of the job. He’d been brought on board to work assignments like the one in Newcastle—undercover gigs that required someone who looked and acted the part the part of a criminal.
“Me, too,” she responded. “But Ruby always said death was a beginning. Not an end.”
“Ruby was your cousin?”
“Yes.”
“It sounds like she had the right idea about things.”
“She did.” She fell silent. Not adding anything to that, her harsh breathing and stumbling steps reminding him that his pace was too fast for her. Too slow for him.
The soft rumble of an engine broke the silence, and she tripped. He snagged her arm, keeping her upright and pulling her deeper into the shadows.
“That’s a car,” she whispered, as if her voice might carry through the darkness and drift into the interior of the vehicle that was approaching.
Gravel crunched beneath tires, and lights illuminated the forest up ahead. Someone was coming down the driveway. High beams on.
He doubted the light would reach them, but he tugged Ella down anyway, crouching behind thick brush. She was inches away, her face a pale oval in the darkness, her eyes light-colored—blue or gray—and wide with alarm.
“What are we going to do?” she asked, looking straight at him.
“Wait until they pass.”
“Once they do, they’ll figure out I’m gone. Then they’ll come looking,” she replied, her voice tight.
“We’re almost at the road,” he assured her. “Far enough ahead that we should be able to make it to my truck without being seen.”
“You would be able to if I weren’t with you.”
It was true, but separating wasn’t an option, so he said nothing, just motioned for her to be still and silent as the lights drifted closer. They passed slowly, a few feet away, sliding across trees and bushes, and casting the world in yellow-tinged color. He could see Ella more clearly now, still just a few inches away, gaze focused toward the oncoming vehicle. Light brown hair threaded with red and gold. The splotch on her neck was dried blood over a purple bruise. A puncture wound of some sort?
The forest darkened incrementally. Gold to gray to nearly black, and he knew it was time to move again.
“Ready?” he whispered, but she was already up, sprinting ahead, pushing through foliage and disappearing into the forest. Heading away from the driveway, away from the road, deeper into forest that stretched for miles in every direction.
He followed, not caring about making too much noise or drawing attention to their escape. He had to catch her before she got lost in a wilderness that was just as dangerous and deadly as the men who were after her.
It was a mistake to keep running. Ella knew it. Just like she knew she shouldn’t have panicked and taken off. Now she was committed to her escape—from the vehicle, the lights and Sam. The man who’d said he was an FBI agent. Who’d seemed to want to help her. Who’d probably be able to find his way out of the forest a lot more easily than she could.
She’d be lost soon, if she kept running.
Lost in acres of trees that blocked the moon and made her wonder which direction she was heading. Away from the driveway? Toward a road? Or deeper into the Maine wilderness.
There were bears here. Lynx. Moose. Animals that could maul, claw and trample a person. She’d researched the area before Ruby moved there. She’d been fascinated and worried by her cousin’s decision to leave everything she knew to take a job in a state she’d never visited. Ruby had called it an adventure. Ella had never been adventurous. And she certainly had no experience in the Maine wilderness. If she got lost, she’d probably stay lost. But she kept running anyway, compelled by fear and panic and some instinct that told her being lost in the wilderness would be better than being found by whoever had kidnapped her.
“Stop!” Sam hissed, grabbing the back of the jacket he’d lent her and yanking her to a halt.
“And do what? Wait to be found?”
“Head for the road,” he said, his voice so calm, she could almost believe that everything was going to be okay. “Right now, you’re running away from it.”
“And away from anyone who might be looking for me. That makes a lot more sense than running toward a place where I know there’s danger.” She whirled to face him, panicked, breathless, terrified. She hated that. She hated being vulnerable. She hated being afraid. She hated that she had no idea how to save herself from the situation she was in. She’d relied on someone else once. She’d trusted him. Jarrod had taught her everything she needed to know about how important it was never to repeat the mistake.
But right now, she wasn’t sure she could go it alone. No matter how much she wanted to. She’d walked into something unexpected when she’d traveled to Newcastle. Or, maybe, it had been expected. She’d known—hadn’t she?—that Ruby’s death hadn’t been an accident. She’d asked questions anyway. She’d pushed for answers because Ruby deserved to be remembered for the good she’d done, not for a drug addiction she hadn’t had.
“We’re staying off the road, remember? Just walking parallel to it. There’s no danger in that. At least, no more than there is in running deep into a forest you’re not familiar with.” He had her arm and was tugging her back the way they’d come, his grip just firm enough to keep her moving in the direction he wanted to go.
“The lights of that car were too close,” she said, her heart thumping wildly, her pulse racing.
“Not close enough for us to be seen.”
“How do you know?” she responded as they neared the gravel driveway. She could see it through an opening in the trees—a few yards ahead, gray-white stones gleaming in the moonlight.
“We were behind enough brush to keep us hidden. Even if the light had been able to reach us,” he responded.
“That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“Maybe this will,” he said. “I don’t take chances with people’s lives, and I don’t believe in unnecessary risk. If I didn’t think this was the fastest and safest way to escape, I’d find another one.”
She didn’t respond, because there was nothing left to say.
She didn’t take chances, either. She didn’t believe in unnecessary risks. Not ever, but especially not since Jarrod. Somehow, she’d still traveled to Maine. She’d gone to the police with her concerns. She’d asked questions. She’d sought answers, and now, she was allowing herself to believe that a random stranger was trying to help her.
Please, God, don’t let me be making a mistake, she prayed silently as Sam led her between towering oaks and narrow pine trees. They were moving more slowly now, taking a route with minimal undergrowth, their feet producing very little sound. Whatever the truth was about Sam—whether he was really with the FBI or not—she
