Authors: Kris Norris
Gage turned back, shaking the file. “Any reason we’re just finding this out now? Surely Trevor’s team checked the same database.”
Doug frowned and kicked his toe against the floor. “It seems Scott’s file was locked with a level four security password. We didn’t even get an indication it was there until I specifically ran the Bureau database against the fingerprints using a class five pass code. Then it took three calls to Langley to get the clearance to open it. And I still can’t access his military file.” He sighed. “Stuff like this doesn’t just happen, gentlemen. I have a very bad feeling Agent Mann locked it up himself, but I can’t prove it. That doesn’t bode well for us finding out any more information about him.”
“What about the DNA sample? Does it match his?”
“Unfortunately, his file is missing any DNA records, but we’re working on obtaining a current address so we can get a comparison. But let’s not ignore the fact the man certainly has the expertise to pull off a scenario like what happened at the bookstore.”
“So where does that leave us?” asked Sam. “Whether he’s Drake Davenport or Scott Mann doesn’t get us any closer to stopping him, or finding Brooklyn.”
“Maybe not right away, but at least we can start searching his side of the story. See if we can track down friends, or family, who may know where he lives.” Doug looked up at Gage. “Any luck with the Brooklyn’s file?”
“So far every lead has been a dead end. There’s only one regular from the diner I haven’t talked to. His wife said he went out on another run. She sounded distressed about having to talk to me, but that might not be anything.”
“Where was the guy headed?”
“Denver.”
“Has Brooklyn ever been to
Gage laughed. “Not with me. I’m not a big fan of snow.”
“What about before you two were married?”
Gage sighed and looked away. “We never really talked much about that. She was born in
Sam opened Brooklyn’s file, and flipped through the pages. “Here it is. Says social services contacted a few relatives, but only the grandparents were willing to take custody of her. At the time of accident, they lived in Miami.” He scanned further. “I can’t see a current address for them.”
“They died the summer Brooklyn graduated from high school.
Cancer.
Funny how it got them both within a month of the other.”
“Damn,” said Sam. “Brook never told me she’d lost everyone that was close to her.”
Gage‘s chest tightened, but he pushed it away. “She didn’t talk much about it. I think…”
Sam looked over at him, shifting a quick glance at Doug before he gave Gage a shake. “You think what?”
“Bloody hell!”
Gage grabbed the file from Sam, exchanging it with the one in his hand. He could feel both men watching him as he scanned through the sheets, tossing the ones he didn’t want on the floor.
“Buddy.
You okay?” asked Sam.
“Damn it! We’ve been looking at the answer all along. God, I can’t believe I didn’t see it.” He threw one more sheet on the floor, before sucking in a harsh breath.
“
“White, what?” said Sam.
“
It’s a small one-horse town in northern
“Head back where?”
“Here.” He pointed to the address on the sheet. “Some obscure cabin on the edge of town.” Gage held up a copy of Brooklyn’s driver’s licence. “The address matches her first licence. They must have moved there after they got custody of her. It didn’t click because the current owners are Frank and Sylvia Boyd.”
“So what makes you think she’s gone there?” asked Sam. “I could see it if she still owned the place, but running off to a stranger’s house isn’t Brooklyn’s style. Not even in an emergency.”
“Something tells me these people aren’t strangers to her.” Gage flipped through some more papers, running his fingers along the entries. “Damn, I know I’ve seen that name or place somewhere else.”
Sam took some of the sheets, copying Gage’s approach. He’d gone through three pages of telephone numbers before he stopped. “Well I’ll be damned.”
“What?” asked
Gage.
“There’s a call from White Falls,
it’s
there.” He turned and smiled at Gage. “How much do you want to bet that number belongs to the
Boyds
?”
Doug joined them. “I’ll run the number, just to be sure. I’ll also have my team check the flights. See how fast we can get you two there.” He walked out the door without waiting for an answer.
“So you think she’s really gone there? One phone call in the past few years isn’t much to go on.”
“Oh yeah.
She went there.”
“Are you sure you want to go after her? Maybe I should go…alone.”
Gage looked at Sam, noting the man’s worried expression. Sam had every right to question his intentions. He’d done nothing but fuck up since walking back into Brooklyn’s life. But that was all about to change.
“I appreciate the offer, but I have no intentions of allowing Brooklyn to get away from me that easily.”
Sam nodded, but the frown between his brows deepened. He took a step forward, visibly holding his fists at his sides. “I need to warn you—”
Gage stopped him with a wave of his hand. “I know what you’re thinking. I’ve been insensitive, pushy, and downright asinine. Brook would be a fool to even let me through the door, let alone give me another chance. Not after the way I’ve treated her. She was scared, but I was too busy worrying about how it was going to make me feel, than to be the man she needed me to be.” He sighed, stuffing his hands back in his pockets. He would’ve kicked his own butt if it were possible. Instead, he’d have to settle for having Brook kick it for him. If he could convince her to listen to him, that is. “I’ve got a lot to make up for. And I can’t make things right if I keep hiding from the truth…from her.” He looked up at Sam. “I need to go. But I fully expect you to kick my ass if I so much as look at her the wrong way.”
Sam sighed, kicking his foot against the floor. “All right, buddy,” he finally said. “Let’s go get the little minx.”
Chapter Eighteen
Brooklyn
startled awake, jolting up in the chair, the blanket fluttering to the floor in a rumpled heap. She looked around the dark room, the acrid taste of fear burning down her throat.
Where…
The cabin
.
She tried to laugh in relief, but only managed a small whimper as she stood up, gathering the blanket from the floor. It felt even colder, and she needed the extra duvet to chase the chill away, especially at night.
She headed upstairs, nearly tripping over the last step when she reached the landing. She narrowed in on the bed, tossing the blanket across the sheets before groping for the matches she’d left waiting on the small nightstand. The room would feel more inviting once she’d lit the candle, and snuggled under the sheets. She slid her fingers over the wood, finally settling on the tiny, square booklet. It only took two rasps to ignite the end, bathing the shadows with a welcomed light. Under different circumstances, she would’ve considered the gesture romantic.
But not here.
Not now.
Brooklyn
cursed as her thoughts drifted to Gage. She’d done everything to shun his memory, but his image seemed forever seared in her mind. Just closing her eyes conjured up pictures of his face. The way his dark hair wisped across his forehead, the main
mass long
enough for her to wrap around her fingers. His features matched his body, firm but sleek. There was something about him that spoke of pure male dominance. Had he been an animal, there was no doubt in her mind he’d be an alpha.
Always expecting compliance.
She smiled when she remembered all the times her own stubbornness had driven him to the brink. But she knew it was a trait he’d admired in her.
Not anymore.
She sighed, and stripped off her clothes. She’d found an old hockey jersey, and had relegated it to pyjama duty. It wasn’t quite the silk lingerie she’d grown accustomed to wearing, but it beat naked.
At least here.
Naked
.
Gage
.
Brooklyn
threw back the covers, ignoring the pang of longing moving through her chest, and sat on the bed when she remembered she hadn’t made the obligatory trip to the ladies room. And getting up in the night wasn’t an option. She cursed and dragged her butt back down the stairs, hoping she could make it back before the sheets cooled. She’d just bridged the hallway when she stopped and glanced towards the kitchen. Had she heard something? She listened, fists clenched around the doorframe, eyes searching the shadows. She could hear the clock ticking on the far wall, and an owl cry out in the night. She forced a smile and turned when it sounded again.
A creak.
Fear beaded her skin with a cold sweat as she moved back towards the chair. Frank had been an avid hunter and still kept a few rifles around for keepsakes. She’d checked them out as soon as she’d arrived, hiding one under her bed, and another beneath the chair. While it’d been over a year since she’d gone with Gage to the firing range, she knew how to handle a weapon.
She knelt beside the chair, feeling underneath until her fingers grazed over the cold, metal shaft. She pulled it free, feeling for the magazine as another creak echoed from the back. Damn. Someone was out there. She stayed
crouched,
and practically crawled back to the hallway. She needed a vantage point, and that was the only place she could anchor the thing against her shoulder without standing out in the open. She tried to breathe, but her chest wouldn’t inflate, a large knot now formed inside. Why the hell hadn’t she set up some perimeter alarms?
Booby-trapped the damn doors?
It didn’t matter that she didn’t have the foggiest idea how. It only mattered that she hadn’t.
A click followed by a soft swirl of cold air.
He was inside.
Every instinct told her to run. Slip out a back window and head for town. She wanted to, but her feet didn’t seem to be listening. They felt rooted to the floor, stuck in place as surely as if she’d nailed them down. She heard another click and realised the bastard had closed the door.
Oh God, she was trapped. It was too late to run now. He’d hear her and catch her before she could force open one of the windows and escape.
Were those footsteps?
Shit!
She eased back slightly, and raised the rifle to her shoulder. She’d never fired at anything other than paper targets and clay props. How the hell could she kill a man?
“God damn.”
A deep voice whispered across the room, so muffled she wasn’t even sure she’d heard it. He’d bumped into her clothesline. She smiled, hoping the fucker had impaled his groin on the damn thing. Serve him right, the cocksucker.
Invading her house, threatening her life.
In a perfect world the small pole would’ve clipped his fucking sac off, but she’d settle for hearing him writhing in pain on the kitchen floor. Maybe she could corner him while he was crying over his poor, skewered cock.
She took a step forward just a large figure stepped through the doorway.
Drake
.
Ohmygod
.
He was here.
Standing in her living room.
Determined to make her his lover.
She was cornered, with only a rifle between her and a set of restraints anchored to his bed. She could see it in her head. The very bedroom she’d described in her books.
The large, four-poster bed, draped with rich silk batting.
The thick, goose-down duvet, layered over chocolate-coloured Egyptian sheets with matching throw pillows. There’d be a soft, faux, bearskin rug centred in front of a stone hearth, where Sarah had seduced Drake on more than one occasion, and an antique dresser beside a large picture window along one of the walls.
Brooklyn
shuffled back, and pressed her back against the wall. She held the rifle next to her leg, not sure what move to make next. Would he check out the rest of the house first, or go straight to her bedroom? She forced herself to swallow, praying she wouldn’t gag, as she listened for any indication of his direction.