had changed when Celia realized the daunting task she couldn’t put off until the next day. It took four trips to her car to bring in her luggage and groceries. She discovered a spurt of energy when she cleaned the refrigerator, vacuumed the floors, dusted furniture, cleaned the bathrooms and made her bed.
The sun had set behind the mountains, taking with it the warmth of the day when Celia sat on the wraparound deck outside her second-floor bedroom, sipping from a mug of steaming coffee. She’d showered, changed into a pair of cotton pajamas and then added a thick cotton pullover and socks to ward off the cooler night air.
Without the bright lights from hotels, towering office and high-rise apartment buildings the stars in the nighttime sky appeared brighter, closer. Closing her eyes, Celia felt a gentle peace sweep over her body. It was as if she’d come to her own private world where she didn’t want for anything. All she had to do was wake up, eat, drink, walk, read, watch television, go to bed and then get up to do it all over again.
Now she understood why people dropped out of society to become recluses. It took too much effort to make it through each day. She’d been trained to save lives. And yet, she’d stood by and watched a boy take the lives of her patient, fiancé and another doctor before he was shot by another boy. What Celia hadn’t been able to grasp was that all of the gang members were sixteen and younger. Instead of hanging out at the mall, flirting with girls or tinkering with cars, they’d carried guns not to protect themselves, but to savagely and arbitrarily take the lives of other human beings.
Now, Celia, don’t get maudlin. The inner voice, the one she called her voice of reason, pulled her back to center and helped her maintain a modicum of stability. She took another deep swallow of coffee and placed the mug on a low table before settling deeper into the cushioned chaise.
She closed her eyes again and moments later succumbed to a dreamless slumber where there were no screams, bullets or tears.
Gavin felt restlessness akin to an itch he wasn’t able to scratch. He’d prepared the slaw, and the results were even better than he’d expected. He’d also prepared a three-bean salad, grilled chicken and sweet tea.
Leaving the government-registered SUV parked in the garage, he’d set out on foot to familiarize himself with the surrounding countryside. His brother was out there, hiding in the mountains and/or forest from a group of ruthless men and women who were ordered to kill him on sight.
Gavin hadn’t seen or spoken to his brother in more than two years. Raymond Prentice had been so deep undercover that if he hadn’t recognized his eyes, Gavin wouldn’t have known who he was. Ray could change his appearance by losing or gaining copious amounts of weight. He would shave his head, grow his hair, beard and affect different accents. Although the wounded gun-shop owner had given law enforcement officials an accurate description of Raymond Prentice, the technicians at the Bureau had subtly altered the mug shot to disguise the undercover agent’s features.
Born Orlando Wells, he’d become Gavin’s foster brother when Gavin’s mother took him in after he’d been placed in her care by a fellow social worker. Orlando didn’t remember his drug-addicted parents, and at nine hadn’t shed a tear when told of their deaths from an overdose of crack cocaine. Malvina Faulkner legally adopted Orlando and after college and a stint as a Navy SEAL, he was recruited by the ATF. Orlando Wells Faulkner had become Raymond Prentice and anyone they wanted him to be.
His younger brother had always been a risk taker, and if Orlando survived this undercover mission, Gavin would do everything within his power to convince him to leave the ATF. Their mother’s greatest fear was that after burying her husband, who’d died in the line of duty, she would also bury one or both of her sons. The elder Faulkner, a former Vietnam War Green Beret, joined the Bureau as an undercover agent. He’d infiltrated a radical group in the early 1980s, but lost his life during a confrontation between group members and the police.
Gavin continued walking along the shoulder of a narrow two-lane road. He’d estimated he’d walked half a mile and a total of eight cars had passed going in either direction. The population of Waynesville was about ten thousand, and that meant most long-time residents were familiar with one another. However, during the summer the number of tourists visiting the mountain region swelled the numbers appreciably.
Being on the run during the summer months and attempting to hide out in a tourist area was advantageous for the undercover agent, but would prove to be the opposite for Gavin because it would make his search more difficult.
His orders dictated that he work alone, without the assistance of regional agents or local law enforcement. The members of the joint task force did not want anything or anyone to compromise their attempt to eradicate a gun-trafficking network spanning more than twenty states.
Gavin knew what lay ahead was a daunting task, but he had to cover acres of virgin forests, mountain caves and miles of streams to rescue the FBI’s Most Wanted before the gun traffickers found him.
Chapter 3
Gavin decelerated when he spotted a dark shape in the middle of the road. He’d spent most of the morning driving along Route 44l, which led into the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. He’d walked the trails, searching for Orlando Faulkner. After more than six hours, he’d decided to head back to Waynesville.
He’d gotten up before sunrise to plan his strategy. He’d gone over a map detailing western North Carolina, highlighting the many cities he’d planned to visit ranging as far east as Black Mountain. His travels would take him south to Hendersonville and Flat Rock, then northwest to Asheville and as far west as the Great Smoky Mountains, and if necessary, into Tennessee.
Slowing and pulling off onto the shoulder, he got out of the truck, his right hand pressed to the automatic tucked into his waistband under his T-shirt. Going to one knee, he saw a small dog. Each time it attempted to move, it let out a small whimper.
He rested a hand lightly on the canine’s back. “What happened to you, buddy?” Gavin’s head popped up when he heard the sound of tires on the roadway. A car was coming closer. Standing, he waved his arms over his head, motioning for the motorist to stop. Fortunately, there was still enough daylight for whoever was driving the vehicle to see him.
Celia saw the figure of a man standing in the middle of the road, waving frantically. She pushed a button on the steering wheel, raising the driver’s-side window. Slowing, she stopped within feet of the man she recognized as the one who’d asked her about cabbages two days before.
She lowered the window with his approach. “What’s the matter?”
Gavin smiled, despite the seriousness of the situation. He’d grown up around pets, but it was dogs that were his personal favorite. Orlando liked cats because he claimed they were silent and unpredictable. His brother would pretend to be a cat and try and sneak up on Gavin before he detected his presence. Eight out of ten times he was successful.
He leaned into the window. “There’s an injured dog in the road.”
Celia pushed open the door, but Gavin wouldn’t let her get out. “Let go of the door.”
He shook his head. “You don’t need to see it.”
Her eyes grew wider. “Is it dead?”
“No.”
“Then, let me see it.”
“No,” Gavin repeated.
“I’m a doctor,”
