still don’t know.” She shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “You were going to tell me about your plan?”
“That’s a quick switch.”
“From?”
“You wanting to run away to you wanting to go along with my plan.”
“I didn’t say I was going along with it. I said I wanted to hear it. Because this place looks about as remote as anywhere could be.” She turned a slow circle, probably taking note of the abandoned shipping crates, the weeds and trash littering the clearing, the thick forest that surrounded it. “And I’m not foolish enough to think I can find my way out alone.”
“There’s a driveway in,” he said. “Just that way.” He gestured to the western edge of the clearing. “But walking out to the main road on it isn’t a good idea.”
“You think the people who brought me here will return?”
“One person brought you here, and yes. I do think he’s coming back. Probably with help.”
“Help for what? Disposing of me?” She pulled her shirt tighter around her narrow frame, and he shrugged out of his jacket, dropping it around her shoulders.
“I don’t know what they intend.”
“You mentioned killing me or selling me off to the highest bidder. You must know something.”
“I know neither of us wants to wait around to find out which option they choose. Come on. We need to get out of here.”
“Do you have a phone? You could call the police. That would be a lot safer than trying to run,” she said.
“There’s no reception out here. We’re too deep in the mountains. Put the jacket on. Let’s go.” He walked away, acting as if he expected her to follow.
To his relief, she did, hurrying after him. Taking two steps for every one of his. Dry grass crackling beneath their feet, cold wind rustling the leaves of nearby trees. It was early autumn, but it felt like early winter—a cold crispness to the air that reminded him of winter nights on his grandfather’s ranch. Only back then, there’d been no villains lurking in the darkness. There’d been no hint of danger in the air. Those were the days when he’d been too young to understand how much evil the world contained, or how determined he’d one day be to protect people from it. They were also the days before his mother died and he was sent to live with his father. Forced to live with him. He’d have preferred to stay with his grandparents, but at nine years old, he’d had no say. The court had made the decision, and he’d had no choice but to abide by it.
The woods fell silent as he led Ella into the thick tree-line that bordered the driveway. He stayed far enough away to be hidden from any vehicles that might come along. Close enough that he didn’t fear getting turned around or lost. The driveway was half a mile of gravel, deeply rutted from vehicles moving through. He’d taken a look after Mack drove away. Before he’d entered the shipping container and freed Ella. He’d wanted to see if there was an easy way to block vehicular access to the clearing and slow the return of Mack and his Organization pals.
There hadn’t been, and this was the best he could do—freeing Ella and fleeing with her, praying they could get to his vehicle before The Organization’s henchmen returned. Low level thugs. Not the people Sam was after. He was after the top-tier members, the ones who called the shots and made the money. If he could bring them down, he could bring the entire Newcastle cell of the crime syndicate down with them. Blowing his cover wasn’t going to help him do that.
He glanced at Ella. He’d give her credit, she was moving well, pushing through brambles and late-summer growth with grim determination. She’d done as he asked—putting on his jacket and zipping it to her chin. Her booted feet slogged through dead leaves and trampled dry branches. If she was tired or in pain, she didn’t show it, and she didn’t complain.
But, alone, he could have moved at double the speed.
His beat-up Chevy was well hidden. He wasn’t worried about anyone from The Organization seeing it. Not until he pulled out from behind the undergrowth and onto the two-lane road that wound its way through a mountain pass and back to town. Once he was driving, his truck would be easily seen and recognized. The Organization kept track of its members. Where they lived. What they drove. Who they spent time with. He didn’t want his truck seen anywhere near the location of their escaped captive. According to his paperwork, he was IT Specialist Sam Rogers, an old buddy of one of their low-level operatives, a guy who’d run drugs across the Mexican border during high school and college. Someone who might be willing to do anything for a price. He wanted to keep it that way.
But at the rate he and Ella were going, his cover would be blown before the sun rose.
“I’m slowing you down,” Ella said as he held a thick pine bough and waited for her to duck under it. “Why don’t you go on ahead? Once you get somewhere with cell reception, you can call the police to come for me.”
“No.”
“Why not? It’s a sound plan, and makes a lot more sense than both of us getting caught.”
“That’s exactly why it’s not a good plan. I’m not leaving you here to face The Organization’s thugs alone.”
“What organization?”
“The Organization is the name of a crime syndicate that has cell groups all over the country. Newcastle is one of its newest,” he explained.
“What would a crime syndicate want with someone like me?” she asked, breathless, struggling to keep up.
“Funny, I was going to ask you the same question.”
“I don’t have an answer, Special Agent Sheridan.”
“Sam. And most crime syndicates don’t mess with people who aren’t of benefit to the organization.”
“Benefit? What does that mean?”
“Money. Favors—political or legal.”
She snorted. “I’m a freelance journalist. I write human-interest stories for local newspapers and a few national publications. I also teach online writing classes for the community college during the fall and winter sessions.”
“In Newcastle?”
She hesitated, maybe realizing she was giving away personal information and not sure she should be doing it.
“Not in Newcastle,” he guessed. “You don’t live in town?”
“No.”
“Look, Ella. I’m sure you think you’re helping yourself by keeping information from me, but I really do work for the FBI. I can find out anything I want to know pretty easily.”
“I live outside Charlotte, North Carolina,” she muttered, and he wasn’t sure if it was the truth or a lie.
“And you’re in Maine because?”
“My cousin passed away a couple of weeks ago. I came to clean out her apartment.”
“I’m sorry for
