When I Find You: A Trust No One Novel (3 page)

When she returned to the car, Grant handed her a super-sized soft drink in a paper cup. “Thought we could use some caffeine,” He jabbed a straw in his own drink and raised it to his lips.

“You read my mind.” She sucked the sugary liquid through her straw. Trepidation gnawed at her stomach. Accepting a ride from Grant was outside her comfort zone, a decision made in the heat of the moment. He represented no danger—she was sure of that, but still the situation bothered her. Knowing her father would have plenty to say about her reckless and irresponsible behavior added to her unease. The worst part was, her father was right, but she couldn’t insult Grant by refusing his offer now, after he’d been so nice. Besides, she was almost home.

Traffic was heavy and they crept along, waiting for unending lines of cars to get through green lights that never stayed green long enough.

Darcy couldn’t stop yawning. Being up all night was finally catching up to her. Conversation should help to keep her awake. “Are you home on vacation, or are you staying?”

Grant laughed. “Don’t get me wrong. Pacific City is a great place to visit, but I don’t recommend living there.” He glanced her way. “How about you?”

“Oh no. Just a long weekend.”

“Then back to Chicago?”

“Yes . . . uh . . . no . . . frankly I’m not quite sure.”

His expression was sympathetic, and Darcy braced for the questions she couldn’t answer. To her surprise, he didn’t press her.

“I’m a law student at the University of Chicago. I have to be back in a couple of days.”

“Wow. Law school? I would never have guessed.”

He cocked his head toward her. “Not sleazy enough?”

Darcy threw her head back and laughed. “Yeah, that’s it exactly. What kind of law will you practice when you’re finished?”

“Corporate law. My uncle runs a large international business, and he’s footing the bill for my schooling. It’s a great opportunity for me, and I could end up in Paris or Geneva or Dubai. He has connections all over the world.”

By the time they reached the freeway, she couldn’t keep her eyes open. She missed large segments of Grant’s monologue on the job he hoped to have and life at the University of Chicago.

Once, when he stopped and stared at her and the terrible realization she’d missed a question dawned on her, she groaned. “I’m so sorry. I’m having a little trouble concentrating. What did you ask?”

He smiled and kept on talking, and she felt like a jerk. She forced her eyes open and swallowed large gulps of her soda, hoping the caffeine would do its job. But the road noise, the radio, and Grant’s voice all blended together and soon lulled her to sleep.

D
ARCY WOKE ABRUPTLY
when her forehead bounced off the side window. Her hand flew to her head and she opened her eyes, staring in disbelief at the landscape that now surrounded them. Grass, brush, and rocks edged an overgrown dirt road that wound up a steep hillside and disappeared into the trees ahead of them. Where were they? They’d left Portland . . . the freeway . . . the traffic. Wow, her head throbbed. She felt funny—dizzy and nauseous. Why were they in the middle of nowhere? It made no sense. Why couldn’t she remember? She glanced at Grant as he stopped the car in the middle of the road.

“Get out.” His voice was cold and his eyes lacked any sign of friendliness.

Fear flickered somewhere in her groggy mind. “Where are we?” Her words slurred together. What was wrong with her?

“This is as good a place as any.” He reached beneath his seat and pulled out a gun. “Get out.”

She inhaled sharply. “What . . . what are you doing?” As she stared at the cold, black steel in his hand, bands of fear tightened around her throat.

“I’m sorry, Darcy. This wasn’t my idea. I like you, but I’ve got family in Chicago, and when one of them asks for a favor, I can’t say no.” He motioned with the gun for her to get out and opened his door.

Terror, laced with adrenaline, provided her first lucid moment and she finally started to think clearly. Reggie wanted her dead. He must be Grant’s family in Chicago. Grant drove her out here, away from anyone who might witness . . . My God! He was going to kill her. Was he that blindly loyal to his family? She’d trusted him—thought she knew him. The cold determination in his eyes told her she’d been wrong about that. Through the terror that pounded in her heart, one thought ran through her mind over and over again:
Don’t make it easy.

The instant he turned his back to climb out of the car, Darcy threw open her door, struggled to her feet, and ran.

The tree line was fifty feet away. Her body moved sluggishly as she stumbled through the brush. She’d never make it to the safety of the forest, but giving up was an automatic death sentence. Ducking her head, she zigzagged around rocks and stumps and downed trees. Behind her, Grant swore. A bullet ricocheted off the rocks to her left. She pushed herself faster. Her chest burned with the effort to breathe. Her foot tangled in the underbrush, and she fell against a log. Pain shot through her shoulder and down her arm, and she stifled a scream. Forcing herself up, she swung her legs over the log just as his second shot slivered the wood two inches from her hand.

Darcy pushed herself away from the log and broke into a run again. She had to keep going. Nothing else was acceptable.
Don’t make it easy.
She could feel the gun aimed at her back, and she braced herself for the pain that would explode through her and send her crashing to the ground. Five feet from her goal, the gunshot cracked and echoed through the stillness. She almost stopped, so sure the bullet would tear through her. One more stride and then another and another . . . she was still on her feet. Somehow he’d missed.

She broke through the dark forest curtain and kept running. The trees gave her cover for the moment, but it wasn’t over. There was no way he would quit. Obviously, he couldn’t go back to Reggie and tell him he’d failed. Grant would keep coming until she was so exhausted she couldn’t put one foot in front of the other. Then he would catch her.

She had to think—come up with a plan—but her mind was already on overload, panic the order of the day.

Twenty feet farther she stopped and collapsed against the trunk of a tree, the scaly bark scratching her skin through her cotton shirt. No sounds of pursuit carried through the forest, but that could change any minute.
Keep going. Don’t give him a chance to close the gap.
She rested barely long enough to catch her breath before she stumbled to her feet again. At a more careful pace, she moved deeper into the shadows.

Even if she managed to evade Grant, she was in trouble. Her father taught her how to survive in the wilderness when she was a kid, but she’d slept when Grant drove the car up the dirt road. Plunked down in the middle of a mountainous forest, she was on foot and ill-prepared. If she got too far away from the road they came in on, it would be that much harder to find her way out. It was only about an hour until sunset. The possibility of spending the night here with no light, no warm clothes, and no way to start a fire alarmed her. Wild animals roamed the forest at night. She pushed that thought away. No sense worrying about that unless she had to.

Thirty minutes later, a group of three large fir trees gave her cover as she dropped to the ground and leaned back against one of them, lungs aching with exertion. Her bruised shoulder and arm throbbed with each beat of her heart. She still had no real plan beyond staying ahead of Grant. Should she circle around and try to find the road? Was there any chance he’d given up and left? There was still no sign of pursuit. She couldn’t keep going deeper into the forest or she’d be lost for sure. No one knew where she was. No one would come rescue her.

She rested longer than she’d intended. A dry branch snapped somewhere close by, and she jerked to attention. Was that . . .? Don’t jump to conclusions. It was just a deer walking by or a squirrel dropping a pinecone from a tree. No need to panic. She drew a steadying breath.

Another crack—closer this time. Whatever it was, it moved toward her. She went still and strained to hear. Was it her imagination or had the birds and chipmunks scurried for cover as well? Frozen in place, she waited, listening. Nothing. There was no one there. She’d let her imagination get the best of her.

Then she heard his voice, deeper and gruffer than his obvious charade in the plane and in the car, and the sudden sensation he was right beside her, whispering in her ear, sent shivers up and down her spine.

“Darcy, it’s over. You could save us both a lot of trouble and show yourself. Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.”

What a load of crap! Did he think she was a fool? That she’d really fall for that? She’d been stupid to trust him, but she wouldn’t buy his hometown-boy routine again. A wave of anger rolled over her. The next time she trusted a man, there’d be twenty feet of snow in hell—if she lived that long.

His words pinpointed his location. He was too close for her to make a run for it, and he moved toward the trees she hid behind.
Don’t make it easy.
The words screamed in her mind. She looked for something to use as a weapon and found a broken branch on the ground. Not too heavy. She could handle it even with one shoulder that throbbed like crazy. The limb clutched in her hand, she rose to her feet. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on hearing his approach. She gripped the branch like a baseball bat and stood ready.

A whisper of sound against the trunk of the large fir to her left snapped her eyes open as she pivoted. The next instant, she stepped toward the sound and brought the limb around in an arc toward the man who stepped into view. Gray eyes regarded her with surprise as he brought his arm up to block her swing. He didn’t have a chance. Her blow caught him on the side of his head and dropped him where he stood.

Blood ran from a gash above his eye. Sickened by what she’d done, Darcy dropped the tree branch and backed away. She shook uncontrollably as she stared at the man slumped against the trunk of the tree. His long black hair pulled back in a ponytail and tied with a leather strip, his close-cut beard, and his army-green canvas jacket were easily recognizable. It was the man from the airport—the one who stared at her.

Damn. There were two of them hunting her. She backed away, and when she could no longer see the man slouched against the tree, she whirled and ran.

Chapter Two

T
HE PHONE RANG,
startling Walker awake, and he rolled onto his back with a muttered curse. His head throbbed and he was instantly pissed. Fumbling for his phone on the bedside table, he sent the empty whiskey bottle from the night before clattering to the floor.
Who the hell is calling at this hour?
He checked the caller ID, glanced at the time—four thirty—then groaned. It was already five thirty in Montana, and that didn’t qualify as early to the person calling.

“This better be damn good, Joe.”

There was a slight hesitation on the other end. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything. How’s the vacation going?”

Joe’s cheerfulness increased the throbbing in Walker’s head, kicking his frustration up another notch. “You called at fucking dark thirty to ask me that?”

“That good, huh?” Amusement rang in Joe’s voice.

Walker sat up and ran a hand through his hair, reining in his irritation. He and Joe had served together in Afghanistan and Iraq. There was no one he trusted more, and Joe wouldn’t call without a reason. A pinprick of worry made it through the fog that still enveloped his sleep-deprived mind. “Why are you calling? Everything okay there?”

“We’re good. Cara says hi.”

“How is our Cara?” A smile banished the rest of Walker’s annoyance.

“Great . . . happy . . . pregnant.”

Contentment filled Joe’s voice—with good reason. He’d found his soul mate in Cara, if you believed in that sort of thing. Ten months ago when she disappeared, abducted by her gangster ex-husband, there was a moment when Joe thought he’d lost her. It turned out she was tough, though, and refused to go down easy. Walker was best man at their wedding.

“You dog, you. Joe Junior, or Jolene?”

“Too early to tell—and I’m pretty sure those names aren’t on Cara’s list.”

Walker chuckled. “Congratulations.”

“Ready to go back to work?”

“Depends.” Walker grinned. Hell yes, he was ready. Joe’s contacts with various federal agencies were always good for special jobs—
special
almost always meant dangerous. That was just what Walker needed to take his mind off his problems.

“You’ll be backing up the U.S. Marshals Service, but the job is strictly off the books. You’ve heard of Frank DeLuca?”

“Hell, yeah. Big-time Chicago mobster. Prostitution, gambling, all the usual stuff.”

“Rumor has it DeLuca killed a federal judge. One of his men, Johnny Fontana, saw him pull the trigger and was prepared to testify. His home was broken into last night and shots were fired. Now Johnny is missing, and the marshals are fairly confident he’s either dead or will be soon.”

“No honor among thieves, I guess. What’s all that got to do with me? Let them work it out.”

“Johnny’s wife and kids were visiting family in California. They’re in protective custody. Mrs. Fontana thinks the shooter was Reggie Allen, a hit man who works for DeLuca. She also said there was someone else in the house—the boys’ nanny. A woman named Darcy Maddox. She managed to escape and, whether she knows anything or not, it’s unlikely DeLuca will let her live.”

“So you need somebody to track her down?” It was a glorified babysitting job. Hell, anyone could handle it. Joe didn’t need him. Walker leaned back against the headboard.

“Mrs. Fontana said her husband tried to talk Darcy into going home to visit family for the weekend. Depending on how scared she is, she might still catch that plane. The marshals are stretched a little thin right now, and they’d like us to check out that possibility. They’ll take over after you find her. In other words, looking for Johnny is much more important to them than finding this girl. They asked for some discretion.”