in this weather. You’re right, it’s getting nasty.”

“Supposed to get nastier. See you in a few.”

He hung up and focused on keeping the Ford Police Interceptor on his side of the road. The headlights came closer. Followed by a second set. Who was crazy enough to be out in this mess besides him?

He passed the first car and blinked. Even through the falling snow, he’d caught a glimpse of the driver when the wiper scraped the moisture from the windshield. Amber Starke? What was she doing here? Neither Clay nor Seth—and more importantly, Amber’s mother—had mentioned she’d planned to come home for a visit. Or had they just neglected to mention it to him?

A loud crack split the quiet mountainside and Lance flinched then stepped on the brakes. His Interceptor responded beautifully in spite of the ice and he pulled to a stop. Chills swept over him. He’d heard that sound before. Had heard it often out here in the Tennessee hills. A gunshot.

When he looked back he saw Amber’s SUV spin and then plunge over the side of the mountain. The vehicle behind her never stopped, just roared past.

For the third time that day, his adrenaline pumped into overdrive. He grabbed the radio just below the dash and called it in even as he executed a three-point turn in the middle of the freezing road.

“Lance?” Gretchen, the Wrangler’s Corner second shift dispatcher, answered.

“I’ve got a wreck on Jasper Road, Gretch. I need some backup. And probably an ambulance.”

“It’s going to take them a while to get there in this mess.”

“I know. I’ve got my first aid kit in the car. I’ll be doing what I can. Just tell them to hurry.” Trained as a first responder, he had the knowledge and the equipment to help. He just hoped it would be enough.

Gretchen put out the call and Lance pulled to a stop on the side of the road. His heart pounded as he climbed out, alert and looking to make sure the shooter wasn’t doubling back.

He didn’t see any sign of that so he headed to the edge to look over. He saw the tracks disappear under an overhang. He dropped to his knees and tried to see. Relief shot through him. Amber’s SUV had only gone down the slight slope, under the overhang, and wedged itself between two trees. He could see the back of it, just barely jutting out. Now he just had to find out if the bullet had done any bodily damage.

He looked at the space between him and her car. White space. It looked like snow, but could be ice. He ran to the back of his SUV and opened the back. He grabbed the hundred-foot-length rope that he always carried with him and hefted it over his shoulder with a grunt. He lugged it to the front of the Ford and tied one end to the grill then tossed the rest down to Amber’s car. It reached, but barely. It would have to do. With one more glance over his shoulder, he grasped hold of the rope and slipped and slid down the embankment to the car. Once he reached the back, he was able to duck under the overhang and squeeze himself between the rock and the driver’s door.

Amber lay against the wheel, eyes closed. Fear shot through. Please let her be all right. He reached for the door handle and pulled it open. It hit the rock, but there was enough room for her to get out if she wasn’t too badly hurt.

Amber lifted her head, and he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.