Gone. Shirlee McCoy

to be found?”

      “Head for the road,” he said, his voice so calm, she could almost believe that everything was going to be okay. “Right now, you’re running away from it.”

      “And away from anyone who might be looking for me. That makes a lot more sense than running toward a place where I know there’s danger.” She whirled to face him, panicked, breathless, terrified. She hated that. She hated being vulnerable. She hated being afraid. She hated that she had no idea how to save herself from the situation she was in. She’d relied on someone else once. She’d trusted him. Jarrod had taught her everything she needed to know about how important it was never to repeat the mistake.

      But right now, she wasn’t sure she could go it alone. No matter how much she wanted to. She’d walked into something unexpected when she’d traveled to Newcastle. Or, maybe, it had been expected. She’d known—hadn’t she?—that Ruby’s death hadn’t been an accident. She’d asked questions anyway. She’d pushed for answers because Ruby deserved to be remembered for the good she’d done, not for a drug addiction she hadn’t had.

      “We’re staying off the road, remember? Just walking parallel to it. There’s no danger in that. At least, no more than there is in running deep into a forest you’re not familiar with.” He had her arm and was tugging her back the way they’d come, his grip just firm enough to keep her moving in the direction he wanted to go.

      “The lights of that car were too close,” she said, her heart thumping wildly, her pulse racing.

      “Not close enough for us to be seen.”

      “How do you know?” she responded as they neared the gravel driveway. She could see it through an opening in the trees—a few yards ahead, gray-white stones gleaming in the moonlight.

      “We were behind enough brush to keep us hidden. Even if the light had been able to reach us,” he responded.

      “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

      “Maybe this will,” he said. “I don’t take chances with people’s lives, and I don’t believe in unnecessary risk. If I didn’t think this was the fastest and safest way to escape, I’d find another one.”

      She didn’t respond, because there was nothing left to say.

      She didn’t take chances, either. She didn’t believe in unnecessary risks. Not ever, but especially not since Jarrod. Somehow, she’d still traveled to Maine. She’d gone to the police with her concerns. She’d asked questions. She’d sought answers, and now, she was allowing herself to believe that a random stranger was trying to help her.

      Please, God, don’t let me be making a mistake, she prayed silently as Sam led her between towering oaks and narrow pine trees. They were moving more slowly now, taking a route with minimal undergrowth, their feet producing very little sound. Whatever the truth was about Sam—whether he was really with the FBI or not—she didn’t think he wanted to get caught with her.

      A car door slammed, and she winced, her blood running cold with fear. Soon, her kidnapper would discover that she was missing. Would he come looking for her? Or would he decide she wasn’t worth the effort?

      Another car door slammed, the sound so surprising she tripped and probably would have fallen if Sam hadn’t been holding her arm.

      “Careful,” he whispered, his voice little more than warm breath against her ear. She had the strange urge to step closer, to hold on to his arm or his waist and make sure they weren’t somehow separated. He might be a stranger, but he was there, and she really didn’t want to be alone.

      Voices drifted into the silence. Two men. Maybe more.

       Please, don’t let it be more.

       Please, don’t let them come looking for me.

      Minutes passed as she and Sam picked their way through the woods, carefully, quietly.

      “We know you’re out here,” a man called, his voice faint but clearly audible. “If you make us hunt you down, things are going to be harder for you than they need to be.”

      She might have frozen in terror if Sam hadn’t still been holding her arm. His pace never changed, and he tugged her along with him. One step at a time, between trees, across a small stream.

      “Ella McIntire,” another man called, “you’re going to die out there. Alone. Is that what you want? Come on back here. We’ll help you get home.”

      “They know who I am,” she whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

      “Shhhh,” he cautioned.

      Just that.

      No words of comfort. No reassurance. But his steady pace was calming, his focus on what lay ahead instead of what was coming at them from behind reassuring.

      Strange how much she wanted to believe he was one of the good guys and that he was leading her to safety. Maybe he was. Probably he was. Why else would he be helping her escape? What other possible motive could he have for freeing her?

      Aside from Ruby, she hadn’t trusted anyone in a very long time. Six years. She knew the exact day and hour she’d stopped trusting blindly. She knew the exact reason, too. Jarrod. Someone she’d loved without reservation. Someone she tried really hard not to think about anymore.

      Something snapped in the woods behind them, and she jumped, glancing over her shoulder. Lights danced in the darkness, golden orbs sliding along the ground and bouncing off trees. One. Two.

      Three.

      She counted again. Just to be sure.

      Three lights. Three people.

      She tripped for the second time, her ankle twisting under her.

      Sam pulled her against his side, whispering in her ear, “Careful. If you get hurt, I’ll have to carry you out. That will slow us down.”

      She nodded and kept moving, ignoring the throbbing pain in her ankle and the hollow pulse of fear in her veins. She had to stay focused and play things smart.

      The people behind them probably had weapons, and she didn’t want to find out what they planned to do to her or to Sam. If what he’d said was true, he was an innocent bystander, an FBI agent who’d stepped in to help and who could lose his life because of it. Because of her. She didn’t want that. She wanted both of them safe, but if only one of them survived, she’d rather it be him. She didn’t want to live knowing that he’d died helping her.

      She shuddered, wishing she could close her eyes, open them and find out the last couple of weeks had been a nightmare.

      Actually, she’d be happy to learn that the past seven years had been a nightmare.

      Voices carried through the darkness. Her pursuers weren’t being subtle. They seemed to want her to know they were coming.

      Maybe intimidation was the point.

      Maybe they wanted to terrify her into surrendering or scare her into running deep into the wilderness. It would be easy to get lost there. Sam had been right about that. Just as he seemed to be right about staying silent and moving slowly. She didn’t think their pursuers had any idea how close they were. Panicking and racing through the trees, breaking branches and making noise would have given away their location.

      And it’s exactly what she still wanted to do.

      Run as fast as she could for as long as she could and pray they didn’t catch her.

      Sam pushed through thick undergrowth, pulling her up a ravine and out into a field of tall grass. A house had once stood in the center of it. She could see the crumbling foundation, an old fence and an outbuilding. She could also see the road—a gray slash in the lush landscape.

      They stepped onto the cracked asphalt. She’d have preferred to return to the woods. At least there she felt hidden, protected by the thick