Love Inspired Suspense June 2015 - Box Set 2 of 2: Exit Strategy\Payback\Covert Justice (2 page)

He jogged the last hundred yards to security headquarters. The squadron was housed in a ranch-style building that looked over the fifty-acre compound. Cyrus had spent the past six nights bunking with fifteen loudmouthed, brash kids who had more muscle than brains. John McDermott ran the place like a military unit, and he'd assured Cyrus that he'd be moved into “officer” housing once he made it through his probationary period.

Cyrus had no intention of being in Amos Way long enough for that to happen. In and out. That's what he'd promised his boss Chance Miller. Head of HEART, Chance hadn't been all that eager to let Cyrus enter Amos Way. Cyrus wasn't all that happy about it either. HEART specialized in rescuing hostages from the most difficult of situations. The team's mission was to reunite families, to bring closure to those waiting for the missing. Sometimes, though, they took cases like this—a missing person who might or might not be at risk.

Cyrus preferred overseas assignments. Work Stateside tended to get him into trouble. He owed Essex Randolph, though. The guy had saved his hide in Iraq, and Cyrus didn't forget things like that. Not ever. Essex had been worried about Lark. A teacher at the school where he worked, she hadn't shown up for the first day of school or for any day after. She'd emailed a resignation to the school board, contacted the principal to let him know she wouldn't be returning. Cyrus had read the emails. They seemed on the up and up. Essex wasn't convinced, though. Lark loved her job, and she hated Amos Way. There was no way she'd ever willingly stay there.

That had been Essex's opinion, but it wasn't enough for the police to open a case. It was enough for Cyrus. He'd convinced Chance to let him check things out. He'd assured him that the case would be simple. It was turning out to be anything but that. Too bad he'd been so confident. It wouldn't have been a bad thing to have some backup waiting nearby.

The door to security headquarters opened as Cyrus approached, and John stepped outside. Tall with a belly that hung over his belt, the guy had a thick blond beard and balding head that made him look more like a young Saint Nick than the head of a security team. He wasn't someone to be messed with, though, and Cyrus doubted he was easily fooled. He wouldn't like that the enemy had infiltrated his team, and that's what Cyrus was. An enemy to the cause. Whatever that might be.

“You got everything squared away?” John asked.

He knew the answer. There wasn't a doubt in Cyrus's mind that John had been glued to the security monitor, watching the interaction between his newest security team member and his prisoner.

“What do you think?” Cyrus asked, because that was his persona—Louis Morgan. Kicked out of the army for bucking authority, a loose cannon who lived by his own moral code. Loyal to whoever paid the most money.

“Answer the question,” John barked.

“She's handcuffed. Don't know why you're bothering. Doubt she has more than a couple of days left.” Cyrus shrugged like it didn't matter, like he didn't care that an injured woman was being held prisoner in the compound.

“You think she needs a doctor?”

“Not my business whether she does or not,” Cyrus responded. “I'm paid to do what you tell me. I did it.”

The answer must have pleased John. He smiled. Not an easy happy smile. The predatory smile of a killer. “You just keep that in mind, Louie. We'll both be happier that way.”

He walked back inside, and Cyrus followed because it was expected. He was on night shift, working until dawn. It was his first all-nighter, and from what he gathered, it meant he was moving up in John's esteem. No reason why he wouldn't be. He'd done everything he'd been asked, and his cover story was faultless and foolproof. All the paperwork in order, all the background stuff put in place by HEART.

“What else do we have on the agenda for tonight?” he asked as he entered the building.

“We've got a shipment coming in at two.” John glanced at his watch. “You're going to help unload.”

Cyrus's pulse jumped. He'd witnessed a couple of deliveries being made, but he had no idea what was in any of the boxes that had been unloaded and locked into storage units at the edge of the compound. He'd asked and been told to mind his own business. He had, because he'd still been searching for Lark, and he hadn't wanted to get himself into trouble before he located her.

“You want me to run patrol while I'm waiting?” he asked, making sure to keep his expression neutral.

“I want you to go back to the trailer.”

“The one with the woman in it?”

“What other one have we been discussing tonight?” John responded as he walked into the monitor room. Seven computers. Seven security guards. None of the men looked all that excited to be watching the screens. The way Cyrus heard things, nothing much ever happened at Amos Way. People in the community followed the rules because they wanted to. They'd come to break free of temptation and sin, to aspire to the higher living that their leader preached. That had worked out well for Elijah. Whatever he'd started here in Amos Way, whatever secret he'd hired John and his team to protect, it had been safe for a long time.

Not any longer, though. Not if Cyrus had anything to do with it.

“I want you to go back here.” John tapped the screen that showed the inside of the trailer. Lark lay exactly where Cyrus had left her, lying on her back, her hands on her stomach. Only someone who knew she was holding something would notice that one hand was fisted and the other was slack.

“Why?” he asked, and John frowned.

“You know what, Louie? I don't like questions. I like my men to wait for orders and to keep quiet until they get them.”

“Then maybe you should talk a little faster,” he responded and wasn't surprised when the bored kids watching the monitors glanced their way.

“Maybe you should watch your mouth,” John snapped.

“Sorry.”

John eyed him for a moment, then nodded. “Good. You need to learn the rules, and you need to follow them. That's the way things are here. Now,” he said, tapping the screen again. “Back to our problem. The woman took something from Elijah. He wants it back. You want to earn your place on my team, you're going to get her to tell you where she hid it.”

“You got rules of engagement?” he asked.

“Nah. Anything goes. Just make sure you get the information before two. We ship her out when the delivery comes in.”

Ship her out?

Was that code word for
terminate
?

He didn't ask. Louis Morgan wouldn't care.

He nodded. “You got a place I can question her?”

“What's wrong with the trailer?”

“Too close to the community. I wouldn't want anyone to hear her scream.”

John frowned. “I didn't say torture her. I said question her.”

Maybe the guy had some morals. Maybe he wasn't as far down the rung of humanity as Cyrus had thought. “You said no rules.”

“One rule. Don't kill her. Two. Don't bring the community down on our heads. We're the good guys here, Louie. You gotta keep that in mind.”

“That's exactly why I want to bring her where no one will hear our little exchange.” He smiled. “You leave it to me, boss. I'll get it done.” Happily, because this was the perfect opportunity to get Lark out of the trailer without having the entire security team come down on them both. That would be a good start to getting her out of the compound, but it would only be a start. The compound was almost as well guarded as Fort Knox.

John hesitated. Then nodded. “Do what you have to do to get Elijah's property back.”

“What is it she took?”

“That's not something you need to know.”

“I can't ask for it, if I don't know what it is.”

John scowled, his fingers brushing the handle of his Glock. “You questioning my methods, Louie?”

“Just trying to get a handle on the mission,” Cyrus responded.

“She'll know what it is. Get the information, and there's a good bonus in it for you.”

“And a move from the common barracks?” he asked, because he figured John would expect him to.

“That, too.”

“Then, I guess I'd better get started.” He stalked from the house without looking back, walked back to the trailer. He'd spent the past few days studying the compound's layout, memorizing the location and angle of every security camera. There weren't many places that weren't under surveillance. The old church was one of them. It was also one of the only buildings that had a computer in it. If he could access that, he could hack into the mainframe that ran the security cameras, cut them off and get Lark out.

One thing at a time, Mitchell.

He could almost hear Stella Silverstone's voice. They'd been on more than one mission together, and she'd have accompanied him on this one if he hadn't been working for free. She'd offered to go with him anyway, but he didn't want to owe her. Not the way he owed Essex.

Not the way he owed Amber.

He shoved the thought away, refusing to think about the promise he made, the one he hadn't been able to fulfill.

He unlocked the trailer door, glanced over his shoulder and saw John slip behind an outbuilding.

The guy pretended to trust Cyrus, but he was suspicious. That would make things more difficult but not impossible. Never impossible.

Even in the worst of circumstances, a way out could be found. A good thing to keep in mind on a night like this.

TWO

L
ark listened to the sound of footsteps on linoleum, her eyes squeezed shut, her grip tight on the key. She didn't dare turn to see who was coming. The key was her one hope of escape, and she was afraid whoever it was would see it and take it from her.

Beside her, fabric rustled and the floor creaked.

She didn't open her eyes. Let whoever it was think that she was asleep. Better yet, let him think she was unconscious. Maybe he'd go away. Leave her alone to figure out how she could open the cuffs without being seen by the security team.

“I know you're awake.” The voice was smooth and rich, and she recognized it immediately. The man who'd dropped the key. The one who'd mentioned Essex.

Was it a trick? Some sort of mind game to get her to...

What?

Confess to searching Elijah's office?

She'd been caught doing that, so eliciting a confession wouldn't make any sense. But, then, nothing had made sense since she'd arrived back at Amos Way. Not her mother-in-law's silence. Not her father-in-law's fanaticism. Eric had changed since Joshua died. Not in a good way.

“Lark.” The man sighed. “Let's not play games, okay? We're on borrowed time as it is.” He cupped her biceps, pulled her up easily. She was sitting, then standing so quickly she felt dizzy with it. For a moment, she was back in time, standing with Joshua, looking at the compound for the first time, listening to him talk about growing up free from the trappings of the world, tuned into nature and focused on The Creator. She'd fallen in love with the picture he'd painted, but, then, she'd already been in love with him.

“You going to walk with your eyes closed or do you want me to carry you out of here? Either works for me.”

The words were a splash of ice water in the face. She jerked away, the key pressed so hard into her palm, she knew the imprint of it would be left in her skin.

He didn't try to pull her back, just stood where he was, blocking her path to the door. Maybe six-foot, a hundred and eighty pounds. Big compared to Lark, but she'd never been intimidated by physical strength. At least not in recent years. When she'd been a kid, walking home in one of the roughest neighborhoods in Chicago, she'd been scared. She'd gotten over that quickly. The will to survive and the knowledge that she only had herself to depend on had made her tough. The key to taking down a bigger, tougher opponent was the element of surprise. Without it, she didn't have a chance.

She lunged forward, aiming her foot for the man's instep and hitting her mark. He grunted, and she rammed both fists into his stomach, hopped out the door into the cold clean air. With her ankles tied, she couldn't move fast, but she stumbled down the stairs, managed to stay upright as she headed across overgrown grass. She didn't know where she was going, didn't have a clue as to where she could find safety. If she managed to escape the fenced area, she'd have to trek through thick forests to get to civilization. The closest town was a tiny speck on the map—seventy miles away, fifteen hundred people, ten full-time police officers. One of them with deep connections to Amos Way. She might not find allies there, but at least she could find a phone, could call a friend to give her a ride back to Baltimore.

The compound's main gates were to the north, but heading there wouldn't do her any good. She tried to run toward the side of the trailer, tripped on her feet and the ropes that bound her ankles. She fell hard, the breath knocked from her lungs, her fists slamming into her gut.

She tried to get to her feet.

“You don't know when to give up, do you?” the man asked, yanking her upright.

“I'll never give up,” she replied, but her voice was weak, her body trembling.

“Great. Good. You just keep on fighting, but how about you don't fight me?” He moved her forward, nudging her toward the old church where she and Josh had gotten married. It stood on a hill overlooking the compound, its clapboard siding whitewashed and gleaming in the moonlight. Behind it, a small cemetery spread out across two acres. Just beyond that, the fence protected the members of Amos Way from intruders. Or kept them from leaving.

She didn't know why he was leading her there, and she dug her heels in, tried to stop their forward momentum. She stumbled, would have gone down if his arm hadn't wrapped around her waist.

“Keep moving,” the man murmured, his fingers loose, his grip light. “Do you want John to join us?”

“I want to leave!” she responded, her voice raspy and hot sounding.

“You and me both,” he replied, prying her hand open and taking the key from it.

She wanted to scream, cry, beg for mercy, but that was another thing she'd learned a long time ago—don't let your opponent see your fear.

“You want to go, then leave,” she managed to say, and he shook his head.

“It would be nice if it were that easy, but John has this place sealed up tight. Getting out isn't going to be as easy as getting in, and even that wasn't all that easy.” He lifted her wrists, used the key to unlock the handcuffs, pulled a knife from his gun belt.

Her mouth went dry, and she tried to back up.

“Calm down, Lark. I'm not planning to use this on you.” He bent over, sliced through the ropes at her ankle.

Blood flooded into her feet. She didn't have time to think about it. He gave her a gentle push toward the church.

“Here's how we're going to play things. You're going to keep looking terrified—”

“Looking?” she mumbled, and he met her eyes, offered a half smile that did nothing to ease the hardness of his face.

“Just keep on
being
terrified. John wants me to question you about whatever it is you took from Elijah.”

“I didn't take anything.” She hadn't had a chance. She'd managed to sneak into Elijah's house during the evening prayer meeting, but she'd been caught before she could do more than open his file cabinet. Whatever he was hiding, whatever the compound fronted for, she hadn't had time to uncover it.

“That's not what John and Elijah think.”

“I don't really care what they think.”

“Maybe you should since they had you hog-tied in a trailer.”

“And sent you to question me,” she pointed out. “You probably know more about what they want then I do.”

“Probably not. I've barely spoken to Elijah, and John keeps things close to the cuff.”

“So you're just blindly following orders?”

“I'm helping a friend,” he said, glancing over his shoulder and frowning. “Essex was worried about you. The police weren't listening to his concerns, so he asked me to check on you. I guess it's fortunate for you that he did.”

She'd met Essex a year and a half ago, not long after Joshua's death. She'd been substituting at the school where he taught fifth grade. At the end of the year, she'd been offered a contract to teach full-time. The job had been a godsend. So had Essex. He'd taken her under his wing, brought her home to meet his kids and wife. He was the closest thing to a family she had.

She'd hoped he'd worry when she didn't show up for work, but the first day of school had come and gone, and the police hadn't shown up, no one had come looking for her. She'd realized she was on her own, trapped because she'd been just foolish enough to think she'd be safe in a place that had killed her husband.

“How do you know Essex?” she asked, still not convinced this wasn't some kind of bizarre trick to get her to let her guard down, give in to whatever it was they had planned for her.

“We were army buddies.”

That fit. Essex had retired from the military a few years before he'd become a teacher. “How many kids does he have?”

“Four.”

“How old is he?”

“Do
you
know?”

“Yes.”

“I don't. It's not something we discussed. I can tell you this, though, he's got a scar on his forearm from saving my hide.”

That fit, too. At least, the scar did. She didn't know about the life saving part. She'd asked about the scar, and Essex had simply said that he'd been injured while serving in Iraq. “What's his wife's name?”

“Janet. Kids are Essex Jr., Eleanor, Eliza and Elliot. Don't know what the
E
name thing is, but I told him he needs to cut it out,” he growled. “Now, if you're done with twenty questions, how about we get down to business?”

“What business?”

“Getting out of here alive.”

Whether he was telling the truth or a lie didn't matter. What mattered was that her arms were free, her feet were free. Soon the blood that pulsed back into her toes would calm, the throbbing pain would ebb and she'd have feeling back. That would make escape easier, and that was all she cared about. That and taking Elijah Clayton down. She might not have found evidence in his office, she might not have gotten her hands on something that could prove he was as dirty as the old hound dog he kept tied to a stake behind his house, but she knew he'd killed Joshua. Or had him killed.

Either way, Joshua's blood was on his hands.

She'd known it the day she'd found Joshua, his hunting rifle in his hand, a bullet hole through his temple. She'd known Joshua. He was careful and cautious. He didn't take chances. The
accident
that had taken his life wouldn't have happened to someone like him. Couldn't have happened. The police had bought the lie, though. Why wouldn't they have? Even Joshua's parents had believed it.

Lark had been too numb to question what she was told.

She'd let her in-laws plan the funeral, let herself be led through days of grieving. When it was over, she'd packed up a few things, left the compound because it was too filled with memories of the only man she'd ever loved.

It had taken a couple of months for the truth to settle in, for the nagging disquiet to be replaced by the certainty that there was more to Joshua's death than a simple accident. She'd started digging, then, researching Amos Way, its history, its former members. There weren't many of those. The ones she'd found hadn't been willing to talk.

That hadn't stopped her.

She'd kept asking, thinking she was clever enough to stay a step ahead of Elijah. Obviously, she hadn't been.

She moved up the church stairs, the night dead silent, the compound still. Her in-laws were sleeping in their house, tucked safely away from whatever it was they'd run from. Life? Hardship? The world? Whatever it was, they'd been in Amos Way for nearly thirty years. They believed the lies, and they bought the status quo. They wanted what was best for the group, and they were willing to believe Lark was a thief, that she'd gone into the trailer willingly to commune with God and find the right path, rather than believe their leader wasn't who he pretended to be.

That hurt, but she couldn't think about it. Not when she finally had a chance at freedom. She knew the old church, the large sanctuary, the bell tower, the door that led into the cemetery. She knew how far she needed to go to make it to the fence. Joshua had taught her how to climb it. He'd taught her a lot of things. Mostly he'd taught her to love, to have faith, to believe that God had a perfect plan for all of their lives.

She wouldn't forget those lessons.

Not ever.

And, she wouldn't let his murderer go unpunished, wouldn't let his death be for nothing. Someone had to bring Elijah Clayton down. The way Lark saw things, it might as well be her.

The man opened the church door, and she stepped inside, the dry cool air filled with the musty scent of time and age. She'd loved this place, had felt more at home here than she'd ever been anywhere before, but it wasn't home anymore, and all she wanted was to escape. Maybe the man escorting her was Essex's friend. Maybe he wasn't. It didn't matter. She wasn't going to trust him to save her. She'd save herself.

He closed the door, sealed them inside the century old building. Then, he took her arm and led her through the empty sanctuary.

* * *

Lark didn't resist as Cyrus led her through the old church.

That surprised him.

He'd done his research before he'd approached John, and everything he'd learned about Lark had told him she was a leader, a go-getter, a survivor. Not that there'd been much to discover. Financial records only went back as far as her college days. She'd attended Towson University on scholarship, gotten a degree in elementary education. From what he'd been able to gather, she'd met her future husband there, moved into Amos Way after they'd married. Her husband had died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound nearly three years later. That's what the police report had said.

Essex didn't think Lark believed it.

That's why he'd been worried when she hadn't returned, why he'd contacted Cyrus and asked for help when the police couldn't step in. This was what HEART did best—entering areas the authorities couldn't or wouldn't go, finding the missing, bringing them home.

“Sit.” He pressed her into the front pew and was surprised when she didn't fight him.

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice echoing hollowly in the empty building.

“To John and Elijah? Louis Morgan. Ex-military. Current mercenary. In other words, gun for hire.”

“Who are you really?”

“Cyrus Mitchell. I work for HEART.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Most people haven't.” He didn't have time to explain, and he wouldn't have taken the time if he had it. HEART members weren't in it for recognition or glory. They weren't in it for money. Most were in it for redemption, for a chance to make sure no one else ever lived through the pain they'd experienced. Cyrus was no exception to that.

“I take it you're not going to fill me in?” She brushed thick strands of hair from her cheek. He hadn't turned on a light, but the darkness couldn't hide the paleness of her skin, the narrow width of her shoulders. She looked more vulnerable than he wanted her to, more delicate than Essex's description had led him to believe.