wasn’t sure how far she’d get before passing out from the excruciating pain of her headache, but she’d fight until she dropped. She had somehow survived the fall, and wouldn’t allow herself to die at the hand of a hired thug.
It figures LaRouche and Harrington would send a handsome, clean-cut guy to find her—a real charmer, this one. Will or Bill or whatever his name was, had to be over six feet tall, with chestnut brown hair and green eyes, and he spoke with such a gentle, calming tone. What a story he’d crafted for himself: he’d come out here to pray?
He’d laid it on thick, all right. Those were probably his little girls in the photograph, girls who had no idea what their daddy did for a living.
In her ten years with the FBI, Sara had learned plenty about sociopaths and how they used their cunning intelligence and polished charisma to convince an interrogating agent of their innocence.
Clutching the gun, she took her finger off the trigger in case she stumbled and pulled it by accident. He wouldn’t know the difference. As long as Will thought she aimed a gun at his back, he’d do as she ordered.
The trees around her started drifting in and out of focus. She blinked to clear her vision, and stumbled on a rock jutting out of the ground.
Strong, firm hands gripped her arms, keeping her upright. Will’s green eyes studied her face, as if assessing her head injury. He must have realized his mistake, that he was still holding on to her, because his hands sprung free and he raised them, as if to say, please don’t shoot me.
She stepped back and dropped the backpack on the ground. “It’s throwing me off balance.”
He picked up the pack and adjusted it across his shoulders with ease. “That bruise above your eye—” He hesitated. “Are you experiencing blurred vision?”
“I’m fine.” She flicked the gun barrel toward the trail.
He continued walking.
“I have ice packs at the cabin,” he said. “And pain reliever.”
She hated that he was being so polite. It was an act, his strategy to discover how much she knew. Those were LaRouche and Harrington’s orders, right?
Much like her official orders had been to leave it alone, put aside the LHP, Inc., investigation due to lack of evidence. But she’d pushed and pushed until Bonner had had enough, and told her to take a couple of weeks off.
So she did, and spent her vacation going undercover and buying her way on to the trail guide team that LaRouche, Harrington and Price had hired to take them up the mountain. Her goal: watch and listen, glean whatever information she could from the men who were on vacation with their guards down.
“Would you like some water?” Will offered.
She ignored him. Sara might be hurting, but she wasn’t stupid. It would be too easy for Will to slip something into her water, rendering her unconscious.
“Guess not,” he said softly.
She took a deep breath and bit back a gasp at the stab of bruised ribs. She decided it was a good thing because the pain would keep her conscious and alert.
He slowed down, closing the distance between them.
“Keep walking,” she said through clenched teeth.
“I thought you might need to rest.”
“I don’t.”
With what seemed like a frustrated sigh, he continued. Sure, he was frustrated. He wanted to finish this job quickly and move on to his next high-paying assignment.
She focused on his backpack as she struggled to place one foot in front of the other without losing her balance. It wasn’t easy when she felt as though she’d stepped off the Tilt-A-Whirl at the county fair.
They continued in silence, her pulse ricocheting off the inside of her skull with each step. She had to make it, had to put these arrogant criminals behind bars.
She hoped they could pull the video recording off her phone, even though she’d noticed it had been damaged in the fall.
Will’s phone was working just fine. Maybe they were close to getting reception. She pulled his phone out of her pocket, but her trembling fingers dropped it. She snapped her gaze to Will, fearing he’d seen her weakness. He continued up the trail.
She waited until he was a good distance away and knelt down to retrieve the phone. When she stood, her vision blurred and she could barely make out Will’s form. She squinted through the haze to see him.
He was no longer within sight.
She shoved the phone into her pocket and clutched the gun grip with both hands. Where did he go? Had he taken off up ahead, waiting to ambush her? She approached a sharp turn, blocked by a boulder.
Took a slow, shallow breath...
Darted around the corner.
And spotted Will, on his knees, with his hands interlaced behind his head.
“What are you doing?” she said.
“Waiting for you.”
“Get up.”
He stood, his back to her. “Are you all right?”
“Go on, keep moving.”
He continued along the trail and she followed. He was waiting for her? More like he was messing with her head, and doing a good job of it.
“The cabin’s not far,” he said.
She ignored him, knowing how these guys worked. They insinuated themselves into your psyche and destroyed you from the inside out. This guy was luring her with his father-of-the-year, single-parent story. She’d seen the wallpaper on his phone of two adorable girls with strawberry blonde hair and big smiles. This guy was a master.
They trekked the rest of the way in silence, Sara focusing on breathing through the pain and shutting out the panic taunting her from the fringes of her mind. She was in the middle of nowhere with an assassin, and her next step could be her last.
No, she was tough. Even if others didn’t believe it, she knew it in her heart.
If only she’d been tough when she was twelve.
They turned a corner to an open field with a cabin in the distance. Surely she’d be able to get a signal out there, in the middle of the field.
He marched in the direction of the cabin.
“Stop,” she said. She’d be a fool to let him go inside with her. No doubt that was where he kept his tools of the trade—coercion tools.
“Sit down, over there.” She jerked the gun barrel.
He sat down beside a fallen tree.
“You have rope in your pack?” she said.
“I do.”
