Flee the Night (17 page)

“Yeah,” she said, not taking the binoculars from her eyes.

“I’m also pretty good at breaking and entering.”

“That’s not funny, Lacey. You’re in so much trouble I think they’ll probably deny your visitation privileges for the next two decades.”

She glanced at him. No hint of a smile. “Not that anyone would visit me.”

He felt punched. Even so, he could hardly believe it when he said softly, “I would.”

She bit her lip before turning away. The wind swept that ridiculous blonde hair across her face, and the anger that had fueled him for the last two hours, the same anger that focused his thoughts and unwound her plan, evaporated at the expression of pain on her face.

“Emily was injured in my womb in Kazakhstan,” she whispered, not looking at him. “She was born premature, with undeveloped lungs. Even now, she gets lung infections easily. Janie … helped me. She kept Emily for me while I tried to figure out who was on my tail.”

“Someone was after you?” He edged toward her, wanting to ease the heaviness on her face, instead taking the binoculars from her hands. He swept the horizon with them.

“Yeah. I think it was Shavik.”

He drew the binoculars from his eyes, frowned at her.

“Why?”

“It’s such a long story. I don’t know where to start.”

“Try backing up to ten minutes before I found you in Kazakhstan holding a knife dripping with your husband’s blood.”

Micah got her attention, hoping to spark anger. Lacey might know how to play mind chess, but underneath the cool exterior, there was a woman who heated at his accusations. He hoped.

She licked her lips and stared at him with a cold look. “Shavik killed John.” She took the binoculars from him, again put them to her eyes. “Sorta. He worked for a man named Frank Hillman. Who I think might still be on my tail.”

“How would he know about Ex-6? I’m assuming that it’s top secret.”

She nodded. “Precisely.”

He paused as realization sank in, sending a chill through him. “You think someone inside the NSA knows and is leaking information to Shavik.”

“Or to Hillman.” She crouched. “Ready?”

“Wait, who is Frank Hillman?”

Ignoring him, she pointed along the fence line. “Remember the old Galloway mine? Grave’s Cave entrance is right up there.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Um, you
do
remember that you, John, and I nearly got killed in that mine once, right?”

When she grinned, he saw the old Lacey, the one who lived for adventure, for challenge. “Uh-huh. Race ya.”

She darted up the hill toward the cave entrance. He recognized the limestone boulders that concealed the entrance. If he remembered correctly, it had also been their escape route when the abandoned Galloway mine caved in on them. He suppressed a shudder just thinking about the choking dust, the pitch-black that had poured into his eyes, his mouth. Lacey had been a quiet sophomore, showing off her parents’ property to Micah and John. In the end, she’d saved their lives.

His lucky penny.

He ran behind her up the hill. She vanished behind the outlay of boulders, and he knew that five steps beyond was the cave opening. He was breathing hard when he met her inside.

She leaned against the wall of the cave. “You okay?”

“Good,” he said between breaths, hating his vulnerabilities. Emily wasn’t the only one missing a lung. He wiped a pricking of sweat off his temple. “Now where?”

“Inside. About fifty feet. Then the mine jags off from there. We follow it to the cabin.”

“I thought we were going to the stables.”

She grinned. “Yeah, you did, didn’t you?”

He wanted to wring her neck as she started down the passageway. Her flashlight—no,
his
flashlight—striped the walls and lit their path as they angled into the darkness. The smell of bat guano and mustiness rushed him back to the Tennessee cave and Brian. He’d have to call Conner and see if the kid had been released from the hospital yet.

Conner. He’d forgotten to call him back. But maybe if he kept on Lacey’s trail—something easier said than done apparently—he’d discover just who this Ishmael Shavik was without Conner’s help.

And then what? Call Senator Ramey? Oh, sure, Micah rated high on the favorites list with this maneuver. Aiding and abetting. Well, if they weren’t caught, no one would know … right?

His chest tightened. No,
he’d
know. The only way out of this mess was to turn Lacey in. Willingly … or kicking and screaming. Right after she got her Emily back. That’s what drove him to follow her, despite common sense yelling in the back of his brain. He
did
care. About Emily—John’s daughter. And about justice.

He hadn’t been lying. Not … really.

He felt like a dog as he followed Lacey through the mine. She glanced back now and again and smiled at him. It only dug the guilt further into his chest. Yeah, some hero he was. He wasn’t helping her. He was slowing her down. What was worse, he was going to arrest her.

But he would visit her in prison. Every day. Because, as much as he hated to admit it, she’d gotten under his skin. Like a virus. Or an old football injury.

What was more, the low simmer that had started three days ago in his gut, the one that had him questioning her guilt, had heated to full boil.
Shavik killed John?

Of one thing he felt sure: Lacey Galloway Montgomery would die for her family. And John had been her man, as much as Micah hated that fact. He had no doubt that if she’d been given the choice she would have traded her life for John Montgomery’s in Kazakhstan.

In betraying him, she would be betraying herself. No wonder her eyes looked empty.

No wonder she looked like a woman whose soul had died.

So what had really happened in Kazakhstan?

Chapter 11

LACEY FOUND THE key to the cabin right where she’d left it, inside a plastic bag tacked to the upper side of a beam. Her light traced the outline of the door, its hinges webbed and rusted.

She heard Micah’s labored breathing behind her, and a flint of worry pierced her concentration. “You okay?” she asked in a low tone.

“Yeah,” he answered, but it sounded too fast, too easy.

She turned the lock, eased the door to the stairs open. The smell of cement and fresh air rushed at her, and dust filled her lungs. She stifled a cough as she angled her flashlight up the stairs, saw that the trapdoor was still locked. “Up here.”

Micah moved in behind her as she climbed the stairs, unlatched the trapdoor, and pushed it open. The gray hues and cool air of a closed cabin signified safety. She held her breath and listened—no rushing feet to yank the door open, no sudden intake of breath as they waited to pounce.

She climbed into the cabin, flashlight in one hand, Micah’s knife in the other.

The main room was empty. Sunlight cracked through the boarded-up windows. Dust twirled in the film of light and covered the sheets outlining the sofa and the rocker.

Micah climbed up behind her. “I thought this place had been abandoned.”

“Yes. Sorta. I hid here for about a year after Emily was born.”

“They didn’t have you imprisoned at Langley?”

His question felt like a needle in her soul. “No.” She bit back a retort, but it leaked out. “Not everyone believed I could kill my husband.”

He looked at her, nonplussed. “I didn’t mean that.”

Sure he didn’t. She gritted her teeth, cursing her feelings.

She’d mingled memory with circumstance and come out with false intentions. Even if he had said he cared, she’d let herself read too much into his sudden appearance into her life. His cold words and stinging accusation blindsided her.

Lacey had no doubt he planned to arrest her the minute she found Ex-6. He cared about his country. The guy practically had the Stars and Stripes tattooed on his heart. There was no way he’d allow her to trade away national secrets. Even for Emily. Which meant he was a good guy … or bad guy?

She’d have to ditch him. She wanted to cringe but held it back. Just when she thought she might have a hero back in her life.

The little cabin had two rooms—a kitchen/main room and a back bedroom. She treaded to the bedroom and ran her light along the wardrobe, the saggy double bed, and the nightstand. Judging by the layer of dust, no one had even set foot in here to swirl the shadows, so no one knew that she stored the nation’s most precious commodity in a room behind her grandmother’s wardrobe.

She glanced at Micah, debating. Took a breath. “Can you go in the kitchen and get me a chair?”

He frowned, one eyebrow raised in suspicion.

“Please?”

She could just hold him at knifepoint, but somehow she couldn’t bear to actually use the knife, which would make the act pointless. Unless, however, he believed she would use it, which he probably did. He still had the little prick on his neck where she’d ground the fork in. Emily was worth it.

He turned and she watched him go, feeling a little sick.

She waited until he was in the kitchen and then rushed to the bedside. She groped under the bed, up along the box spring. Yes! She wiggled the stun gun out from under the slats.

As she turned it on she truly hated herself. How could she do this to Micah? But he was like a hound on a rabbit and dead set on dragging her in to be hanged. Hadn’t he said that on more than one occasion? Who knew but maybe he’d called the NSA and told them where to lie in wait for her?

She flattened herself against the wall and waited. When he entered the room, hands full of the chair, she aimed for his neck, gritted her teeth, and hoped he went down easily.

Maybe he should call. Give Lacey a pep talk. Nero stared at the clock, ran his glance back to Emily, who sat eating Froot Loops one at a time out of the box, her eyes glued to SpongeBob SquarePants.

If Lacey was cooperative, he’d let her listen to her daughter laugh. And then he’d remind the little spy who was in charge here.

He sat down at the computer and dialed his connection. Thankfully, Ishmael had set up the calls, sending them through a dozen servers, many of them dummies, across the world before connecting with Lacey’s telephone. He typed in the text message, but before he hit send, he contemplated allowing Lacey to hear Emily’s laughter.

No. Let her wonder. Let her feel the fear of not knowing, hoping against hope that the one she sacrificed for still breathed.

He had no doubt that Lacey would obey him. He hadn’t watched her fight to protect Emily for the last six or so years without understanding the part the little girl would play in this moment. He’d wait, the taste of revenge filling his mouth.

If Jim Micah had somehow sniffed out her trail … well, wouldn’t his death be that much sweeter? He’d waited nearly seven years to get the Green Beret back in his sights.

Nero took a deep breath, ran his hands over his empty stomach, feeling it knot. Despite his cravings, he’d have to wait. Jim Micah would die another day. Besides, being a smart man, surely he wouldn’t believe a word Lacey said.

A smile tweaked one corner of Nero’s mouth as he pushed send and imagined her receiving his message.

TIME’S UP.

TOMORROW, MIDNIGHT.

COWARD’S HOLLOW.

JUST YOU AND EX-6.

“What is wrong with you?” Micah turned, slapped Lacey’s arm away from his neck. Whatever she’d held in her hand skittered across the floor. She didn’t even glance at it while she punched him, knuckles first, in the chest. He gasped as the pain went deep. “Lacey, stop!”

She swept his feet out from him and he landed hard on his back, knocking out his wind. She had the knife out and he decided from the look on her face to stay down. He mouthed the words
calm down
but felt a crushing weight on his chest.

Air, he needed air. He forced himself to take a breath, gasped, took another. “Stop,” he managed in a rasp.

She was shaking, and if he could read her right she was just about in tears. “Turn over. Put your nose to the floor, lace your hands behind your head.”

He blinked at her.

“Now!”

“All right. Okay.” He turned over, grimacing as his chest burned. He was going to have a doozy of a bruise, right next to his scars. But it was nothing compared to the wounds she’d inflicted on his heart. And to think he’d actually begun to trust her, just a wee bit, not once but
twice
. Conner had been right. … This woman had a hold on him, one that made him a glutton for punishment.